Black Reef

by Nick Elliott

  ‘We returned here, to this apartment. Every day we spoke with them by telephone. Then things got worse and there were no communications. Eventually we learned from others who got out what had happened. The soldiers led by the Mendesas – they were savages not soldiers – had come to the house with machetes and butchered them: my father, Nicolau, all our staff.’ Her voice was breaking as she spoke. ‘Do you know what our house, our home became for a while, until the Mendesas built a mansion for themselves on the coast? It was taken over by the Minister of Security: Jawad Mendesa’s father. He was their spymaster, a torturer and an executioner. There was and still is no justice as we know it. Anyone who opposes the state, and the rule of the bastardo Eduardo Loma, who calls himself president nowadays, is imprisoned and very often tortured before being executed.

  ‘After independence, Loma’s uncle seized all the land and the properties of the Portuguese and handed them to his cronies. Loma – his own nephew – murdered him in the 1990s . I know, it’s confusing but it is all about nepotism there now, and it is chaos. Such a beautiful land ruined. I’ve never been back but every day I think of it, of how it was in my childhood.’

  She walked over to a small cabinet in the corner of the room. She moved with a natural, languid grace. She selected a vinyl record from a cupboard, placed it on a turntable and the strains of Fado music filled the room.

  ‘Amalia Rodrigues: do you know of her?’

  ‘No. Pedro took me to a restaurant where there was Fado. The music is haunting, sad.’

  ‘You haven’t heard of her? I can’t believe it,’ she chided. ‘She is dead now but is still our Queen of Fado.’

  The record was lightly scratched, which added to the melancholy sound of the music.

  ‘Do you like it, Mr McKinnon? It’s true, some of it is sad, but not all.’

  ‘Angus, please. Yes, I do. Pedro told me the songs are about women waiting for their menfolk to come back from the sea.’

  ‘Some are, yes. If it is sometimes forlorn then it suits our national psyche. And if some of the songs tell of women waiting for their menfolk to return, then perhaps that is why it is so poignant to me. Because so often they didn’t.

  ‘But let me tell you this,’ she went on, changing her tone. ‘The men who rule Kazunda have impoverished the land and terrorised its people. They rule with impunity, not through any democratic process or by rule of law, only through a false sense of entitlement, through greed and the craving for power. And I would like nothing better than to see them overthrown. But by Jawad Mendesa? No! He is no better than the rest of them.’

  ‘So what of the future?’

  ‘We retornados have not abandoned the land where we were born and grew up. But we feel helpless, and many are old now. I would make a stand. I would return there if I thought I could make a difference. And if you go there then I will accompany you.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’ll need to go,’ I said. ‘And even if I do, from what you say it would be dangerous for you to return there.’

  ‘I know the place and the people. I still have contacts there, old friends. It was my childhood home. You will need a guide. It is not an easy place to move around in. And I can certainly help you get a visa through the Embassy here. But if there is to be a coup it will not be safe there. You will need someone who knows the place.’

  ‘Tell me more about the country,’ I said altering the course of the conversation. ‘I’ve read its forests and wildlife are under threat: illegal logging, hunting for bush meat …’

  ‘Yes, the Rio Chitoka Basin, along with the Congo, makes up one of the most important wilderness areas left on earth. Away from the coast the country contains rivers, forests and swamps. It is teeming with life: lowland and mountain gorillas, chimpanzees, forest elephants and over three-hundred other species of mammals; a thousand species of birds; and six hundred species of fish. And there are approximately six thousand species of tropical plants in the Rio Chitoka Basin.

  ‘Kazunda has been inhabited by humans for more than fifty thousand years. There are over a hundred ethnic groups and outside Kazunda City their lives and wellbeing are linked directly and intimately to the forest.

  ‘The people there are among the poorest on earth and yet it produces more oil than anywhere else in Africa, and there are proven diamond deposits in the mountains and possibly off the coast too. But all this means nothing if it cannot be shared amongst the people. So you understand, the struggle must continue: A luta continua! we say. The struggle continues. It was the rallying cry of the FRELIMO movement during Mozambique’s war for independence, but we have adopted it.’

  She had become fervent again, her eyes burning. ‘If you go, then promise me you will take me, please!’

  ‘The best I can do is promise to let you know and we can meet again. As you say, I might need help getting a visa.’

  ‘I will return one day, somehow,’ she said, speaking more pensively now. ‘And if there is to be a coup, then there may be opportunities to restore stability, if not democracy. I may not get another chance. But do not underestimate me, Angus. I am a very determined woman.’

  She didn’t need to tell me that.

  Chapter 12

  Grant Douglas had ensconced himself in a deluxe suite at the Palacio Hotel in Estoril, twenty minutes down the coast from Lisbon. It was his kind of place, he said.

  ‘Did you know that because this country was neutral during the war half the European royals pitched up here to escape the chaos back in their homelands? They stayed in a kind of enforced upmarket exile. It was known as the Coast of Kings.’

  He went on to tell me how, while the Palacio was the favoured home of the royals, it was also the haunt of German and British agents who used to drink in the hotel bar and, it is said, even socialised together. ‘Even the chambermaids were on one side or the other,’ he continued, ‘and sexy suntanned German agents posing as Swiss neutrals would lie out on the beach ready to seduce lonely Allied agents missing their home comforts. I’ve been reading all about it. Every night the casino was packed with aristocrats, spies, diamond smugglers … They say even back then it left Casablanca, the movie I mean, in the shade. Imagine that will you? Casablanca on steroids!’

  ‘Changed days eh, Grant. Just you and me now. Have you been to the hospital?’

  ‘Sure, yesterday. The kid’s in a bad way but they say she’ll pull through. You saw her, right?’

  ‘Yes. She was still unconscious and on the ventilator. That was two days ago.’

  ‘She was conscious when I went. Asking where you were, of course. I spoke to the doctor too. They’re optimistic but it’ll take time. She needs a bit of surgery.’

  ‘I’m going to the hospital when we’re done here. But I’m worried about her safety in that place. I spoke to Summers and he said he’d arranged something.’

  ‘She’s safe there, don’t worry. They’ve got a full security detail on it. Summers has my back too but he said you didn’t want a minder. Is that wise?’

  ‘Yes, I saw your guys when I came in. Inconspicuous they were not. I’m watching out for myself thanks, so don’t worry about me.’

  He laughed. ‘I won’t. It’s your funeral, and you’re deniable anyway.’

  ‘Thanks. What about the children? Is Edward there?’

  ‘No. He’s in the States on business. The kids are staying in Edinburgh – I’ve told Phyllis to keep an eye on them. And the nanny’s there too, of course. Her mother’s coming down to visit her here.’

  ‘Do you think that’s enough? For the kids I mean,’ I asked. ‘Shouldn’t we have a proper security team assigned to them?’ After what had happened to Zoe only months before I was getting concerned for the welfare of anyone associated with the IMTF, even indirectly.

  ‘You’re right. I’ll get onto it. But I want to hear your theories as to who did this. First you, then Claire? They could have killed both of you but they didn’t. Why?’

  ‘I’d like to know the answer to that too. They’re either
careless or they have a convincing way of scaring off people they don’t get along with.’ I told him about my meeting with Mariana and what she’d said about Mendesa.

  ‘I’m guessing that Mendesa got wind of us via his contacts in Credit Sud and Banco Imperio. I gather Claire was on her way back from a meeting with a contact from Banco Imperio when she got hit. And I’d only just learned about Mendesa from Gudrun Sandmeier when they had a go at me. They knew exactly how to find us both. I’m theorising of course, about Mendesa being behind it.’ I added. ‘We all have enemies: people we’ve upset in the past.

  ‘But I want to hear what you know and how you want to play this, Grant. Then we might have a clearer idea of what they’re up to.’

  I still wasn’t sure what the end game was supposed to be but I knew he had something in mind or I wouldn’t be sitting in front of him now.

  ‘Okay, let me tell you how I see it,’ he said getting up from the sofa and walking over to close the balcony doors, either because he was cold or he thought the seagulls were listening in.

  ‘We got this guy Mendesa. And I can tell you this: he’s a figurehead and no more. It’s the goddamn Russkies behind this scenario. They want more of the African pie. They’re sick of seeing the Chinese and the West with all the influence, all the contracts whether it’s oil offshore or minerals in the mountains. So let me give you a little lesson in geopolitics.’

  ‘I’m all ears,’ I said. I’d already had one from Benny Carasso but it doesn’t do any harm to cross-reference the intel you gather.

  ‘Okay. Back in the days of the good ol’ USSR, the Soviets were handing out money, arms and manpower into left-leaning anticolonial movements like candy. Their presence in Africa was big. Then with the collapse of the Soviet Union it all went south for them and Russia didn’t have the resources or the will to really get behind the old strategy.

  ‘But hey, twenty-odd years on and they’re at it again, establishing a big flat foothold across the whole continent. Sure, China’s got the march on them but Russia’s interests in Africa are plentiful too now. Africa’s a political opportunity to ease their isolation and lend credibility to their claim to world superpower status. If you want proof, look at the stats. Russia’s trade with Africa has increased ten-fold so far this century already.

  ‘Now then,’ he said, getting into the subject. This was what Grant was good at. ‘Let’s look at where they’re investing: a four billion dollar deal to build and operate a crude oil refinery in Uganda; another three billion to develop a platinum mine in Zimbabwe. And that’s just in the last few months. I’ve heard they’re looking at dredging offshore for sea diamonds too, on the west coast. These are not small-change deals but if you think that’s it, then look at the arms they’re supplying. They’re not scrupulous like us when it comes to equipping these basket-case armies with weapons.’

  ‘That’s pretty rich coming from a CIA man, Grant.’

  ‘Who said I’m CIA? Okay, but wait. What about Kazunda? You don’t see any Russkies drinking in the bars down there. No Russian-built oil refineries, no Russian tanks on display. Why? Because we have leverage. El Presidente, this guy Eduardo Loma, he’s in our pocket.’

  ‘He’s a ruthless, murdering despot from what I hear. So this is all about oil, right?’

  ‘Dead right it is. The Kazunda Coastal Oil Company, forty-nine percent owned by Sea-En Oil & Gas Inc. of Houston, Texas. They’re pumping half a million barrels a day but that’s the least of it. Kazundan reserves are estimated at forty billion barrels. That’s more than Nigeria’s. Kazunda is Africa’s richest nation in terms of energy resources. And the US is taking the oil and paying the Kazundan government fifty-one percent of the proceeds, virtually none of which finds its way into the domestic economy because Loma and his cronies are stuffing their pockets with it.’

  ‘So what’s Uncle Sam doing about that?’

  ‘I admit, not a lot. We make protestations in the UN. Loma’s promised to hold free elections by the end of the year, which is a few short weeks away. He won’t of course, which suits Uncle Sam fine. Sure, you can look like that, but I’m talking realpolitik here. Which brings us right back to the present situation. Mendesa’s cut a deal with his pals in the GRU, the Russkies’ military intelligence service. And they’re the ones who are behind the Dalmatia Star charter.’

  How did he know all this? It was a reminder that I wasn’t the only one investigating the case. Grant had access to intelligence material I’d never get within a mile of.

  ‘And Horvat’s the broker, right?’

  ‘Broker, case officer, fixer … He’s an old pal of the GRU going back to the Balkan wars in the nineties. And you can probably blame him for Babic’s murder as well.’

  ‘He said he’d arrived in Lisbon the same day as me. Can we get that checked?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘He could have boarded the ship the previous night, committed the murder then returned to Lisbon.’

  ‘How would he do that? I thought they kept a gangway watch? Anyway, the accommodation ladder would have been up wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, but he could have used a rope and grappling hook to climb over the side, if he was skilled. He certainly looked strong enough. More likely he had one or more of the crewmembers help him.’ I silently cursed myself for not having taken a copy of the crew list off the ship.

  ‘And you think Horvat is still on the ship?’

  ‘As far as I know. I’ll ask Pedro if he can find out. I don’t want to go direct to Lopes, the agent. He’s the guy who tipped off Banco Imperio I was in town. And they’re in on all this, for sure. But going back to the big picture, what you’re saying is the CIA wants to thwart Mendesa’s Russian-backed coup in order to keep Loma in power and maintain the status quo. Is that how you see it?’

  ‘In realpolitik terms, yes, exactly. You’ve got the picture.’

  ‘Not quite. You haven’t told me how you’re going to do it.’

  ‘Need-to-know basis, buddie, need-to-know. But you’ll be in on it once we get down there, don’t worry.’

  ‘That’s not good enough, Grant. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me how this plays out.’

  We stared at each other until finally he broke the silence. ‘Did I ever tell you about my time in Laos back in the seventies?’

  ‘You’ve mentioned it in the past. You said you were just a REMF.’

  ‘Okay, maybe I was rear echelon back in Vientiane. I was a young guy. I wanted to do my bit up there at Long Tieng but I was a law student not a seasoned agent or a fly-boy like the Air America guys and the Ravens. I went up there a few times. What a place. They said it was the busiest airport in the world measured by daily take-offs and landings.’

  ‘Yes, and Laos was and still is the most heavily bombed country in the world – ever.’

  ‘That may be so, but the purpose of the CIA being in Laos was exactly the same as why we need to be in Kazunda now. We were fighting the tide of Communism then. And now the Russians are at it again. Only it’s called Putinism this time. But I don’t see a big difference between then and now.’

  That was a bit of a stretch but I let it go. I sensed Grant had unfinished business. I had the feeling he regretted not being given a more active role back in Laos and saw Kazunda as an opportunity to redeem himself. I waited for him to continue.

  ‘I’ve got contacts down there. An Air America pilot who went bamboo back in Laos then pitched up in Angola when we had that little war going with the Soviets. UNITA was our proxy and the Cubans were fighting on behalf of the Sovs. This guy Carlos Cordeiro was a Portuguese American. He’d rejoined the Cousins by this time so was cosying up to the Soviet- and Cuban-backed MPLA – the People's Movement for the Liberation of Angola. He was feeding high-grade intel back to Langley. One of the best doubles we had back then.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘He’s still with us under non-official cover and providing good intelligence on what’s going down politically in Kazunda. And he�
�s the guy who found out that a small platoon of mercenaries boarded the Dalmatia Star off the coast of Morocco a week ago.’

  This was the first I’d heard of mercenaries boarding the ship. ‘So what’s the plan? You and I go down there with six-guns blazing, right?’

  ‘I told you about Sea-En Oil & Gas. They’ve got a semi-submersible floatel – a living-quarters platform located bang in the middle of the main oilfield, nine miles off the coast: the Sea-En Resolution. Within the past week we’ve had surveillance and comms equipment fitted specific to this operation, manned by a team of surveillance experts. And we’ve got a team of Navy SEALS on board too. We’re heading down there tomorrow.’

  ‘Then what?’

  He turned to face me. ‘We put a stop to Mendesa and his gang by all means at our disposal. But understand this: what we don’t do is create a direct confrontation between Russia and the United States of America.’

  ‘A proxy war then?’

  ‘Let’s just call it an operation.’

  ‘Why do we do this, Grant?’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Us, the Cousins, the Russkies. We back maniacs like Loma and Mendesa then when it all goes wrong we spend the next fifty years or more dodging all the crap from the politicians, the media, our own people. Korea, Vietnam, Laos, Chile, Nicaragua, Afghanistan, Iraq … It never seems to work out how it’s supposed to.’

  ‘You’re being a little naïve aren’t you? If you’re talking about the CIA, they intervene in good faith to fight the spread of communism, or today, the less than benign influence of the Russians, and give the local folk a better shot at a prosperous future.’

  ‘At the hands of a Loma or Mendesa? Now who’s being naïve? If these places are to move on then we need to make a bit more of an effort to identify the right kind of local people and support them: in conflict if necessary, but in building a good peace afterwards.’