Lords of Corruption

by Kyle Mills

  "You must think we are a very strange people."

  It was peculiar how out of place the man seemed there, on the dirt floor with old magazine clippings serving as artwork on the walls. It was hard not to wonder what someone like him could have become if he'd been born under different circumstances.

  "I don't suppose it matters what I think."

  "When you came to us, I would have agreed. But now I think you may be a man with . . ." Tfmena's voice trailed off while he tried to retrieve the correct word. "Weight."

  "I appreciate that. Coming from you, it really means something. But shouldn't you be getting --"

  Tfmena waved a hand dismissively. Whether he knew something Josh didn't or it was just that irritating African fatalism was impossible to discern.

  "We've lived this way for a long time. And for a long time it was good. The tribes, the big families. These protected us against Africa. Because this is a place that always wants to kill you. It does this with droughts, with floods, and with sickness. But the whites came, and the world changed. Now the things that once protected us kill us."

  "The world changes faster and faster," Josh said. "Sometimes it's hard to keep up."

  "This thing is much more difficult than you can understand, Josh. There are many people who want many different things."

  "Like who?"

  Tfmena smiled. "I wonder if this is something you want to be a part of. No one will win. Not in my lifetime. Not even in yours."

  Josh glanced back at the dark cracks around the door, trying to discern movement -- evidence that the men he'd recorded were outside sharpening their machetes. There was nothing, though. He pulled what little money he had from his

  pocket and held it out to the man. "I want you to have this. To help you get your family away."

  Tfmena shook his head. "I saved you. And now you've saved me. You owe me nothing."

  Josh set the cash on the shelf holding the lamp. "Then pay me back someday."

  Chapter 20.

  The main road was blocked by an armored vehicle, forcing Josh to turn onto a side street and once again recalculate his path.

  He barely recognized the capital city he'd driven through when he'd first arrived. Illumination was provided by fires built in rusting oil drums, occasional bare bulbs hanging from wires, and a few brightly lit and heavily barricaded storefronts. The women and children darting about were gone, too, replaced by young men talking and drinking on street corners. When he passed, they always fell silent.

  Unwilling to stop at a crossroad, he gunned the vehicle through it and aimed at a dull glow hanging over the east side of town. The powerful security lights made the capital's high-rent district look a little like Oz. Now if he could just find the yellow-brick road.

  After fifteen more stifling minutes in the closed-up Land Cruiser, the dirt road turned to pavement, and idle men were replaced by neatly kept trees. Razor wire gleamed atop fences that allowed only brief glimpses of the colonial mansions behind them.

  Josh pulled up to a small guardhouse and rolled down the window, happy to feel the damp breeze again.

  "I'm here to see Stephen Trent," he said, squinting as a uniformed man approached him and shined a flashlight in his face.

  "There are no visitors tonight. Come back tomorrow."

  "Could you tell him Josh Hagarty is here? It's important."

  The man scowled before walking back into the guardhouse. A few moments later, the gate began to swing open.

  Josh eased the vehicle across the cobbled courtyard and parked in front of a house that was impressive by any standard probably five thousand square feet of white stucco, Roman-style columns, and cathedral-like windows.

  "Josh, what the hell are you doing here?" Stephen Trent said, coming out onto the wraparound porch wearing wrinkled slacks and an untucked linen shirt that suggested Josh had gotten him out of bed.

  "I needed to talk to you."

  "I know I said we'd get together, but I didn't mean tonight. Did you drive here alone?"

  "Yeah."

  "Jesus Christ," Trent said, ushering him inside. "Next time you want to come here in the middle of the night, at least call me so I can send some people to escort you in. It's insane to drive around the city after dark."

  The interior was even more impressive than the facade. True to the period in which the house had been built, it was filled with exotic woods and well-polished European antiques. A far cry from Annika's tiny church or Tfmena's ramshackle hut.

  Trent led him into an office much more expansive than the one he kept in New York and took a seat behind his desk. Josh remained standing, glancing at a wall lined with filing cabinets. Most were normal, but the one on the far right was forged of thick metal with locks that looked like they could stop a tank. It was hard not to wonder if those were the files Flannary had talked about -- the ones that never made it back to the States.

  "Look, Josh, I know I said we'd talk about us helping you with your family problems and getting you home, but you haven't exactly given me much time. With the fire and Mtiti's photo shoot, my plate's a little full."

  Josh pulled his MP3 player from his pocket and set it down on the desk. "What's that?"

  "I recorded some men at the project talking."

  Trent's expression was almost too placid, showing no anticipation at all. "So?"

  "They say they're being paid to kill Tfmena Llengambi and his family."

  "Who's Tfmena Llengambi?"

  "The most respected tribal leader out there. He's probably the main reason the project got as far as it did."

  Trent put one of the earphones in and played a few seconds of the recording. "Who translated this?"

  Josh opened his mouth to tell him but for some reason checked himself. "It was a guy who was just passing through. He told me his name, but you know how it is. I couldn't pronounce it, let alone remember it."

  "Where was he going? I'd like to find him. We're always looking for people with language skills."

  Josh just shrugged.

  "Did you tell Tfmena about this?"

  "Hell, yes. With a little luck, he's long gone already."

  Another nod, but that was it.

  "This project has a hell of a lot more problems than you told me about, Stephen. Did you know that the ownership of that land is disputed? Or that Gideon has a store in the refugee camp where he sells stuff he's stolen from us?"

  Trent held up a hand. "Okay, Josh, let's talk reality for a minute. Did I know this was disputed land? Yes. There isn't a goddamn piece of dirt an inch wide in this country that isn't disputed. This tribe hates that tribe, this faction hates that faction, this village hates that village. If that wasn't the case, we wouldn't need to be here. And I'll be honest. Dan never had any trouble with this. He had them all getting along fine."

  "This would be the Dan who's lying in pieces out in the jungle?"

  Trent ignored the comment. "And as far as Gideon goes, he's got three wives and fourteen kids to support. He's going to wet his beak just like everyone in this part of the world. I don't think you should ignore the fact that he's well-educated and speaks almost perfect English --"

  "But he's kind of self-serving in the way he uses that English. I don't believe he's translating what people say accurately. And as far as him wetting his beak, I understand that kind of thing happens, and I wouldn't care if we were talking about a shovel here and a bag of food there. But disassembling our tractor and selling off the parts is a little over the top. I don't have to tell you how far the loss of a piece of equipment like that has set the project back."

  "I don't need a lecture from you, Josh. Let me put it in starker terms: Gideon is President Mtiti's brother-in-law."

  Josh crossed his arms in front of his chest, still unwilling to sit in one of the empty chairs in front of the desk. "Kind of makes you wonder how committed to this project Mtiti is, doesn't it? In fact, it makes you wonder if Gideon is involved with the men who want to kill Tfmena. He told me the fire was an
accident when he knew it wasn't."

  Trent sighed quietly. "He's just telling you what he thinks you want to hear, Josh. The Africans have a certain stoicism that, to us, comes out as lying. It's not intended that way. And as far as Mtiti goes, I can personally guarantee you that he's committed to this project. If for no other reason, he needs it to maintain his image abroad."

  "Does it ever seem to you that everyone here is working against everything -- even their own self-interest? I understand it's complicated, and I haven't been here very long, but it's hard not to wonder if there's really anything we can do. If there's anything we can build that will last."

  "Things are different here, Josh. Think about how African Americans were treated before the civil rights movement. Why? What had they done other than work themselves to death in cotton fields so that the whites could get rich? Well, here some of the grievances are a hell of a lot more serious than that. And a hell of a lot older."

  "I'm not saying --"

  "And what about the nepotism? In the U. S. people admire you for putting your ideals above family and friends. Why? Because we can afford to. For someone like Gideon, getting one of the few decent jobs available can be the difference between his family having nothing or having enough to eat and access to medical care. As far as the Africans are concerned, you'd have to be one crazy ingrate to screw over someone from your village or a relative because someone you've never met had better grades in school, or a better work history, or whatever. You owe a very real debt to your family and your tribe, and you spend your life repaying it."

  "I never thought about it that way," Josh confessed. "But you have to admit, it's not working out so well for them."

  "In the end, it's a losing strategy," Trent agreed. "But you're not going to come in here and change things overnight. You're a smart kid, and frankly, we both know you're no Boy Scout. That's why we hired you. Is the system a disaster? Yes. The question is, can you work with it?"

  Josh didn't answer immediately, and Trent just sat there and watched him.

  "If this project is going to have a chance, Stephen, you're going to have to make some hard decisions."

  "Such as?"

  "Get rid of Gideon. If what you say is true and Mtiti needs this project, then he isn't going to care about you canning some distant relative who's making trouble."

  "Okay. What else?"

  "We need to figure out a way to bring back Tfmena and protect him. He's got the respect of a lot of people, even some on the other side."

  "So if I can get all that done, you'll stay?"

  "No. That's the last thing. Get someone in here who actually has practical knowledge about agriculture. No Ivy League degrees, no twenty-five-year-olds. Find yourself some retired farmer who never graduated from high school but who actually knows how to get shit done."

  Trent rose and walked over to a small refrigerator, retrieving two beers and holding one out to Josh. "I don't want to pry, but if you tell me what your family problems are, we might be able to help."

  "Thanks, but I don't think you can." "Don't underestimate me. You might be surprised."

  Josh took a sip of the beer and then held the cold bottle to his forehead. The anger he'd felt on the drive there had faded a bit. As much as he hated to admit it, some of Trent's explanations rang at least partially true. To a point, you had to go along to get along. And now he sounded sincere in his offer of help.

  "It's my sister. The environment she's living in has gotten bad enough that I think she could actually get hurt."

  "You sound like you two are close." "Ver "

  y.

  "What about your mother?"

  "We don't have much of a relationship." "But your sister . . . Laura, isn't it? She'll be going off to college soon."

  "I'm starting to worry about that. I think she might not leave. Because of my mother's situation."

  "Which is?"

  "Drunk. And at the mercy of a relative who is looking to take advantage of her."

  Trent nodded slowly. "I see. Look, I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but we are an aid agency. We have contacts in social work, not to mention lawyers who see these kinds of situations every day."

  "I appreciate the offer, but --"

  "Your ideas are good, Josh. There are going to have to be some compromises in implementing them, but it's this kind of smart, decisive action we're looking for. We don't want to lose you."

  "My mind's pretty much made up, Stephen."

  "But if I could help you deal with your family problems? Then you'd stay, right?"

  The truth was, as frustrating as this job was, it also had its positives. And not only the compensation package and the fact that he had no other prospects. If Trent gave in to his demands, he might actually have a shot. He might actually be able to do something worthwhile.

  "I don't know, Stephen. Maybe."

  "Okay, then. I'm still trying to get you on a flight out of here, but in the meantime, I'll make some calls and see what we can do for your sister. I'll be down for Mtiti's photo op in a few days, and we'll talk again then."

  Josh's beer stopped halfway to his mouth. "You're still coming?"

  "Of course."

  "Stephen, there's nothing left. I'm serious. Nothing."

  "I don't have much of a choice, Josh. I promised the president, and we designed all our fund-drive materials for the season around this. I'll just have to figure something out."

  Chapter 21.

  Stephen Trent watched Gideon's jaw clench tighter and tighter, the muscles quivering as he listened to the recording on Josh Hagarty's MP3 player. His nose flared one last time, and he yanked the earphones out.

  "Who translated this for him?"

  "I don't know."

  "Did you ask him?"

  "Of course I asked him! He didn't know the man's name."

  "He's lying," Gideon said.

  "Then who? I thought you had people watching him twenty-four hours a day? Why don't you know?"

  "I can make him tell us."

  "I think you've already done plenty. You let the project burn before the president's visit, and you let Tfmena Llengambi get away."

  "My people had nothing to do with burning the project," Gideon said indignantly.

  "It was some Yvimbo dog. They --"

  "You want me to trust your people?" Trent shouted. "The same people who were standing out in the open talking about getting paid to kill Tfmena?"

  "They had no way of knowing that they were being recorded. They --"

  "Shut up!" Trent said. "Just shut up and let me think!"

  Josh Hagarty had been exactly right: It was Tfmena Llengambi's unique ability to bridge the divisions in his tribe that had kept the project from descending into chaos long ago. But that status worked both ways. With him gone, there would no longer be anything keeping the two groups from each other's throats.

  It had been a simple, virtually foolproof plan. Following Mtiti's visit, Tfmena would be brutally murdered, tribal violence would flare, and Gideon's people would make certain that what little had been accomplished on the project was completely destroyed.

  Mtiti would have photos to demonstrate to the international community his fabricated commitment to crossing tribal boundaries, the project would be wiped out to demonstrate to his Xhisa supporters that he was dealing with the Yvimbo, and New-

  Africa would have a heart-wrenching disaster to further loosen the purse strings of its donors.

  But now that perfect plan had gone to shit. Like everything else on this godforsaken continent.

  "Where is Hagarty?" Gideon said, ignoring Trent's outburst.

  "Asleep in the guesthouse."

  "When he leaves in the morning, I'll have my people follow him. He'll tell us what we want to know, and no one will ever see him again."

  "You're not going to touch him, Gideon. Do you have any idea how many questions we had to answer after Dan's death?"

  Gideon let out a disgusted, noncommittal breath.

 
"I mean it, Gideon. I'm going to talk to Aleksei, and I'll tell you what we decide. In the meantime, you're going to get rid of your store in the refugee camp."

  "What?"

  "You heard me."

  "I will not! I have a right

  "You have a right?" Trent yelled, jumping out of his chair and hammering a hand onto his desk. "I'm going to see the president in a few days, maybe I should tell him about your rights. Maybe I should tell him that you're willing to put him in danger so you can keep your fucking little store open."

  Gideon looked as though he wanted to reach across the desk and snap Trent's neck, but at the mention of Mtiti his indignation began to falter.

  "I didn't mean to say

  "I don't give a shit what you meant to say. Do you think being related to Mtiti is going to help you? He'll send his people down here, and they'll kill you and your whole family. He's done it before to people he was a hell of a lot closer to than you."

  The African didn't respond, and Trent reached for the MP3 player, slamming it repeatedly down on his desk until the pieces were scattered across its wood top.

  "Now, listen to me very carefully, Gideon. You're going to find the person who translated this, you're going to find out if they've talked to anyone about it, and then you're going to kill them. Do you think you can handle that?"

  Stephen Trent made himself a drink and held it to his lips with a shaking hand. How the hell had he ended up like this? A few years ago he'd been a reasonably successful con man, swindling people out of their life savings without harming so much as a hair on their heads. Now he was threatening to have the entire family of one of his employees butchered.

  When Aleksei Fedorov had found him, Trent had been facing multiple counts of stock fraud and racketeering. Fedorov had provided enough money, lawyers, and God knew what else to get all the charges dropped. And in return, Trent had taken over Fedorov's latest criminal venture -- N ewAfri c a .

  At the time it had seemed like an incredible stroke of luck -- a clean record and a mid-six-figure salary in place of prison. But every day he became less certain.