The Wonga Coup (18 page)

Simon Mann later wrote that Aznar was directly involved himself. Point 12 of his confession is published for the first time here and provides strong evidence that Spain's government, under Aznar, was deeply involved in the coup and that South Africa, at the least, was forewarned about it. Mann wrote:

12. The Spanish PM has met Severo Moto three times. He has, I am told, informed SM [Moto] that as soon as he is established in EG he will send 3000 Guardia Civil.
      I have been repeatedly told that the Spanish Govt will support the return of SM immediately and strongly.
      They will, however, deny that they are aware of any operation of this sort.
      The South African government have recently last week contacted SM stating their support for him and inviting him to meet the President of South Africa.

Another plotter says Mann explained that Aznar and Moto met three times in the months before the coup. Crause Steyl also recalls: ‘We were all along told that Aznar was supporting us in this.'

Aznar's office later, inevitably, denied involvement and challenged journalists to provide proof of any direct or indirect role by the Spanish government. There is, however, circumstantial evidence and off-the-record testimony to suggest Moto would have received such support. In January Spain did deploy two ships to the Gulf of Guinea, and sought permission to dock in Malabo. They were refused. They then sought permission to ‘exercise' in Equatorial Guinea's waters. Again they were refused and Obiang called the deployment ‘provocative'.

A lawyer for the Equatorial Guinean government, Lucie Bourthoumieux, explains what happened early in 2004: ‘The Spanish government proposed to Equatorial Guinea to send two military boats with marines inside. The president of Equatorial Guinea asked why. They said “We propose to protect you because of the problem of Gabon.” The president said, “No and No.” The president sent a letter of protest. He said, “I don't want them.” And he informed the United Nations secretary-general that “we don't accept Spanish marines to solve pretended problems”.' Despite that letter and protest, the Spanish sent the ships a few days before the attempted coup. The Equatorial Guinea government wondered why the ships still came. It could be an obvious conclusion: the Spanish could have been behind the coup. It's very important. The spirit of colonialism of the Spanish is similar to the French. There is a kind of paternalism in the relationship.' A national security adviser in Equatorial Guinea, Ruben Maye, says bluntly that Spain's security services backed the plot. He blames Aznar's government and concludes that, ‘All the threats Equatorial Guinea is facing come from Spain'.

On 2 February 2004 the Spanish ministry of foreign affairs confirmed that two Spanish warships had departed a few days earlier from La Coruna harbour, bound for Equatorial Guinea. The foreign minister, Ana Palacio, called it a ‘mission of co-operation', while the defence ministry contradicted her, claiming the ships were only exercising in the Atlantic. The plotters certainly believed support was forthcoming. That helps explain why some were so cavalier about secrecy.

Yet du Toit still worried. He was at the sharp end if things went wrong. He and others told Mann of their concerns at several meetings. Wales, Crause Steyl and others were present and they knew that Smith's intelligence reports, for once, were
on the mark. Du Toit and his colleagues were vulnerable. The plotters should reduce the public discussion of the plot, they agreed. They might also move operations out of South Africa, where it was illegal to recruit men as mercenaries. The first cases of soldiers arrested for such activities, including one who had been fighting in Côte d'Ivoire, were then in the news. The plotters might move operations to a quieter spot, perhaps Namibia or Congo, both of which were closer to Equatorial Guinea.

From Namibia troops could be airlifted to some other point nearer to Equatorial Guinea, perhaps even to Annobon island, a remote part of the country itself. They would use two DC3 planes for this. Weapons could be sourced from Cyprus, in the Mediterranean. Around now the helicopter funded by Thatcher was in Namibia. Wales admits he went to Namibia, too, in late January. Perhaps he checked if Windhoek, its capital, could serve as a new base for operations. However, for some reason – perhaps lack of time – the base of operations did not move. It was yet another mistake. How many more could the project survive?

‘Five tons of small arms.'

Simon Mann

Time was short. The plotters were worried about two elections: one in April in Equatorial Guinea which could help legitimise Moto's grasp on power; the other in March in Spain marking the retirement of sympathetic prime minister Aznar. So February was the month to launch the plot. Spanish ships and marines were powering into position. Nearly seventy footsoldiers had been recruited. Despite public discussion of a coup, it seemed Equatorial Guinea had no comprehensive warning. The attackers still enjoyed limited surprise. Aircraft were arranged: the Thatcher helicopter was dropped, but Steyl had done a dry run with a King Air plane from the Canary Islands to Malabo, and a man called Ivan Pienaar had helped hire two DC3 planes. Many believed Pienaar had contacts with South Africa's authorities, so his presence might have reassured Mann and others. Back in Equatorial Guinea, du Toit and his forward team moved into position.

Mann still needed more officers. Two South Africans took large roles here. Jacob Hermanus Albertus Carlse (widely known as Harry) and Lourens Jacobus Horn (shortened to Loutjkie, Hecky and other nicknames) are typical ‘moustaches', a term
coined by Nigel Morgan to describe tough South Africans. Of Afrikaner stock and proud, hard soldiers, they are the sort you want to have on your side in a fight. Carlse is one of four brothers. A family friend calls him ‘a very tough guy' and says he was known as ‘The Enforcer' after breaking a debtor's arm over a restaurant table. Having served in South Africa's army and in a special forces regiment (1 Reconnaissance), he met Mann in 1993 and fought in Executive Outcomes' first battle, at Soyo in Angola. Later Carlse became a nightclub bouncer in Johannesburg, where he met Horn. Horn had a similar past, serving first with South Africa's police and then with special forces (4 Reconnaissance Regiment), though not in Executive Outcomes.

Carlse and Horn then worked as guards, forming a company called Meteoric Tactical Solutions (taking a similar name to du Toit's firm, Military Technical Services). In 2003 the firm won security work in Iraq. Among other contracts it struck a £250,000 deal with Britain's international development agency to guard staff in Iraq. The firm also helped train Iraqi police. In October Carlse was back in South Africa briefly and met Crause Steyl, who offered him work of the Executive Outcomes type. By February 2004 both he and Horn were ready in South Africa. Horn told some colleagues he was taking a holiday to ‘chill out on a hunting farm', though he boasted to others of going back to Africa for a quick ‘security job' that would pay extremely well.

The two met du Toit at a Wimpy burger bar in Pretoria and heard details of the coup plan. Their company would be rewarded with security contracts in the new Equatorial Guinea. Horn later testified that Mann, Neves Tomas, Kershaw and another former soldier, Simon Witherspoon, joined them at the Wimpy. Witherspoon, yet another veteran of South African
special forces (5 Reconnaissance), calls himself a professional hunter and ‘security consultant' for foreign governments. He says he was invited by a ‘James' (presumably Kershaw) to join the operation at the last minute. Witherspoon – like most involved in the Wonga Coup – is affable and friendly when you meet him, though he has an intimidating past as a soldier.

At the Wimpy du Toit gave out pay-as-you-go mobile phones, while Kershaw collected bank details so he could handle financial arrangements. Horn took an administrative role, paying for hotel rooms for the footsoldiers (most stayed at Hotel 224, a sad-looking spot in the centre of Pretoria). He checked contracts for the footsoldiers to sign when out of the country and beyond the reach of anti-mercenary laws. He was also supposed to organise transport to the airport for most of the men. Carlse became a direct assistant to Mann. He was to join his old boss on the day of the coup.

A few others signed up. Errol Harris, a huge man with cropped blond hair, said Mann approached him and suggested he join. He quit his job as a prison warder, said his lawyer, ‘because he was told he would have a job to start a new prison in Equatorial Guinea'. His military background was less impressive than the others' and he had never left South Africa before, but he had a useful connection to the plotters – du Toit had married his sister, Belinda. Yet Harris later claimed (on South African television) he had no idea what du Toit planned: ‘I knew he was in the special forces, but he never told me himself.' Asked if he was a hired gun, he replied: ‘No, I don't even know what mercenary means.'

Du Toit now supplied more information about the target. Though Malabo is small, the city is divided into several districts, some of which are poorly lit and/or are not clearly
named. The presidential palace, the main target, is on the farthest side of town away from the airport. For the plotters, knowing the local geography would be vital. Du Toit later told investigators:

Sometime in February 2004 … I found a map of the town of Malabo pinned on the walls of one of the offices of Murray and Roberts, a South African construction company. I asked for a copy of the map … which I later gave to Harry Carlse on my return to South Africa. It was to be used after landing in Malabo on the day of the ‘Coup deTat'. The map was unmarked except for the Pizza Place restaurant, which was already marked when I obtained the map. I indicated the positions which were to be taken over to Harry Carlse …

One vexing task remained: buying weapons. At first glance, that looks easy enough. Used AK-47 assault rifles are traded all over Africa. Foreign journalists occasionally try to buy one in a Kenyan slum or in a dangerous part of Johannesburg for the sake of a story. Various factors affect supply and price. At the end of a war soldiers sell their old weapons and the price drops: after Uganda's civil war you could trade a chicken for an AK-47. Otherwise there is a well-developed black market for guns. In Soweto, in South Africa, criminals rent out weapons and ammunition for the night. Elsewhere a used assault rifle – one that might have been traded between wars, buried for a while, perhaps used by child soldiers – could sell for well under $100. In Mozambique, where artists break up rifles to make impressive sculptures with the pieces, it may be cheaper to buy the working model than the art.

But the plotters of the Wonga Coup wanted more than a few bent rifles. In war zones larger consignments of arms are
sometimes available. Africa fell relatively quiet in 2004, but wars spluttered on in Sudan, on Uganda's borders, in eastern Congo and in Côte d'Ivoire. Arms producers, especially in eastern Europe, continued to export assault rifles, mortars and other weapons that helped sustain African conflict. Many deals were brokered by shady British, Israeli or east European traders, with cargo sent through Cyprus, Malta or other relay points in southern Europe. Given the right connections, tapping into this supply network is said to be quite possible. Questions about paperwork – end user certificates – may be ignored. What counts is money.

The plotters of the Wonga Coup, however, seemed unsure how to find a supplier. Previously Mann had worked for governments and acquired weapons legally. Du Toit, with some experience of trading arms himself, said he knew where to go. They first relied on du Toit's associate Henry van der Westhuizen, who had contacts in Uganda. ‘As of December 2003 we expected the guns to come from Uganda, the likelihood was good,' recalls Crause Steyl. ‘Henry van der Westhuizen is an arms trader … Henry and Nick are partners. Henry was supposed to buy arms from Salim Saleh [the head of the military] in Uganda. Henry said the deal was on.' But by 2004 there was a problem. Steyl continues: ‘Salim Saleh then pulled out. I'm not sure why. I think Oxfam were investigating him or something.'

This, Steyl believes, was a devastating setback: ‘When Salim Saleh refused to do the deal, by then we were beyond the point of no return. The troops were hired, the aircraft hired; Nick was running the front businesses. As a private individual foreigner, to organise a coup is difficult. It's easy to shoot your uncle … At that moment we should have said, “It's over.” But you can't pull out. Those guys have given you
money. You can't walk away. Nick didn't get out of it, though I think he wanted to …' Mann later elaborated: ‘We applied to the source of weapons that we had previously contacted. This contact had been indirect and was via Henry van der Westhuizen. At this stage this contact failed.' Which created a ‘difficult position', although ‘other options' included ‘a military source in Zambia, one in Kenya, one in Bujumbura – and ZDI [Zimbabwe Defence Industries]'.

Zimbabwe Defence Industries, like many companies that make or trade military equipment, is owned by the state and has close ties with the armed forces. A Colonel Tshinga Dube ran it. Though Zimbabwe's small and fast-shrinking economy produced little, ZDI was kept busy trading weapons that others made, selling them on to dealers like du Toit. In theory, they could only sell to licensed traders with the right documentation, notably the end user certificate. In fact, staff at ZDI – like many – had few scruples and would sell, if the price was right, precisely what Mann and his co-plotters wanted.

From a distance, however, it is astounding that Mann and du Toit chose to do such a sensitive deal in Robert Mugabe's Zimbabwe. As Mugabe aged – he was well over eighty by the time of the Wonga Coup – he presided over a collapsing economy and grew ever more isolated in office. He attacked his opposition, then launched a populist campaign against Britain and whites. He regularly accused the old colonial power – ‘Tony Blair and his gang of gay gangsters', as Mugabe alliterated – of planning evil schemes. British journalists were arrested merely for visiting Zimbabwe. Tourists, businessmen and others mostly stayed away. Zimbabwe's intelligence agency, the Central Intelligence Organisation, grew ever stronger. It was said that one in five adults in Zimbabwe worked for it. Mann and du Toit were sure to draw its attention.
There was a greater risk of being arrested and denounced in Zimbabwe, for the sake of a propaganda attack on Britain, than anywhere else.