Catacombs (60 page)

A military helicopter was waiting for him on the landing pad outside. He climbed in through the crew entry door of the Sikorsky and settled down in the cabin, alone, for the three-hundred-mile journey upcountry to Chanvai.

As the helicopter soared away over the hospital complex, Kumenyere looked down nostalgically but without regrets. The excellent health-care facility had been his inspiration, his achievement, but after today one of his associates would be in charge. Kumenyere's true destiny was about to be fulfilled. A metamorphosis from a little-known hospital administrator to the powerful leader of a bloc of African nations, forged by swift masterstrokes that would have the rest of the world gasping–he smiled and relaxed and let his imagination play at will for a few minutes. It was pure delight. Washington, London, Paris–he envisioned crisis meetings at the highest levels, emergency sessions of the U.N., the clamor from the press for official policy statements. Only the Russians would not be caught out, wondering what he was up to. Their missiles were making it all possible. They ultimately would have all the benefits of his control of the vital sea lanes around the Cape of Good Hope. Without a steady stream of supertankers from the Persian Gulf ports, a steel artery of oil, the giants of the West would be, in a few years' time, shriveled mummies, relics of capitalism.

From another case he removed the documents and manifestos he'd prepared, messages for heads of state in Africa and abroad. He reviewed the anticipated sequence of events for the next forty-eight hours.

IRBMs and the crews to man them were now on their way from the U.S.S.R. to Tanzania. Expected time of arrival, 1600 hours. All of the resources of the Jeshi la Wananchi la Tanzania had been concentrated at Kilimanjaro airport in anticipation of military action by South Africa. SAM missiles secretly obtained from Libya would be employed for the first time against attacking bombers.

Shortly before 1600 hours Robeson Kumenyere would release the terrible news that Jumbe Kinyati had died in his sleep, and announce that he was temporarily assuming control of the government for the duration of the crisis.

His first official act would be the offering of a conciliatory proposal to Zambia to settle their desultory border war. Then would come a communiqué announcing hostile action by the South African government, and an impassioned cry for help from other African nations, particularly the well-armed Zaire air force.

An IRBM with a nuclear warhead would be launched against South Africa, resulting in a minimum loss of life but maximum panic.

With more warheads of devastating power at his disposal, the IRBMs dispersed and invulnerable to further raids by the South Africans, Robeson Kumenyere's ultimatum to the Praetorian government would be broadcast, along with his modest proposals for a workable coalition government of blacks and whites in South Africa.

Great pressure from the superpowers, particularly the Russians, would be brought to bear on the Afrikaners to accept the proposals of the charismatic new president of Tanzania.

Meanwhile he would be consolidating his power at home through the time-honored methods of persuading the weak and intimidating the strong.

Perhaps another launch would be needed to convince the Praetorian government of the wisdom of this course of action; Kumenyere wasn't sure about that. He knew only that eventually they would have to give in.

Black nationalists imprisoned in South Africa would be released. They would emerge like moles from the darkness of their confinement into the light, momentarily confused and in need of well-thought-out plans for the immediate future, which Kumenyere was ready to provide.

He would be, simultaneously, the iron fist and the voice of moderation willing to harmonize with other voices of moderation in Africa, those leaders whose cooperation he knew he could count on, and who would support his ambitious project.

It would be no secret that the Russians were deeply involved in the South African coup. He would announce, within a few weeks, that the Russians were leaving Tanzania, and would be congratulated for his courage and statesmanship. The Russians would eventually build FIREKILL, and start making some horrendous demands of their own.

It was a calm, clear day at Chanvai. The recent eruptions of ash from Kilimanjaro, now peaceful and smokeless, had largely been carried away on easterly winds to fall on prime agricultural areas of Kenya, heavily damaging the wheat crop. The rest of the ash had been dispersed over the Indian Ocean.

From the helicopter Kumenyere went directly to Jumbe's quarters in the main house. The louvers were nearly closed; little light came in. Jumbe didn't care for air conditioning, and his bedroom was stifling. Kumenyere found him propped up in a basket chair, eyes vacant as if he'd been dreaming before the knock on his door. He focused on his visitor.

"Good morning, Jumbe." Kumenyere smiled at the man he had come to murder.

"Good morning," Jumbe said spiritlessly.

Kumenyere put one of the attaché cases on an onyx tabletop, opened it.

"The FIREKILL stones."

Jumbe looked at them for a long time. His lips began to quiver.

"You should be pleased," Kumenyere said, still smiling. "It's a great day, Jumbe. The day you've lived all your life for. I understand how emotional you are. But it isn't good for you." Jumbe seemed not to be listening. Kumenyere opened his medical bag and took out a disposable hypodermic syringe, a mislabeled ampule containing a drug that would bring on a fatal heart seizure within thirty seconds. He drew some of the liquid into the syringe.

There was another knock at the door; Kumenyere looked up, frowning.

"I don't think we should be disturbed."

"Come in," Jumbe said, his voice suddenly strong.

The door was opened by the bearded General Timbaroo, who carried one of the little Ingram machine guns that were so deadly at close range and could be fired with one hand. There were some people behind him. Kumenyere stiffened at this unprecedented intrusion.

"Bring them in," Jumbe said to General Timbaroo.

Erika Weller entered the bedroom, followed by Raun Hardie and Matthew Jade, who was leaning on a crutch. Lastly Oliver appeared, peering first around the jamb of the door at Jumbe, who smiled a little and nodded. Oliver crept into the room and stood in one corner.

They all wore clean clothes. They had had medical attention. They had bathed, slept, and eaten. But they still looked as if they had just been salvaged from the hands of skilled torturers.

"Jumbe, what–" Kumenyere began, but he instinctively moved a step closer to the old man, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder. The other hand still held the almost unnoticeable syringe.

"The Russians," Jumbe said, "are not sending missiles. I'm afraid I temporarily misled you about that, Robeson."

"But–" He glanced at the table, where General Timbaroo was opening the second of the two attaché cases. "Don't touch that!"

"But we'll be needing it," Jumbe continued. "As evidence at your trial for sedition, and other crimes against the government of Tanzania."

"What do you mean, there won't be missiles? Have you forgotten who the enemy is? You stupid old fool!
Amani haija il.a kwa ncha ya upanga gal
"

"FIREKILL is too dangerous a toy, even for the Russians," Jumbe said, and nodded his head at Erika. "This is Erika Weller, of the Chapman/Weller expedition."

Despite his shock, Kumenyere was still able to smile at Erika.

"I see. You have–a remarkable faculty for survival."

"Fortunately," Jumbe said. "Or I might have continued on a course that would have resulted in certain catastrophe. Erika–would you explain?"

"Henry Landreth was right about FIREKILL. It works. It can stop meteors–or nuclear warheads–by atomizing them through an enormous buildup of electromagnetic waves. The technology is relatively simple, drawing on energy that is always available in the earth. But these waves subsequently have a damaging effect on the earth's natural magnetic poles, causing them to shift. When that happens, and it happens in the blink of an eye, the earth wobbles in its rotation, slows, then resumes rotating at a somewhat different angle. The result, on the surface, is always cataclysm. Huge tidal waves, walls of water a thousand feet high, rolling halfway across continents. Enough volcanic activity to throw a pall across the sun for a century. Civilizations destroyed. Almost all of life wiped out. The Lords of the Storm knew what the results might be when their physicists constructed models of FIREKILL. They had a terrible choice to make: to be devastated from space, or risk a cataclysm of their own making. They lost their gamble."

General Timbaroo was busy looking through the papers in Kumenyere's attaché case, his eyes alight. Erika cleared her throat. Jumbe breathed raspingly. Jade's crutch squeaked as he shifted his weight.

Jumbe said, "By the way, I had another medical examination yesterday."

Perspiration gleamed on Kumenyere's forehead. He said in a small sad voice, "I would have been a great leader. A great man."

He clamped his left arm around Jumbe's head and placed the point of the syringe in his other hand against the carotid artery in Jumbe's neck.

"Your heart may be sound now," he said softly, "but it will stop seconds after I inject this. General Timbaroo! Push your submachine gun across the table toward me. I want a Land-Rover, fully fueled, waiting outside the door in five minutes, a 707 ready to depart Sanya Juu in one hour. Get moving, man, and give that order!"

"Robeson," Jumbe said, "for once consider what you're up against. Haiwezekani. Enough people have died already."

"I don't wish to be included in that tally." He glanced at Raun. "Close the attaché case. The one with the diamonds. Hold it until I tell you what to do next."

Raun swallowed and glanced at Jade, who nodded. General Timbaroo was at the bedroom door.

"Speak clearly, so I can hear every word!"

General Timbaroo spoke to a subordinate, who could then be heard running through the house. Jade relaxed on his crutch with a slight smile, apropos of nothing. A fly was buzzing around his head but he didn't make the mistake of trying to wave it off. Raun closed the attaché case, filled with diamonds that could be worth sixty million dollars to collectors who would not be particular about provenance, and stepped back slowly from the table.

In just under five minutes a soldier came running back to the bedroom. General Timbaroo had remained by the door. The Land-Rover was ready.

"The plane, the plane!" Kumenyere said impatiently.

General Timbaroo queried the soldier. Yes, the airport had been contacted, the aircraft was being fueled.

"Get up," Kumenyere said to Jumbe. The old man rose slowly, his head still at a wry angle in Kumenyere's embrace.

"General Timbaroo, go and stand beside Miss Weller. Don't anyone in this room move until I am outside with Jumbe."

He shifted the syringe adroitly to the other hand, aiming the point up under Jumbe's chin, and pulled the submachine gun off the table with his left hand. He looked at Raun.

"You first. Straight outside to the Land-Rover. Don't get too far in front of me."

When Raun had left the room, walking as deliberately and self-consciously as a bridesmaid at a wedding, Kumenyere followed, keeping a firm hold on Jumbe as they went down the hall, yelling a warning for everyone to clear out of the way.

Jade looked at General Timbaroo.

"Can you get me a rifle?" he said. "One with a good scope? I saw a Heckler-Koch in your arsenal yesterday, the G3SG/1. It ought to do."

"What are you thinking about?" Erika said. "You can barely walk!"

"But I can shoot," Jade said. "And the son of a bitch took Raun. General, we don't want them to get too big a lead on us; it can be tough to pick Kumenyere off once he reaches the airport."

"Hasha!" General Timbaroo said furiously, and ran from the bedroom with Jade stumping along behind him. Erika looked at Oliver, who shrugged, and they followed.

The engine of the Land-Rover outside was running. Guards armed with Ingrams stood at discreet distances.

"Put the case in front," Kumenyere said to Raun.

She did so.

"Now drive!"

Raun looked around as Erika and Oliver appeared on the verandah. She didn't see Jade. She looked back at Kumenyere, shaking her head in dismay. Kumenyere was wild with frustration and anger.

Jumbe smiled at her. "Do it for me," he said. "I would enjoy having your company on the way to the airport."

Kumenyere pushed Jumbe to the Land-Rover and climbed into the cramped backseat with him. Raun got in on the right, started up with the brake on, released it too fast. Gravel sprayed from the back wheels; the Rover bucked and almost died. Kumenyere screamed at her.

Jade appeared, empty-handed, on the verandah, leaned his crutch against the house and shielded his eyes as Raun drove away in the direction of the lake.

As the Land-Rover disappeared into a stand of trees, leaving a motionless haze of dust in the air, a Jeep came around the corner of the house with General Timbaroo driving; a van full of soldiers was just behind the Jeep. Timbaroo had the Heckler-Koch rifle with him.

Jade hopped down the steps and piled in beside Timbaroo.