Warlord

by James Steel

  ‘Hmm. When’s she coming?’

  ‘Sometime in mid-July …’

  ‘What, in a couple of weeks?’

  ‘Well, we’re just trying to sort it out. The Yanks are being very tricky about security arrangements.’

  ‘But the war’s over, though?’

  ‘Well, yes, we have pretty much finished the FDLR but we’ve still got a few remnants to mop up, plus the demil process and the Kudu Noir seem to be getting stronger for some reason.’

  ‘And you still don’t know who they are?’

  Alex nods reluctantly. ‘Hmm, Unit 17 doesn’t seem to be able to tell me much about them.’

  ‘What’s Unit 17?’

  Alex is forced into an evasion. ‘They’re a sort of communication outfit that we have. All I can find out is that the Kudu Noir are some sort of cult cum criminal gang who go around kidnapping and killing albinos for magic powder.’

  Sophie looks at him and pulls a face.

  ‘Yeah, well, unfortunately now they seem to be expanding their operations. It’s a bit like what happened in Iraq when criminal gangs took advantage of the lawlessness of the invasion to join up with Al Qaeda and start a huge kidnapping business. Most of the insurgency ended up being paid for by them.

  ‘So now the Kudu Noir seem to be getting into political assassinations. We’ve had four incidents of them attacking and killing politicians across the province. Very messy business, they tortured and mutilated all of them before they died.’

  He refrains from going into the details. KDF troops took crime scene photos of the bodies hanging from trees and they are images he has been trying to forget.

  ‘Oh God,’ she says, shocked, and then, ‘Why did they do it? Were there any obvious connections between the victims?’

  ‘Not really. A priest, a mayor, a local headman and a comptoir.’ He shrugs. ‘Mordechai can’t see any pattern to it and neither can I. Someone must be ordering the hits, they’re not random, but we don’t know who or why.’

  She strokes his hand for a while and then he pulls her gently onto his lap. She wraps her arms round him and strokes his hair whilst he rubs her back.

  After a while she remembers where they started. ‘So, what did you say about Fang and Rukuba arguing?’

  ‘Well, I need to start renewing the contracts for the regiment or getting new guys in pretty soon. I mean, where are we now? Late June and we are due to expire in August. If we want to re-lease the choppers then Arkady needs to get on with it. If we don’t have them we can’t do anything – we can’t move, we don’t have any trucks, we’re airmobile, that’s the whole point of how we work.’

  She nods. ‘What does Fang say?’

  ‘Well, they want to keep the regiment on because they don’t trust the local Congolese troops to run the show but Rukuba is pushing his Kivu nationalism agenda, all that “Kivu has stood up” stuff.’

  He stops rubbing her back and looks at her straight. ‘So basically at the moment the fight is that we have the guns, the Chinese have the money, Rukuba has political authority and no one has a clue how it is going to work out.’

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Joseph and Simon are bursting with excitement as the bus winds up the road towards Rukuba’s base at Mukungu.

  ‘Look, KPP!’ Simon shouts and the whole crowd of forty young men pack over to one side of the vehicle, slide back the windows and yell and wave at more young men on the roadside who jog on the spot and wave dark green and red Kivu flags as they pass.

  The bus driver toots his horn repeatedly and Joseph sticks his head out of the window, waves a victory sign to them and yells ‘Kivu for the Kivuans!’ in Swahili. He nearly falls out but Simon drags him back by his belt.

  It’s Friday night and the 30th of June, which means two things: the final of Kivu National Anthem Idol and the declaration of their independence from Congo. They drive past more bands of young men and some women from the KPP youth wing as they come out of the accommodation tents and huts that were built for the peace conference.

  Hundreds of people are streaming up the valley towards the farmstead, all wearing dark green and red KPP tee shirts and waving the Kivu flag over their heads. In the dark the lights of trucks and buses glare as they bring supporters in from across the province.

  Gabriel is at the front of the coach. He’s ecstatic at how excited his newly released detainees have become about the whole event. It’s great to see how the whole country is really pulling together.

  The bus pulls over and parks in a newly made car park. They get out and Gabriel just manages to keep the group together as they push their way through the crowds on the road.

  When they reach the area that used to be the meadow in front of the farm Gabriel simply stares at how it has been transformed. It is a natural amphitheatre and has terraces cut into its sides for people to stand on. The area down the hill from the farm has been turned into a stage with a massive lighting rig. The Lebanese company organising the show have thrown every special effect that they have at it and big searchlights are mounted on the hills all around the bowl, their beams crisscrossing and flashing overhead in the night sky.

  Gabriel leads the group onto a terrace where they have a good view out over the scene. A huge sound system booms with the theme tune of the idol show and the whole crowd screams. The compère does an especially long build-up. ‘Who do we want to see!’

  ‘Papa Rukuba!’

  ‘Yes! Dieu-donn-é!’

  He holds his mike out to the crowd who scream the response, ‘Don de dieu!’

  After a lot of hyping up the theme music builds and the lights suddenly cut out. The starry night sky is suddenly all that can be seen and a huge shout goes up from the crowd. There’s a chill in the air because of the altitude and steam shows in the starlight, rising up off the crowd packed in front of the stage.

  Joseph, Simon and Gabriel and the others all stare up at the darkened hill above the stage. There is a pause and then a single powerful spotlight shoots out from behind them and picks out a figure in blazing white robes standing on the top of it holding two large tablets in his hands.

  The crowd gasps and the figure strides down the hillside. As he comes, portentous music builds up until Rukuba finally strides onto the stage and the full light display bursts out flooding the amphitheatre.

  Joseph and the crowd go mad, jumping up and down and shouting his name.

  Twenty miles away in the operations room in Heaven, Alex, Sophie, Yamba, Col, Zacheus and Mordechai all look at the radio, alarmed at the amount of noise coming out of it.

  ‘Bludy ’ell, what’s going on there?’ mutters Col.

  Zacheus translates the Swahili for them and as ever keeps his face impassive but the heightened atmosphere is obvious.

  Eventually the screaming dies down and Rukuba starts his usual smooth running of the show. He welcomes the four finalists, including Diamante, on stage, along with the special guest for the night, another big dance band, this time from Kenya. Each contestant walks up a big ramp with silver confetti blowers spewing on either side of them. KPP stewards and Unit 17 men strain to hold the crowds back.

  Voting continues furiously by phone throughout the evening. Joseph and Simon both now have mobile phones and vote repeatedly after Diamante does her piece again.

  Rukuba goes easy on the politics this time with no searing interviews of people whose lives have been transformed by his coming to power. He just lets the party build and the crowd dances and cheers as the evening nears its climax.

  He is a master of oratory, changing the tone of his voice from a deep empathetic rumble to a high indignant squawk as he needs to. He is in complete symbiosis with the crowd, using the call and response technique so his interaction with them becomes like a swaying back and forth of a couple in a dance.

  Finally the contestants all line up, holding hands and looking tearful in front of the huge computer display screen. After a protracted build Rukuba announces that Diamante has won and Joseph nearl
y rips his vocal chords yelling for her.

  She runs through another reprise of her song and the whole crowd joins in, swaying along to the lyrics, tears pouring down their cheeks.

  Rukuba comes onto the stage and hugs her, holding both their hands up in the air before striding across the stage and taking his place at a large podium that rises up out of it for his speech to mark independence.

  ‘People of Kivu! My people!’ He quietens the crowd. ‘On this day, we have come together to sing, to celebrate and to salute! To salute the new force in world politics, the new type of country that will lead the world to progress! We are that country – we are Kivu! No longer divided by our tribes but united in Kivu!’

  A big cheer goes up from the crowd.

  ‘Kivu is doing this, my brothers and sisters, Kivu is leading the world! I have been listening to you over the last weeks, I have been hearing your voices, hundreds of your voices.’

  Zacheus translates rapidly and around the radio set Alex and the others share a worried look.

  ‘And you have been telling me what you want.’

  A lone voice right in front of him in the crowd shouts, ‘Rukuba!’ and he pauses and smiles indulgently.

  ‘You have been telling me what sort of system of government you want for your new country and that system of government is me!’

  A massive roar erupts across the stadium and is echoed throughout the province, with people cheering in the bars and streets.

  Alex and the others just look grave.

  ‘And so, I will lead your new government, I will announce them now!’

  A steward brings him the large white tablets that he brought down the hill at the start of the evening and he reads off the names of his new cabinet. As he does so the ministers cross the stage and one by one shake his hand, then move to stand in a line behind his podium. The crowd cheers each one.

  ‘Tonight is our independence night. For too long Kivu has lived on her knees, but now Kivu has stood up! It will stand on its own two feet and be a free and independent Kivu. Right now I am declaring our independence from Congo, not just for ninety-nine years but for ever!’

  More cheering.

  ‘I am ordering all remaining UN forces to leave the country immediately and all other foreign forces will follow shortly. Soon we will achieve full recognition in the United Nations as an independent and sovereign country, we will be masters of our own destiny! And so on this night, as the world sleeps, Kivu awakes!’

  Again the crowd erupts and a huge burst of lights and fireworks explodes over them.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  The helicopter skims low over Lake Kivu. It disappears behind a grey curtain of drifting rain and then re-emerges.

  Alex watches it alternately blur and then reappear as the windscreen wipers on his Peugeot jeep struggle to keep up with the downpour. Even in the dry season these storms blow up fast on the lake and create deluges across the province. The rain drums on the tarpaulin cover of the jeep. They got it off the local Congolese army – Fang won’t pay for trucks for the regiment.

  Fang radioed him urgently from a meeting he was having in Goma with the directors of the Kivu Investment Fund. It’s 1st July, the day after Rukuba’s big independence day announcement.

  The green Mi-17 settles down on its pad next to the other nine Mi-17s and the two Mi-24s. All are grounded because of the weather and look forlorn with their drooping rotors tied down against the wind. Alex only agreed to let one go and pick up Fang because he sounded so worried on the radio. He’s flying on to see Rukuba at Mukungu after this meeting with Alex.

  The chopper waddles down onto its wheels and then sinks onto the pad. The ramp descends and Fang runs out and peers around him in the spray and rain. Alex flashes the jeep lights at him and he runs over and yanks open the passenger door. He crams his long legs into the front seat and slams the door, gasping and wiping the rain off his face. Streams of water run out of his hair and the windows steam up.

  ‘So …’ He shakes his head and collects himself, pushing his hair up off his forehead.

  Alex turns in his seat and looks at him closely. It’s the first time he has seen Fang look flustered. The overwhelming confidence in his great new vision for the world that so impressed Alex in Akerley has gone. There’s a frightened edge in his voice.

  ‘So, we have had a meeting of the fund board to discuss the President’s announcement last night and the directors are not satisfied with the situation.’

  That much was obvious already so Alex simply listens. After the broadcast last night ended, he and his senior commanders had a very tense conference about what might happen next.

  Fang tries to keep his language diplomatic to preserve a semblance of control. ‘The President has overstepped the terms of the contract in several ways. By scrapping the lease agreement – we have already had complaints from Kinshasa about that this morning – and by ordering all remaining UN forces to leave immediately. That timescale had not been agreed by the board.’

  Alex agrees. ‘Sure, but those are side issues, aren’t they? It’s the KDF that is the issue and he’s ordered all foreign troops out shortly. What has he said to you about us?’

  Fang cannot stay diplomatic and throws his hands up with an exasperated expletive in Chinese. He shakes his head. ‘Nothing! He told us nothing!’

  Alex takes a deep breath and thinks for a moment. ‘OK, well, look, we just have to keep calm and work this one through. I think maybe he’s got a bit overexcited with all the anthem hype and we just need to let the situation settle. Let’s not do anything to up the ante.’

  Fang is in no mood to be mollified. ‘No! He needs to remember who is paying for this new country! It is not his country, it is our country! This is a joint project; we have not put six billion dollars into this to have him steal it!’

  Alex nods, trying to allow Fang the opportunity to get his anger out of his system before he goes on to see Rukuba. This is developing into a nightmare.

  ‘He has really fucked up! We had the UN on the phone all morning complaining, they say they have to go if he tells them to but they are not happy about it. And …’ he remembers the worst bit ‘…Johnson’s staff called and says that she is very concerned about the events and doesn’t want to see the chance for peace slip away so she is bringing forward her visit to the province to see Rukuba in person and seek assurances from him.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’ Alex rests his forehead in his hand. ‘When’s she coming?’

  ‘Next week, 7th July. They will be contacting you shortly about security.’

  Alex takes a deep breath and thinks.

  Eventually he says, ‘OK, look, see Rukuba today and just settle things down. We have to present a calm front as far as the outside world is concerned. If we start telling people that the situation is out of control then Rukuba might do something rash and it will get out of control.

  ‘We just need time to talk and all get back on the same page. Johnson can have her visit, Rukuba will be charming and she’ll go away and we can get back to the job. He needs your money as much as you need him. I’m sure this will all blow over.’

  Fang has one last outburst and jabs his finger at him. ‘Yeah, and we need your guns and we pay your salary so you do what we say, OK!’

  The President of the United States, Asani Jaafar, looks at his Secretary of State. ‘Patricia, I am not saying you can’t go, I am just saying that we need to think carefully about it.’

  He always makes sure he uses her full name; he tried ‘Patti’ once when they were running against each other for the Democratic nomination and it didn’t go down well. She’s a determined character and that’s why he invited her inside his government rather than have her causing trouble outside it.

  He turns on some of his famous charm and smiles warmly at her. She doesn’t look happy but presses her lips together and refrains from saying whatever it was she was about to say. It’s 2nd July, two days after Rukuba’s independence day speech and they are
discussing US policy towards the new state.

  The cause of her annoyance is sitting across the table from her in the Oval Office. Admiral Harry Kruger is the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the senior military officer in the United States. He has white hair, wears a black admiral’s uniform and has a heavy-featured face with a belligerent look to it. He is super-smart, top in his year at Annapolis, and not very good at hiding it.

  Kruger chips in. ‘What I’m saying is, why can’t we send John?’

  He looks at John Ciacola who drops his gaze; he doesn’t want to become the reason why his boss doesn’t get to go on the trip that she has set her heart on.

  Patricia Johnson slowly places her hand on the table and speaks in a very measured tone to the admiral. ‘John has conducted the first phase of negotiations admirably, he has laid the groundwork very well for US relations with the Rukuba administration. But what we saw in Rukaba’s independence day speech was a worrying shift in policy towards exactly the sort of government system that we don’t want being advertised to the world.’

  She is really sincere about this and drops some of the control in her voice and levels with him. ‘Harry, if we look at this in terms of the long-term rise and fall of great powers, we know that the American democratic social model is under threat from Chinese managed capitalism. However, the situation at the moment in Kivu is very fluid; it is not a done deal. Rukuba is finding his feet and I believe that with a personal visit from me I can swing that balance.

  ‘At the end of the day, I do not want Kivu to go down in history as the turning point when we went eyeball to eyeball with the Chinese way of doing things and blinked. Not on my watch!’

  This rare display of passion from such a controlled person has an impact on Kruger and he actually stops himself from saying what he was about to say. He shuffles in his chair and clears his throat. ‘OK, well, I am merely contending that I am not confident from a military standpoint that we should approve the visit because we can’t cover you militarily. Our nearest fast air assets are with the Fifth Fleet in Bahrain, which is over two thousand miles away – i.e. they are ineffective. We have Combined Task Force 151 off the coast of Somalia but that is an anti-piracy operation and has only got helicopters. Otherwise I’ve got two Spectre gunships and some Rangers in Kenya but again that’s eight hundred miles away. The only thing that I can get there real quick would be cruise missiles from the USS Gettysburg with CTF 151.’