Wilbur Smith's Smashing Thrillers

by Wilbur Smith

  “Bless us, Father, for we have sinned.” Bonny rolled her eyes at the ceiling cheerfully.

  “Yes, but wasn’t it fun!” Daniel murmured.

  The senior public relations officer was waiting for them at the reception counter. He wore a dark three-piece suit and projected the BOSS image of the young executive. “Hello, I’m Pickering,” he greeted them. “You must be Doctor Armstrong and Miss Mahon.” He took Bonny’s hand and eyed her quickly from the top of her flaming coiffure to her cowboy boots, clearly torn between disapproval of her denims and beaded leather waistcoat and hearty approval of her bosom. “I’m supposed to set up a Ubomo briefing for you.”

  “Fine. Let’s get on with it then.” Daniel managed to divert his attention from Bonny’s cleavage, and Pickering led them up the sweeping opera house staircase, giving them his tourist-guide patter as they went.

  He pointed out the mirrored panels. “French, of course, from Versailles after the Revolution. And those two are Gainsboroughs; the tapestry is Aubusson; that’s a Constable…”

  They left behind them the splendours of the public rooms and plunged into labyrinthine corridors in the upper rear of the building, passing scores of tiny offices divided by prefabricated partitions in which the BOSS battalions laboured under the humming air-conditioning units. Very few people raised their heads as the three of them passed.

  “Cattle.” Bonny nudged Daniel. “How can they stand life in this abattoir of the spirit?”

  Eventually Pickering ushered them into a conference room. Clearly it was the venue of the lower and middle-ranking executives. The floors were covered with industrial stud-rubber tiles and the partition walls displayed charts of the company’s administrative Organization and departmental structures. The furniture was laminate and chrome, with plastic upholstery.

  Daniel smiled as he imagined how this room would probably contrast with the magnificence of the main boardroom that must be situated somewhere in the front of the building, close to Tug Harrison’s personal office.

  There were four men waiting for them, clustered around the table of snacks and refreshments in the corner. Pickering introduced them. “This is George Anderson, one of our senior geologists; he is in charge of the Ubomo mineral developments. This is his assistant Jeff Aitkens. And this is Sidney Green who coordinates the timber and fishing concessions in Ubomo, and this is Neville Lawrence from our legal section. He will also be able to answer any questions you may have on the financial projections.

  “Now, may I offer you a sherry?” Bonny Mahon’s presence did more than the cheap sherry to relax the atmosphere. Pickering allowed them ten minutes, then he shepherded them to their plastic-covered chairs at the imitation-walnut veneered conference table.

  “Well, now. I’m not going to stand too much on ceremony here. This is enfamille. My instructions are that this is to be a totally frank and open briefing. You must feel free, Doctor Armstrong, to ask whatever questions occur to you, and we will try our best to answer them. First of all just let me say how delighted and excited we are that BOSS is to be associated with this enormous project to uplift the Ubomo economy and to develop the rich natural resources of that beautiful little country for the good of all its citizens.”

  He allowed himself a sanctimonious smirk and then adopted a more businesslike tone. “BOSS’s concessions fall into four categories. Firstly, there are the mining and mineral deposits. Secondly, the timber and agricultural developments. Thirdly, the fishing and aquaculture projects, and lastly, the hotel, casino and tourist industry. We hope that the development of all these resources will eventually lead to Ubomo becoming one of the most prosperous little countries on the African continent. Before I ask our experts to discuss the economic potential of Ubomo in detail, I’m going to give you some background figures and facts. Let’s put the map of Ubomo up on the screen.”

  Pickering turned to the console of the audio-visual equipment and adjusted the overhead lighting. “All right. Here we go.” The map of Ubomo appeared on the screen on the end wall. “The People’s Democratic Republic of Ubomo,” he intoned, “is situated between Lakes Albert and Edward on the escarpment of the Great Rift Valley in eastern central Africa. It is-bounded on the west by Zaire, the former Belgian Congo, and on the east by Uganda …” Pickering pointed out the boundaries and the main features. “The capital, Kabati, lies on the lakeshore below the foothills of the Ruwenzori range or, as they are more romantically known, the Mountains of the Moon. The first European explorer to chronicle the existence of these mountains was Captain John Hanning Speke who travelled in this area in 1862.”

  Pickering changed the display on the screen. “The total population of Ubomo is estimated at four million, although there has never been a census. You can see the breakdown into tribes. The largest tribe is the Ubali. However, the new President Taffari and most of his military council are Hita. In all a total of eleven tribal groups are represented in Ubomo, the smallest of which is the Bambuti, commonly known as the pygmies. About twenty-five thousand of these diminutive people live in the northern equatorial rain forests of the country. This is where BOSS’s major mineral concessions are situated.”

  Pickering was good at his job. He had assembled his information carefully and presented it in a lively and interesting fashion. However, there was very little he had to tell them that Daniel did not already know.

  Bonny asked a few questions and Pickering addressed his replies to her bosom. Daniel found that Pickering’s inability to take his eyes off those protuberances was beginning to irritate him. Daniel had conceived a proprietary interest of his own in this area.

  After Pickering, the other company experts rose in succession to elaborate on BOSS’s plans. Sidney Green showed them architect’s impressions of the resorts and casinos that they would build upon the lakeshore. “We anticipate the main tourist trade would come from southern Europe, particularly Italy and France. Flying time from Rome under eight hours. We are looking at an eventual half-million visitors a year. Apart from tourism we are planning a major aquaculture industry…” He went on to explain how the Lake waters would be pumped into shallow dams in which freshwater shrimp and other exotic aquatic life would be cultured. “We are aiming for an eventual annual harvest of a million tons of dried protein from aquaculture, together with another million tons of dried and frozen fish from the lakes themselves. We are considering the possibility of introducing high-yield fish populations to the lakes to augment the indigenous species.”

  “What about the effect of these enterprises on the ecology of the lake itself?” Daniel asked diffidently. “Particularly the construction of the marinas and yacht harbours and the introduction of exotic species such as carp and Asian shrimp to the lake waters.”

  Green smiled like a second-hand car salesman. “These are at present being fully investigated by a team of experts. We expect their report to be ready by the middle of the year. However, we do not anticipate any problems in that area.”

  “Quite right,” Daniel thought. “They aren’t going to make waves if my new and good friend Tug is hiring and firing.”

  Sidney Green swept forward, still smiling, to discuss the agricultural potential. “In the low-lying wooded savannah that covers the eastern half of the country the tsetse fly, glossina morsitans, closes a great deal of prime country to cattle-ranching. At the earliest opportunity we, in cooperation with the Ubomo government, will undertake a programme of aerial spraying to eradicate this insect menace. Once this is done, beef production will be of great importance to the economy.”

  “Aerial spraying?” Daniel asked. “What chemicals will be used?”

  “I am pleased to say that BOSS has acquired several thousand tons of Selfrin at most favourable prices.”

  “Would the favourable price have anything to do with the fact that Selfrin has been banned in the continental United States and in the European Common Market countries?”

  “I assure you, Doctor Armstrong,” Green smiled blandly, “that the
use of Selfrin has not been banned in Ubomo.”

  “Oh, that’s good.” Daniel nodded, and returned his smile. He had smelled Selfrin in the Okavango swamps and the Zambezi valley. He had seen the devastation of entire insect species and the birds and small mammals that fed upon them. “As long as it’s legal, nobody can have any objection, can they?”

  “Quite so, Doctor Armstrong.” Sidney Green changed the display on the lecture screen. “Those areas of the savannah that are unsuitable for cattlebreeding will be planted with cotton and sugar cane. Irrigation water will be pumped from the lakes. The swamps and wetlands in the north will be drained, but these, of course, are long-term projects. Our immediate cash flow will be assured by logging operations in the timber-rich forests of the western mountain range.

  “The ‘Tall Trees’”,Daniel murmured.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “No, nothing of importance. Please continue. I’m finding this fascinating.”

  “Of course, the logging operation will be carried out in concert with the mining operations. Neither project on its own would be profitable, but carried out in unison each becomes highly lucrative. In fact the timber will cover the direct cost of the development and the mineral recovery will be almost entirely profit. However, I will leave George Anderson, our senior geologist, to explain all this to you.”

  Anderson’s expression was as stony as one of his geological samples. His style was terse and dry. “The only viable mineral deposits so far discovered in Ubomo lie in the north-western quadrant, below the forests that cover the lower northern slopes of the mountain range and lie within the basin of the Ubomo River.” He moved the cursor on the map display in a slow northern sweep. “This forest cover consists of almost fifty varieties of economically significant trees, amongst which are the African oak, the African mahogany, the African walnut, the red cedar and the silk-cotton tree. I will not weary you with their botanical names, but suffice it to say that their existence holds out major economic advantages, as my colleague has pointed out.” He nodded wearily at Green, who flashed his bright salesman smile in return.

  “The forest soils are for the most part leached laterites, the colour of which gives the Ubomo River its name, the Red River, and indeed the country itself, the Land of Red Earth. Fortunately, these soils are very thin, generally less than fifty feet in depth, and below them lies a folded pre-Cambrian formation.” He gave a dry and weary little smile. “Again, I will not tax you with the technicalities, but these soils contain significant quantities of the rare earth, monazite, together with viable deposits of platinum almost evenly distributed in the upper levels. This series is unique. There is no other known formation that comprises this particular spectrum of minerals. Each of these individual minerals occurs in low concentrates, in some cases they are mere traces. Separately none of these would be profitable, but taken together they will be highly lucrative, and their profitability will be enhanced by the valuable stands of timber harvested in the process of exposing the ore body.”

  Excuse me, Mr. Anderson,” Daniel interrupted. “Are you considering strip-mining the Ubomo river basin?” George Anderson looked as though he had experienced a sudden stomach cramp.

  “Doctor Armstrong, the term ‘strip-mining’ is an emotionally charged one, filled with negative undertones. BOSS has never undertaken strip-mining operations anywhere in the world. I must be very firm on that issue.”

  “I beg your pardon, I thought that the company’s copper mines at Quantra in Chile were strip-mines.”

  Anderson looked affronted. “Open-cast mines, Doctor Armstrong, not strip-mines.”

  “Is there a difference?”

  “Of course there is. However, I think that this is neither the time nor the place to examine those differences. just let me say that the open-cast mines that we intend developing in Ubomo will take full account of the sensitive environment of the area. We will operate on a refill-and-renew policy. BOSS has a green approach to nature. In fact, Doctor Armstrong, we are convinced that in the long term the environment will be significantly improved by what we are going to do for the country.”

  He looked at Daniel challengingly, and Daniel almost rose to accept it. Then with an effort he forced himself to smile and nod. “You must excuse me playing the devil’s advocate, Mr. Anderson. These are the kind of questions people will ask, and I must be able to answer them. That’s what BOSS is paying me for.”

  Anderson looked mollified. “Yes, of course. However, I must reiterate. BOSS is a green company. It’s Sir Peter’s firm policy. I know he is even considering altering the company logo. As you know the present design is a miner’s pickaxe and a ploughshare. Well, he intends adding a green tree, to show our concern for nature.”

  “I think that’s very tasteful.” Daniel smiled placatingly. He knew that this discussion would be reported to Tug Harrison, there was even a likelihood that at this moment it was being recorded. If he displayed open hostility and opposition to the company, his free ticket to Ubomo and his contact with the Lucky Dragon and Ning Cheng Gong would evaporate. “With the assurances that you gentlemen have given me, I will be able to go to Ubomo with a clear conscience and I will endeavour to show the world the enormous benefits that will accrue to the country from the intensive development that the BOSS consortium is undertaking.” He spoke for the benefit of the hidden microphones, and then paused for emphasis. “Now, what I want from you is an architectural mock-up of the hotel and casino development on the lakeshore. I’d like to film the area as it is today, and then superimpose the concept over it, to bring out the best features of the design and how it blends into the natural background.”

  “Sidney Green will take care of that, I’m sure.” Pickering nodded.

  “Right, then I want details of the present per capita income of the average Ubomo citizen, and an estimate of what that income will be in, say, five or ten years time, after the full benefits of the development programme begin to make themselves felt.”

  “You’ll see to that, won’t you, Neville?”

  The meeting ran on for another half hour before Daniel summed up with a note of finality. “As a film-maker, I have to have a theme for this production. The general concept of Africa these days is one of a continent in trauma, plagued by seemingly insurmountable problems, demographic, economic and political. I want to strike a different note here. I want to show the world how it could be, how it should be. I see the theme of my production as…” He paused for dramatic effect, and then held up his hand to frame an imaginary screen. ‘Ubomo, High Road to the African Future’. The men at the table burst into spontaneous applause, and Pickering refilled the sherry-glasses.

  As he escorted Daniel and Bonny back to the front of the building Pickering told them jovially, “I say, that went rather well. I think you both made a very good impression.” He beamed like an approving schoolmaster. “And now a little treat in store for you. Sir Peter Harrison, himself…” his voice took on a reverential tone, as though he had mentioned the name of a deity, “Sir Peter in person has expressed the wish to have a word with you and Miss Mahon.”

  He did not wait for their agreement but led them to the elevators.

  They waited a mere five minutes in the antechamber to Tug Harrison’s office, barely long enough to appreciate the priceless works of art displayed on the walls and in the glass-fronted cabinets. Then one of three comely secretaries looked up and smiled. “Please follow me. Sir Peter is expecting you.”

  As she led them towards the door at the far end of the antechamber, Pickering dropped away. “I’ll be waiting for you outside. Don’t stay more than three minutes. Sir Peter is a busy man.”

  The tall windows of Harrison’s office looked out across the Thames to the National Theatre. As he turned from the window, the sunlight flashed off his bald head like a heliograph.

  “Danny, He said, offering his gnarled right hand. Have they looked after you?”

  “Couldn’t be better,” Daniel assured him. “On
the strength of what they’ve told me, I have come up with a theme for the production, ‘Ubomo, High Road to the African Future’.”

  “I like it,” said Tug Harrison without hesitation, but he was studying Bonny Mahon as he said it. The approbation could have been as much for her as for Daniel’s title.

  Exactly three minutes after they had entered the inner sanctum of BOSS, Tug Harrison drew back the cuff of his Turnbull and Asset shirt. Both his cuff-links and his wristwatch were of gold and diamonds. “It was good to see you, Danny. Very pleasant meeting you, Miss Mahon, and now, if you’ll excuse me…”

  At the front doors of the BOSS building, Pickering had a taxi waiting for them. “It’s on the company account,” he said, shaking hands and giving Bonny’s bosom a wistful farewell appraisal. “It will take you wherever you want to go.”

  “Caviar Kaspia,” Daniel told the driver recklessly.

  When they were seated at a window table in the discreetly panelled frontroom of the lovely little restaurant, Bonny whispered, “Who is paying?”

  “BOSS,” He assured her.

  “In that case I’ll have 250 grams of the Beluga, with hot blinis and cream.”

  “Spot on,” Daniel agreed. “I’ll join you and we’ll split a bottle of bubbly. What do you fancy, Pal Roger, or the Widow?”

  “What I truly fancy can wait until after lunch when we get back to your flat, but in the meantime a glass of the Widow will help to pass the time, and build up your strength.” She slanted her eyes lewdly. “You are going to need it. That’s a direct threat.”