Assignment Black Gold

by Edward S. Aarons

  Lepaka considered his thin, fragrant cigar. A small sea wind, like an errant hope, drifted through the barred window. It died in anguish, a victim of the prison smells.

  “The Saka, as we call him, is my foster father.”

  “And?”

  “When I was a boy, the Saka was already a mature man, a fighter for our independence, a revolutionist, if you will. I was a tribal orphan—the ward of a little village on the edge of the Kahara. I need not tell you that life was difficult, far below the normal subsistence level. I was pagan, illiterate, with a perpetually swollen belly. How I grew to my present awkward height is probably a matter of simple genetics. In any case, when the Saka came through our village to collect freedom fighters against our colonial masters, I joined him. What else was there for me to do? No woman would look at me. As a fdana, a tribal orphan. I had nothing to offer and never would have. I was a pariah. So I followed the Saka.

  “He adopted me. It was as simple as that. It was like a splendid sunrise. He became fond of me—why, I do not know. I worshipped him for his strength and wisdom. He taught me Portuguese and English. Somehow, I was quick to learn. Before he was imprisoned that second time, he gave me money—no doubt stolen from the Luanda banks in Angola—and directed me to go to Europe for my education. He insisted that Lubinda needed literate, professional men, if we were to succeed in raising ourselves from the lives of fishermen, jungle kraals, and desert nomads. I went to London and studied hard, applied myself, and kept faith with the Saka.”

  “And when you returned to Lubinda?”

  “The first thing I did was to organize a breakout for Sakadga from Kajary Prison. You have heard of the place?”

  Durell nodded. “Not easy. I heard the Saka was killed just four days before independence for Lubinda.”

  “He was seriously injured. He has recovered. But his major and lasting hurt is an inner one.”

  Durell waited. Insects hummed. and buzzed in and out of the barred window. Great moths fluttered around the globe lamp on the desk. He looked at this watch. It was almost four o’clock in the morning. He could have used at cup of coffee. But Lepaka offered him nothing. The colonel seemed to be thinking of other things, his hands flat on the closed dossier on his desk. Then Lepaka stood up. unfolding like some sort of stick insect, until he towered with his head just grazing the bricked vault of the ceiling.

  “You see, Mr. Durell, I know we are in the same business, and therefore I can trust you to be competent and circumspect about what I say to you."

  “You suggested we might make a deal.”

  “Precisely. I am coming to that.”

  “I just want to find Brady Cotton.”

  “Alive, or dead?”

  “Alive, preferably.”

  “I am prepared to assist you,” Lepaka said. “In turn, you can do something for me that I am unable at the moment to do for myself.”

  “You want Felipe Barraganza Sakadga?”

  "Yes."

  “Alive or dead?" Durell returned, unsmiling.

  “Very much alive. To help Lubinda, to help my people, to be rid of the Maoist Apgaks who. in their foolish fanaticism. refuse to believe they are only the tools of another imperialism not much different from the old.”

  “How many others know that Sakai is alive?”

  “As I said, very few.”

  "The President?”

  “No.”

  “Any of your parliament?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have a small junta planned?”

  “No. We simply want his return. To guide us. The people adore him. They will follow him. The country will settle down. There will be no more killings.”

  Durell had no idea whether the man could be believed or not. He did not mean to lend himself to some putsch that might establish yet another military dictatorship among the newly emerged African states.

  “You said the Saka is hurt inwardly?"

  “Sim. Yes. By his true son, who was always at his side, even as I was at his other hand.”

  Suddenly it seemed as inevitable to Durell as the inexorable fate in an ancient Greek tragedy. There was remembered sorrow in the colonel’s black, bony lace, in the red depths of his murky eyes. Lepaka stood at the window and looked out at the moths, and without thinking, he drew up one of his stiltlike legs and stood on the other, loft foot resting just above the knee of the right. Durell could see him thus, leaning on a spear in the black forests and swamps of Lubinda—but more likely leaning on a rifle or a bazooka.

  “You know of whom I speak?” Lepaka asked softly.

  “l can guess.”

  “Guess. then.”

  “Are you testing me?” Durell asked.

  “In a way."

  “This former comrade-in-arms, this son, beloved by the Saka, as you say"—Durell paused— “this man, your stepbrother, is now the head of the Apgaks—Lopes Fuentes Madragata.”

  Lepaka sighed. “Yes.”

  “And how many know that?” Durell demanded.

  “You and I. Lopes. No others.”

  “All right. Then what’s the deal? What choice do I have except staying in this jail for years to come?”

  “l want you to bring the Saka back—back to life, back to his rightful place, leading the people of Lubinda. To end Madragata’s stupid terrorism on behalf of the Maoist Apgaks. Bring him back for me, Durell.”

  “Why can’t you do it?”

  “It is a journey into the desert, beyond the Bone Coast.” Lepaka paused. “Settled by Germans in pre-World War I days. There are still some Rhineland-type castles there—Wakermund, Schneiderhof, and Heinrichburg. All ruins. Ignore them. I cannot leave. Madragata is ready to make his strike. He knows just where and when to do this bloody business. Someone tells him. I do not know who, but he has an informer, high in government, perhaps. I step closer to him with each hour. No, I cannot leave the city now."

  Durell said, “I have no wish to interfere in your affairs or get mixed up in local politics. Why me?”

  “First, you have no choice. If you do not agree, if you attempt to leave Lubinda secretly, or it you betray me, you will spend the rest of your life in this prison. I promise you that. You will not live long under these conditions. but each hour will seem like a year. Also, you see, I know you. I have your dossier here, and I know what you can do. You will go to the Saka and persuade him, for me, to rise from the dead and help save us.”

  “Would he listen to me, a stranger?”

  "You will speak for me, my words will be in your mouth. will listen.” Lepaka paused. “He is not in sympathy with Lopes, his son. Be not concerned about that. But if he refuses you and me, you will not leave Lubinda.”

  “Alive, you mean?”

  “In any fashion.”

  “The Saka is an old man.”

  “He will listen.”

  The wind came in through the small window and again died in agony, Durell thought about the prison, and did not like his thoughts. He knew that Komo Lepaka meant every word he said. Whether or not me words held the whole truth. he could not know.

  He said, “And Brady Cotton?”

  “You may pursue your search for him.”

  “I ‘want to go to the Lady," Durell said.

  The colonel's heavy eyelids thinned. “You think Brady

  is there? No, no. He is off in the jungles—"

  “I'd like to look.”

  Lepaka said, “It is not in my jurisdiction. You must ask Hobe Tallman. He will refuse you. Duty a maintenance crew is on the rig now. All work has been stopped."

  “I can get there,” Durell said.

  “How?"

  “Maybe Mrs. Cotton will help.”

  “Ah. Kitty. A lovely young woman. Very helpful to our people. She teaches English to our children here, did you know that?"

  “How much time will you give me?” Durell insisted.

  Lepaka thought about it. “You may have all of tomorrow. By evening, you must he on your way to the Kahara Des
ert. I will let you know where to look for the Saka. You will be gone three days, at the most. You may be sure that you will be observed every moment. Any attempt to reach the border will prove unfortunate for you —and perhaps for Mrs. Cotton. too.”

  “You’re not as subtle as I thought.” Durell said.

  “When the fdata snake strikes, his fangs are bared.”

  Chapter 8.

  There was a brief freshness in the morning air when Durell stepped through the prison gates. He walked through the empty streets and lanes of the town and noted that lights were burning in the Presidential Palace. In the Chinese quarter, he smelled breakfast rice cooking and heard the wail of a child, the grunt of a pig in a backyard. He was not followed. He checked several times, and spotted no one.

  He did not go back to the Lopodama Hotel. He walked quietly to the Pequah, entered that maze of tiny shops and tenements, and came to Brady Cotton’s establishment. All the windows were dark. There was a cord attached to a bell above the shaded shop door, and he tugged it gently. then again, listening to the dim tinkling inside. The lane was dark and shadowed, but no one loitered nearby. He heard a hooting from the whistle of one of the freighters moored in the river mouth. A rooster began to crow. To the west, the Atlantic brooded in sullen darkness under fading stars.

  On the third ring, he heard movement beyond the door. Kitty Cotton appeared, wearing an ultra-short nightie that did nothing to make her look less desirable. Her eyes were sleepy.

  “Cajun? Come in.” She undid the chain and the lock and stepped aside for him to enter. “Where’ve you been?”

  “Down at the docks. In jail.“

  “Jail? Oh, Lord.”

  “Colonel Lepaka knows all about me. He’s known about Brady’s cover tor some time, it seems."

  “Damn it. I told Brady he wasn't being too smart about things. Come in, Sam. I’ll make some coffee. Isn’t that jail a hellhole?"

  “I didn‘t see too much of it. Lepaka says I have a choice—spend the rest of my life there, or help him with a private job he wants done. He‘s given me this day to find Brady."

  “Nuts. Where can you look?”

  “On the Lady, I thought.”

  “You can‘t get out there. Nobody can.”

  “Matty might help me.”

  “Matt takes orders from Hobe Tallman, and Hobe says no one, but no one, goes out to the rig. He’s worried about sabotage, I guess.”

  “Would you come with me?” Durell asked.

  Her eyes were suddenly less sleepy. “Why me?”

  “Brady’s your husband, isn’t he?”

  “Not much of one,” she said.

  He followed her up the stairs. The short nightie was a marvelous temptation. He kept his hands to himself.

  “Let me put the coffee on and get dressed,” she said.

  “How do you expect to get out to the Lady?”

  “Doesn't Brady own a boat?”

  She turned and looked at him. “Oh. I see what you mean. Matter of fact, I reckon he does. I’m not particularly fond of boats anymore. Are you?”

  “I sail a little.”

  “This is a power boat. I don’t think Brady's ever taken it out to sea that far. It’s almost twenty miles to the rig, you know.”

  “What’s its speed?”

  “Oh, fifteen knots, maybe. Make it two hours to get out there—as long as the ocean is reasonably calm.”

  “Fine,” he said. “Get dressed."

  She was quick and efficient in everything she did. He noted that she did not ask specifically what Lepaka had demanded of him. She vanished into the bedroom while he sipped the hot chicory-flavored coffee, and when she came out, she was wearing dark dungarees and a blue polo shirt that let him see the contours of her fine breasts. She had tied her hair into long braids and pinned them on top of her proud head. He thought again that Brady Cotton had been a fool to lose her. Her back and shoulders were very straight.

  “Have you got a gun?” she asked.

  “Do you think we’ll need one?”

  ‘“I’m not sure. It’s because of what the children that I teach have been saying.”

  “And what’s that?”

  She shrugged. “The rig is haunted. A sea devil lives out there. That sort of thing. Native superstition.”

  “Do you think a sea devil is out there?”

  She looked at him seriously. “I honestly don’t know. I just thought a gun might be handy.”

  “Not against ghostly spirits.”

  “All right. I’m just a bit jumpy, I reckon. With Brady missing, and the sabotage and accidents, and you showing up, and all. You bother me, do you know that?”

  “How do I bother you?” Durell asked.

  She kept her gaze level. “It’s just that you seem to be all the things I wish Brady might be. In some ways, I don’t like you. You scare me a little. Don’t forget, I was brought up on Cape Ann, and I’m part Portuguese fisherman, too. Lots of superstitions there, you see. About the ocean. I’ve never been out to the Lady, you know.”

  “Let’s go,” he said. “It’s getting light.”

  She still hesitated. “Still, I wish Brady was more like you. I’m taking a knife.”

  “All right." He watched her choose a long, wicked-looking blade with steel about ten inches long and a blackened wooden handle. She had a leather sheath for it that clipped onto the wide studded belt of her denims. Then she touched her hair in an utterly feminine gesture and smiled, and the smile made her look defenseless, somewhat frightened, like a small girl.

  The boat was moored opposite the oil docks and the switching yard where the explosions had occurred earlier. It was a thirty-two-foot wooden craft of the Boston whaler type, with a wide beam and a diesel engine and an extra fuel tank. There was a small canopy over a comfortable cockpit. It was tied to the concrete pier under a dim light from a nearby security lamp. The name on the stern was Kitty. The girl moved lightly, familiar with boats from her childhood days at Gloucester. She checked the lines and the fuel, nodded when Durell asked if there was enough for a round trip to the rig, and balanced herself easily against the slight push of the tide coming into the estuary. Off to the east the sky began to pale with the new dawn. Westward, over the African coastal waters of the Atlantic, the ocean was still utterly dark except for a few navigation lights winking against the blackness.

  Durell heard the footsteps running from the oil company’s rail yard as he was about to go down the rickety wooden ladder to the whaler. He paused. touched the gun in his belt. The smell of smoke still hovered in the air from the earlier explosions.

  “Cajun!”

  It was Matt Forchette. His chunky figure appeared in the nearby pool of light. He wore boots and a checked cotton shirt and he held a Colt’s .45 in his hand. His square face was turgid with anger.

  “What in hell are you doing?”

  “Going for a boat ride, Matty,” Din-ell spoke calmly.

  “Why the gun?”

  “Why not? You know what‘s happening around here.”

  “But we’re not on company property.”

  Matty did not lower the big automatic. He looked down at Kitty Cotton and said, “Hi, sweetheart. I thought this feller was in jail.”

  “Where did you hear that?” Durell asked.

  “You told me yourself that Colonel Lepaka wanted to see you. I just figured—” The stocky man looked confused for a moment. He started to lower his gun, then brought it up again. “Listen, Sam, I know you—you’ve got to be up to something. Just where are you going? To the rig?”

  “Yes. Looking for Brady Cotton,” Durell said.

  “You think he’s out on the Lady?”

  “He might be. He seems to be nowhere else.”

  Matt made a snorting sound. “The chopper went out there two hours ago. Haven’t heard a word since. No radio contact at all. The supply tender needs repairs, since the explosions, so that’s no good either. I’m goin’ with you.”

  Durell looked at Kitty
, who nodded. “What do you mean, you haven’t heard anything from the Lady?”

  “Contact went out before the chopper got there. Sure, we’re supposed to have radio telecommunications on twenty-four-hour service. Normally, the platform takes a crew of fifty-four men, but Hobe pulled most of them off

  when he decided we were goin’ into a dry hole—which I think is a lot of crap—and he left only six men for maintenance. Tommy Crandon, Joe Ball, Eddie Grogan—I got the list back in the office."

  “You think something has happened out there?”

  “I damn well mean to find out.”

  Durell said, “You don’t need that gun to convince me. Get aboard.”

  Kitty handled the wheel. She stood with her legs braced against the rolling swell of the estuary and the incoming tide. Matty the Fork settled down on the stern near the inboard engine hatch and glumly put away his gun. In la moment, the dark shore receded, its empty storage tanks along the dock a mute testimony to unfulfilled hopes. A few lights twinkled in the town, but the sky to the east was now filled with radiance as the hot dawn began. The whaleboat proved sturdy and powerful against the thrust of the tide in the mouth of the river.

  Matt stared moodily into the blackness ahead.

  “What kind of trouble are you in, Sam? Seems to me you held out on me a bit, earlier.”

  “Lepaka is giving me a little pressure.”

  “What’s he want?”

  “It’s jail or a little job for him.”

  “You don’t want the local crib. It’s real bad. He can make any charge stick, you know.” Matty looked grim.

  “What does he want you to do?”

  “I have to find the Saka.”

  Kitty turned and stared at Durell. Matt grunted and said, “That’s easy. His body is in the tomb by the river.”

  “Lepaka says he‘s alive, somewhere in the Kahara."

  “Jesus. That beats everything yet.”

  “Do you believe it, Matt?”

  “Listen, anything can happen in Lubinda. I wouldn’t say yes or no. But you’ll get your head chopped off and your guts cut out, and anything else bad that you can think of, goin’ into the Kahara.”

  “Is Madragata really the Saka’s son?"