Time of the Assassins u-6

by Alastair Macneill

  The door opened behind her.

  She looked round and smiled at Graham when he emerged onto the porch. 'It's so peaceful out here. Look at the sky — not a cloud in sight, just stars as far as the eye can see. And you can even make out the lights of Kondese in the distance. Isn't it beautiful?'

  'Yeah. It's at times like this that you can see where

  Keats got his inspiration for "The Secret Rose", or Hopkins for "The Starlight Night".'

  'You never cease to amaze me, Mike Graham,' she said, shaking her head in astonishment. 'I never realized you read poetry.'

  He smiled then sat on the step beside her. 'I grew up with it. My mother has volumes of the stuff, all beautifully bound in leather — Keats, Wordsworth, Browning, Shelley, the lot. Every Friday night her parents would come round for a meal and afterwards I would have to read to them from one of the volumes. That went on until I was in my teens.'

  'Do you still read poetry?'

  'Only when I visit my mother at the retirement home in Santa Monica. She's still got all the volumes on a shelf in her room. Her eyesight's going so I always read her favourite poems to her.'

  'That's the first time you've ever really spoken about your childhood, do you know that?'

  'Now you know why,' he said with a wry grin. 'Imagine a ten-year-old in a suit and tie reading Gray's "Elegy in a Country Churchyard" to his grandparents. But she meant well, and that's what counts.'

  Sabrina chuckled. 'I only wish I'd been there to see it.'

  'You don't,' Graham retorted. 'She'd have got you reading as well.'

  'I know you think the world of your mother. But you never talk much about your father. I don't mean to pry, but is there a reason for that?'

  'I was never close to my father. We didn't have anything in common, that's why. He never once took zoo me to see the Giants or the Yankees play. I had to go with other kids' fathers until I was old enough to go by myself. It was really embarrassing. I started playing football at the age of eleven. He never once came to watch me play, never. My mother wasn't interested in football either, but I can't ever remember her missing a game when I played in the New York area.'

  'Didn't he even go and watch you when you played for the Giants?'

  'He died seven months before I joined them. I doubt he'd have come though. Why break the habit of a lifetime?'

  The bitterness wasn't lost on her and she decided against pursuing the subject. But she was still amazed at his openness. A year ago he would have clammed up at the mere mention of his past. Was he beginning to break down those barriers he had built around himself since he had lost his family? Or was it the thought that he was finally going to get a showdown with the man he blamed for their murder? And what would happen if he did come face to face with Bernard? Would he kill him? Or would he hand him over to the authorities? She knew she couldn't answer that question. Or perhaps she just didn't want to…

  'You guys look cosy down there,' said Laidlaw from the doorway.

  'What the hell's that supposed to mean?' Graham demanded, scrambling to his feet.

  'Just kidding,' Laidlaw said, winking at Sabrina.

  Sabrina shook her head slowly to herself. What a jerk. But then he didn't know Graham like she did. Any suggestion of any impropriety between them zoi immediately put Graham on his guard. Some things hadn't changed.

  'What do you want?' Graham snapped.

  'Hey, chill out, man. I said I was only kidding.' Laidlaw looked from Sabrina to Graham. 'Look, I don't give a damn if you guys have got something going — '

  Graham grabbed Laidlaw by the shirt and shoved him up against the wall. 'We work together, period. Understood?'

  Laidlaw pulled free and smoothed down his shirt. 'The plans are here,' he said tersely then yanked open the door and disappeared back into the house.

  'Why can't a man and woman work together without there always being some sort of sexual overtone attached to it?'

  Sabrina nodded tight-lipped then followed Graham into the house.

  Laidlaw walked up to Graham. 'I'm sorry, Mike. I was out of order.'

  'Forget it,' Graham replied then crossed to where Tambese and Moredi were sitting on the sofa, the plans spread out across the table in front of them.

  'Sit down,' Tambese invited, gesturing to the second sofa which they had positioned on the other side of the table.

  Graham waited until they were all seated then looked past Sabrina at Laidlaw. 'What do you think?'

  Laidlaw turned the plan around then looked up at Moredi. 'You say the perimeter fence is electrified?'

  Moredi nodded. 'I don't know the voltage but it is lethal. A prisoner died trying to escape over it when I was being held there.'

  'Escape was impossible,' Tambese told them. 'I heard stories of prisoners who had just arrived at the prison breaking free from the guards and throwing themselves against the fence to avoid being interrogated. That's how much the people feared the Security Police.'

  'Where's the current controlled from?' Laidlaw asked.

  Tambese tapped a square in the centre of the building. 'That's the control room. But it's situated underground. It only has one approach route which is protected by a metal grill. The door itself is made of reinforced steel and can only be activated from inside the control room itself. It's impregnable.'

  'David was one of the officers who liberated Branco after the death of Alphonse Mobuto,' Moredi told them.

  'Was that the first time you had ever been inside the prison?' Sabrina asked.

  Tambese nodded. 'The army and the regular police were never allowed into Branco when it was run by the Security Police.'

  'Wasn't the fence deactivated when the prison was liberated?' Graham asked.

  'It was,' Tambese agreed. 'But it wouldn't have been very difficult to rig it up again.'

  'So you're not sure whether it has been reactivated?' Sabrina said to Tambese.

  'It has, according to our sources here in Kondese,' Tambese replied.

  'Couldn't you instigate a power cut?' Graham asked.

  Tambese shook his head. 'It wouldn't work, even if we could get into the power station. There's an emergency generator inside the compound.'

  'What about the entrance?' Laidlaw asked without taking his eyes off the plans.

  'One main gate — there,' Moredi replied, pointing it out.

  'Operated from the control room,' Tambese added. 'There are also two watchtowers overlooking the gate. Each is manned by an armed guard. We wouldn't get within a hundred yards of the main gate without been seen.'

  'What's it made of?' Laidlaw asked.

  'Reinforced steel.'

  Laidlaw chewed his lip thoughtfully as he continued to study the diagram.

  'How many of Ngune's men are inside the prison compound?' Graham asked Tambese.

  'We think about twenty-five.'

  'What about the remainder of his troops?' Sabrina asked.

  'I wish I knew,' Tambese replied with a sigh. 'I really do. There are pockets of them in and around Kondese manning roadblocks and patrolling the city centre. The resistance movement has been scouting the area ever since the rebels took Kondese but so far they've come up with nothing. It's uncanny. There must be a garrison around here somewhere but we just can't find it.'

  'What if it's a bluff and Ngune doesn't have the manpower he claims to have?'

  'That had crossed our minds, Mr Graham. But what use are tanks and aircraft without men? And we know he has both.'

  'Why not destroy them?' Sabrina asked in surprise.

  'Because they're in Chad. If our troops crossed the border into Chad we'd be certain to cause an international incident. And that's the last thing we need now that we're on the verge of being allowed back into the United Nations. We've lodged a formal protest with the Chadian government but they claim the tanks and planes are part of their own arsenal — which, in effect, they are. But we know from reliable sources inside the Chadian army that Ngune has struck a deal with their Government to use some o
f their tanks and planes in the event of an attempted coup d'etat, but only if Ngune provides the men. So at the moment, it's a stalemate.'

  'Couldn't the garrison be in Chad?' Sabrina asked.

  Tambese shook his head. 'No, we've checked. And anyway, the Chadian government's too smart for that. If they were giving a safe haven to Ngune's men it would provide us with the proof we need to discredit them.'

  'That's it!' Laidlaw suddenly blurted out. 'The sewers.'

  'What?' Sabrina said, turning to Laidlaw in surprise.

  'That's how we get into the compound — through the sewers. There, that's the manhole,' Laidlaw said, pointing it out on the diagram.

  'It'll be locked,' Graham said.

  'So we cut through it with an oxyacetylene torch,' Laidlaw replied.

  'The guards would see the flame from the watchtower,' Graham shot back.

  Laidlaw smiled victoriously. 'No they wouldn't. According to the scale of this plan, the manhole cover can't be more than a couple of yards behind the staff quarters. The guards won't be able to see it from the watchtowers.'

  'And what about the men in the staff quarters?' Sabrina asked.

  'If we go in at about three tomorrow morning they'll be asleep.' Laidlaw looked at Tambese. 'You're sure the only guards on duty then will be the two in the watchtower? There won't be any guards patrolling the grounds?'

  Tambese shook his head. 'There's no need. The watchtowers overlook the grounds.'

  'OK, so let's say we do cut through the manhole cover,' Graham said, staring at the diagram. 'How do we get from the staff quarters to the cell block?'

  'The guards will have to be neutralized first. All we'd need for that is a sniper rifle and a silencer.' Laidlaw looked across at Tambese again. 'Could you get them?'

  'There's no need,' Sabrina said to Tambese. 'We can use the Uzis you brought from Habane. They've got silencers.'

  'It's too risky,' Laidlaw replied. 'Those watchtowers are a good two-hundred yards away from the staff quarters. If we don't kill the guards with the first bullet, that would almost certainly compromise the operation. That's why we need a rifle with a telescopic-sight-attachment. It has to be a first-time kill.'

  Til arrange to get them,' Tambese said.

  'O K, so the guards have been neutralized,' Graham said. 'Then what?'

  'Then we cross to the cell block and find Remy Mobuto,' Laidlaw replied matter-of-factly.

  Graham ran his fingers through his hair, a puzzled expression on his face. 'Surely the two buildings are sectioned off from each other by a fence or a wall?'

  'Not according to this,' Laidlaw replied, pointing to the two rectangles in the diagram.

  'It isn't San Quentin, Mr Graham,' Moredi said softly then sat back and clasped his hands in his lap. 'There isn't a canteen where the prisoners can eat their meals. And there isn't an exercise yard where prisoners can walk about and stretch their legs. There are no rights at Branco. That's the first thing I learned when I got there.

  'I was held there for eight weeks. And like all political prisoners at Branco, my hands and feet were manacled and I was put in a dark cell, four foot by eight foot, and the only time I ever left it was when I was taken down the corridor to a windowless room where my interrogators were waiting to torture me. And every night a spotlight in the corner of the cell would be switched on and I would be told to stand to attention. That happened almost every hour. And when I was too exhausted to get to my feet any more, one of them would come into the cell and beat me. If I was lucky, he would use a whip or a baton; if not, he used a club studded with sharpened nails or a length of barbed wire. And, of course, I was helpless to defend myself because my hands and feet were in chains. They didn't even provide a bucket for sanitary purposes, so you lay in your own excrement. Then, once every few days, when the smell became too much even for the guards to endure, they would come round with a hosepipe and spray down the cells.' Moredi suddenly smiled sadly at Graham. 'So you see now why there was no need to put up a fence or a wall between the two buildings. We weren't going anywhere.'

  Graham nodded grimly but said nothing. Any words would have been hollow after what Moredi had told them.

  'I can give you a rough layout of the cell block but I won't go back in there again,' Moredi said, wringing his hands together, 'not after what I went through.'

  'We understand,' Sabrina said gently.

  'Are we going with Mr Laidlaw's plan then?' Tambese asked after a lengthy silence.

  'It's worth a try,' Graham replied. 'But we can't go in there blind. We'll have to check it out first.'

  'Agreed,' Laidlaw replied then looked at Tambese again. 'Can you get a copy of the plans of the sewers for the area around the prison?'

  'Not without arousing suspicion,' Tambese answered. 'I only managed to get a plan of Branco because I remembered there was one at our headquarters in Habane. Plans for the sewers will be kept at the city hall, and that's closed.'

  'We need the plans,' Laidlaw said, looking at each face in turn. 'We can't do anything without them.'

  'Which only leaves one option,' Graham concluded. 'Break into the city hall and get them.'

  'We'd never get past the roadblocks,' Sabrina said.

  'Added to which there's a curfew in the city from six at night to six in the morning,' Moredi told them.

  'That only leaves us with one alternative. We'll have to bring in the resistance movement. I'll call Matthew Okoye. Excuse me,' Tambese said then got to his feet and walked to the door.

  'Surely you can contact the resistance movement without involving Okoye?' Graham called out after him.

  'Not really. He's their leader,' Tambese replied then left the room.

  Simon Nhlapo scrambled behind the wheel of the ambulance and started the engine as his partner, Joe Vuli, jumped into the passenger seat beside him. He switched on the siren then sped down the driveway and swung the ambulance out into the deserted street. He had been a paramedic for eighteen years at the Kondese National Hospital. Well, that was its new name. It had been the Margaret Mobuto Hospital, named after Alphonse Mobuto's wife who had died four years after it was opened in i9yz. But Jamel Mobuto had ordered the name to be changed within days of his father's death — just as the Alphonse Mobuto Hospital became the Habane National Hospital.

  Nhlapo wasn't a political man but, like many of the Swahilis in and around Kondese, he saw a future for Zimbala under Jamel Mobuto. That's why he couldn't understand why the government had let Ngune and his butchers take control of Kondese. He remembered well the days when Kondese was alive with activity at night. Now the streets were deserted, save for the patrolling gangs of Ngune's vigilantes who toured the city centre in search of anyone foolish enough to violate the curfew. Punishment was immediate execution. Even the police force had been disbanded by Massenga and now the only vehicles seen on the road after the curfew were those belonging to the besiegers, and they had to have special passes affixed to their windscreens — and, of course, the ambulances.

  There had been an initial fear at the hospital that Ngune would install his own puppet doctors but he had assured the administrator that he had no intention of interfering with the running of the hospital, as long as the staff abided by his rules. Many did, out of fear; but others, like Vuli and himself, had joined the resistance movement as soon as the Security Police overran Kondese. It was the first time he had ever been involved in an underground movement. But he felt the time had come to make a stand against the brutality of Ngune and his Security Police. If Ngune seized power the country would again be in the hands of a corrupt dictator. Nothing would have changed. He had to be stopped. But Nhlapo also knew the penalty if he was ever caught as a resistance fighter. That had been spelled out clearly at their first rally. He would be taken to Branco where they would torture then execute him. Dozens had already died at the hands of Ngune's men since they returned to Kondese. It was as if they had never left. The rumours that the army were preparing to move in to liberate the city had been rife
for the last three weeks. But so far, nothing. And the people of Kondese were becoming desperate…

  He trod on the brake pedal as they reached the first of the numerous roadblocks that lined the city streets. It consisted of a sheet of rolled barbed wire that lay the width of the road. Four men stood beside it, all in jeans and T-shirts, and all armed with kalashnikov assault rifles. One of the men approached the driver's side of the ambulance, the kalashnikov clenched tightly in his right hand.

  'Where are you going?' he demanded.

  'There's been an accident on the M3,' Nhlapo replied. 'A car went off the road.'

  The man nodded, having already received word of the call-out by the controller at the hospital. The ambulance was searched for any weapons or contraband that the crew may be trying to smuggle past the roadblock but nothing was found.

  Satisfied, the man returned to the driver's window. 'You'll be given a free passage through to the last roadblock on the outskirts of the city.'

  'I know the drill by now,' Nhlapo retorted tersely.

  The man nodded to his colleagues and the barricade was pulled back until there was just enough room for the ambulance to get through. Nhlapo engaged the gears and sped off. They passed another four roadblocks, each time being waved through by an armed guard. They were stopped, as expected, at the last one on the edge of the city. Again the ambulance was searched before being allowed to continue.

  Nhlapo drove the short distance to join the M3- It was eerie and deserted. The resistance movement had shot out most of the lights to give them the cover they had needed to launch a series of lightning strikes on rebel patrols in the area. The gutted remains of rebel vehicles on the side of the road were testament to the success of the mission. Over thirty rebels had been killed in the ambushes before Ngune pulled his men back to within the confines of the city. He had immediately reinforced the roadblocks on the edge of the city with both men and weapons to repel any attempt by the resistance movement to retake Kondese, but a succession of arrests and summary executions in the last fortnight had left the resistance movement disjointed and demoralized. They couldn't launch an offensive on Kondese without the backing of the government forces. And they seemed determined to wait for Ngune to make the first move…