Vorotnikov gritted his teeth, his face white with the mixture of anger and fear that welled up within him. He should have known! He had been a fool. In battle he never made the mistake of underestimating his adversaries. Now, in this business, he had done precisely that. He breathed in deeply, knowing he could not afford to lose control at this vital stage of the proceedings.
They were equal now. His advantage was gone, for he had met his match. Bernard Aschaar might be the product of a corrupt Western democracy, but if he had been in the Party, he too would have risen to the top. Until Vorotnikov could find another way to undermine him, he would have to cooperate with Aschaar.
The General’s immediate worry now came to the surface. He had the money with which to solve the problem, but he didn’t have the contacts or the business acumen to strike the deal.
‘Mr Aschaar, there is one small difficulty. One of my men failed in the uncomplicated task of ordering armaments for the main assault. I need four thousand AK-47 assault rifles in a hurry.’
‘I am sure, with the right amount of money, General, something can be arranged.’
It irked Bernard to see the degeneration of Beira. In the past there had been a magnificent colonial harbour flanked by a beautifully laid-out town with outstanding tourist facilities. Now everything was run-down.
He calculated the lost revenue in tourism since independence, and heaved a heavy sigh. It would be an excellent challenge, to transform this place in a matter of years to its former beauty and profitability. Naturally, the harbour facilities would have to be expanded first, then work could begin on the rest of the city. All the poor could be moved to outlying areas - the creation of a ghetto was an excellent way of funding cheap labour and establishing a useful class of small-time criminals . . .
They entered the town on the Avenue Massano de Amorim and the General pointed out the bank. Further on, Bernard noted the dilapidated exterior of the Hotel Beira, and saw that most of the shops in the avenue were closed. They entered the Avenue Pedro Alvares Cabral and then turned right into the Avenue Major Serpa, heading for the area where all the consulates had been, at the edge of the harbour.
The sea and the harbour’s edge provided a refreshing change after the depressing spectre of the city centre. But the old consulates were filled with squatters now, and only a shadow of their former glory.
‘A fine victory for the people.’ Bernard could not help the sarcasm. He hated waste more than anything else. The order of things had to be restored.
‘Like most Westerners, you make the false assumption that Communism gives wealth to the people. As you will soon learn, it merely concentrates more power in the hands of the State. I do not approve of what has happened here but my country has to be careful.
‘Without wishing to offend the people of Mozambique, I have to say that many countries appear to think they can borrow our expertise to achieve revolution, and then dispense with us. With our help, this country has overthrown its Portuguese tyrants, but what has it achieved on its own? There is no proper government and no functioning economy here. These people need us. They have no choice.’
‘Precisely.’ Bernard stared across at the General as he spoke. ‘The Soviet of United African States. My dream, Mr Aschaar. A whole continent for my country, an achievement that might make me even more famous than Lenin.’
‘You are ambitious.’
‘What other reason is there for being alive?’
Bernard laughed long and loudly as the harbour disappeared out of sight through the back windscreen, and the beautiful beaches of the Indian Ocean coastline came into view.
Mr Siva Singh stayed late at the bank. He had much to do. The stakes were high and Siva wanted to make sure that he was up to them. His reputation was good and his knowledge in these matters excellent; this was his chance to enter the big league - something he wanted very badly. Still, Mr Aschaar was not a man to be dealt with lightly. He had guessed, when General Vorotnikov first arrived in Beira, that something big was about to take place. Now, with the appearance of Aschaar, he was sure of it.
Aschaar scared him. Meeting him at the bank this afternoon, for the first time, Mr Singh had judged him to be quite ruthless; one false move, and Aschaar would undoubtedly have his enemies eliminated. Siva Singh had only taken money from small operators before, he had never swindled the big fish. He had sensed that he had already been appraised from afar, Mr Aschaar’s minions had pored over his history, checked his professional record. Now Mr Aschaar had transferred a very large sum of money into the bank, and Mr Singh wanted to make quite certain that everything about the transfer was correct, and that nothing had been unnecessarily charged for.
At last, satisfied, he took the books into the vault and carefully secured the door. He indicated to the guard that he was about to leave and that his chauffeur should be notified. The security system was not wonderful, but with the Russian army to protect him, he had little to worry about. Secure in the knowledge of a rosy future, Mr Singh left the bank at 8.15 p.m.
Larry Preston squinted through the narrow gap in the white paint on the window and noted that the manager was now leaving the bank. At least someone else was working overtime, he thought to himself. He was still not feeling so good after his experience in the boot of the car yesterday morning.
At first the bank had looked as though it would be a pushover. The one guard could easily be overpowered, then in with the explosives and out with whatever they could carry. But the large number of Russian troops he had seen patrolling up and down the street in heavy trucks bothered Larry. He understood now why Captain Gallagher had spent so long preparing this operation.
It wasn’t a case of simply beating the hell out of a vastly inferior force. Now Larry realised why the money for this job was so good and the entry requirements had been so steep. Other men would have banged on the boot of the car if they had been suffocating . . . Only men like himself, who really knew what danger was about and had the guts to die quietly, had qualified for this mission. It would be no picnic.
Rayne was on edge. Dinner with the two Russians was proving to be far more exacting than he had anticipated.
They had met Ivan and Carl at the Grande Hotel, some two kilometres away from the Hotel Beira. They were shown into a private dining room, and after they’d agreed on the wine, an uneasy silence had fallen.
‘You have been in Beira for long, gentlemen?’ Rayne had asked eventually.
Ivan replied eagerly. ‘For over a year, in fact. I have not returned to Russia since we arrived. I don’t know how I’ve stuck it for so long.’
‘Does anything interesting happen here?’
‘General Vorotnikov has arrived. He’s in a foul mood. There’s talk that he’s still smarting about a captured American journalist who gave him the slip. He’s offered an all-expenses-paid holiday on the Black Sea and an instant promotion to any man who can find her! Can you believe it? Just to find a bloody woman. He must have a crush on her.’
Rayne’s curiosity was aroused. Perhaps the journalist was a friend of Sam’s. ‘You don’t know her name?’
‘What was it again? Samantha. Samantha Elliot. Evidently she’s an attractive lady!’
Rayne spilt his wine over the tablecloth. Guy looked at him nervously, and Carl immediately homed in on him. ‘You know of her, Mr Brand?’
‘Yes, the bitch was in Vietnam.’
This appeared to satisfy Carl, but Rayne’s pulse was racing. He had to find out more. Luckily Ivan was voluble on the subject.
‘Naturally, the whole camp can talk of nothing else. Two ZANLA men abducted her from the prison in the barracks. One was in the top echelons of ZANLA, Tongogara.’
‘Where did she come from?’
‘Rumour has it that she was captured by a ZANLA unit on the eastern border of Rhodesia. Researching a story, no doubt. Bloody stupid, if you ask me. They dragged her off to one of their bases, then some idiot tried to rape her. He didn’t get far because Vorotnikov flew i
n on a white charger and whisked her off to Beira.’
They all laughed dutifully at this point, then waited for Ivan to continue.
‘I wish General Vorotnikov would forget the whole business. I mean, have you seen a blonde white woman walking around here lately? The only white women here are the Portuguese whores who operate out of the old American consulate in the Mouzinho de Albuquerque, and they certainly aren’t blonde.’
Rayne stared down at his plate, willing himself to eat the crayfish the waiter had just placed in front of him. He knew what the Russians had done to the prawn beds that lay off the coast of Mozambique - dredged the channel and shipped most of the prawns off to the USSR to use as fertiliser. A staple industry wiped out - and no doubt the same thing would soon happen to the crayfish . . . Sam. Where in hell was she? What would the Russians do with her if they found her?
Carl said, ‘So, my friends, you have heard a lot about us, but we have heard little about you. What brings you to this part of the world, Bruce Brand?’
Rayne smiled at the Russian good-naturedly. ‘Henri and I are traders. We’ve come here because we can see some very good business opportunities. You’ve been open with us, so I’ll return the courtesy: we sell weapons. Of course, we’ve other sidelines, but gun-running is our main occupation.’
‘I could have you arrested. Right now.’
Rayne could feel himself breaking out into a sweat. Had he overplayed his hand? ‘Our business is dangerous, Carl. We’re always taking risks - you can’t have a wife and children in our line. I’ve seen war in Africa for the last fifteen years and I know nothing will change. I can’t think of a better continent for business.’
‘You think there will be war in Mozambique?’
‘There is perpetual war in Mozambique.’
Ivan and Carl laughed. It amused them that Rayne wasn’t scared of the truth. Rayne saw the moment was right to strengthen his links with them.
‘May I be frank? Henri and I may do business with you yet. Armies, in my experience, have a habit of running short of things, especially when the pressure steps up. You would be surprised if you knew some of the countries in Africa I have sold weapons to. The trick in our game is: always deliver what you promise.’
Carl smiled at Rayne conspiratorially. ‘But how do you make sure that you get paid?’
‘We have our means.’
‘I would hate to think what those are. How long do you intend to stay in Beira?’
‘It’s all a question of wait-and-see. My gut feelings tell me that we must be here for a month.’
‘The Russian army would never buy from you!’
Rayne smiled. ‘Officially no, but maybe behind the scenes. I actually prefer that sort of arrangement.’
The arrival of the second course put a fortunate stop to the conversation. Ice-cream and chocolate sauce were of more interest to the two Russians than illegal arms deals. Carefully, Rayne steered the talk back to the topic that was now dominant in his mind.
‘If Henri and I were to find the American journalist, what reward would your General Vorotnikov give us?’
‘He would most likely kill you!’
‘We would organise the deal properly. No money, no journalist. You must understand that.’
Carl frowned. ‘Vorotnikov would pay you if he had to. The holiday by the Black Sea is a big incentive for us, but obviously not for you two.’
‘Henri and I will definitely spend the next couple of days searching for this woman. I think we will start at the brothel, eh Henri!’
‘Yes, it will be a pleasant change from the bullets and shells.’ They all raised their glasses and Carl proposed a toast. ‘To the blonde American journalist. May the best man have her!’
Rayne grimaced. He would kill any man who did.
Sam was worried. They had tried to smuggle her out on board a boat, but failed, and she knew she was becoming a burden to them; if they were caught, they would all be put to death by the Russians. She wished there was some way that she could help but all she could do was obey their instructions and sit here in this small thatched hut, out of view of anyone in the small village. There was no light inside the hut, so all she could do was to peer in between the reeds of the wall and watch the life of the village outside. They had brought her here two days earlier.
She saw no reason for hope; time was running out very quickly. The men in the village had heard that they would have to join their comrades for a final assault. What form this attack would take they didn’t know, but it was rumoured to be an all-out push for Salisbury. Perhaps she was lucky. From what she had learnt over the past few days, she guessed that no one in Salisbury would be safe once the attack began.
She wondered where Rayne was. Why had he let her down? How could he just have left without saying goodbye? Had he heard yet that she had disappeared? She couldn’t know that in the American and British papers there had been extensive coverage of her disappearance and that she was now classified as missing, presumed dead.
The simple diet of sadza and water that she was given agreed with her system. Occasionally a girl from the village brought her fresh fruit. They were all so desperately poor; real freedom, for them, would be freedom from their poverty. Most of the villagers were illiterate, had never seen the inside of a schoolroom in their lives. Many of them had earned a living on the big British sugar plantations before independence. Now those plantations were deserted, overgrown and neglected. Many of the fittest and ablest young men had gone to South Africa to work on the mines. Their wives waited for them, hoping that they would not find some other woman in the giant, sprawling townships they had heard so much about.
Living in the little village had taught Sam much about the way the majority of people still lived in Mozambique. She had befriended one of the women, an aristocratic beauty whose English was excellent.
Many of those men who left to find work did not return, but chose instead to live illegally in the South African townships. They threw away their roots, Sam’s friend told her, and drifted through the townships like men without purpose on the sea of life.
Sam was surprised that this woman, like the others from the village, treated her with so much courtesy, when she brought danger into their lives and was a part of the civilisation they supposedly rejected. It took her some time to realise that they bore her no ill feelings, that they were in fact a peace-loving people.
She was pleased when Tongogara came at midnight. She depended on his company and the reassurance his presence gave her. He sat down next to her and she rested her hand on his leg.
Over the days that had passed she felt herself more and more attracted to him.
She turned her face to his, and was irresistibly drawn to his lips. They kissed softly for a minute, then he pushed her gently away.
‘Sam, this is madness.’
‘Everything in this place is madness, Tongogara. There’s nothing wrong with the way I feel about you.’
‘There is everything wrong, Sam, a world of wrong.’
She watched his face, barely visible in the darkness. She owed this man her life many times over, but that was not why she felt so much for him. Perhaps it was because he was strong, tougher than any of the soldiers he commanded, a man who was prepared to take risks and didn’t care for the opinion of others, only for his own.
‘Everything in my life that has caused problems has been white. My struggle is against the white man. You . . .’ He could not carry on. She looked up into his eyes and took his hand. At least he would allow her to do that.
‘Yes, I am white. But I am also a bridge. I take you to a place you do not want to go.’
He put his arms around her, kissing her long and hard. She was thrilled by his passion - and she could feel the fear in him too.
‘What’s wrong?’ she said softly.
‘The Russians are hunting for me and Mnangagwa. My comrades in ZANLA cannot be trusted, I know they would betray me.’
‘Why?’
&n
bsp; ‘It is because I don’t agree with this attack they’re planning. The Russians have too much control.’
Sam felt scared. It could be a bloodbath.
‘When will it happen?’
‘Not yet, because Vorotnikov does not yet have guns for ZANLA.’ He paused. ‘He is playing a bigger game than we understand, this Russian general. He does not intend to give us real power, I know it. I should have him killed.’
‘Another would have to come in his place, maybe even worse.’ ‘You are too wise, Sam. I have fought long and hard, I want the power to help my people. There are strange things happening, the pressures are building up on us all. It is as if some have been selected by the Russians and some have not; as if they have secret plans for after the takeover.’
‘You must get away, Tongogara. General Vorotnikov will have you killed.’
‘That’s my problem, not yours, Sam. I wish I could help you get away, but I can’t take you any further north. The Gorongosa National Park area is dangerous, and Zambezia and Nampula are even worse. If I could skirt left of the park along the borders of the Manica and Sofala provinces, I might be able to get you to Mutarara, which is about a hundred kilometres from the Malawi border. The danger there is from the MNR. If they found you, they would kill you.’
He sank forwards, holding his head between his hands. ‘I can’t think of a way to get you out at present. You’ll have to stay in this village. If something does happen to me, Mnangagwa will come and help you.’
‘But Tongogara, why don’t you just make for the border with me? Come back when things are safer.’
‘A lifetime of waiting and my wife dead for the cause - I cannot turn back now, I would be betraying myself. I cannot explain to you how it will feel to be able to walk in the land of my birth knowing that I do not have to fear arrest, that I am not a second-class citizen. Independence on our own terms!’
Hyena Dawn Page 26