CHAPTER 4
Abu Mohammed stood looking out of his large office window and down over the well-tended garden area of the courtyard. He was a big man, so looking down on his immediate surroundings was to him quite normal. He noticed the guard had been doubled, and he watched as uniformed troops positioned sandbags around a heavy machine gun.
Every Government official and employee understood that a day is a long time in politics. The same could be said about revolutions, where situations changed at very short notice, and the term ‘early retirement’ took on a whole new meaning.
It was still dark, and powerful floodlights lit the whole area, leaving little shadow.
It was not unusual for Abu to be in his office at this time of night. Many of his activities had to be carried out under the cover of darkness. Not only for his sake, but the people with whom he had dealings felt more at ease under a cloak of night.
His expensive gold watch showed the local time to be near two o’clock in the morning before he gazed again out over the high compound wall. To where the bobbing lights of a fishing vessel reflected off the wide dark waters of Freetown’s natural harbour.
He lifted his eyes and allowed them to follow the street lit, but night filled black spine of the Sierra Leone Peninsula. Its seaward tip touched the Atlantic Ocean and rose through to the wooded hills known as the Lion Mountains.
Abu had spent much of his childhood on the Sierra Leone River, whose fast flowing current scoured silt away from the bottom of Freetown’s harbour. It had also strained the motor of his father’s small boat, as he’d returned upstream from the bustling markets after delivery of vegetables and tobacco. His Father and his Grandfather had tried to instill in him some of their wisdom and experience, but Abu had learnt at a young age that there was more to be expected from life than what could be gained from delivering vegetables.
Their endeavours met with little success, partly because of the markets of Freetown, where Abu befriended those who extended their incomes in the diamond smuggling trade.
It was these smugglers who used the overland river route to carry out their private business affairs that caught the attention of the teenage Abu. He chose to follow a similar path to them in an attempt to gain wealth and local prestige.
Freetown also taught him about political turmoil. How its impact, in the form of wholesale slaughter and widespread hunger could lead to the making of an entrepreneur.
He had his first taste of upheaval and despair at the age of seven. In 1967, Siaka Stevens All Peoples’ Congress was deposed by Juxon-Smith, who, one year later became the victim of mutiny, and Stevens was reinstated to office.
The rest of the decade was stormy.
In 1971, Sierra Leone became a republic, and the countries rapid decline became more apparent with each passing day, as Steven’s supporters enriched themselves at the public’s expense.
Stevens retired in 1985 and his successor governed under ‘the business as usual’ principle. Corruption flourished while the economy deteriorated further, until a coup toppled the successor in 1992.
Worse was still to come.
In 1997, Major Johnny Koroma released six hundred captives from the capital’s top security prison and overthrew the government of President Ahmad Tejan Kabbah. Lawlessness spread throughout Sierra Leone, bringing with it the international community’s immediate condemnation, until Nigeria finally led a regional force to restore Kabbah. In early June their naval vessels bombarded Freetown, and Abu learnt firsthand the power of an artillery shell over a human body.
Nigeria’s occupation of Freetown failed to restore Kabbah, and a stalemate ensured. Clashes between Koroma and Kabbah supporters continued into 1998, when Nigeria tripled the number of its forces in the country.
It was at this time, when his smuggling operations in the diamond rich eastern part of the country became threatened by Pro-Kabbah forces that Abu was forced to choose sides. He threw in his lot with Kabbah, and through insight and carefully chosen accomplices, he’d achieved a place in Kabbah’s new government after Koroma was forced to flee.
Abu’s position in government was not high, but it afforded him access to senior ministers and freedom to carry on business as usual.
He’d also expanded his interests into other areas such as drugs, and the acquisition of the weapons that became available by the disarming of Koroma’s rebel militias.
There was also money to be made out of international community who offered humanitarian assistance.
Abu had been brought up in an environment where coup d’état prevailed, and its consequences of corruption, disappearances and torture were seen by him to be everyday occurrences. One thing had changed however. Now it was Abu himself who made torture and disappearances everyday occurrences. Nothing personal against the lost souls, but business was business and through necessity he had learnt to be good at it.
To a certain extent he forgave himself for his wayward ways, because he had been forced to accept that the traditions of his forbears had gone. Now the world had changed to one where the creed was to grab what you can, while you can and be vigilant. His choice of this particular office was based on vigilance. It was to the front of the Government building where it gave him a good vantage point to see the comings and goings through the compounds stone arched gateway.
He noted the movement of troops below him in the courtyard, and then looked toward the east where the brooding mountains were touched by the brilliant glow of a full moon.
Out there, in the dark bush of the mountains whose silhouette Abu could see from this very window, was a new rebel whose name was Imbo.
Imbo was following the same path that Juxon-Smith and Johnny Koroma had. His plots and plans were made under the same moon and with the same destination in mind.
Now Abu knew the feeling of uncertainty that was probably felt by the previous occupiers of this Government building. They may have also looked out of this window and into the quiet before the storm.
He’d sunk into the false sense of security allowed by the fact that it had been nearly ten years since Johnny Koroma had issued his challenge. Now that comfort, like ice in warm water, was slowly taking on a whole new form.
Abu had also kept up his contacts in the drugs trade and it had become obvious to him two months earlier that something was in the air. Someone with access to good quality drugs had suddenly begun to compete heavily in his market. A sign that someone had the need to build a strong cash base, and Abu’s concern had grown until suddenly his black market weapon sales began to spiral. New rumours reached his ears about the man named Imbo.
Abu considered the irony that the weapons he was selling to Imbo now, were supplied by the dealer whom he’d been meeting in Cape Town in 2001 when he’d met the man whose facsimile he waited for now.
He had been staying at the hotel where, coincidently, Garry Sudovich was enjoying his second honeymoon. After several chance meetings in the hotel bar they’d struck up conversation, and learned the similarities between their business interests.
In 2002 Abu had contacted Sudovich and outlined a plan, which they’d then carried out successfully, to the tune of three hundred thousand dollars.
Another year had passed before Abu felt it safe enough to try again, this time for higher stakes. They were successful again and netted a little over eight hundred thousand dollars. Hopefully this year would be good for them too. Abu tried to visualize the look on Sudovich’s face when he realized the value of his share.
Abu smiled at his own reflection in the darkened office window as he contemplated his retirement plan. Suddenly his face became blank as he glanced again at the machine gun.
He was approaching his fifties, and although he didn’t feel old, there was something somewhere within him that felt tired, a feeling that was exacerbated by his fear of uncertainty.
Imbo.
It didn’t matter to him that the arms he traded were the weapons used by the rebels who were slowly
sweeping across the country. Maybe Imbo himself was holding a weapon that had Abu’s fingerprints stamped firmly upon it.
After all, if he didn’t supply them, then someone else would.
He just had to make sure he got out of the country before he became the victim of one of those weapons. With Sudovich’s help he would reap his reward and then find somewhere on this earth where he could retire and enjoy stability.
He still had that thought in mind when suddenly the facsimile machine began to spit out a sheet of paper.
It was only a short message.
His ticket to freedom.
End It With A Lie Page 5