by Terry Morgan
CHAPTER 10
Gabriel was watching from the upstairs window as the big, black car pulled up outside the Holiday Inn Express A burly white security man got out, opened the rear door and, even though it was night-time, Gabriel saw him put on a pair of dark glasses. Daniel Bakare climbed out holding a phone to his ear. Simultaneously, Gabriel's phone rang.
"Sorry I'm late. I'm downstairs."
"Yeh, I see." Gabriel said. "Leave the big boy downstairs. We don't bite and we're unarmed and if the moon's too bright for him tonight tell him to go see an eye specialist." He went to the door, opened it and waited until Bakare arrived outside. "Come in," he said. "Take the weight off your feet. The bed's very comfortable."
Solomon, understanding Gabriel's mood offered Bakare the chair and stood by the window. Gabriel lay on the bed, hands behind his head, shoes and socks scattered on the floor.
"Shit, Gabriel, what's got with you? You ain't normally like this."
"No? Maybe I feel I'm being fucked about, Daniel."
"And who the hell's fucking you about?"
"Everyone. You included. How long we been talking now? Years. We've tried your recommended route - lobbying through people like your friend Governor Frank Jameson and a hundred others. Meanwhile, we just get on with things. On our own." He pointed a finger directly at Bakare's face. "When's everyone going to realise that Gabriel Joshua ain't no fool and what's more he'll deliver - if necessary without any help from the US Government. Why do we waste time talking to you?"
"Things take time, Gabriel."
"Yes, meantime more people fall into poverty, more people get killed, murdered, beheaded, raped, abducted. Not too many Americans amongst them I've noticed but a lot of Africans. Who told you South Africa was a time bomb?"
"You did, Gabriel. You were right."
"So? What's your plan? Made any decisions?"
There was a silence of a few seconds although, looking on, Solomon decided it was only an awkward one for Bakare. Gabriel just edged further back on the bed. head on the pillow, bare ankles and toes twitching impatiently. "Come on, Daniel. Spill. The plans? The decisions? What are they?"
"You jumped the gun, Gabriel."
"Who? Me?" Gabriel said pointing a finger at himself.
"We've seen it. Very strategic, right on the border."
"Was it a good satellite picture, Daniel? Did you like the British flag? I'd stick some stars and stripes on the roof if you'd help."
"The Brits knew nothing till we told them."
"Why should they know? They're as fucking long-winded as you. You talk to Taj Harding recently?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"Last I heard he was talking to the UK Defence Secretary."
"Fucking hell. He did that two years ago, Daniel. And you talked to yours two years ago. You said you liked my ideas, but. I asked why the 'but'? You said it didn't fit US strategy. So, I said 'but what exactly is US strategy?' You seemed vague. Any clearer today?"
"We're moving closer, Gabriel."
Another silence. Solomon turned, stared out at the growing darkness. Bakare stood up and walked a few paces. "So, who gave you permission to set up something in that nice, strategically placed corner on the border? You want to tell me?"
"No. Why the fuck should I? It's private property and even if I did would it make any difference to US strategy to deal with the spread of the COK etcetera, etcetera?"
"It might."
"So, if I told you we got permission from the President would you believe me?"
"Which President? Hama Dosso from Niamey or your own President Azazi from Abuja?"
Gabriel shrugged. "Does it matter? We own the land and can do what the fuck we like without Uncle Sam interfering?"
"Jesus, Gabriel. Calm it."
"I'm calm. Because it's none of your fucking business." He shrugged sarcastically. "It's a matter of national security. It's foreign policy. It'll form part of our next strategic defence review. Recognise the phrases? And I'd need to consult my managing director."
Bakare tried smiling. "We can always find out."
"Feel free. Go ahead. Do all the fucking checking you want. Checking's easy. But while you're checking make a fucking decision for Christ's sake. Decisions ain't as easy. But I need a decision. Will you help or not? Simple question. Yes or no?"
"So, what's behind the wall, under the roof, inside the tents?"
"Go check. March in all five of your highly-trained military advisers and go see for yourself. But beware of our tight security. They'll fire on anything that looks unfriendly."
There was a longer pause, both men looking at one another.
"Listen Gabriel. I don't have to sit here and listen to all this shit. You know we've been asked to arrest you? By your own officials in Nigeria."
Gabriel held out his wrists to be cuffed. "Go ahead. But did you check the background to that? Surely with your need to be thorough before making decisions affecting foreign nationals or national security or drawing conclusions based on satellite images or before upsetting the wishes of the electorate or other foreign governments you'll have checked."
"Last I heard it looked like you're being screwed, Gabriel."
Gabriel nodded. "One hundred percent correct. I'm being thoroughly screwed and fucked about."
At last he sat up, swung his legs around, bare feet on the ground. "Listen, Daniel, I hate sitting around, OK? I need to be doing something. I sat here all day waiting for you. So, tell me, where do we stand? Seems to me we have three options going here. You want me to list them? Make it nice and simple for you?"
Solomon turned to watch. He actually liked it when Gabriel got like this.
"Three options. One: The US will support both the defence strategy and our economic community plan without going too public.
"Two: The US will support both strategies and splash the decisions across the pages of the Washington Post and every other national and international newspaper and TV channel.
"Three: You can't make up your minds, we are no further forward than before, we stop talking, and call the whole thing off. Forget we ever met.
"Which is it, Daniel? Option one, two or three? Because if it's option three we'll go straight to our Plan B."
"And what the hell is Plan B?"
Gabriel exploded. "You see?" Then he exploded even more. Solomon, sitting right against the window, thought he felt the glass move. "Answer my fucking question first, will you?"
But then the phone rang.
Solomon answered it and handed it to Gabriel. "Bill."
Gabriel replaced Solomon by the window and looked out. It was dark and all he saw was his own reflection. "Bill. Been trying to get you all day. I'm in a meeting with Mr Bakare......Yes, that Mr Bakare. What's up?"
Gabriel listened for several minutes as Solomon distracted Bakare by opening the mini bar and gesturing to Daniel Bakare. Bakare declined.
"OK, Bill, understood. I might get an answer right now but I won't put a bet on it......yeh, OK man, I'll phone you later. Brilliant stuff, Bill. Fantastic........What? Who?"
There was more silence as Gabriel listened.
"What's her name?........ Why didn't you tell me before?.........Sure, I know, you're busy and the fucking phone link's crap...... Where's she from?.......Kinawa.......near Magumeri, right?........She was one of them? Jesus, Bill, what you planning to do with her right now?........If she wants to stay then let her stay. I agree........ Halima, you say? Nice name. And she wants to see me?....... Is that what she said? No prompting?......So I got yet another female fan........Sixteen years old........Sure, Bill, just find her things to do and take good care of her. Keep her occupied. Tell her everything and tell her I'll come to see her as soon as I can. And tell her we're fighting for her family and her friends, OK? Fantastic, Bill. Good news."
Gabriel switched off, smiled and turned to face Bakare.
"Have the clever US satellites and drones that spotted the UK flag painted on a roof also spo
tted the COK headquarters?"
"Perhaps."
Gabriel took a breath and walked around the room.
"OK, I'd like it bombed because that's where they took five Nigerian girls who were then driven two hundred miles back to a school in Nigeria with bombs tied to their bodies. You remember that atrocity of a few weeks ago?"
"I remember. How do you know where the girls were taken?"
"From my local Commander. That was him on the phone. Can't the US keep pace with us?"
"What is this, Gabriel? Are you conducting your own war from Room 36 at the Holiday Inn Express?"
"Yeh." Gabriel liked that. "At the moment, it's my Oval Office. I don't need no fancy Cabinet Room or a vote in Congress or Parliament or a referendum. So, answer my question again. If I tell you where the COK are hanging out will you bomb it?"
Daniel Bakare sighed. He fully understood Gabriel's frustration. It got to him as well - too often these days. But what could he do? He had no ultimate power, no final authority. All he could do was try to influence decisions that were mostly collective ones. That was how things worked.
"You got a definite fix on a COK camp?"
"Looks like it. It's big and it might be just one of several, but my Commander's convinced enough."
"How?"
"One of the girls."
"I thought they all died."
"Seems not. She escaped. Now she's with us. Sixteen years old. Her name's Halima. I've not asked for co-ordinates yet but I could. But, even if you bombed it right now, there's still a problem, Daniel. You know what that is? It's that the fucking COK and their associates don't operate like in the days of the USA cavalry with Winchester rifles and walled forts. The COK and their brothers mostly hide amongst you.
"In case you've not noticed, cowboys with six shooters no longer fight Indians wearing war paint and feathers. It's more like the days when Hitler rose to prominence. Enemies creeping forwards until - BANG - they start the next world war. For fuck's sake, ninety nine percent of Americans couldn't even point to Nigeria on a fucking map. That's how good your country's understanding of geography is"
Gabriel walked almost menacingly towards Bakare but pointed towards the window.
"Imagine you had a thousand Islamic terrorist recruits out there right now who are hell bent on destruction of the American way of life. They're riding on your metro, driving around in cars, drinking dry Martinis in bars, eating sushi in restaurants, shopping for Gucci shoes in the malls and mixing with the tourists staring at the White House. What you gonna do? Shoot the one in the Gucci shop because he shouted 'Allah Akbar' on his way out and let the others off the hook? Because, let me tell you, Daniel. that's what it's like where we come from - less the Gucci ship, of course. But if we bombed the COK camp we've spotted. COK and others like them are like nothing on earth, man. They are living amongst you but slowly changing society from within through occupation and terrorism. Europe's watching, shit scared, unable or unwilling to do anything as the mosques spring up and their society changes overnight with just a few shots fired and a few bombs exploded.
"But, you know, I don't entirely blame these poor bastards. Their desperation is pitiful to watch. All they're doing is running away, trying to escape the inevitable self-destruction of mankind." He paused just briefly.
"Which is, of course, exactly what I'm trying to avoid with our Project - a small scale experiment with an alternative way of running things that needs just a small amount of support which no-one, least of all the USA, seems to fucking understand."
He walked to the window he'd just been pointing to.
"Listen, Daniel. You've been a good friend. I'm grateful for that and I don't want to lose your friendship. But you operate in a system that is now too rigid for its own good. I can't wait. My people can't wait. So, either you give me an answer to the three questions I posed just now or Solomon and I move out right now and go and implement Plan B. Which is it?"
Bakare paused, took a deep breath.
"I think we're edging towards some sort of support. The President knows, but so he fucking well should - I've discussed it enough."
"So, can I expect some sort of contribution that I can see and feel? Funds? Or is it some other sort of support where the US still runs the show and Pastor Gabriel Joshua is told not to bother his sweet little arse anymore as Uncle Sam's taking over because Uncle Sam knows best?"
"Jesus, Gabriel. If we had some proof that your plans worked it'd help."
"The economic strategy will take time. I've always said that. All I need is encouragement to try it. Give us expertise, advice."
"And your private army?"
"My private army?" shouted Gabriel, exasperated once more. "Who the fucking hell do you think moved in and helped re-open Ouagadougou airport this week? A dance group of bloody fairies? A junior school basketball team?"
"That was your men?" Bakare looked shocked. Gabriel said nothing. "Was it? We asked the French. They did their usual Gallic shrug like they'd done it with Special Forces but didn't want to brag. You're saying you did it?"
Gabriel mimicked a French Gallic shrug. "I'm not saying. I don't like to brag. But how could so few men retake an airport from terrorists in a day?"
"Who is this guy, Bill?"
"Bill? Bill is just better than most. Every country, every village, every community needs some sort of protection from enemies. Every fucking caveman from the stone age onwards kept a club to strike another caveman coming to steal his wife and his family's lunch. That's all it amounts to."
"It's more sophisticated than that, Gabriel, and you know that."
"Sure, it's more sophisticated. Those that come to steal our lunch are more sophisticated because the West taught them and equipped them. But the principle's exactly the same."
"And your army is financed by the private sector?" Bakare added.
"Dear me, Daniel," Gabriel said as if he pitied Bakare's outlook on life. "I'm truly sorry you feel that way, Daniel. Please explain why you and your paymasters have such a problem with that? The land of free enterprise? The centre of world capitalism? But what other choice have I got when the US Government vows to fight insurgency but then fucks about and tells me it is prohibited under law from sending weapons to anywhere with ongoing human rights issues. What the hell are human rights, Daniel? Is it not a human right to defend yourself against murder and atrocity?"
"But involving the private sector clouds the issue, Gabriel."
"Clouds the fucking issue?" Gabriel's voice boomed again. "Listen, Daniel. You still got a hang up about the involvement of private individuals offering money to help fight rapes, beheadings, abductions, pillaging, the stealing of assets whether publicly or privately owned and putting bombs around the necks of school girls?
"You think companies who lost their entire assets in Libya, Iraq and Syria and elsewhere were happy with that? You blew some of them sky high with your own fucking bombs for God's sake. Why should the US government object then if these companies decide to contribute to something whose sole objective is defence against further destruction or pillaging of their assets?"
Bakare listened but then decided to say something he knew would disturb Gabriel.
"Is that why people like Aron Kaplan are sniffing around asking questions about US foreign policy in Africa? About defending his African investments?"
Gabriel shot a glance at Solomon then said, "So is the fact that the Kaplans are Russian clouding the issue?"
"It doesn't help," replied Bakare.
"Ah well," Gabriel said after a short pause and with a forced look of resignation. "If the issue is that cloudy then we'd better move to Plan B. Are we ready to go, Sol?"
Solomon checked his watch. "Could be out in ten minutes, Femi."