The Spoilers / Juggernaut

by Desmond Bagley

  ‘We know a lot of pockets have been lined, Neil. That’s fairly common. Damn it, we’ve done it ourselves.’

  ‘As common as breathing. But I think too much of it has gone into the wrong pockets—or wrong from one point of view anyway.’

  ‘Whose point of view?’

  ‘Major General Abram Kigonde.’

  Geddes pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully. ‘What’s he got to do with all this?’

  ‘Everything. He’s having trouble keeping the army in line. When he handed over power to the civil authority there were grumbles from some of his officers. A few senior types thought the army should hang on; they’d had a taste of power and liked it. But then nothing much happened, because there wasn’t much power, or much loot, to divide. Then came industrialization and finally, to top it all, the oil strikes. Now there’s a hell of a lot of loot and the army is split down the middle. They know the Government lads are creaming it off the top and some of those senior officers are licking their lips. Of course what they’re saying is that the country which they saved from the evils of Maro Ofanwe is now being sold down the river by other equally evil politicians, but that’s just for public consumption.’

  ‘Yes, it sounds highly likely. Who’s the main troublemaker?’

  ‘A Colonel Sagundisi is at the bottom of it, the word says. He hasn’t put a foot wrong, his popularity with the younger officers is increasing, and he’s preaching redemption. If Kigonde lets him he’ll go right out on a limb and call for army reforms again.’

  ‘With what results?’

  ‘Could be a coup d’éetat.’

  ‘Um,’ said Geddes. ‘And the timetable? The likelihood?’

  ‘That’s hard to guess, naturally. It depends partly on the Air Force.’

  Geddes nodded tiredly. ‘The usual complications. They’re playing both ends against the middle, right?’

  ‘Right now the army is split in two; half for Kigonde and the status quo, half for Sagundisi and the quick takeover. Word is that they’re level pegging with Sagundisi making points and Kigonde losing them. The influence of their socalled Navy is negligible. But the Air Force is different. If it comes to open conflict then the side that has air power is going to win.’

  ‘A poker game.’

  ‘You’re so damned right. The Air Force Commander is a wily old fox called Semangala and he’s playing it cool, letting each side of the army raise the ante alternately. The Government is also bidding for support in all this, naturally, tending to Kigonde’s angle but I wouldn’t be surprised if they jumped whichever way would get them into the cream pot.’

  ‘It seems to come down to Semangala, the way you see it. When he makes his mind up you expect a crack down one way or the other.’

  ‘There are other factors, of course. Student unrest is on the increase. The pro-Reds are looking for a chance to put their oar in; and in the north—where the oil is—the country is largely Moslem and tends to look towards the Arab states for support and example. Oh yes, and when all else fails there’s always the old tribal game: all of the lesser tribes are ready to gang up on the too successful Kinguru, including their cousins the Wabi, who make up the army backbone. Take your pick.’

  Geddes picked up his glass and seemed surprised to find that he’d drained it. ‘All right, Neil. When do you think it will blow open?’

  ‘The rains will come in nearly two months if they’re on schedule which they may not be. They’ve been erratic the last few years. But if they do come they will effectively put a damper on any attempted coup—’

  Geddes smiled without mirth at my unintended pun.

  ‘Anyway, no army commander will take that chance. I’d say that if it happens, it will be within the month or not for another six months.’

  ‘And if you had to bet?’

  I tapped the table with my forefinger. ‘Now.’

  ‘And us with a three year contract,’ mused Geddes wryly. ‘What the hell’s happened to Shelford and his department? He should know about all this?’

  ‘How could he when he doesn’t take the trouble to go and find out? I’d kick him out on his ass if I had my way.’

  ‘We don’t do things that way,’ said Geddes stiffly.

  I grinned. No, Geddes would shaft Shelford in the wellbred British fashion. There’d be a report in the Financial Times that Mr Shelford was going from strength to strength in the hierarchy of British Electric and his picture would smile toothily from the page. But from then on he’d be the walking dead, with his desk getting emptier and his phone more silent, and eventually he’d get the message and quit to grow roses. And wonder what the hell had hit him. A stiletto under the third rib would be more merciful.

  ‘But Sutherland should have known,’ Geddes was saying. ‘He should have told us.’

  Although I had put the frighteners into John Sutherland myself I did not think he ought to share Shelford’s imagined fate—he had much to learn but a great deal of company potential and I wanted him kept on the job. So I let him down lightly.

  ‘He tried, back in that boardroom, but Shelford shouted him down. He’s a good man and learning fast. It’s just that he works too hard.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ Geddes was acidly polite. ‘Is that possible?’

  ‘It surely is. He should take out more time for his social life. He should get around more, do some drinking: drinking and listening. How the hell do you think I got all the dope I’ve just given you? I got it by damn near contracting cirrhosis of the liver drinking with a lot of boozy old colonial types who know more about what makes Nyala tick than the President himself. They’re disillusioned, those men. Some have lived in Nyala all their lives but they know they’ll always be on the outside because their skins are white. They’re there by grace and favour now, discounted by the country’s new masters, but they look and listen. And they know.’

  ‘That’s a précis of a Somerset Maugham story,’ said Geddes sardonically. ‘Does Sutherland know all this? Has he got the picture now?’

  I shook my head. ‘I thought I’d have a word with you first. Meantime I wouldn’t be too surprised if he doesn’t put some of it together for himself, while I’m away. I jumped on him a bit to frighten him but I don’t think he’s the man to panic.’

  Geddes pondered this and clearly approved. Presently he said, ‘Is there anything else I ought to know?’

  ‘Kigonde’s used half the army to help the rig along its first journey. I’ll tell you more about that later; it’s off to a good start. And I believe he’s moved an infantry brigade up to Bir Oassa.’

  ‘Quite natural to guard an oilfield. Does he expect sabotage?’

  ‘The Government is leaning heavily on our operation for propagation purposes, as you’ll see in my full report. There was the damnedest celebration you ever did see when the first transformer left Port Luard. If it should not get to Bir Oassa, or if anything happened to it up there, the Government would be discredited after all the hoopla they’ve made. Which makes it a prime target for the opposition.’

  ‘Christ!’ Geddes was fully alert for the first time. ‘Have you told Kemp all about this?’

  ‘No, I haven’t. The guy is under a lot of strain. I had a feeling that if any more piled up on him he might fall apart. The man to tell, the man who can take it, I think, is Geoffrey Wingstead.’

  ‘He’ll be down here tomorrow, to hear your report to the board, Neil. Then he’s flying out to Nyala.’

  ‘Good. I want time with him. In fact, I’d like to fix it so that we can go out together. Why the hell did you pick this shoestring operation in the first place?’

  Geddes said, ‘They could do very well. Geoff has a good head on his shoulders, and a first-rate team. And their figures tally: they’ve cut it to the bone, admittedly, but there’s still a lot in it for them. They’re building more rigs, did you know that?’

  ‘One more rig. I met the guy who developed their prototype. He seems fast enough on the ball, but what happens if something goes wrong with N
umber One? Collapse of the entire operation, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Wingstead has a second rig on lease from a Dutch company which he’s planning to send out there. He and Kemp and Hammond have been pushing big loads all their lives. They won’t let us down.’

  He thought for a moment, then said, ‘I’ll arrange things so that you go back out with Wingstead, certainly. In fact, I’ll give both of you the company jet. It’s at Stansted right now, and you can get away tomorrow, after the briefing.’

  It was the speed of his arrangements that made me realize that the prickle at the back of his mind had turned into a case of raging hives.

  FIVE

  Port Luard was cooler when we got back—about one degree cooler—but the temperature went down sharply when I walked into John Sutherland’s office. It was evident that he’d been hoping I’d disappear into the wide blue yonder never to return, and when he saw me you could have packaged him and used him as a refrigeration plant.

  I held up a hand placatingly and said, ‘Not my idea to turn around so fast—blame Mister Geddes. For my money you could have this damn place to yourself.’

  ‘You’re welcome, of course,’ he said insincerely.

  ‘Let’s not kid each other,’ I said as I took a can of beer from his office refrigerator. ‘I’m as welcome as acne on a guy’s first date. What’s new?’

  My friendly approach bothered him. He hadn’t known when to expect me and he’d been braced for trouble when he did. ‘Nothing, really. Everything has been going along smoothly.’ His tone still implied that it would cease to do so forthwith.

  It was time to sweet-talk him. ‘Geddes is very pleased about the way you’re handling things here, by the way.’

  For a moment he looked almost alarmed. The idea of Geddes being pleased about anything was odd enough to frighten anybody. Praise from him was so rare as to be nonexistent, and I didn’t let Sutherland know that it had originated with me. ‘When you left you implied that all was far from well,’ Sutherland said. ‘You never said what the trouble was.’

  ‘You should know. You started it at the meeting in London.’

  ‘I did?’ I saw him chasing around in his mind for exactly what he’d said at that meeting.

  ‘About the rumours of tribal unrest,’ I said helpfully. ‘Got a glass? I like to see my beer when I’m drinking it.’

  ‘Of course.’ He found one for me.

  ‘You were right on the mark there. Of course we know you can’t run the Bir Oassa job and chase down things like that at the same time. That was Shelford’s job, and he let us all down. So someone had to look into it and Geddes picked me—and you proved right all down the line.’ I didn’t give him time to think too deeply about that one. I leaned forward and said as winningly as I knew how, ‘I’m sorry if I was a little abrupt just before I left. That goddamn phoney victory parade left me a bit frazzled, and I’m not used to coping with this lot the way you are. If I said anything out of line I apologize.’

  He was disarmed, as he was intended to be. ‘That’s quite all right. As a matter of fact I’ve been thinking about what you said—about the need for contingency plans. I’ve been working on a scheme.’

  ‘Great.’ I said expansively. ‘Like to have a look at it sometime. Right now I have a lot else to do. I brought someone out with me that I’d like you to meet. Geoff Wingstead, the owner of Wyvern Haulage. Can you join us for dinner?’

  ‘You should have told me. He’ll need accommodation.’

  ‘It’s fixed, John. He’s at the hotel.’ I gently let him know that he wasn’t the only one who could pull strings. ‘He’s going to go up and join the rig in a day or so, but I’ll be around town for a bit longer before I pay them a visit. I’d like a full briefing from you. I’m willing to bet you’ve got a whole lot to tell me.’

  ‘Yes, I have. Some of it is quite hot stuff, Neil.’

  Sutherland was all buddies again, and bursting to tell me what I already knew, which is just what I’d been hoping for. I didn’t think I’d told him too many lies. The truth is only one way of looking at a situation; there are many others.

  For the next few days I nursed Sutherland along. His contingency plan was good, if lacking in imagination, but it improved as we went along. That was his main trouble, a lack of imagination, the inability to ask, ‘What if…?’ I am not knocking him particularly; he was good at his job but incapable of expanding the job around him, and without that knack he wasn’t going to go much further. I have a theory about men like Sutherland: they’re like silly putty. If you take silly putty and hit it with a hammer it will shatter, but handle it gently and it can be moulded into any shape. The trouble is that if you then leave it it will slump and flow back into its original shape. That’s why the manipulators, like me, get three times Sutherland’s pay.

  Not that I regarded myself as the Great Svengali, because I’ve been manipulated myself in my time by men like Geddes, the arch manipulator, so God knows what he’s worth before taxes.

  Anyway I gentled Sutherland along. I took him to the Luard Club (he had never thought about joining) and let him loose among the old sweaty types who were primed to drop him nuggets of information. Sure enough, he’d come back and tell me something else that I already knew. ‘Gee, is that so?’ I’d say. ‘That could put a crimp in your contingency plans, couldn’t it?’

  He would smile confidently. ‘It’s nothing I can’t fix,’ he would say, and he’d be right. He wasn’t a bad fixer. At the end of ten days he was all squared away, convinced that it was all his own idea, and much clearer in his head about the politics around him. He also had another conviction—that this chap Mannix wasn’t so bad, after all, for an American that is. I didn’t disillusion him.

  What slightly disconcerted me was Geoff Wingstead. He stayed in Port Luard for a few days, doing his own homework before flying up to join the rig, and in that short time he also put two and two together, on his own, and remarkably accurately. What’s more, I swear that he saw clear through my little ploy with Sutherland and to my chagrin I got the impression that he approved. I didn’t like people to be that bright. He impressed me more all the time and I found that he got the same sense of enjoyment out of the business that I did, and that’s a rare and precious trait. He was young, smart and energetic, and I wasn’t sorry that he was in another company to my own: he’d make damned tough opposition. And I liked him too much for rivalry.

  Getting news back from the rig was difficult. Local telephone lines were often out of action and our own cab radios had a limited range. One morning, though, John Sutherland had managed a long call and had news for me as soon as I came into the office.

  ‘They’re on schedule. I’ve put it on the map. Look here. They’re halfway in time but less than halfway in distance. And they’ll slow up more now because they have to climb to the plateau. Oh, and Geoff Wingstead is flying back here today. He has to arrange to send a water bowser up there. Seems the local water is often too contaminated to use for drinking.’

  I could have told Geoff that before he started and was a little surprised that he had only just found out. I decided that I wanted to go and see the rig for myself, in case there was any other little detail he didn’t know about. I was about due to go back to London soon, and rather wanted one more fling upcountry before doing so.

  I studied the map. ‘This town—Kodowa—just ahead of them. It’s got an airstrip. Any chance of renting a car there?’

  He grimaced. ‘I shouldn’t think so. It’s only a small place, about five thousand population. And if you could get a car there it would be pretty well clapped out. The airstrip is privately owned; it belongs to a planters’ cooperative.’

  I measured distances. ‘Maybe we should have a company car stationed there, and arrange for use of the airstrip. It would help if anyone has to get up there in a hurry. See to it, would you, John? As it is I’ll have to fly to Lasulu and then drive nearly three hundred miles. I’ll arrange to take one of Wyvern’s spare chaps up with me
to spell me driving.’ I knew better than to set out on my own in that bleak territory.

  I saw Wingstead on his return and we had a long talk. He was reasonably happy about his company’s progress and the logistics seemed to be working out well, but he was as wary as a cat about the whole political situation. As I said, he was remarkably acute in his judgements. I asked if he was going back to England.

  ‘Not yet, at any rate,’ he told me. ‘I have some work to do here, then I’ll rejoin the rig for a bit. I like to keep a finger on the pulse. Listen, Neil…’

  ‘You want something?’ I prompted.

  ‘I want you to put Basil Kemp completely in the picture. He doesn’t know the score and he may not take it from me. Why should he? We’re both new to Africa, new to this country, and he’ll brush off my fears, but he’ll accept your opinion. He needs to know more about the political situation.’

  ‘I wouldn’t call Kemp exactly complacent myself,’ I said.

  ‘That’s the trouble. He’s got so many worries of his own that he hasn’t room for mine—unless he can be convinced they’re real. You’re going up there, I’m told. Lay it on the line for him, please.’

  I agreed, not without a sense of relief. It was high time that Kemp knew the wider issues involved, and nothing I had heard lately had made me any less uneasy about the possible future of Nyala. The next morning I picked up Ritchie Thorpe, one of the spare Wyvern men, and Max Otterman flew us up to Lasulu. From there we drove inland along that fantastic road that thrust into the heart of the country. After Ofanwe had it built it had been underused and neglected. The thick rain forest had encroached and the huge trees had thrust their roots under it to burst the concrete. Then came the oil strike and now it was undergoing a fair amount of punishment, eroding from above to meet the erosion from below. Not that the traffic was heavy in the sense of being dense, but some damn big loads were being taken north. Our transformer was merely the biggest so far.