by Geoff Wolak
‘The damage to their computers…’ Prince Kalid nudged.
‘Was caused by one of my men having some fun.’
‘You cost them billions in lost revenue.’
‘Billions?’ Mike Papa repeated, wide-eyed.
Kalid turned to him. ‘Their computers were destroyed, and the back-up computers, so all the cash machines and bank branches closed, millions of people unable to get money out. The European Central bank has stepped in to assist.’
I faced Mike Papa. ‘The American side of our secret little group had only a minority interest in the bank, now to be a larger slice. The bank attacked me and my men without consent from all parties, and have paid a price.’
‘A heavy price, they may never recover,’ Kalid suggested.
I asked him, ‘You leaked the building details to the Press?’
‘No,’ he puzzled.
I frowned at him. ‘Then I need to look at who is playing games here.’
‘That bank, they are all playing games and scheming and lying.’
I told our host, ‘At the mine I found bodies, men who were replaced by sleeper agents, twenty years to work their way up into British Petroleum and British Intelligence.’
‘My god,’ he sighed out. ‘What a world of secrets.’ He shook his head. ‘My life here seems so simple.’ He gestured towards Prince Kalid. ‘If I offer this man a concession to drill oil, will it attract some unwanted attention?’
‘It might,’ I cautioned. ‘The bank does not like him.’
Mike Papa noted, ‘This bank … who wanted my oil, and to part me from my head…’
I nodded.
‘Then maybe I choose my own bed fellows, and not care want this bank thinks.’
‘There is plenty of oil,’ I told him. ‘Thirty years of pumping.’ I faced Kalid. ‘The British Government controls Sierra Leone, and you can ask them for test drilling in the north. I am sure they can accommodate you.’
‘I will ask, yes.’
Mike Papa raised a finger, opened a drawer and pulled out dusty old drawings, technical drawings and maps. ‘Perhaps of some use to you. They belonged to NordGas.’
I stood and opened out the map with Prince Kalid. ‘The oil areas are indicated, ore test sample areas, which ores. Excellent. And here, a dam, hydroelectric, and new road into Sierra Lone and Guinea.’
‘They would have built much,’ Kalid noted. ‘To get the oil over thirty years, they would need electricity, roads, workers. They were planning ahead.’
I handed them back to our host. ‘Those are worth a great deal. Keep the ore details, make a copy and hide in a safe place. Let people open mines where the test samples were located, and tell them of the test samples. You have a blueprint here.’
‘Should I look at some of these projects?’ he asked as he studied the map.
‘I can assist,’ Kalid insisted. ‘I will send you a team to look at these and advise you. This was created by my enemies, so I will assist you in stealing their wealth. They paid for these surveys, so others should benefit – not them!’
Mike Papa turned to me.
I told him, ‘The enemy of my enemy … makes for a good friend.’
‘Then I shall welcome your team, Prince Kalid.’
I told our host, ‘Prince Kalid has many contacts in the oil and mining industry, and as an Omani – he was born with honour.’
Kalid bowed his head to me.
I straightened and faced Kalid, ‘Perhaps you can see that the jungles here do not become as dirty as those in Nigeria.’
‘Ah, Nigeria is filthy, oil everywhere. I will try and protect the habitat here, yes. These days Greenpeace are a pain.’
I told them, ‘If there was a common single pipeline south, encased in concrete, then all wells could add pressure to it, the flow measured, the revenue worked out per gallon. If a company pumps in a million gallons, they take a million gallons at the port. That way, less pollution for the jungles.’
‘An excellent idea,’ Kalid agreed, then grabbed the map. He smiled, and tapped the map. ‘They considered this idea twenty years ago, my friend.’
I faced our host. ‘Send a small team of trusted advisors, some Army officers, to the mine. Send wooden huts, and many supplies, men to cut down trees, mine experts, and we will make a quick start on a long term project – the development of the Masonic People of Liberia.’
‘That name was outlawed,’ Mike Papa noted with a grin.
‘Perhaps a good thing,’ I agreed. ‘Freemasons keep secrets,’ I pointed out, making them laugh.
Back at the mine I found the Engineers busy. As my ride roared away, Dicky and Henri stood with me, the Engineers major reported, ‘A few dozen holes filled in, but it’s in good shape. We chipped away some rough edges, but it’s good enough for a Hercules, soon to be good enough for something bigger.’
‘Does it need tarmac, for a Tristar?’
‘Technically … they mostly do, but there are some concrete runways out there. Most have an asphalt covering. To certify this to any standard we’d need to see the original plans, or dig down and take soil samples for the pavement.’
‘Pavement?’
‘The area under the top layer is called pavement.’
‘Oh. This was designed by a Dutch/Belgian bank.’
‘Dutch? In that case they probably did all the necessary surveys and tests.’
‘You can be sure of it, but dig anyhow.’
‘There’s a hole, near that wrecked aircraft, so we’ll have a look, yes. But after twenty years it’s as near as damn perfectly flat, so someone spent some money on it. Should probably chop down some trees, airports don’t allow anything within 600yards.’
‘Chop away. If you like, go into the town and hire men, we have cash here for local help.’
After a brew my phone trilled. I stood near a window.
‘It’s David, and the Home Office is sending a large team down to look for skeletons, your Doctor Abrahams is well connected it seems. There is a team in Sierra Leone, UN, so they’ve been asked to assist, a doctor or two, and the FBI.’
‘FBI?’
‘A few US citizens went missing, quite a few over the years.’
My shoulders dropped. ‘OK, fine.’
‘How is it there?’
‘I just met with Prince Kalid, he has the expensive items, and will assist here with mining and oil – just to piss of certain people.’
‘He has the people for it, yes.’
‘He will approach the PM for rights to test drill in northern Sierra Leone.’
‘They’d be granted in a heartbeat.’
‘So alert the Foreign Office. And our friend with AIDS is talking, so we hope for some good intel. The man who took a holiday to Oman is also talking, but there is a wrinkle, and that’s Lord Michaels’ son, Jeremy; he’s up to no good.’
‘He’s about thirty years old, I think, works in one of the businesses. Sandline and two others were shut down, doors chained up. What’s the young Jeremy up to?’
‘He made sure he visited Doctor Abrahams before she came down, a promise to meet on her return – funding for the museum.’
‘He knew about the body of her father, which means others knew. What a little rascal. I’ll have Mister Kitson look at him.’
‘Oh, I called him, had a quiet chat. He might be running and off grid.’
I heard a loud sigh. ‘Tactful as ever.’
‘I didn’t want him killing Doctor Abrahams. When she gets back, arrange a man.’
‘I’ll make a note now for SO13.’
Loud trucks arrived at 3pm, easing around our Engineers as the men filled holes and chipped away. I had the trucks park away from the other vehicles. Ten young men jumped down, hoping for some work. Since there were sweeping brushes on the truck I offered the men dollars and handed out the brooms.
‘Aeroplane down down, make clean clean,’ I told them.
‘Ah, we make clean clean, yes.’ And they made a start, singing as they we
nt. I told a big Engineers sergeant to supervise the young men as older men offloaded more bed frames and mattresses. Seeing the beds, I was now worried, worried that my men would go soft.
A few dozen plastic chairs followed, suitable for a patio – should we ever have one here, the men being supervised by a boss.
I approached him. ‘You speak good English?’
‘Oh, yes, I was in England for three years. Prison. I learn good.’
‘Prison?’
‘I take some drugs, for my use.’ He shrugged, and I hid my grin.
‘We have a great deal of work, if you have the men and the materials.’
‘I can help, yes, get you many things.’
‘We want to cut down the trees.’
‘Ah, I know men who do this all day. I bring them.’
‘The young men, how many dollars per day?’
‘Say ... ten.’
‘Think of a number that will stop me shooting you!’
‘Four dollar a day is good, yes.’
‘I want the white powder gone, put it in the mine, sweep and shovel. This should be brown dirt.’
‘Yes, we do it. You want girls?’
‘No! No girls, no drugs, no beer!’
‘OK, OK.’
‘Barbed wire?’ I asked.
‘Yes, I know where to get it.’
‘Get enough to go up and down the road twice.’
He turned, and took in the road. ‘My god.’
‘Today, go get more brushes, more shovels for digging.’
‘OK, I go find many.’
‘And tell everyone in the town we have doctor man here, free doctor help.’
‘Yes? Oh, very good.’
Inside, I found Morten. ‘Grab your tents, and set them up at the end of the runway, near the trees, always men on stag nearby. It’s time for some hearts and minds. Locals have been told about you. Contact your boss, have a visit rotation set up down here, we’ll have men here for the next year or so. Drag in the Army.’
Stood outside with Henri, my phone trilled; Moran. ‘Tobo is back,’ he began. ‘One stolen jeep. You want them to patrol this side?’
‘No. Get him some cash, get him to Conakry – time with the family, then have him look at the coordinates we have for that sat phone use there. Have his men sit in cafes, walk the streets, talk to people, look for a white guy – then kidnap the white guy.’
‘Could be UN, or embassy staff!’
‘Then have him kidnap the man, check, and release if necessary.’
‘OK, I’ll get a Puma to drop them at the airport or nearby. Who do we hope to catch?’
‘The white man we caught here, he was chatting to someone there.’
‘Someone further up the chain of command, or lower down?’
‘Good question, good question indeed. Go find out for me.’
An hour later an Engineers sergeant came and found me. ‘We found an underground room, and a tunnel, sir.’
‘Ah.’ I grabbed Henri and Sambo since they were just sat around, and there on the north side of the building - facing the treeline, a dark square next to the outer wall was being stared into as men peered out of windows at us. As we neared, the smell hit us. ‘I think we need to let it air out a little.’
The sergeant pointed towards the trees. ‘It runs that way, sir.’
‘Pipes in there?’
‘Not that we could see.’
‘Maybe an escape tunnel to the trees,’ I suggested, a glance at the treeline. ‘I’d want an escape route.’
I had Henri fetch facemasks from the doctors, which should help, and with torches on – my kit off, I eased down an old rusted ladder. It seemed solid enough, and it landed me around three metres down, an inch of stagnant water found.
On the south side I found a rusted old door hanging ajar, suddenly wary of booby traps. Torch shone around the door, I found a large room, almost as big as the building above, square concrete pillars spread across the room, dozens of them. And there, on the floor, lay the first body, a skeleton in clothes and shoes.
Pushing on the old door, it squeaked as it moved. Head inside, I peeked around it, no wires seen. I opened it further as Henri came down with one of Morten’s large lamps, adding some good extra illumination on the vast foul-smelling room. We eased slowly inside.
On the right, facing the treeline, was a hatch up at 45 degrees. Bolt loudly squeaked out, I tugged at it, and it gave, a small avalanched of white powder falling at our feet, followed by bright sunlight bursting in.
A puzzled Engineer peered down. ‘You OK in there, sir?’
‘Fine, get some of your men down here.’
On the opposite side of the bare concrete room rested another hatch, Henri assisting me to open it, more limestone falling, bright light let it, the bad smell let out. Sambo appeared behind us with an Engineers sergeant.
Turning, I could see a dozen skeletons. ‘Go get Doctor Abrahams,’ I told Henri. ‘She was just with Morten. And bring Doctor Morten, mask and gloves – tell him we have bodies!’
He walked to the ladder as I approached the first skeleton, Sambo already knelt next to.
‘It be a white man clothes and hair,’ he noted.
I checked the pockets, finding a few items but no ID, no wallet. Since he had long straight hair a big straight nose, he was European.
Stepping east through puddles, I knelt next another body, the skin quite well preserved for twenty years. He was again European, they all appeared to be as I glanced around.
There was just the one way in and out, plus the tunnel, but that tunnel would need a man on his hands and knees, and I was not keen about small tunnels. Doctor Abrahams appeared, followed by Morten, masks and gloves on, Doctor Abrahams taking photographs with a flash of the first body, soon moving around the room to the other bodies.
Morten told me, ‘No obvious wounds, no signs of violence. Might just have got stuck in here.’
‘Door was open, and those sunlight hatches were real easy to open.’
‘He was around forty years old, quite tall, European. Clothes suggest a visitor not a mine worker – no boots. Looks like he lay down, not fell down.’ He lifted the man’s shirt. ‘Ah, gunshot wound to the heart. Small calibre, pistol maybe.’
He carefully turned the body over and had a look at the back. ‘No pooled blood, skin intact, so a pistol.’ Mouth examined, he noted, ‘Good teeth, western dentist seen.’
‘Take notes on them all, specialists are on the way anyhow. They can run DNA tests.’
He stood. ‘Are this lot linked to the bodies down in the mine?’
‘If they are then someone was sloppy. This lot would have been easy to find.’
‘Once the fighting here ended,’ he noted. ‘Maybe someone figured it would take a while.’
‘Twenty years? No one would figure on that,’ I told him. ‘Would have been easy to bury them outside.’
‘Not with armed men wandering around it wouldn’t be,’ he insisted.
Up top, I found Smitty. ‘Got a job for you. Drop your kit, just a pistol, make pads for your knees and elbows, get a mask from the doctors, we have a creepy old tunnel for you to explore.’
‘Where’d it go?’
I pointed at the tree line. ‘That way into the trees. Find the exit for me.’
Back down in the stink, I observed as his arse moved up and down and finally disappeared into the dark, torch flashes glimpsed.
‘I hate tunnels like that,’ Henri noted with a shudder.
Doctor Abrahams was now taking notes, the bodies labelled with numbers on paper, each photographed.
Max appeared behind me. ‘Can I take photographs?’
‘Your boss would never print them.’
‘We can block them out. Just the room?’
‘Sure. In fact, take one of me from behind, get the bodies in. And release it fast.’
‘You want to spook someone. Who killed this lot?’
‘That’s what we want to know.’
He keenly snapped me from behind a few times and photographed the room and the tunnel. “Hold the front page!”
The Marines Press officers appeared, noses in elbows. They took noses from elbows long enough to take a few snaps with flash cameras. I told them to video the evidence.
At the tunnel I was worried about Smitty. I thought I could see flashes of light, and soon I saw his torch as he came back.
Reaching me he was covered in sweat and half-dead. ‘No fucking air,’ he gasped.
‘Sambo! Carry him up!’
Sambo grabbed Smitty and lifted him easily, soon ascending the ladder as Engineers grabbed Smitty from above. I followed them up.
With his eyes closed, spitting and coughing, Smitty reported, ‘Couple of bodies down there. There’s a hatch, say … 200yards, couldn’t open it.’
‘Get your breath.’
I faced the Engineers major, now here. ‘You have kit to measure and to get a good direction, so I want 200yards mapped out from the tunnel entrance, then hit the ground with metal and find me that entrance.’
I led Smitty inside as Sambo grabbed his kit, Smitty’s face washed, mouth washed out. ‘Stay there till you’re feeling better.’ I left him with a nurse, Rizzo and Sasha puzzling what happened to him.
Back at the tunnel entrance the Engineers now had something on yellow legs, a man in the distance with a tall thin stick cut into white or black sections. Tape measure employed, and they marked out ten yard sections. My kit back on, I followed with Henri and Sambo, watching the treeline.
Ten yards in from the trees the Engineers halted, a man with a spade jabbing down, soil moved for ten minutes till metal hit metal. With the soil shovelled away in a hurry, a hatch revealed itself.
‘Look, sir.’ The man knelt and removed a metal bolt from the hatch. ‘Someone blocked it, sir. Those poor bastards died in there.’
‘Those poor bastards … were shot in the chest. But yes, that bolt would have kept the zombies in there.’
With a squeak he lifted the hatch, disturbing large millipedes, recoiling from the smell and almost puking.
‘Do me a favour, and dig all around here, look for evidence, anything that’s not natural jungle, ten yards square. Forensic teams are here tomorrow I think.’