Vicious Circle

by Wilbur Smith

  ‘Good God!’ said Carl softly. ‘That one is still a baby.’

  ‘He has probably killed more people than you have swatted flies,’ Johnny Congo warned him. Then, still in English, he told Sam Ngewenyama at his side. ‘Give the old bastard the usual greeting and tell him that his fame is known as far away as America. Men whisper his name in fear and deep respect.’

  Sam repeated the greeting in Swahili and King Justin nodded and his sombre expression lightened perceptibly as he spoke to his chamberlain in Inhutu.

  ‘Say that I am pleased to welcome these people to Kazundu. I am told that he is a rich man who has many thousands of cows. These two girls…’ he prodded them with his bare toes ‘… are his wives for as long as he stays here as my guest.’

  The chamberlain genuflected deeply to the king and then turned to the visitors and repeated it all in Swahili. Sam Ngewenyama then translated it into English.

  Carl smiled at Johnny. ‘The chick on the left has a raging dose of syphilis, and the one on the right is riddled with AIDS. Take your pick, my old darling.’

  The tedious and meaningless conversation with His Majesty continued at length while Johnny glanced at his watch from time to time.

  ‘The Dakota is four minutes overdue,’ he grumbled softly to Carl. ‘I hope the pilot hasn’t lost his way.’ Then suddenly he brightened. ‘Here he comes!’

  Carl cocked his head, and caught the soft throbbing of a multiple-engined aircraft. It was still merely a tremble of sound in the air, but it increased rapidly in volume. Johnny left the group gathered in front of the throne and with a few long strides reached the open doors which led onto the ramparts and battlements of the castle. He stepped out into the open and looked up at the southern sky.

  The big lumbering aircraft was banking steeply onto its drop run down the length of the derelict runway of the airstrip. It was at an altitude of only five or six hundred feet when the first human shape dropped out of the hatch and fell free for a few seconds before his parachute flared and his swift descent was checked abruptly. He was followed at close intervals by the other men in his stick jumping out of the doors on each side of the fuselage. Suddenly the sky was filled with white puffs of silk, like a field of daisies in early spring.

  Johnny spun around and rushed back towards the throne shouting hysterically in Inhutu, ‘Run! Run! The enemy is here. He will kill us all.’ Neither the king nor any of his subjects questioned Johnny’s sudden fluency in their language.

  The girls leapt to their feet and raced for the door to the harem, screaming in terror.

  King Justin heaved his bulk upright and harangued his bodyguard, pointing to the door onto the battlements, with his own flying spittle settling like dew drops on his snowy beard. His men ran towards the door, hefting their rifles and loading them with a clatter of breechblocks. All of them had their backs turned to Johnny and Sam.

  Johnny spoke quietly to Sam out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Okay, Sam, let’s rock and roll.’

  Carl Bannock dropped flat with his hands locked protectively over his head, and one cheek pressed to the filthy tiles. He was already whimpering with fear.

  Johnny and Sam drew their weapons. They were both toting CV-75 9mm machine pistols. These had been concealed in the briefcases that each of them carried. The long, extended thirty-round magazines were already attached to the weapons. The stubby barrels were only accurate up to twenty-five yards, but the range was only half of that. They had the rate of fire selectors set at single rather than automatic. They started shooting.

  Johnny took his uncle first, deliberately hitting him twice in the spine low down his back. The old man dropped to his knees and swayed, trying to keep his balance, until he crumpled forward onto his face. Then Johnny turned smoothly on the boy soldier. He was as dangerous as any of the older men. He head-shot him and saw the boy drop, his rifle clattering on the tiles beside his prostrate body.

  By this time Sam also had two of his targets down, and the remaining militiamen were turning back to face them with astonished expressions. Johnny and Sam fired again simultaneously and two more went down. One of the surviving militiamen got off a short burst that hit the royal chamberlain and bowled him over backwards.

  Johnny and Sam turned on him together. Sam tagged his right shoulder, but Johnny’s bullet smashed into his open mouth as he yelled a challenge. The two incisor teeth in the bottom of his jaw snapped off at the gums and the bullet went on to exit from the back of his skull. He went over backwards. Behind him the last man standing had dropped his piece and was racing for the door out onto the ramparts. Sam missed him, but Johnny hit him just above the left knee, shattering the bone of his femur. He went down sprawling and crawled through the open door, dragging the leg behind him and leaving a glistening blood-trail across the stone slabs. Johnny lifted his weapon to finish him off, but Sam stopped him.

  ‘He is mine. I know him. I owe him one.’ Johnny lowered his weapon and pointed it towards the floor.

  ‘Okay, Sam. He is all yours,’ he agreed affably.

  Sam walked out onto the ramparts, changing the magazine on his CV-75 for one with a full load. He stood in front of the crippled man and said quietly but ominously in Swahili, ‘Look at me, comrade. Do you recognize me?’

  The man looked up at his face with tears of shock and terror making his eyes swim, and Sam went on, ‘I am the one who you hit in the mouth with your rifle. I promised you that I would come back and now here I am.’

  Recognition dawned in his eyes as he looked up at Sam’s face and read the promise of his death there.

  ‘Good!’ said Sam. ‘I see that you do remember me.’ Sam walked around him in a slow circle. He fired a shot into the back of his unwounded knee, breaking the bones, then he shot him twice more, low down in the small of his back, ensuring that his spinal column was completely severed. Both these were mortal wounds, but it would be a lingering death.

  In the throne room Johnny went to where Carl had crawled into a corner and was covering his face with his folded arms. He was still whimpering. Johnny nudged him with his foot.

  ‘Everything is okay, Carl baby. Daddy has made the bogeyman go away. You can come out from under the blankets now and watch me say goodbye to my Uncle Justin.’

  Carl lowered his arms and looked around timidly. He saw that all the opposition were down. He grinned with relief and scrambled to his feet. ‘I did not want to get in your way. I wasn’t afraid; really I wasn’t,’ he protested.

  ‘Of course you weren’t. I know you really are a brave little hero. You just don’t like loud noises.’ Johnny explained his behaviour for him. Carl followed him as he went to where King Justin lay. Standing over his uncle’s sprawling body, Johnny reloaded the machine pistol with a fresh magazine of ammunition.

  ‘He is still breathing,’ he exclaimed cheerily. He clapped Carl on the shoulder. ‘Have you ever killed a man, Carl baby?’

  Carl shook his head wistfully. ‘I never had the chance. There is always somebody else to do it for me.’

  ‘Well, you’ve got the chance now. You can finish off Uncle Justin. Would you like that, white boy?’

  Carl’s face lit up. ‘Hell, yes!’ he exclaimed. ‘Thank you, Blackbird, I always wanted to try it.’

  Johnny handed him the machine pistol and Carl took it and held it awkwardly.

  ‘Now, what do I do with it?’

  ‘You point it at the old bastard and pull the trigger.’

  Carl lined up on the king’s body, turned his head away and closed his eyes. He pulled the trigger until his forefinger turned white with the pressure. Then he opened his eyes and turned back to Johnny. ‘It won’t shoot,’ he said plaintively.

  ‘Don’t point that piece at me.’ Gently Johnny pushed the barrel of the pistol to one side. ‘First, you have to let off the safety catch. Now try again. But this time try keeping your eyes open.’

  Carl lined up again, braced himself and held the trigger down. The magazine emptied with the sound of tearin
g silk and the bullets ripped into the old man’s back like a chainsaw. Then the weapon fell silent.

  ‘It’s stopped shooting again, Johnny,’ Carl complained.

  ‘That’s because you have used up all the rounds.’

  ‘Is he dead yet?’

  ‘He should be. You nearly cut the old bastard in half. But did you enjoy that, Carl baby?’

  ‘Shit, yes! That was really cool. Thank you, Johnny.’

  ‘Any time, Carl baby. Any time at all.’

  They sauntered out onto the ramparts to watch the last of the Zimbabwean paratroopers landing on the airstrip below the hill, and immediately begin securing the area. There was the sound of desultory gunfire. The Dakota circled the hill at low level and Johnny called the pilot on the satellite phone.

  ‘Good job, Chicken Soup! By the time you return we will have the strip serviceable. We will mark the runway for you with parachute silk.’

  The Dakota banked away towards the south. Johnny turned to Sam.

  ‘Get down there and take command of your men. Round up as many of the locals as you can before they disappear into the bush. Get them cracking on cleaning up the airstrip. There is no call for celebrations until we have landed the remainder of the troops and seized total control of the country.’

  Sam and his Zimbabweans had a section of the runway cleared by that evening when the Dakota returned. The aircraft landed and disembarked another sixty men and rations for the next ten days. There was just sufficient daylight remaining for the Dakota to take off and head back to Harare for its next load.

  Over the next four days they shuttled in the rest of the Zimbabwean troops from Kariba and rations to keep them fed for the next few months. Then the motor launch delivered a full cargo of maize meal sacks from the depot in Kigoma across the lake.

  At the first sound of gunfire King Justin’s little army, along with the entire civilian population of Kazundu, had vanished like smoke on a windy day.

  This did not cause Carl and Johnny any real concern. With the lake in front of them and the jungle behind there was very little choice for these unfortunates. They knew what awaited them on the far side of the Congo border. They would be captured and put to work in the treacherous tunnels of the mines until they starved to death or were drowned or smothered in one of the inevitable mud rushes or cave-ins.

  When the initial preparations had been completed Johnny was flown in the Dakota at low altitude over the lake shore and the jungle behind the port. The aircraft had a 700-watt Sky Shout loudspeaker system fitted under the fuselage. Through this King John Kikuu Tembo addressed his subjects in Inhutu. His voice boomed and echoed off the hills.

  ‘King Justin is dead! I am your new king. I am King Johnny. You will give me your total loyalty and obedience. In return I will care for you and feed you. Come to the old airport below the castle. Do not be afraid. I will not harm you. The boat from the south has brought a mountain of maize meal to feed you, so that you will not know hunger again. Your new King Johnny loves you. He will not harm you. He will feed you. He will give you work and pay you many silver shillings.’

  Within hours the first of Johnny’s new subjects to test the veracity of the royal assurances issued timidly from cover. Only a fool would volunteer for such a hazardous assignment. These had been dragooned into the task. They were three skinny little black girls, all under the age of ten, dressed only in ragged loincloths. They were holding each other’s hands and weeping with terror.

  When they saw Johnny Congo waiting for them on the airstrip they turned and fled squealing, back into the jungle. A short while later they were driven out again by their parents, still clinging to each other and sobbing. His Majesty patted them on the head and gave each of them a handful of cheap boiled sweets, a short length of brightly patterned cotton cloth and a large scoop of maize meal wrapped in a banana leaf. The trio raced back bearing their treasures, to be swiftly relieved of them by their waiting elders.

  After another short interval the three little heroines came back again, leading their mothers and most of their other female relatives. The warriors of the tribe were still testing the waters. The ladies received their rations and rushed back to their menfolk ululating with joy. Then the boys were sent out. When they also survived their first encounter with the new King John, finally the men appeared.

  Soon the airfield was filled with a noisy throng celebrating the death of the old king and the ascension of the munificent new monarch to the ivory throne of Kazundu.

  Sam Ngewenyama and his men moved among them sorting the men and women into work battalions. The first task awaiting them was the repair of the airstrip and the lengthening of the runway to accept heavy modern freight-carrying aircraft. After that they could concentrate on the enlargement of the tiny harbour to prepare for the arrival of the shipments of building material and the heavy equipment.

  *

  The first aircraft to touch down on the renovated airstrip was an Antonov An-124 Condor of 1985 vintage which had seen many thousands of hours of service in the Russian military, before being sold on. It was a four-jet cargo carrier, one of the largest in service, with an enormous load-carrying capacity. Carl Bannock was the sixth registered owner. He had purchased it from an army-surplus dealer in Bulgaria. It was flown by two pilots who had been retired from the Russian air force on account of their age. They were both desperate for a job and Carl got them and the aircraft at a very favourable price.

  With the reconditioned engines that Carl had ordered installed in Dubai, the Condor had sufficient range for a non-stop flight from Kazundu to Hong Kong or to Tehran. China was one of the world’s largest buyers of conflict coltan ore, while Iran desperately needed tantalite to pursue its quest for nuclear capability. Carl and Johnny were now able to provide their largest customers with a direct delivery service to their front doors.

  The first cargo that the Condor flew into Kazundu comprised the massive diesel generator to power the castle and the satellite antenna and the full array of electronic communications apparatus that Carl needed to keep in instantaneous contact with the financial markets around the world. On the same flight came a team of seven highly paid experts who installed and operated all this equipment.

  There was also a doctor on board the Antonov. He was taking up full-time employment with the new government of Kazundu to be instantly on hand to deal with the low-grade hypochondria with which Carl was afflicted.

  From the same Bulgarian dealer who supplied the Condor, Carl had also procured a fleet of two Russian ex-naval landing craft. He had them fitted with new engines and delivered by freighter from the Bulgarian port of Varna on the Black Sea to Dar es Salaam, the chief port of Tanzania. The Condor flew down to the coast and flew them back to Kazundu, one at a time. They were capable of crossing the lake to Kigoma in a little over two hours and delivering fifty tons of cement or other building material on site with each crossing.

  While this heavy labour was in progress Johnny Congo picked out all his deceased uncle’s former militiamen from amongst his subjects. The chosen men were amazed by his ability to identify them so readily. Johnny earned the reputation of possessing supernatural powers, which contributed largely to the awe in which he was regarded by his subjects. None of them tumbled to the simple fact that they were the best nourished segment of the entire Kazundian population and stood out belly and buttocks from the herd.

  Johnny handed these conscripts over to Sam Ngewenyama to be fully trained as soldiers and enforcers to keep the rest of their tribal brothers and sisters hard at work. Breaking heads and kicking backsides was their employment of choice. They went to work with gusto in the service of King John and his white prime minister, His Excellency Carl Peter Bannock.

  *

  Once the infrastructure of the new Kazundian government was in place and running smoothly, Johnny assembled a band of his new bodyguard, thirty men strong and heavily armed. He sent envoys ahead of him to announce to the local Congolese warlords his imminent arrival
in the Democratic Republic of the Congo and then, accompanied by Sam Ngewenyama and his bodyguard, he marched across the border. Carl decided against joining the expedition on the grounds of being unsuited to the job by his inability to speak any of the native languages and the importance of him staying in close contact with the movements of the global financial markets. For once Johnny did not brush his excuses aside and he left him with a lingering kiss on the mouth.

  Johnny’s tour of the eastern Congolese provinces was a triumph. Every province was run by a local warlord and his own private army. They listened in barely suppressed glee as Johnny explained that he would pay in good American dollars for every ounce of coltan concentrates, every gram of gold, every carat of diamonds and every hundred-weight of cassiterite or wolframite delivered to him at the Kazundian border, where Johnny had his own accredited assayer waiting to test the purity of the ore and minerals.

  As Johnny pointed out to the warlords, there was no risk to them. They would not lose sight of their goods until the money was safely in their hands.

  It was only a few weeks after Johnny returned from this visit that long columns of porters began to arrive at the border crossing. They were shepherded and urged along by the shouts, kicks and whips of the armed men who accompanied them. These porters were mainly women, reeling along under sacks of raw minerals which they balanced on their heads. The men and the children were more usefully employed back in the underground workings of the primitive mines.

  The weight of each porter’s burden was carefully matched to her individual strength and endurance. When one of them fell she was whipped to her feet and urged onwards. When she was finally unable to rise, her burden was shared out amongst the others in the column, who were already nearing their breaking points.