by Barry Klemm
Lorna had determined, some time ago, that she must use all of her powers to seduce Harley Thyssen and see what could be learned on the pillow. That little matter began to become extremely overdue.
“Okay, can we begin?” Lorna asked, innocently.
“Please do.”
“We wish to prepare a documentary program to go to air on Sunday night, at prime time, and be immediately available for syndication on all networks right around the world within twenty-four hours.”
“Prime time Sunday—in competition with the network movies, no doubt,” Katrina savaged.
“No. Beforehand. 7.30.”
“Against Sixty Minutes. Are you kidding?”
“I think Thirty-eight Minutes are about to get creamed, Katrina,” Lorna smiled. “I believe that when you hear the content of the program, there will be no problem with the timeslot demand.”
“Oh why not. Are you sure you don’t want to go up against The Simpsons?”
Lorna stayed calm, where Katrina was losing it completely. It was a joy to watch. “The production will be hosted by myself and Andromeda Starlight jointly, and will be provided to you as a package. The intention is to explain to the world in general just exactly what is going on, what we know about the Shastri Effect, dispel all the myths and rumours and generally put the whole matter straight.”
“This is with a view to—what?” Katrina demanded with a frown and a shake of her head—as if someone had kicked her in it. But Roy stepped in quietly—he was a blessed relief. “I presume we are looking at a build-up to the Apocalypse...”
“Quite so,” Lorna said. “Including details on what we can expect, and when.”
“Won’t we look rather silly if the dates are wrong?”
“That is another of the issues. People do seem to keep worrying about how they’ll cope after the end of the world.”
“Is that what you’ll be talking about? The end of the world?” Roy gasped.
“Not entirely. Just the facts on the Shastri Effect as they are known at this stage.”
“Well I hardly...” Katrina began.
But Lorna cut her off sharply. “That’s just the build up, of course.”
“To the next prediction?” Roy guessed.
“Exactly.”
“By which you mean,” Katrina burst in, wounded but far from incapacitated. “Professor Thyssen’s prediction, as opposed to the official one.”
“I do indeed.”
“But surely the customary news release will be the more appropriate outlet,” Roy was saying grimly.
“You haven’t heard the prediction yet,” Lorna said.
“You mean you know it?” Roy gasped.
“I know Professor Thyssen’s preliminary guess. The confirmation will occur before Sunday.”
“You mean you intend to keep something like this secret until Sunday night?” Roy said—he was beginning to sound as shrill as Katrina.
“The President of the United States has known the preliminary guess for two months and has seen no reason to make it public. However, the full assessment of the data will take until the weekend, after which, Sunday is the most appropriate release date.”
“If the release is approved by the White House?” Katrina spluttered.
“Whether it is or not.”
“But, for the moment, we are going on the basis of the guess?” Roy worried.
“He’s been right every time so far, remember?”
“But what is this... this guess?” Katrina cried in outrage.
“Are you sure you want to know?”
“Of course we do!” Katrina hated it.
“Surely you see, Miss Simmons,” Roy said with an edge to his voice. “That we would need some idea in order to justify the prime time demand.”
“Right now, only the Professor, the President and myself know about it. I’m happy to pass it on but think of the threat that a leak would be to your exclusivity.”
“But we cannot offer exclusivity unless you give us some idea.”
“And,” Katrina had to add. “Obviously, that would affect the price of exclusive rights...”
“It will be a fixed price, whether exclusive or not.”
“I’m afraid we cannot deal on that basis, Miss Simmons,” Katrina was sure.
But Lorna could see she had them. Roy was regarding her now with grave concern. He knew there would be a deal, that they would have no choice, and he knew that Lorna would know that. Lorna was enjoying her moment of supreme power.
“Just exactly what sort of ballpark figure are we talking about here?” Roy asked in that quieter, slightly embarrassed tone that people always adopted when it came down to the bottom line.
“I should think the largest sum of money ever paid by any network for any one-hour, one-off program in the short but spectacular history of television,” Lorna said blithely.
“Which is how much?” Katrina demanded.
“I don’t know. Check the records and you tell me.”
“I’m not standing for any more of this,” Katrina said and she was standing too. “It’s a con...”
“Exclusive rights always are,” Lorna said quietly. “But, do bear in mind that all such moneys will be poured directly into the project and devoted entirely to the purpose of saving lives.”
“Oh my God, now she’s the Salvation Army...”
“Project Earthshaker, Katrina, is a non-profit organisation.”
“Miss Simmons, you cannot...” but Katrina got no further.
“And we will refund every penny if you’re disappointed.”
The silence grew in the room like a nuclear mushroom cloud, and one by one they turned and stared.
“It’s that big?” Roy gasped with sudden realisation.
“Yes, it is.”
“It’s the big one,” he cried as the knowledge firmed like concrete within him.
“Do we have a deal?” Lorna asked with eyebrows raised benignly.
“We do.”
“Believe me. We need the money. There is no possibility that you’ll be disappointed.”
*
For two days they were marched along the ridgelines and through the valleys of the mountains to the west of Lake Nyasa. Even Wagner, and certainly Fabrini, struggled in the oppressive heat while the locals lost none of the spring from their stride. The lengthy and arduous trek, Wagner was certain, was a meandering one designed to obscure the actual location of the camp, poised as it was above the capital, preparing for the final assault. Twice they were ambushed by government troops but the leader of the march had the wisdom to run most of his force to the flanks of the central group, and the contacts were soon forced wide and away from them.
They had finally entered Malawi without official permission, by helicopter and landed in the town of Kasungu, the nearest settlement, they had been assured, to the main rebel camp. There they made it known they wished to speak to the rebel leader, Mombatu. No one had ever heard of him in Kasungu. Then, in the night as they left the only tavern in town where plainly Carlsberg had the beer monopoly, they were accosted by men with machineguns who made it plain they should follow.
They were taken in trucks at first, and then on foot through dense forest. Fabrini ran out of patience on the first day and by the second was too exhausted to continue his grumbling. He had nasty blisters on his feet to keep him quiet. Wagner strode on, but even he was becoming no less blistered and frustrated.
Then they were in the camp, and the only real way of knowing was that the population of men in rags with shining new Kalashnikov’s slowly began to increase until they were all around, watching quietly with suspicious eyes. Mombatu was just another man in rags, although he was a little fatter than the rest, and could offer flamboyant gestures in comparison to his sullen, taciturn troops. He spoke in the sort of perfect rhythmic English that only blacks can achieve.
“Ahh, Mr. Wagner, welcome to our humble headquarters.”
“A pleasure to arrive,” Wagner replied.
“Nevertheless, do please forgive us the runaround. There are security measures that need to be taken, of the sort of which I am sure you are well acquainted.”
Wagner was determined not to admit anything. “I suppose you are Mr. Mombatu.”
“Please. Colonel is my official rank. You should adopt one for yourself.” Mombatu said and looked appropriately proud of himself.
“I am a civilian, Colonel. Just a tourist, really. At least that’s what my passport says.”
The truth was, Mombatu was no different to the lethargic and officious border guards who seemed to make their own rules when stamping the visas and searching the luggage. The rebel leader might have been embarrassed on their behalf.
“Such formalities mean little here. My goodness, Mr. Fabrini, you do look most unwell. A chair in the shade and a drink for our visitors. Handsomely, now.”
Mombatu snapped his fingers, and men even more lethargic than Fabrini responded. They were seated and Carlsberg was provided, and Mombatu sat before them, in the sun, his hands on his knees they way schoolboys do in class photographs.
“You declare yourself a tourist, Mr. Wagner, and yet you come to my country with troops and combat equipment of the most sophisticated kind.”
Wagner jerked his head toward the plain below. “Since the earthquake, it’s chaos down there, Colonel, as you well know. The rioters have already overthrown the government on your behalf and the government troops have been driven out of the city and most of the major towns. Those troops lie between you and the seat of government, fighting for their lives because they know they’ll be butchered to a man if they surrender. Now both sides are gathering into their tribal groups and taking on all others. There is wholesale slaughter everywhere.”
“Ah, and since, as you say, the government has fallen, you must switch your allegiance from them to us.”
“We are on neither side, and want to make with you exactly the same arrangement that we have with the government, without fear or favour.”
“A barbed wire fence cannot be the most comfortable kind to sit on, Mr. Wagner.”
“We have to be able to work with whichever side wins this conflict, and with both sides while the conflict remains unresolved.”
“A most audacious demand, Mr. Wagner. In this state of total propaganda, how can we be sure of your intentions?”
“You must listen to the foreign radio broadcasts?”
Mombatu offered a look of mock horror. “Against the law, as you know.”
“Will it remain against the law when you have the power, Colonel?” Wagner asked slyly.
“I do not seek power. I seek to free my people,” Mombatu declared with assurance.
No doubt, Wagner knew, after all of his opponents had been properly tortured and purged.
And maybe, Wagner considered, it was a natural law that brutal and barbaric men like this one were the only kind capable of overthrowing tyrannical governments. Certainly, for all his cheery manner, Mombatu looked the part.
“So do we,” Wagner was saying. “But we want to free your people from forces far more powerful than the government troops you fight against.”
“So it is said. Even I have the sense to fear your Professor Earthshaker, and his ability to control volcanoes. You would be dead already, were it not the case.”
“Perhaps half a million people have been snared by the Shastri Effect, Colonel. You must help us help them.”
Mombatu gave a helpless shrug. “The people have scattered. As you say, it is chaos down there. What you ask may not be possible in the circumstances.”
“Possible or not, it must be achieved,” Wagner said emphatically. In truth he wanted nothing more than to use his superior firepower to step on vermin like Mombatu, but knew he must not let his revulsion show. As with a savage dog, you needed to be firm and sure.
“And there is another little difficulty,” Mombatu said with another helpless expression.
Now we are coming to it, Wagner knew. After the impossible was accomplished, there were the strategic considerations to be dealt with.
“Which is?”
“The eruption of the volcano and the disappearance of the lake struck great fear into the hearts of my people, and many thousands of them fell into a sleep and did not awaken for many days.”
Wagner nodded as if such were everyday events. “These are the people we want to protect.”
“But this remarkable event was a sign from the gods. It was the instruction to rise up and overthrow their tyrannical masters, once and for all.”
“Yeah. The interesting thing about a propaganda press is that it can be made to work both ways,” Wagner said with fraying patience.
“The people you seek therefore lie at the heart of this popular revolution.”
“And they’ll remain that way,” Wagner said, and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, lowering his voice as if about to share a secret. “In just twelve days from now, all of those people will rise up and begin a pilgrimage. They will go as one, in a single direction.”
Mombatu frowned dubiously. “How do you know this?”
“Believe me,” Wagner said, nodding emphatically. “I can prove it to you, if I must.”
“I have seen the pictures and heard the words of these marches of the masses,” Mombatu admitted. “You think it will happen here too?”
“It will definitely happen here too. As I say, in twelve days time. We know the exact moment they will begin and the exact direction they will follow. And there will be half a million of them.”
“It will be a miracle,” Mombatu cried excitedly.
Wagner continued keeping his voice level and adamant. “When they go, the path before them must be declared a no man’s land. Before then, it must be cleared. Before then, the pilgrims must all be gathered such that when they move they do not stray outside the demilitarised zone.”
Mombatu’s mouth was open and he gazed all around, as if the right words might be captured like flies. “What you ask is preposterous...”
“You miss the point. All these things will happen. All I ask of you is that you cooperate and go along with it when it happens. I’m giving you the opportunity to exploit it to your advantage.. All you have to do is get your men to cooperate.”
Mombatu looked glum. He was sure that someone was trying to saw off a small branch of his power. And, when he thought about, he knew who, or thought he did. “My soldiers will do what I tell them... But why should I cooperate with an American, whose mysterious forces shall must come only under orders of the President of the U. S. A.”
It was a blind, to try and allow time for the rebel to think. But it was always hard for such men to think when the letters CIA were flashing before their eyes.
“You know I’m nothing of the kind,” Wagner declared with a lowered brow. “And I can control the path the pilgrims will follow. Think of it, half a million people, rebels and government troops alike, marching in a direct line to the capital. I can order the government troops to stop fighting and offer them an escape route, all you have to do is allow them to escape. I can make the pilgrims march directly to the palace, and all you have to do is walk in front of them.”
That was a better image. Mombatu smiled at the thought, savoured it, bathed in it. “How can you do this?”
“When at night the people have listened to the foreign radio and after the news programs have ended, isn’t there a single voice amongst the thousands of voices that they hear which reaches right into their hearts.”
“Is there?”
“You know there is.”
“Do I?”
Okay, we’ll do it the long slow way, Wagner was smiling to himself. He dangled the bait and the fish was eyeing it with growing hunger. “It is the voice that will call them all together and tell them which way to go. And they will follow, whether you help or not.”
“Tell me of this voice?” Mombatu gasped, as if he hardly dared think it.
“Andromeda Sta
rlight.”
There was a massive intake of air from all in earshot, and that seemed to include Fabrini. Wagner sat back, looking delighted with himself.
“She would come here and lead these people?” Mombatu spluttered.
“If you guarantee her safety, yes she will.”
“She is of the Maravi?” Mombatu frowned.
“She is the spiritual leader of all Maravi, in their hearts, as you know.”
Mombatu did know. He did listen to the foreign broadcasts after all. “Yes, I do know. So she is.”
Wagner could only smile. (‘Bullshit!’ Andromeda Starlight had raged when the idea was put to her three days earlier. ‘I’m from fucking Trinidad.’
‘But your ancestors. Surely they... The slave trade...’
‘No, fuck it. They emigrated from Sierra Leone.’)
But he looked Mombatu right in the eye and said. “Yes, she’ll be here to lead them, if that’s what you want.”
*
Now that he had embarked upon a life of crime, there seemed to be little reason why he did not follow his snout into the trough for a thoroughgoing wallow. After all, that had been the fashion amongst the rich and powerful for centuries.
Joe Solomon had always regarded himself as an honest man, the sort of lawyer that one could allow to attend to trusts or wills with confidence. He was the sort of man who paid his traffic fines promptly, who walked back into shops because the salesclerk had offered him a few cents more change than he was due, who guarded the financial affairs of all sorts of people, rich and poor, honest or the reverse, never overcharged for his services and didn’t charge at all if the client couldn’t afford to pay. A lifetime devoted to impeccable honesty. Thus he was just a little shocked to discover that he had swindled the US taxpayers out of many millions of dollars.
Yet it was so. Of course, he could justify it all. The money had come from suspect sources in any case, and he had not been required to lie at any time throughout the long weeks of interrogation. They had investigated him up and down and around and around and no charges had been laid. There was a suggestion that there might be charges later, but that was just one of those threats that petty officialdom makes as an admission that it was wrong.