The Somali Doctrine

by James Grenton

  ‘This is Nairobi, bwana.’ The taxi driver threw his arms into the air in a helpless gesture that made his dreadlocks bounce around.

  There was no air conditioning and the relentless heat was turning the car into an oven. Maxine wound down the window.

  ‘No!’ shouted Jim.

  A pair of lean arms grabbed Maxine by the neck and hauled her out of the window. She screamed.

  Jim kicked open the car door. After all that effort to escape, there was no way they were going to be the victims of such a blatant kidnapping. He stormed round the car and grabbed the neck of the man who was busy trying to control Maxine. Jim locked both his hands behind the attacker’s head, then yanked down, lifting his knee at the same time. A rib cracked. The man gasped for breath. Jim kept on pounding his knee into the man’s rib cage until he’d let go of Maxine. Jim whacked him with an uppercut to the chin. The man fell sideways, hitting the floor unconscious.

  Jim rubbed his sore knuckles. The people in the other cars looked away. Carjackings and robberies were commonplace in Nairobi. Interfering could cost you your life.

  Maxine looked at him with wide eyes.

  ‘That was stupid,’ Jim said. ‘I’d have thought you’d know by now that African cities are dangerous.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, feeling her sides. ‘Thanks for saving me. Impressive.’ She pulled a cigarette packet from her back pocket and fumbled for a light.

  Jim put an arm round her. Adrenaline rushed through him. He could feel her voluptuous body and felt a surge of arousal. A change had taken place in him over the past few days. He felt more carefree, less constrained by things, more confident—more like his former self, before Carrie’s accident, before even Iraq. Maybe it was Interpol’s betrayal of him. Or just the sense of adventure. Or Maxine’s influence. Or all three.

  The man stirred, bringing Jim back to reality. It was the same man who’d been watching them at the airport. The green cap lay a few metres away.

  ‘What shall we do with him?’ Jim asked Maxine.

  ‘You could ask him a few questions.’

  Jim shook the man’s shoulders. He opened his eyes, recognised Jim and tried to back away. Jim grabbed the man’s foot and dragged him towards him.

  ‘Who sent you?’ Jim said.

  The man didn’t answer. He placed his hands behind his back to steady himself.

  ‘Come on, tell me,’ Jim reached forward to shake the man’s shoulders again.

  The man whipped out a knife from behind him. Jim knocked the man’s wrist, sending the knife flying. He caught the man’s forearm between his inner arm and his chest, and tugged outwards, snapping the man’s elbow. The man screamed.

  ‘I asked you a question,’ Jim shouted.

  The man shook his head, tears pouring down his cheeks.

  ‘Give me the knife,’ Jim told Maxine.

  She scrambled to pick it up. Jim placed it under the man’s chin and pushed down, drawing blood. The man’s eyes opened wide.

  ‘Last chance, buddy,’ Jim said. ‘Who sent you?’

  ‘Harry,’ the man mumbled, trying to squirm free.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Please. Let me go.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Nobody.’

  Jim’s nose was nearly touching the man’s face. ‘If I let you go, will you come after us?’

  ‘No. I promise.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ Jim hissed. He pushed the knife down a bit more. Blood dribbled down the man’s throat.

  The man squealed.

  ‘Jim,’ Maxine said. ‘Don’t.’

  Jim hesitated, then stood up. He looked down with disdain at the man, who was scrambling backwards on his good hand. Years ago, he’d have killed him.

  ‘It’s your lucky day,’ Jim said.

  The man staggered to his feet and backed off, cradling his smashed arm.

  ‘Tell Harry that I’ll hunt him down,’ Jim said.

  The man turned and ran.

  ‘When I catch him, he’ll wish he’d never been born,’ Jim shouted after him.

  He turned back to the cab and pocketed the knife.

  Deep inside, he knew he’d made a mistake.

  Chapter 26

  Nairobi, Kenya

  22 September 2003

  Thirty minutes later, they were at the Stanley Hotel. A doorman let them out of the taxi and invited them into the lobby, with its marble chequered floor and plush seats. As they checked in, the receptionist handed them an envelope.

  ‘This was left for you, sir.’

  Jim pocketed it and gave Maxine a questioning glance, but said nothing. Once in their hotel room, he ripped it open. It was a newspaper cutting from The Times, dated 22 September, with the headline ‘Militia kill hundreds as Somaliland famine worsens’:

  ‘The situation in Somaliland is deteriorating fast with reports of increased militia activity exacerbating the famine situation, according to Universal Action. A militia attack on a camp for internally-displaced persons next to the Ethiopian border yesterday left more than 900 men, women and children dead, many of them murdered as they were trying to escape.

  ‘Universal Action’s Head of Security, Harry Steeler, said: “Somaliland is already suffering from a severe famine situation, with hundreds of thousands facing starvation. Without some form of armed intervention to restore the peace and prevent militia activity, it will be difficult for Universal Action to deliver much-needed food aid.”’

  The rest of the article went on to describe the gory details of the massacre, the mound of severed heads, and Universal Action’s ‘valiant’ attempts to distribute food. Jim handed it to Maxine and sat on the bed, sinking into its luxury mattress.

  ‘Who do you think left that for us?’

  ‘No idea,’ she said, still reading.

  ‘Why would they want us to read it?’

  Maxine crunched up the newspaper article and threw it into the bin.

  ‘Don’t chuck it.’ Jim fished it out. ‘It was left for a reason.’

  Jim unruffled the article and read it again. He put his chin on his hands, deep in thought. Maxine slumped into an armchair and zapped through the TV channels.

  ‘I’m going for a look around,’ Jim said, rising to his feet. ‘I think I know who left it for us.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  Jim took the stairway to the pool bar and found himself a table. He ordered a Coke. No beer this time round. He observed the people milling around. There were the usual UN and NGO types, plus a few tough-looking men with sunglasses, probably from private security firms, as well as suited government officials and businessmen. No sideway glances, no furtive looks.

  He went down to the lobby, picked up a newspaper and sat in an armchair, studying the guests. Nobody showed him the slightest interest. Had he got it wrong? Had he misunderstood the hidden meaning behind the newspaper cutting?

  When he got back to the bedroom, Maxine was watching BBC News 24.

  ‘Isn’t that the journo whose friend was shot at the roadblock?’ she said, pointing her finger at the TV.

  ‘Marie?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  Marie was in the TV studio, speaking about her experience of Somaliland, while images of starving IDPs, UA vehicles and white aid workers rolled across the screen.

  ‘We need armed intervention,’ she was saying. ‘It’s time someone came in, protected the aid agencies and restored peace.’

  ‘Who could do that?’ asked the anchorman. ‘The UN doesn’t want to get involved. The US got its fingers burnt when it last tried to help Somalia. And forget the European Union. It can’t agree on anything.’

  ‘Universal Action needs its own military force,’ Marie said. ‘It’s the world’s largest NGO. It provides most of the health, food and educational services to the region. It should be allowed to build an army and use it to stop the warlords. It could then deliver aid and foster development in a stable context.’

  ‘
An NGO carrying out military action?’ The anchorman shook his head in apparent disbelief. ‘Seems preposterous.’

  ‘It’s the only way.’

  Jim hit the off switch on the TV. He looked at Maxine. ‘You knew this, didn’t you?’

  ‘I’m as astonished as you are.’

  ‘You’ve been close to Harry. Harry says this, Harry says that. You’ve even been sleeping with him. He must have told you about this.’

  Maxine stood up. ‘Is that what it’s about?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That I was sleeping with Harry?’

  ‘What do you think? He asked you to kill me and you nearly obeyed him.’

  Maxine’s face went red. Jim thought she was going to shout at him. Instead, she collapsed into tears, burying her head in her hands.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jim. I’ve messed up badly. What happened with Harry is not what you think. I wasn’t his girlfriend or anything.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He was messing with my head. Being all charming, then blackmailing me. He was forcing me to do things.’

  Jim looked at her without saying anything.

  She continued: ‘He was forcing me to sleep with him.’

  ‘He was raping you?’

  This time it was Maxine who didn’t answer. She just collapsed onto the bed, sobbing. Jim’s anger melted away. Nobody could put on an act like this so convincingly. She had to be telling the truth. He put his arm round her. She put her head against his chest. Her crying subsided. She looked up and kissed him gently on the cheek, then on the lips. He reached into her shirt and caressed her skin. Moments later, they were making love.

  When they were lying in bed, in each other’s arms, Maxine said: ‘Have you heard of MainShield?’

  ‘Sure I have,’ Jim said, as he stroked her hair. ‘They’re that mercenary outfit that’s been in all these African conflicts.’

  ‘It has direct links to UA, through Edward and Harry. I bet UA is making a case for armed intervention using MainShield.’

  ‘That’s a possibility,’ Jim said. ‘UA’s the world’s largest NGO, growing so fast it will soon be bigger than the UN. Yet it doesn’t have its own defence force. So first it makes the case for having its own private army, allegedly to help with its emergency aid in Somaliland. Then it hires MainShield and then it uses the Somaliland episode as a precedent for intervention across Africa: the DRC, Sudan, Somalia, Madagascar, everywhere.’

  Maxine reached for her pack of cigarettes on the bedside table. ‘Aren’t you exaggerating a bit? Sounds rather over the top, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Think of what you’ve seen over the past few days. Think of what you know about Harry. Does that sound so farfetched?’

  ‘Harry’s no compassionate development worker, that’s for sure.’

  ‘And he’s got seriously colonialist views. You said it yourself.’

  ‘I suppose I did.’ Maxine lit a cigarette. ‘Edward’s worse. He’s got delusions of grandeur. Wants UA to replace the UN. I heard him say it.’

  ‘So others must know too, if he’s been expressing these views so openly.’

  ‘I don’t think most people take it literally. They think he’s just defining some kind of vision, like “we want to be as big as the UN”.’

  Jim shook his head. ‘This is much worse than any of us imagined.’

  ‘Any of who?’

  ‘Sarah, for a start. My boss. She was worried by reports of a resurgence in militia activity, of Harry’s influence in UA, his links to the warlords, of the aid being distributed but then rotting in huge piles. All that kind of stuff. Which is why I got a sample.’

  ‘Of?’

  ‘This.’ Jim pulled out of his pocket a small plastic bag. ‘I took a handful of grain in the camp the other day. I’d like to get it tested.’

  ‘No need.’ Maxine looked away. ‘I can tell you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It’s grain laced with amphetamine sulphate.’

  ‘You mean speed?’

  ‘Harry and Edward wanted to create the crisis. They didn’t want to wait for the next famine. Amphetamine is a strong appetite suppressant. We imported kilos of it from underground labs in Amsterdam. Harry’s contacts. It worked. Soon the IDPs weren’t eating. The speed accelerated their exhaustion.’

  ‘Damn you, Maxine.’ Jim smashed his fist on the cushion next to him. ‘Why the hell did you get involved in that? It’s criminal.’

  ‘No need to raise your voice.’

  ‘You’ve been mixing speed with food aid and killing thousands of IDPs, and you’re telling me there’s no need to raise my fucking voice?’

  Maxine jumped to her feet, her face flushed. ‘What would you do if your sister was being threatened? If each day, you woke up sweating, wondering if she was safe? You have no idea what Harry’s like. He wouldn’t hesitate to murder her if I didn’t do as he said.’

  She was staring at him with wide eyes, and Jim felt all the anger drain from him again.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, leaning forward to put his arms round her.

  But she pulled away. ‘I have to live with this now. I have nightmares about the camps. I see the women and their babies, dying in the sun, and I feel so guilty.’

  There was a knock on the door. They looked at each other.

  Maxine lowered her voice. ‘Maybe it’s room service.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Another knock, a little harder this time. They threw on some clothes.

  Jim pointed to the bathroom, which was next to the entrance to the bedroom. ‘Go in there. Lights off. I’ll let them in. If it’s who I think it is, then we’re fine.’ He picked up the kettle. ‘Take this, just in case.’

  Maxine tried to smile. ‘Not much of a weapon.’

  There was a series of sharp knocks again. Jim went to the door, holding behind his back the knife he’d taken from the man with the green cap. He opened the door, leaving it on the chain, and peered through the narrow gap.

  ‘Can I help?’ he said. He couldn’t quite make out the face of the person waiting outside.

  ‘It’s me.’

  ‘Nasir!’

  Jim closed the door, released the chain, and flung it open.

  ‘I was expecting you,’ he said, putting the knife down and opening his arms to hug him.

  Nasir darted straight into the bedroom and slammed the door behind him. He had bags under his eyes and his cheeks were sunken, as though he hadn’t eaten for days. His usually impeccably clean and ironed clothes were dirty and wrinkled.

  ‘We don’t have much time,’ he said, slumping into an armchair. ‘There’s a big UA meeting here tomorrow. Edward, Harry, the board, the guys from MainShield. There’s even some guy from the Department for International Development. They’ve moved things up a notch. Did you see the papers today?’

  ‘So it was you who left us the news clipping at reception,’ Jim said. ‘I thought so.’

  ‘I wanted to give you a clue. I asked reception to let me know once you’d taken it.’

  ‘How did you know it was from him?’ Maxine asked Jim.

  ‘Gut feeling. I knew Nasir wouldn’t let go.’ Jim turned to Nasir. ‘How did you escape from Addis?’

  ‘After I let Maxine go, I drove to see a friend who’s high up in the Somali diaspora. He’s got contacts in the militia, the UN, the European Commission, even near the top of UA. He’d heard about this secret meeting, knew UA was after you. In fact, everyone’s after you: UA, Interpol, the Ethiopian police. Even the UN’s been warned. They’re saying you’re a maverick agent.’

  ‘They haven’t caught us yet.’ Jim picked up the knife, wrapped it in a t-shirt and put it in his rucksack.

  ‘UA’s told the others it will lead the chase,’ Nasir said. ‘Harry’s taking this personally.’

  ‘So why did you come here if it’s all a big set-up?’ Maxine said.

  ‘Another big development,’ Nasir said. ‘An AFP reporter, a guy called Jerome Sa
blon, and a French professor called Anne Gaillac. They’re on UA’s case. Jerome was about to publish evidence against Harry and Edward.’

  ‘About to?’ Jim said.

  ‘Harry caught up with them. They’ve disappeared.’

  ‘What should we do?’ Maxine said.

  ‘Find them. Quick.’

  ‘And Harry?’ Jim said. ‘You sure he’ll be here tomorrow?’

  ‘I expect so.’ Nasir stood up. ‘Let’s get out of here. This place will soon be crawling with Harry’s men.’

  Three hours later, they’d booked rooms in a small hotel on the edge of Nairobi. They’d changed taxi three times, been to several hotels and restaurants, entered shops and exited through different doors, and tried just about every technique they could think of to escape a tail. By the time they sat down in their new hotel’s restaurant for evening dinner, they felt confident that nobody had managed to follow them there.

  They were wrong.

  Chapter 27

  22 September 2003

  Banyuls Sur Mer, France

  Banyuls Sur Mer: a lovely little seaside resort on the Mediterranean Sea, right at the southern tip of France at the foot of the Pyrenees, a few miles from the border with Spain. It was a favoured destination for thousands of French families each year. They came to sunbathe on the sand, swim in the deep blue sea, sit at the beach-side restaurants to stuff themselves with good food, and sample the fine wines of the region’s prestigious wine-makers. Surrounded by rolling hills covered with vineyards, Banyuls Sur Mer was like a piece of paradise. Its traditional houses, painted in Spanish-style yellow and orange, crowded around the bay, giving it an intimate feel, seeped in centuries of history.

  It was also the home of one of the world’s most dangerous and blood-thirsty men: Othman Ali Hassan, the Somali warlord who had looted and stashed away tens of millions of dollars in Swiss bank accounts. He used Banyuls Sur Mer as his second home, where he could take a rest from the killing and raping in Somalia. Surrounded by his entourage of consorts and thugs, living in a luxurious nine-bedroomed mansion overlooking the sea, he would sip champagne and plan his next military campaign to reunite Somaliland back into a Greater Somalia.