by Tim Heath
There was an afternoon of meetings planned for him, various business connections and then dinner with a government delegation. A group from Cameroon were expected the following morning, wanting to build similar links with China for the same reasons Nigeria had. It was going to be an exciting few days, he reasoned, as his vehicle pulled up at the heavily secured hotel. Around the world, such hotels had long been targets.
Lunch had been prepared for him in the hotel’s best restaurant, food that would rival any other top international cuisine. The hotel had become accustomed to his tastes, and China was now one of their most important clients. At two o’clock, the vehicles pulled up once more, bringing Nigerian officials and businessmen to the hotel to meet him. All the meetings except the late government dinner were happening at the hotel. It was just safer that way.
By six that evening, with light fading a little already outside, the last of his guests had gone. Trade deals in the region of five hundred million dollars were signed, with a lot more promised for the future. It had been a successful afternoon for all concerned, and Jianguo walked out through the hotel’s generous entrance with a spring in his step, despite his advancing years and gradually thickening waistline. Had he known he wouldn’t be returning, there would surely have been caution in his walk. He got into the lead vehicle, and the convoy sped away.
Lagos was a busy city at the best of times, but tonight the traffic was at a standstill. Progress was frustratingly slow. Then the gunfire started. Initially, it was not clear what was happening, but soon a large group of soldiers were descending on the convoy. His guards began returning fire, but it was clear they were massively outnumbered. The driver in Jianguo’s vehicle, which was a sizeable SUV, started to manoeuvre to be able to exit the blocked road by a field on the left. He drove between the rear of the convoy vehicle in front, and another man’s car behind. The SUV was nearly free when it smashed into another car, turning a little, and stopped. The driver slumped over the steering wheel, blood already flowing. He’d been shot. Jianguo opened the car door and had one leg out as if escape was an option, but was soon surrounded by five men, all with AK47s raised to his face. A bag was pulled over his head, and suddenly he was lifted up. There were two, no, three sets of arms moving him at speed. The gunfire had stopped. He was dropped onto something hard, which turned out to be a van once he heard the sound of a sliding door close behind him. What light there was vanished. The van pulled away at speed. He heard nothing else besides the sound of the truck. He’d been kidnapped. They’d undoubtedly come specifically for him.
Washington DC, USA
The British Foreign Secretary had just finished with a UN briefing session and was now meeting with a group from the White House.
“Hugh, always a pleasure,” his American host said, as he greeted his British counterpart before offering him a drink. “Has your trip been a useful one so far?”
“Adrian, it has been. Thanks for asking. Of course, we have a lot to discuss today.”
“Well, I trust it only adds to your sense of purpose and fulfilment in this trip, then.”
Both knew it was not that simple. Neither made a follow-up remark. What was the point?
“Gentlemen,” Adrian said to those gathered in the room, “shall we take our seats.” As well as the British group of four that had accompanied the Foreign Secretary, there were three from the White House who had joined their boss. The British were leading on the numbers game. One-nil to the Brits.
“I’ll let Hugh fill us in on his time with the UN which will lead us on to today’s agenda,” Adrian said, handing over the initiative to Hugh.
“Thank you, Adrian. It’s great to be with you all once again,” he started. Might as well start the afternoon politely, it might be the only chance. “As mentioned, I’ve just spent sixty minutes in a special UN briefing looking at the growing issues within West Africa, particularly Nigeria and Cameroon.”
Everyone around the table remained silent, their eyes on those across from them, reading as much as they could from the others in the room.
He continued: “China is taking a big lead in the rebuilding of Nigeria as well as looking to sell military equipment in the region. There were some calls for a wider group to be involved in the relief effort. In the north-east of Nigeria, Boko Haram fighters are taking more ground, killing more people. Cameroon is equally under threat. The UN wants a more unified response. They fear a huge crisis is months away from happening, and they are calling on Western governments to take more action.”
Hugh sat back down in his chair and folded his arms, looking across to Adrian to his right. Enough said.
“Thank you, Hugh,” Adrian said, taking up the lead. Relationships were good between the two men, but there was little history. Hugh was new to the world of international politics, and he was yet another man thrust into a key position following the collapse of the government in the UK. “Our goal today is, therefore, to discuss, in more detail, the issues and threats in Nigeria, especially arising from the advancement of Boko Haram. It’d be good to come to a conclusion about our response to the threat and how we can better secure stability in the region. If Cameroon were to fall, we all know there wouldn’t be much left to save.”
The conversation was intense. The Americans knew the situation had been made much worse by the British offensive in Nigeria, handing the initiative to Boko Haram who had not missed a trick. Their breed of terror and control had nearly broken the nation altogether. What the war had started, the Jihadists were undoubtedly continuing. There was talk of ethnic cleansing happening on a large scale. The West was mainly looking the other way. It was partly why the UN had called a special meeting. The Americans, and to some degree, the new British government as well had changed their tone when it came to fighting foreign wars. They were now reticent about getting involved, limiting contact mostly to air strikes. Let the natives fight on the ground. Too many American lives had been lost abroad, it got argued. We have to protect our own now. For the British present at the meeting, it was a sore point. It was a legacy of the previous government that they needed to clean up, but it was only because of what happened that they had won the protest vote and got into power in the first place. But for the disaster and the equally disastrous––and costly––response, they would never have won a general election. If the British could persuade the Americans to get their hands dirty, it was win-win for the Brits.
As the discussions broke up for the day, neither side had got very far with anything. The friction that went back before the nuclear disaster was becoming a visible tension.
The next morning things did progress a little more straightforwardly. Hugh was due to leave on the 3 pm flight to London, so there were just a few hours before lunch and the need to depart. It helped to focus the conversation.
“The President does share our concerns over the political instability in the region. With China leading the charge in Nigeria, it is clear they will not give up that position lightly. There is a lot of oil and diamonds in the region. If the terrorists get control of these key resources, we’ll see an escalation. You only have to look at the likes of al-Qaeda and Daesh to see that it won’t end with just Nigeria and Chad. Chad is largely supportive of Boko Haram already. We risk seeing vast sections of the western part of the continent under Islamic militant control. The President does not want that to become the case. So you’ve scored one little victory there.”
Two-nil to the British. Adrian didn’t look too happy about it.
“I’m glad your President understands our position. We fully back any action you wish to take in the region.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, shall we. We are not talking about sending troops to Africa. Gone are the days when Americans jump in to clean up someone else’s mess.”
There was venom in that last remark, and everyone knew it. Two-one.
“Look,” Hugh said, looking increasingly uncomfortable as if he had personally invaded Nigeria and handed it over to the mil
itants. “I think we have come to the point of understanding. Doing nothing is not an option. It’s in both our nations’ interests to be seen to be involved. How that translates into action, we shall need to discuss. But I think we can draw a line under today and agree that an understanding has been reached.”
There were murmurs of agreement from those around the table. Hugh stood up, leading Adrian to do the same. He came over to him.
“Safe trip back, Hugh,” he said, with a warm smile and firm, friendly handshake.
“Thank you. Let’s keep an open dialogue.” He leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice, so it was just between them. “I know our previous government caused this mess. I know we are the new guys in all this. But let’s forget what’s been and make the most of what there is to come. For both our sakes––agreed?”
“Fair enough,” Adrian said. It was not an agreement, as such, but was as good as he would get.
3
Present Day
Westminster – London
It had been a difficult month for the young government since that first meeting in Washington. Domestically, the pressure was growing. The honeymoon period following their sweep to power was history. The press were now starting to push harder, wanting to see promised results. Public opinion was beginning to waver. They needed to be seen to be in charge. It was going to be a tall order.
In an upstairs room at the home of the Prime Minister, a meeting was underway. There were half a dozen people present, including the Home Secretary and Foreign Secretary, fresh from yet another trip to Washington.
“Prime Minister, with all due respect, we cannot just shut our eyes to the rest of the world. That might have been the line you got elected on, but if you want to stay in power, we are going to have to address these issues and sooner rather than later.” As Foreign Secretary, Hugh had travelled internationally far more than anyone else in the room, and noticeably more than Alan Wells, the Prime Minister. Distance suited them both. They’d never got on from the beginning, and it was a toss-up to see who would go first.
“And what would you have us do, Higgins, change party policy overnight and become just like all the others?” The PM hardly even looked at Hugh, as if to make eye contact would bring physical harm to himself. There was a small murmur of amusement from the room but not quite as much backing as Alan would have hoped. It was the Home Secretary who spoke next, ever the peacemaker.
“Unfortunately, sir, the events of recent weeks have highlighted some of the issues we are facing. I don’t think it’ll be possible to keep the enemy at arms’ length forever.”
“The enemy? Who are you talking about?”
“Sir, we live in a volatile world––the Middle East, Asia and now West Africa. The situation in Nigeria is only going to escalate.”
“It wasn’t us who caused that. It was the previous trigger-happy government that we defeated if you’ll all remember.” Alan was glancing around the room; as if anyone could have forgotten.
“Yes, sir, I’m fully aware of that. But with Boko Haram taking more land, in a country ravaged by war, a war our country started, we can’t be stupid enough to think that they would not strike back at us, given half the chance.”
“Do you think these terrorists give a damn about which political party is now ruling this country? Do you think they take that much notice? We represent the ones that sent navy ships to their shores, air strikes that crippled their country overnight. Of course, that’s what led them into greater power. The Nigeria we walked away from, susposedly having taught them a lesson, is ten times the threat it ever was to us. You think they really would hold back because a few politicians who now lead the country had nothing to do with the attack? You think that will save us?” There was a brief pause in the growing tension. Several people took a sip of their water.
“The Home Secretary is right,” Hugh said. “MI6 has been monitoring the situation in much more detail these last four weeks. The threat level is growing.”
“You still haven’t said exactly how they'd hurt us. We’ve pulled out of Nigeria. We’re strictly screening flights from Africa. Immigration is zero. What can they do?”
“If you even have to ask that question, sir, I think we’re in trouble.”
“Damn you, Higgins! I’m the bloody Prime Minister, and if I ask a question, I do it for a reason. Don’t you dare patronise me with your holier-than-thou, pompous know-it-all attitude.” It was not the first outburst between the two of them, nor would it be the last. Everyone took a few moments to settle again. It was Daniel who once more broke the silence.
“I don’t think anyone was meaning any harm, sir. Hugh does raise an important point. Chinese activity this last month has increased. They were already heavily involved in West Africa, particularly Nigeria after we left. The announcement of their new generation power plant has been big news in the energy markets around the world. It’ll add billions to their GDP and has increased costs for nearly every western nation on the planet. America is concerned. It’s not sure what trade deals China is, or was, looking to do with Nigeria, but the kidnapping of their former ambassador Jianguo Ming in Lagos a month ago is a new twist in the story. If Boko Haram trade him for the power plant blueprints, they become the best financed Jihadist group on the planet. And who do you think their first target would be? Every British interest in Africa would be at risk. We still have a presence in Cameroon, remember. That country has already come under attack from the terrorists. It wouldn’t take much to turn the capital into a killing field. If Cameroon falls, the whole region is at risk. Boko Haram, as well as getting their hands on this state of the art power plant, would also gain greater natural resources. So while I don’t think that a ground attack on British soil is likely anytime soon, they wouldn’t have to come that far to really hurt us.”
“We aren’t going to fight a war on foreign soil again, Daniel. That’s what got us into this mess in the first place.”
“So what are you all suggesting?” said a man from the Home Secretary’s team.
“That we take the threat seriously. That we press forward with what we laid on the table in Washington and we keep pressing the Americans into taking action themselves. Also, MI6 is advising a raising of the national threat level, and they are pressing for a meeting. I think we need to hear them out. I know you don’t trust them…”
“That would be an understatement,” Alan said before Daniel continued. “I know you don’t trust them, sir, but these guys have been around for a long time, much longer than we have.”
“That’s what worries me. MI6 didn’t protect us back then so what makes them any more able to do that now?”
There was a muted pause around the room, no one else apparently sharing his same reservations he held with his country’s security service.
“Very well,” Alan said, in a quiet manner. “We’ll hear them all out. Arrange a time when they can come, and we’ll see where it leads us.”
“Excellent,” Daniel said.
Beijing, China
Yanmei had not been to the capital for a few years. On her return from London five years before after the nuclear attack, she’d needed to appear before the Supreme Commander out of due process. She’d been decorated, as had her other colleagues, following the safe return from foreign shores. All had since gone their separate ways. She’d returned to the province in central China where she’d grown up, her parents now elderly and needing help.
The previous day had been interrupted by the arrival of a military vehicle into her small village. Any car was a rare sight. Yanmei’s presence had been summoned once more, not by the General she had always worked closely with, but by some lesser figures in the Red Army. That intrigued her enough to get into the back of the vehicle.
A three-hour car drive to the airport had been followed by the four hours it took to fly her to Beijing, before making it to the hotel she was to be kept in overnight. She had little understanding of what this was all about. That way, China held the
fear in its people.
The following morning Yanmei had been taken by car to a small army barracks in the south of the city. A room of three senior army officials awaited her, all sitting behind a long table. They were known for being outspoken, at times, against the regime. That was not lost on her as she walked up to them, her face without its usual covering of makeup, but still seductively beautiful. It was one of her best weapons.
“Gentlemen, I assume there is a good reason for bringing me all the way here during harvest time?”
“Please, Yanmei, sit down. We have something to ask you about and then something for you to do for us,” the oldest of the three said. She took a seat, the metal chair scraping along the cement floor as she put it in position. She was calm.
“Go on,” she said, as comfortable as she was ever going to be.
“When you worked in London, you were stationed with Colonel Jianguo Ming, correct?” They all knew it was.
“Yes, that is correct. He was not a colonel then, but the ambassador for the Republic of China to Great Britain.”
“And you returned with him, and others, following the calls for evacuation. Tell me, did anybody get left behind?”
“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.” She did her best to sound convincing.
“Oh, I think you know what we mean exactly, Yanmei,” the youngest of the three said. He stood up and walked over to her, stroking her right cheek with the back of his hand. “I think you know more about the man who stayed behind than most of us.”
