by Tom Cain
Klerk gave a snort of disgust. ‘Don’t get wishy-washy on me now, man. You weren’t this squeamish when you rescued my niece. You plugged plenty of the bastards then, and a bloody good thing too.’
Tshonga accepted the whisky that Terence offered him, gave a nod that indicated both thanks and dismissal, then said, ‘No, Wendell, Mr Carver has a point. It is one thing for us to wish an evil man dead, it is quite another to be the one who actually has to kill him. But think of all the people who have died because of this man. Do they not deserve retribution? Think of the people who will die because of him. Do they not deserve to be saved? On their behalf, Mr Carver, I implore you, rid the world of this monster.’
‘Suppose I did. Suppose you and your party took power. What then? Any way you dress it up, you’re planning the murder of a head of state. Doesn’t sound like a good precedent to be setting if you plan on taking his job. Someone might decide to get rid of you the same way. And you claim to be a democrat. What kind of democrat becomes president by assassination?’
‘The kind who has discovered that it’s not enough to win elections,’ said Tshonga. ‘I have tried to do this in the proper fashion. I have fought elections honestly, even though Gushungo sends his thugs to disrupt my rallies and attack my supporters; even though his men threaten and intimidate voters; even though the final counts are corrupt; even though it cost me my son. I have done that and won a majority, against all the odds. But then he refuses to accept the result. He denies the truth. He spits in the face of the electorate. And no one has the power to stop him. Believe me, Mr Carver, if there were a way to remove the President by legal means, I would find it and pursue it. But there is not. I have therefore been forced to conclude that the only way to save the lives of our people, who are dying every day of disease and starvation, is to kill the man who is causing all this suffering. And if you think that is wrong, I would ask you: why is it worse to kill one evil man, so that innocent people can be saved, than to let him live and condemn those people to death? Why are their lives worth so much less than his?’
‘That’s a very powerful argument, Mr Tshonga,’ said Carver. ‘But I don’t hear you making it in public. I don’t see the rest of the world’s politicians nodding their heads and agreeing. None of you people can afford to be seen to support the assassination of a national leader. So you’re asking me to do something you don’t even have the guts to talk about outside this room.’
‘You are right, Mr Carver, I cannot get up in public and say that the President should die. But that does not make any difference to my argument. It is still better to cause one evil leader to die than to let an entire nation perish.’
Carver nodded, taking the point. ‘Maybe, but what about you, Klerk? Don’t even try to tell me you’re doing this for the good of humankind. What’s in it for you?’
‘Tantalum,’ Klerk replied, with typical bluntness. ‘You know what that is?’
‘Sounds like some kind of designer drug,’ said Carver.
Klerk laughed. ‘Well, there are certainly people who are addicted to it. But they are industrialists, not junkies. Tantalum is a very hard, very dense metal. It is a superb conductor of electricity and heat, and incredibly resistant to acid. Mixed with steel, it makes alloys of unusual strength and flexibility. You could say it is a wonder-metal.’
‘That’s the science lesson,’ said Carver. ‘How about the economics?’
Klerk smiled. ‘Ah, yes, the money. Well, tantalum is particularly useful for the manufacture of components for the electronics industry. There are currently two main producers: Australia and the Congo. But the tantalum mined in the Congo is stained with blood, just like their diamonds. No one would use it if they could get tantalum more easily and acceptably somewhere else.’
‘And you think there’s tantalum in Malemba?’
‘I know there is,’ said Klerk. ‘There used to be a tantalum mine at a place called Kamativi. It closed about fifteen years ago. But I believe there’s still more tantalum down there – a helluva lot more.’
‘So you organize the death of the President and get the tantalum in return? Well, it makes a change from liberating countries for oil …’
‘Is that really such a bad thing, Mr Carver?’ asked Tshonga. ‘You know, a man in my position receives a great deal of sympathy for his plight. Many important people tell me how they weep for my country. But then they do nothing for us. So I appreciate Mr Klerk’s honesty. He makes no secret of what he wants. If he reopens the mine, yes, he will make a great deal of money. But he will also employ many thousands of workers and bring hundreds of millions of dollars into the country to help my government restore our country to health. That sounds to me like a fair deal. I believe the people will think it is a fair deal, too.’
‘This is good business all round,’ said Klerk. ‘So here’s my proposition, Sam. I have set up a holding company to handle the tantalum project. I will give you five per cent of its shares if you agree to do the job. Of course, these shares are worthless … now. But if you succeed then the mine will be reopened and soon your stake will be enough to set you up in luxury for the rest of your life. And if that isn’t enough incentive, I’ve got one last card up my sleeve.’
Klerk looked away from Carver towards the far corner of the room. Alice had opened a large walnut cabinet to reveal a flatscreen TV, to which the MacBook was now connected. She was standing just in front of the cabinet, holding a remote control.
‘Come with me, Sam,’ said Klerk, walking across towards her. ‘It’s time we became reacquainted with a long-lost friend.’
27
A Quick Time file appeared on the TV screen and Alice pressed ‘play’. It was video footage, handheld, taken from the crowd at a political rally in Malemba. President Gushungo was giving a speech, ranting at the evils of white politicians in Britain and America. The camera, however, did not linger on him long. Instead the image zoomed and focused on a figure standing just behind the President, to his right-hand side: a tall, bespectacled man in an expensively tailored black suit, cut to fit his scrawny, emaciated frame.
He appeared to be paying little attention to the speech; all his concentration was on its audience. His head kept turning from side to side in a series of jerky, staccato movements as he looked out across the sweaty, jostling mass of people, observing their reactions, scanning them like a malevolent spider seeking out its prey.
The man’s posture was twisted by his right shoulder, which was hunched and curved in towards the side of his face. But the feature that caught Carver’s eye and which he then gazed at with a mixture of repulsion and compulsive fascination was the lower half of his face. What was left of it.
His jaw was twisted, misshapen and bereft of muscle control, so that his mouth kept flopping open. His cheeks had caved in like those of an old toothless codger, except that this was much worse, because the man’s skin was ridged and pitted with great welts of scar-tissue. His lips twisted up to one side in a vicious parody of a smile, revealing an expanse of vivid pink gum, a single, sharply pointed white canine tooth and a gaping black hole where his molars should have been.
Carver heard a high-pitched gasp and turned to see Alice stripped of her cool self-possession as she fought to control her emotions.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, blinking back tears. ‘It doesn’t seem to matter how many times I see this, I still can’t seem to take it.’
Carver looked at Klerk. ‘What the hell happened to that guy?’
‘You did,’ said Klerk. ‘That’s Moses Mabeki, the man who kidnapped Zalika Stratten. It was your bullets that made him the fine figure of a man he is today.’
‘Mabeki?’ Carver’s mind went back to the room above the shebeen and the man he’d left lying in a spreading pool of his own blood. ‘Last time I saw him he was dead.’
‘Plenty of people in Malemba believe he still is. They don’t believe he’s human. They think an evil spirit took up residence in Mabeki’s dead body, brought it back to life a
nd then used it to spread death and suffering wherever he went.’
‘It is not an unreasonable opinion,’ said Patrick Tshonga. ‘One would not wish to believe that an ordinary man could be as cruel and as bloodthirsty as Moses Mabeki.’
‘You’ve obviously not met the same people I have,’ said Carver.
‘Oh no, Mr Carver, trust me, I know all about the evil that men do,’ said Tshonga. ‘I would just prefer it if we could blame evil spirits rather than human nature for their actions.’
‘So what exactly has Mabeki been up to?’
‘You name it,’ said Klerk. ‘Moses Mabeki is the man who does the President’s dirty work. If the President is an African Hitler, Mabeki is his Heinrich Himmler. He runs the secret police and approves their use of torture, coercion and brutality. He plans the war veterans’ attacks on the few white farmers who have not yet fled their lands, just as he planned the attack on my sister and her family. He organizes the forced expulsions of hundreds of thousands of people from their homes and villages. Then he makes certain that there is not enough food for them on the lands where they are forced to settle. They say he likes to see people starve, you know. He cannot eat solid food himself – everything has to be pulped like baby food, or sucked through a straw – and he resents anyone who can.’
‘Sounds like I should have finished him off when I had the chance.’
‘Ach, don’t beat yourself up about it, man. You were there to rescue my niece. You used the force necessary to achieve your objective. No blame attaches to you.’
‘Big of you,’ said Carver.
‘On the other hand, if you were to remove Mabeki at the same time as the President, you would be doing me a great personal favour.’
‘And you would be liberating the people of my country from his wickedness,’ Tshonga interjected. ‘More importantly, you would remove one of the great obstacles to peace and democracy in Malemba. There would be little purpose in getting rid of the current President if his most able understudy were still able to continue his regime. If Mabeki succeeds to the presidency, the tyranny under which we have suffered for the past twenty-five years will seem like a golden age compared to what he would inflict, and the opportunity to establish a truly democratic government and a free society will vanish.’
‘And you won’t get your tantalum mine, will you, Klerk?’ said Carver.
A broad smile crossed Klerk’s face. ‘And your shares will be worth nothing, Sam. It seems our interests coincide, financially and personally. I want my revenge for what this man did to my family, and if you are half the man I take you for, you will want the satisfaction of completing the job you started all those years ago.’
‘Satisfaction doesn’t come into it,’ said Carver. ‘There are only two things that interest me. Can I do the job? And, can I live with myself after I’ve done it?’
He felt a gentle pressure on his arm, the touch of Alice’s hand.
‘Please, Mr Carver, take the job,’ she said. Her voice was urgent, anguished. ‘So many people have died. So many more are suffering. Surely it’s a good thing to try, at least, to help them.’
‘All right, suppose I did. People only hire me when they want total deniability. Whatever happens to Gushungo or Mabeki, you can’t afford to have it traced back to you. If I do the job – if – rest assured you’ll get that deniability. But I’ll need full logistical backup, some way of getting close to the President and a cover that will stand up to thorough examination. And that’s before we even talk about when, where and how the whole thing goes down.’
‘Of course,’ said Klerk, ‘that goes without saying. In fact, I have had one of my associates working on this project for some time now, finding out everything there is to know about the President’s movements, his security arrangements and the layouts of every one of his residences and offices on three different continents. We have people on the inside, supplying us with information. A dossier has been prepared that contains everything you could possibly want to know. If there is any further information that has somehow been omitted, we will get it for you. If there is anything you need to do your work, anything at all, we will provide it. My sole condition, and this is as much for your good as anyone else’s, is that my associate should work with you during the planning process and accompany you on the mission itself.’
‘On a job like this I prefer to work alone. Simplifies things.’
‘I understand,’ said Klerk. ‘Nevertheless, I insist.’
‘So who is this associate, then?’
Klerk gave a wry half-smile. ‘My niece, Zalika Stratten.’
‘Are you out of your mind?’ Carver snapped. ‘You’re asking me to put my balls on the line, not to mention the future of an entire bloody country, and all the billions you plan to make from that tantalum mine, and I’m supposed to do this at the same time as nursemaiding some screwed-up schoolgirl who’s got bugger-all training, experience or competence for this kind of work?’
Klerk’s smile broadened. ‘She’s not a schoolgirl any more, Sam. She’s a grown woman of twenty-seven. She’s highly intelligent, extremely fit, a qualified pilot and a first-class shot. I guarantee that her bushcraft skills are at least as good as yours, probably better. And no one on earth knows more about the President, or Mabeki, than she does.’
‘That’s just the problem, though, isn’t it? Mabeki knows her too. He’d recognize her the moment he clapped eyes on her.’
‘Really?’ said Alice. ‘You didn’t.’
28
Zalika slipped off the auburn wig and removed the tight stocking cap beneath it, revealing a head of pale brown hair, highlighted with streaks of blonde. She shook her head and scrunched her hair with her fingers, then grinned at him. ‘Still don’t see it?’
She tilted her face forward and lifted her index finger to her eyes, removing the hazel-coloured contact lenses that had covered them. When she raised her head again, her eyes were a deep jewelled blue.
‘How about now?’
Now Zalika’s whole face slipped into focus. She’d had some work done on her nose, Carver reckoned – it was much less prominent than before – but that aside, the teenage girl he’d met a decade ago was clearly visible in the woman who stood before him. And yet she’d changed utterly.
‘Yes,’ said Carver. ‘Now I see it.’
‘Superb!’ laughed Klerk, clapping his hands with delight. ‘Zalika, my dear, that was a magnificent performance. I apologize, Sam. It was hardly fair to play such a cheap trick on the man who saved Zalika’s life. But the best way to convince you that she could fool someone else was if you had already been fooled yourself.’
Zalika gave a little pout of mock contrition, then she took a couple of steps towards him until she was close enough to reach out and take his hands in hers.
‘Will you forgive me?’ she said, looking him in the eye.
The knowing, teasing look had returned to her smile, but much more openly now that she did not have to play at being Alice the sexy secretary. Carver suddenly felt a very strong urge to wipe that smile off her face, whether by kissing her or slapping her he didn’t much care.
She gave his hands a little squeeze, as if she knew just what he was thinking, and leaned forward to kiss him, very delicately, on the cheek.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘of course you will.’
She’d asked one question, but she’d answered another one altogether.
‘Good,’ said Carver. ‘I’m glad we’re agreed on that.’
A silence fell on the room, eventually broken by a harsh, guttural cough. Zalika spun round, saw Klerk with his fist to his mouth and frowning as if in deep discomfort. She burst out laughing. ‘God, Wendell, I’ve never seen you looking embarrassed before!’
‘Not at all,’ growled Klerk, clearing his throat. ‘I just wondered if you could stop flirting for five seconds and demonstrate to Mr Carver here that you really do know as much about President Gushungo as I just said you did.’
‘Of course,’
said Zalika. ‘I’d be delighted.’
She picked up the remote control and turned back to the TV, clicking her way through a series of menus until she came to a PowerPoint file titled HG-HK.ppt. She clicked it open and a picture of Henderson Gushungo appeared on the screen.
‘Just in case we’d forgotten who we were dealing with,’ Zalika said.
Now she was all business.
‘Before we go any further,’ she continued, ‘I just want to explain how we – well, I actually – arrived at the location that was chosen for this operation. The obvious place to attack Gushungo, of course, is Malemba itself. But it is also the least suitable. The President has the nation’s entire armed forces to call on as personal protection. His secret police are everywhere. He still has a lot of allies, men who know that their only hope of staying in power is to keep the old man alive as long as possible. We also have reliable information suggesting that Gushungo has at least four doubles. Their basic role in life is to take a bullet that’s meant for him, so it would be depressingly easy to take out the wrong man and kill some innocent lookalike instead of the real thing. And if that were not bad enough, the total collapse of the country’s infrastructure would make it a hard place to leave in a hurry. Of course we could organize a fast extraction if we had to. But the state Malemba is in makes everything much more complicated and much less reliable than you’d want it to be. So if Malemba’s no good, when does Gushungo go abroad?’
She clicked the remote control and a new picture appeared of the President standing in front of a giant Bedouin tent, shaking hands with a man wearing vivid purple silk robes, a matching pillbox hat and impenetrable black shades.
‘There are still some states willing to welcome Gushungo. This is him meeting Gaddafi in Libya last year. He also had the brass nerve to attend an EU summit on relations with Africa in Lisbon. Officially, the European nations are opposed to his regime. All his bank accounts within the EU and even Switzerland have been frozen. But it’s very difficult for them to prevent a head of state entering a European nation, particularly if he’s been invited to attend a multinational meeting, or an event held by an international organization like the United Nations. So here he is in Rome, for example.’
