by Adam Roberts
An idea was floated that he might set up an airline to shuttle between Johannesburg and Equatorial Guinea. ‘Yes, that was possible. But I had a good job. I was just doing this in my holiday,’ he says. ‘I don’t want the money. I said I would do it for the good of the cause and for the kicks.’ He trusted Mann, and continues to trust him. ‘I would do something with Simon again. But not for money, for the kicks. It’s not “Hell, I’m never going to do this again”. Life is for living. Sometimes there’s a fuck-up.’ Two other crew members, co-pilot Hendrik Hamman and flight engineer Ken Pain, were recruited, too.
So the month at least ended more hopefully for Mann. Despite failures there were now promising signs. The 727 was due from the United States. His old friend Niel Steyl would fly it. The delay had been put to some use: the footsoldiers, instructed by Horn and Carlse, practised urban fighting at a training ground near Pretoria. Brandishing wooden replica rifles they rehearsed house penetration for several days. Some extra officers were recruited: Witherspoon, who had already been up to Kolwezi, Louis du Prez and a third man called Leon Lotz. Du Prez later said he had heard the South African authorities had ‘okayed the whole mission’. His lawyer said, ‘They were told that Thabo Mbeki was looking forward to meeting the new president.’
To the plotters’ delight, Equatorial Guinea’s president was also coming under pressure. At the end of February, Obiang visited Riggs Bank, in Washington DC, to check on his millions of dollars. Obiang was the bank’s single biggest client, with a long relationship, but he was told to close his accounts. An investigation into money-laundering called for some $360 million of Equatorial Guinean funds to be frozen until the source of the money could be identified. It was humiliating news. Perhaps it suggested the United States was hostile to the dictator.
And, finally, investors’ money was flowing again into Mann’s accounts. Logo Logistics, his firm registered in Guernsey, saw four big deposits. The first, just under $240,000, came from Wachovia Bank in the United States on 23 February. Then, on 2 March Crause Steyl’s airline company passed on $100,000, thought to be the balance of funds from Mark Thatcher’s helicopter payment. Then another transaction, through Hansard Trust Company (which oversaw Mann’s various corporate entities), provided nearly $400,000, the amount needed for the plane. Finally, on 3 March, there was a transfer of nearly $135,000. This last payment would cause trouble later. It came from a J. H. Archer.
A Literary Coup?
There is much speculation about the mysterious donor of 3 March. Was he, in fact, the convicted perjurer and bestselling British novelist Lord Jeffrey Archer? If so, the money came barely a year after the disgraced peer was released from prison after serving a sentence for lying to a British court and perverting the course of justice. There is some circumstantial evidence. Lord Archer’s initials are indeed J. H. (for Jeffrey Howard). He is a longstanding friend of Ely Calil and he also knows Mark Thatcher. A lawyer acting for Equatorial Guinea later said telephone records showed four calls from Calil’s home to that of Lord Archer some weeks before the J. H. Archer transferred money to Mann’s account. These calls, he suggested, ‘provide substantial links between the conspirators around the time of the coup attempt’.
And – an insubtantial but entertaining point – Archer has long been interested in west Africa. Coincidentally, he wrote a short story, published in 1980, entitled ‘The Coup’, which describes a violent attempt to overthrow an oil-rich government in the region. It is a thin tale, based on Archer’s knowledge of a military coup in Nigeria in the 1970s. One of his characters does make a relevant point for coup plotters to keep in mind, however: ‘Pull off a coup and you’re a national hero,’ he suggests, ‘fail and you’re an evil criminal; in business it’s the same difference between bankruptcy and making a fortune.’
Approached for this book, Lord Archer refused to comment on what appears, at least, to be an extraordinary coincidence. His secretary conveyed the message that ‘he knows nothing about it and doesn’t want to say anything about it’. Earlier he did deny any involvement in, or knowledge of, the coup attempt. His lawyers produced a carefully phrased statement that Archer had never ‘issued a cheque in the sums mentioned’. They avoided the suggestion that the money was deposited in Logo Logistics’ account using a bank transfer, not a cheque. As for the phone calls, the lawyers again produced a statement of limited use that begged further questions. They admitted that calls occurred between Calil’s home and Archer’s home, but suggested that at least one call did not involve Lord Archer. That was hardly a robust response. Plotters interviewed about the Wonga Coup shed little light on the mysterious J. H. Archer. It is hard to believe the novelist’s denials, but one involved in the plot thinks funds were passed to Mann without J. H. Archer knowing what they would be used for. Perhaps Archer paid the money blind, possibly believing he was making a charitable donation.
The respected journal, Africa Confidential, once published what it called the ‘Wonga List’, naming those who would be asked questions about the financing of the Wonga Coup. It did not mention Archer, though the list predated publication of Mann’s bank account showing the J. H. Archer payment. Africa Confidential estimated the coup had a budget of about $3 million. It suggested that five men would be asked about supplying ready cash for the March operation. Investigators in South Africa were said in Africa Confidential to be keen to ask Ely Calil if he invested $750,000, and four others – Karim Fallaha; the British property trader Gary Hersham; David Tremain; and Mann himself – if they each put in $500,000. The men, at least those ready to speak on the matter, denied investing. In addition, the journal reported claims that Wales routed ‘unspecified payments’ through one of Mann’s accounts. But, to date, efforts to prosecute individuals named as suspected financiers – with one notable exception – have failed.
16
The Wonga Coup (Mark One)
‘Have you seen Simon? What’s he doing? I’m worried he’s up to his old tricks.’
Mark Thatcher, speaking to a friend of Simon Mann, March 2004
Early in 2004 a man called Diosdado Nguema Eyi died in Equatorial Guinea. The ex-chief of presidential security was probably murdered. His death was typical of what befalls those who know the secrets of a repressive government then lose its favour. ‘Officially, his car fell into a ravine in a freak accident’, reported Africa Confidential in March,’… but we hear he had a bullet wound when he died and that his body was not returned to his family.’ Perhaps an old score had been settled. Or perhaps Diosdado was suspected of plotting against his ex-boss.
By March the government had every reason to expect a coup attempt, the most serious of Obiang’s 25-year rule. A South African envoy to Malabo recalls, ‘Everybody knew there was a coup in the offing, from January onwards there was much talk about security.’ Obiang made a formal trip to South Africa in December 2003 and met President Mbeki. His second son, Gabriel Mbegha Nguema – the more likeable one – then visited Mbeki in late February. These were new signs of cordiality. Intelligence was exchanged. Early in March, probably on Wednesday 3 March, a South African intelligence team chartered a plane to Malabo and warned of pending trouble. The information was imprecise, along the lines of ‘Be careful, there is something in the air, keep an eye on South Africans’, said a lawyer for Equatorial Guinea later. A day or so later, the minister of security, Nguema Mba (an uncle of Obiang), rushed to Angola to hear a more detailed warning. He was told a flying force would join a team of plotters already in place. Angola had its intelligence from spies in South Africa, and maybe from mercenary rivals to Mann.
By Thursday 4 March, when du Toit flew to Equatorial Guinea, his fate was sealed. He went in a private plane with Sergio Cardoso, Georges Allerson and Jose Domingos. The German Gerhard Merz was at the airport and took them home to Malabo. Oddly, du Toit sent text messages to friends suggesting that the coup attempt had been cancelled. Perhaps he had cold feet, though he had no chance to back out now. The wife of one of his men later forgave him
, concluding that, indeed, du Toit ‘never had a choice’. Perhaps he hoped to spread false information by saying the coup was off. He should have known others monitored his calls. Confirming he was once part of a planned attack was not a smart thing to do; at worst, eavesdroppers might deduce it was imminent.
The Canary Islands team gathered again. Crause Steyl and David Tremain took a commercial Spanish flight from South Africa. Tremain insisted they return to the Steigenberger hotel. Karim Fallaha, Greg Wales and Alex Molteno, the stunt pilot, joined them. Some suggest Wales brought a bag with a large bundle of dollars for emergency use, perhaps $500,000. He denies it. Others say Wales put a similar sum into Mann’s bank account, and later had Kershaw help him withdraw it. He denies financing any operation for the richer Mann.
Records obtained from the Steigenberger hotel (both for the February and the March visits) show the men dined together in the hotel piano bar, sat by the pool, watched pay TV movies in their rooms, sipped mineral water (without gas), ate chocolate and played tennis. Wales, Tremain, Molteno and Steyl are all identified by name on the hotel records for this time. The men dined together, discussed tactics for the operation and dreamt up ways to unsettle Equatorial Guinea’s rulers. ‘Karim mentioned making confusion … confusing the ministries with oil bids,’ says Steyl. The idea was to cause a nuisance in the finance ministry in Equatorial Guinea by pretending to be oil men making bids for the country’s oil. Steyl had a simpler tactic: ‘I said we needed to get the radio station. If we don’t do that, otherwise, we could fly the Boeing 200 feet over Malabo with the speed brakes on, the flaps open, and circle the town. The noise alone would be intimidating. Circle the town twenty times. The silence afterwards would be peace itself.’
The 727 was due in South Africa. A bill of sale between Dodson Aviation and Logo Logistics was recorded on a Federal Aviation Authority document of 3 March. Two days later, still registered as N4610, the ex-US coastguard plane left Mena, near Kansas. Some are suspicious at how easily the plane cleared United States airspace despite red tape, and suggest an American with close ties to US intelligence was aboard the plane at this stage.
Most of the plotters remained in South Africa: the officers and footsoldiers in Pretoria; Mann and a few others in Johannesburg. Mann briefly visited Harare to check his consignment of weapons was still available. Niel Steyl, the 727 pilot, arrived in Johannesburg, early for his holiday. Simon Witherspoon later told investigators he was formally recruited at this point. He recalled arguing with Mann, saying the black footsoldiers should be paid more. He later told investigators he was hired for a ‘contract in Equatorial Guinea where there were some political problems. In this country, we were expected to assist the military and police of the new government.’ He said he heard the governments of Zimbabwe, South Africa, Britain and Spain knew of the contract, ‘and we, therefore, had nothing to worry about’.
On 5 March, a Friday, du Toit phoned Mann from Malabo to ask if the plot was going ahead. It was, but a day late, on Sunday. Someone – probably Mann – also phoned Mutize, the Zimbabwe Defence Industries man, and told him the weapons would be collected at 7 p.m. that day. A later call postponed collection to Sunday. At roughly the same time Mark Thatcher phoned a mutual friend of his and Mann’s in Johannesburg and asked, ‘Have you seen Simon? What’s he doing? I’m worried he’s up to his old tricks.’ The friend knew nothing.
Mann undertook a final, rushed trip. He still thought the 727 might be late, and wanted a back-up plane. Perhaps he also doubted his deal in Zimbabwe. He might get a plane, weapons and support in Kinshasa, the sultry capital of Congo. If that were a new base, he would be in easy striking distance of Equatorial Guinea. Early on Saturday morning he told Witherspoon the job was going ahead. Then he boarded a Hawker Siddeley 125 jet, registration N90FF, apparently owned by Dodson Aviation, and flew to Congo. Horn and Carlse went with him. Horn said Ivan Pienaar flew the jet. Another source says a Dodson man took the controls. In Kinshasa Mann (he later said) met a contact, Tim Roman, who is close to Congo’s president, Joseph Kabila. They discussed aircraft and weapons. Mann implicitly wanted backing for his coup attempt, but specifically asked for Roman to provide a second plane. There was no immediate response because Roman had first to ‘consult his partner [President Kabila] before agreeing finally. However, he thought he would be able to do it.’ Mann, Horn and Carlse flew south to Harare and checked in at the Cresta Lodge again. Mann later recounted: That evening Tim rang and said that his partner [ie Kabila] had refused his doing this job. However they would do it in the future and would be prepared to also supply ‘equipment’, in other words weapons.
By now Nigel Morgan was frantic. He had last dined with Mann on Thursday 4 March and knew of the plan to go to Kinshasa. Now signs indicated the coup would be launched any day. Morgan had missed the first attempt in February and was anxious to avoid repeating the mistake. That night in his remote country house he did not sleep, but sat up writing a detailed intelligence report saying the coup was at hand. He emailed it, encrypted, to an intelligence contact at dawn on Saturday morning. There followed frantic calls between assorted intelligence gatherers. According to one version, intelligence men and foreign policy experts held an emergency meeting that afternoon. It was a hectic time. South Africa was preparing for a general election – only the third since the end of apartheid – with Mbeki campaigning to keep the presidency.
A decision was needed: Should South Africa stop the plotters? Few would mourn Obiang’s removal and letting a despot get booted out would serve the ends of justice, at least if a better ruler took over. There was every chance, too, that South Africa would enjoy good relations – and oil benefits – in a new Equatorial Guinea. But a stronger group of officials and politicians recoiled at the idea. South Africa had opposed the British–American invasion of Iraq, saying outsiders had no right to remove any government, however wicked, or however tempting its oil. The parallel was obvious. In Africa, Mbeki’s much-repeated concern was promoting order and stability before all else. Only a stable continent could prosper, he argued endlessly. His government opposed mercenaries and any who would push for violent change of government, especially any based in South Africa. He would never tolerate a coup led by white Britons hungry for African oil. As for oil benefits for South African firms in Equatorial Guinea, a grateful Obiang might oblige.
The latter view prevailed. The next question was how to act. An option was to arrest the plotters before they left South Africa. While foiling the coup, it would be hard to prosecute them for breaking anti-mercenary laws. Another choice was to warn Equatorial Guinea to fight the mercenaries on arrival in Malabo. That was risky. Mann’s invaders might yet triumph. Even if the hired guns were quashed, there would be bloodshed and another case of instability in Africa. A third option was to tell Zimbabwe, whose police could catch the plotters red-handed as they collected the weapons. The hired guns might be treated roughly, but that would set a lesson for others. ‘We allowed things to go through … We wanted to send a message. We stand for peace on the continent,’ a government spokesman said later. A call was made to Harare.
Intriguingly, Zimbabwe’s rulers seemed to believe Mann was a threat to them. Zimbabwe’s government had grown increasingly paranoid and its relations with Britain, the old colonial power, were at their lowest point ever. Some Zimbabweans even worried that Britain might launch or sponsor a military attack on Zimbabwe itself. A senior official in the ruling party, Zanu PF, and close ally of Robert Mugabe gave an interview for this book. Efriam Masiwa spoke in an unlit room late one afternoon in Harare, in March 2005. He denied Zimbabwe had laid any trap to catch mercenaries, but said officials had been worried about Mann. They had suspected the former SAS officer might have been working for the wicked British. ‘These guys wanted to put us in a corner,’ he explained. Once Zimbabwe knew of a plan to attack Equatorial Guinea, such fears were confirmed. ‘If they had succeeded it would be known that the weapons used to remove the Equatoguinean president were acquire
d from Zimbabwe’, and that would ‘authenticate the British [and American] thinking about Zimbabwe … as an outpost of tyranny’. It is a convoluted argument, but Masiwa believes the Zimbabwean government ‘would be blamed for the coup’ in Equatorial Guinea. Thus: ‘It was not us that trapped the Simon Mann group. It was the Simon Mann group that was trying to trap us.’
Back in Malabo, rumours of a coup had been spreading for weeks. Expatriate oil men knew to stay in their compounds. A foreign aid worker later told a French documentary team that ‘everyone knew by March there would be a coup. Everyone knew. Moto couldn’t keep a secret. And all knew that Madrid’s intelligence was involved in the affair.’ One expert on Equatorial Guinea says several senior people, including President Obiang, had slipped quietly out of the country by early March. The last to leave, said this source, was Gabriel, the moderate second son.
Du Toit recalls briefing his employees that Saturday, 6 March. He told his men to take cars to the airport, with bottled water. According to one version, they were to leave the keys in the ignition for the arriving team. By now they, too, should have noticed the swirling rumours of a plot and sensed a threat. Mark Schmidt, the youngest and least experienced of du Toit’s forward team, later spoke to a South African reporter of an ominous atmosphere under Malabo’s grey skies. ‘On Saturday the soldiers and police were very busy all around us. We asked the people what was going on and they said they were arresting strangers.’ It was obvious there were problems.