Wilbur Smith's Smashing Thrillers

by Wilbur Smith

“A top secret bush fire?” Bonny teased him, but she obediently lowered the camera.

  As soon as they were alone Daniel scolded her. “Don’t get too damned clever. That little joke could have backfired on us.”

  “On the contrary, I convinced Kajo that we are innocent,” she argued. “When are you going to let me have my tape back?”

  “I’ll keep it,” he answered. “Kajo’s still suspicious. My bet is that when we reach Kahali, he’ll check your equipment.”

  It was after dark when the gunboat tied up at its berth. During the transfer of Bonny’s video equipment from the vessel to the army Landrover on the wharf, the aluminium case that contained her tapes disappeared. Although she screamed at Kajo, and shook her finger in his face and threatened to report his inefficiency to President Taffari, Kajo just kept on smiling blandly. “Don’t worry, Miss Mahon. It will turn up. I give you my personal guarantee.”

  Kajo arrived at the guest house the following morning, all smiles and apologies, carrying the missing case. “All present and correct, Miss Mahon. One of those stupid Uhali porters mislaid it. Please accept my heartfelt apologies.”

  “You can be damned certain they scanned every tape in the box,” Daniel assured her when Kajo had gone. He tapped the buttoned pocket of his bush jacket. “I’m going to get this tape of the raid down to Mike at the British embassy. It’s the only safe place for it. Are you coming?”

  “I have an engagement.” She looked defiant.

  “If you’re going to visit your new boy friend, just be careful. That’s my advice to you. You’ve seen his style.”

  “Ephrem is an honorable guy! I don’t believe he knew anything about that raid.”

  “Believe what you want, but don’t tell anybody about this tape. Not even Tug Harrison.”

  Bonny froze and stared at him. She had gone very pale. “What are you talking about?” she demanded.

  “Come on, Bonny, give me some credit. I checked that phone call you made from the Norfolk Hotel in Nairobi. Of course you’re reporting to Tug Harrison. How much is he paying you to spy on me? “

  “You’re crazy.” She tried to brazen her way out of it.

  “Yes, I probably am. I fell for you, didn’t I? But you’ll be crazy if you tell Tug about this tape.”

  He left her staring after him and he drove down the hill towards the British embassy. The grounds of the embassy were walled and the gates were guarded by soldiers of President Taffari’s personal bodyguard in camouflage uniforms and maroon berets.

  Michael Hargreave came out of his office to greet Daniel. “Morning, Sir Mickey.”

  “Danny boy! I spoke to Wendy last night. She sends you her love.”

  “When is she arriving?”

  “Not for another few weeks, more’s the pity Her mother is unwell, so Wendy has to go home first instead of coming directly from Lusaka.” Still chatting, he led Daniel into his office but as soon as he closed the door his manner changed. “News for you, Danny. The Chinaman has arrived. Landed this morning in BOSS’s executive jet. My information is he came from Taiwan via Nairobi. Moved into BOSS headquarters in Lake House immediately to take over as head of the syndicate, and Taffari is throwing one of his bashes for him on Friday evening. Expect you’ll get an invitation from Government House.”

  “That should be interesting.” Daniel smiled grimly. “I’m looking forward to seeing that gentleman again.”

  “That may be sooner than you think.” Michael Hargreave glanced at his wristwatch. “Have to leave you, dear boy. Making a luncheon speech to the assembled Rotarians of Ubomo, would you believe? Those files I promised you are all with my secretary. She’ll give you a room to work in. Have a peep at them, then give them back to her. No notes nor photostats, please, Danny. Eyes only.”

  “Thanks, Mike; you’re a hero. But one other favour, please?”

  “Fire away. Anything to please. Hargreave family motto, don’t you know?”

  “Will you keep an envelope in your personal safe for me, Mike?” Michael locked the sealed envelope containing the Fish Eagle Bay tape into his strong room, then shook hands and excused himself.

  Daniel watched him from the verandah as he was driven away by his uniformed chauffeur in the ambassadorial car. Despite the Union Jack pennant on the bonnet, it was a ten-year-old Rover in need of a paint job. The ambassador to Ubomo did not rate a RollsRoyce.

  Daniel went back to the files that Michael’s secretary had laid out for him in a back room. When he left the embassy three hours later, his original impression of Ephrem Taffari had been reinforced a hundredfold. “He’s a tough and wily bird,” Daniel muttered as he started the Landrover. “He and Bonny Mahon should have fun together.”

  Chapter 28

  The motorcycle escort, sirens wailing, was forced to moderate its speed by the condition of the road through the new area of squatters slums that had grown up around the capital. The tarmac was pitted with sharp-edged craters, while chickens and pigs scattered, cackling and grunting, ahead of the outriders.

  The presidential car, another recent gift from the same middle eastern oil potentate, was a black Mercedes. It was a mark of his high regard that President Taffari had sent it down to Lake House on the waterfront to fetch his guest to the audience.

  Ning Cheng Gong sat behind the chauffeur and studied these first glimpses of Ubomo with interest. After what he had observed in Asia and the other parts of Africa in which he had served, the poverty and degradation of the slums through which they drove neither repelled nor shocked him. From his father he had learned to look upon swarming humanity as either a source of cheap labour, or a market for the goods and services he had to sell. Without human beings there is no profit, his father had pointed out on numerous occasions. The more people the better. Always when human lives are cheap, there are great fortunes to be made. We, the Lucky Dragon, must resist any effort to limit population growth in the Third World.

  “People are our basic stock-in-trade.” Cheng smiled at his father’s wisdom, derived from a study of history. His father’s view was that only when human populations had been checked and limited by extraneous factors had the common man regained dignity and a measure of control over his own destiny. The terrible depredations of the great plagues of medieval times had broken the slavery of the feudal system of Europe. They had reduced human populations to the point where men had scarcity value and could bargain for their labour once again.

  The great wars of this century had smashed the class system of inherited privilege and fortune, and ushered in this aberrant age of human rights, in which the common men of inferior races were taught that they were the equal of their betters. In Cheng’s view, and that of his father, common men had no such divine rights, any more than the antelope in the wild deserved special protection from the lion.

  When the mass of humanity reached such proportions that human life was cheap, that was the age of opportunity for the great predators to emerge. Predators like Lucky Dragon. In Africa that time was fast approaching as populations swarmed like hiving bees.

  He thought about the little Cambodian boat girl, whose corpse now lay in the dark depths of the China Sea. There were millions and tens of millions more like her, in India and China and Africa and South America, for men like him. Cheng had recognized in the burgeoning populations of Africa a unique opportunity.

  That was the main reason that Lucky Dragon was drawn so irresistibly to this continent. That was why he was going now to a meeting with the president of this country which would soon be made to render up its wealth to him. He would suck the juice from it, throw away the empty skin, and pluck another from the tree. He smiled at the metaphor and raised his eyes to the green hill above the town on which Government House stood.

  President Ephrem Taffari had an honour guard in maroon uniforms and white sun-helmets drawn up to welcome him and a red carpet laid across the green lawn. He came down the to meet Ning Cheng Gong personally and to shake his hand. He led him up on to the wide verandah and
seated him in one of the carved armchairs under the revolving fan that hung from the ceiling.

  An Uhali servant in ankle-length white robes, scarlet sash and tasselled fez offered him a silver tray of frosted glasses. Cheng refused the champagne and chose a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.

  Ephrem Taffari took the armchair opposite him and crossed one long leg clad in crisp white cotton trousers over the other. He smiled at Cheng with all his charm. “I wanted our first meeting to be informal and relaxed,” he explained, and made a deprecatory gesture towards his own open-neck sports shirt and sandals. “So you will excuse my casual attire and the fact that I have none of my ministers with me.”

  “Of course, Your Excellency.” Cheng sipped the orange juice. “I am also delighted by this opportunity to get to know you and to be able to speak freely without the inhibition of having other people present.”

  “Sir Peter Harrison speaks very highly of you, Mr. Ning. He is a man whose opinion I value. I am sure that our relationship will be mutually rewarding.”

  For another ten minutes they traded compliments and protestations of friendship and goodwill. Both of them were at ease with this flowery circumlocution; it was part of their separate cultures and they understood instinctively the moves and countermoves as they circled and closed in on the real business of their meeting.

  Finally Cheng took a sealed envelope from the inside pocket of his white silk tropical suit. It was a piece of expensive stationery, glossy and cream-coloured with a dragon motif embossed on the back flap. “My father and I want you to believe, Mr. President, that our commitment to your country is unswerving. We would like you to accept this as an earnest token of our friendship and concern.”

  Cheng made his offering seem like a free and unsolicited gift, whereas both of them were aware that it had been the subject of intense and protracted bargaining. There had been other bidders in the market, not least of them the Arab oil sheikh who had provided the gunboat and the presidential Mercedes. It had taken all Sir Peter Harrison’s influence to secure the deal for the BOSS and Lucky Dragon syndicate.

  The envelope contained the second instalment due to Ephrem Taffari in his personal capacity. The first instalment had been paid over ten months previously, on signature of the original agreement.

  President Taffari picked up the envelope and turned it over to examine the seal. His fingers were long and elegantly shaped, and very dark against the stiff creamy paper.

  He split the corner of the envelope with his thumbnail and unfolded the two documents it contained. One was a deposit receipt to a numbered bank account in Switzerland. The amount of the deposit was ten million US dollars. The other was a share transfer document, notarised in Luxembourg. A total of thirty percent of the syndicate’s share equity was now registered in the name of Ephrem Taffari. The syndicate’s formally registered name was The Ubomo Development Corporation.

  The president returned the documents to the open envelope and slipped it into the pocket of his flowered sports shirt. “Progress has not been as rapid as I had hoped,” he said, his tone still courteous but underlaid with steel. “I hope that will change with your arrival, Mr. Ning.”

  “I am aware of the delays. As you know, my field-manager has been in Kahali for the last week or so. He has given me a full report of the situation. I believe that some of the blame must attach to the previous management, put in place by BOSS. There has been some reluctance to exploit all the available assets.”

  Cheng made a delicately pejorative gesture. “Mr. Purvis of BOSS, who is now safely on his way back to London, was a sensitive man. You know how squeamish these Englishmen can be. My field-manager informs me that we are short of labour.”

  “I assure you, Mr. Ning, that you will have all the labour you require.” Taffari’s smile became strained at the thinly veiled complaint.

  “Thirty thousand,” Cheng said softly. “That was the original estimate approved by you, Your Excellency. So far we have been given fewer than ten thousand.”

  “You will have the rest before the beginning of next month.” Taffari was no longer smiling. “I have given orders to the army. All political detainees and dissidents are to be rounded up and sent to the labour camps in the forest.”

  “These will be members of the Uhah tribe?” Cheng asked.

  “Of course,” Taffari snapped. “You didn’t think for a moment that I would send you Hita, did you?”

  Cheng smiled at the absurdity of that notion. “My fieldmanager tells me that the Uhali are good workers, hardy and intelligent and compliant. We will need most of them in the forest to begin with. It seems that we are experiencing problems there caused by the terrain and the climate. The roads are bad and machinery is bogging down, We will be forced to use more men.”

  “Yes, I warned the BOSS people of that,” Taffari agreed. “They were reluctant to use what they considered to be…” He hesitated. “That man Purvis referred to our convict labour as slave labour.” He looked mildly amused by such pedantic definitions.

  “These Westerners,” Cheng sympathized, “The English are bad enough, but the Americans are even-worse. They do not understand Africa or the orient. Their minds stop at Suez…” he broke off. “I assure you, Mr. President, that an easterner is now in control of the syndicate’s operation. You will find that I do not suffer from these Western scruples.”

  “It is a relief to be able to work with somebody who understands the necessities of life,” Taffari agreed. “Which brings me to the hotel and casino project at Fish Eagle Bay. I understand from my field-manager that nothing has been done there, apart from the original survey of the area. He tells me that there is still a fishing village on the hotel site.”

  “Not any longer,” Taffari smiled. “The area was cleared two days ago, soon after Purvis left for London. The village was a hotbed of counter-revolutionary activity. My soldiers rounded up all the dissidents. Two hundred able-bodied prisoners are already on their way to the concession area in the forest to join your labour force. The hotel site is ready for construction to begin.”

  “Your Excellency, I can see that you and I are going to work well together. May I show you the modifications that I have made to the schedule of works drawn up by Purvis?” He opened his briefcase and unfolded a large computer spreadsheet that covered the entire table between them.

  Taffari, leaned forward and listened with interest as Cheng pointed out the way in which he had restructured almost the entire syndicate operation. At the end of the lecture Taffari’s admiration was unconcealed. “You have accomplished all this in the short time since you arrived in Ubomo?” he asked, but Cheng shook his head.

  “Not all of it, Your Excellency. Some of the replanning was done before I left Taipei. I had the benefits of my father’s advice and the assistance of his headquarters staff at Lucky Dragon. Only part of the planning was necessitated after my arrival in Kahali, on the advice of my field-manager, and his report on the conditions and problems we have encountered in the forest.”

  “Remarkable!” Taffari shook his head. “Sir Peter Harrison’s opinion of you seems to be well founded.”

  “Planning is one thing,” Cheng pointed out modestly. “Execution is another thing entirely.”

  “I am sure that you will bring the same energy and drive to that part of the operation.” Taffari looked at his wristwatch. “I am expecting a guest for lunch.”

  “I am sorry, Your Excellency. I have overstayed my welcome.” Cheng made as if to rise.

  “Not at all, Mr. Ning. I absolutely insist that you join us for lunch. It may amuse you to meet my other guest, a member of the film team which Sir Peter Harrison has hired.”

  “Ah, yes.” Cheng looked dubious. “Sir Peter explained to my father and myself why he had invited a film company to Ubomo. I am not certain that I agree with him, however. The English have a saying about sleeping dogs. In my view, it may be better not to draw world attention to our operations. I would like to cancel the project and send th
e film team out of Ubomo.”

  “I am afraid it is too late for that.” Taffari shook his head. “We have already received a great deal of adverse publicity. There is a woman, a protegee of the previous presidents Omeru…”

  For another ten minutes they discussed Sir Peter’s plan to defuse Kelly Kinnear’s propaganda campaign by a countercampaign of their own. “In any event,” Taffari pointed out, “we can always suppress anything we don’t like about this film production. Sir Peter Harrison has an approval clause written into the contract. We can even suppress the final product completely, and destroy all copies of the film, if we feel that is advisable.”

  “Of course, you are taking precautions to make certain that these people do not get to see any of our sensitive areas? The convict labour camps, the main logging operations, and the refill mining?”

  “Trust me, Mr. Ning. They will see the pilot scheme only. I have a reliable military officer accompanying them at all times.” He broke off at the sound of an approaching vehicle.” Ah! That would be the person we are discussing, the cameraman and Captain Kajo.”

  “Cameraman?” Cheng asked, as ihey watched Bonny Mahon and Captain Kajo cross the lawn towards them.

  “Inaccurate, I agree,” Taffari chuckled. “But is there such a term as camerawoman, I wonder?” He stood up and went to meet his guest.

  Captain Kajo came to attention and saluted. Taffari ignored him. Kajo’s job was done. He had delivered Bonny. He turned on his heel and returned to wait in the army Landrover. He knew it might be a long wait.

  Cheng studied the woman as Taffari led her down the verandah. She was too big and bosomy. She had no delicacy of bone structure nor refinement of feature. Both her nose and mouth were too large for his taste. Her freckled skin and coppery hair repelled him. Her voice and laughter, as she joked with Taffari, were loud and vulgar. Her confident attitude and powerful limbs made Cheng feel threatened as though she were challenging his masculinity. He did not like a woman to be as strong and assertive as a man. He compared her unfavourably with the dainty ivory-skinned women of his own race, with their straight black hair and submissive self-effacing manner.