Wilbur Smith's Smashing Thrillers (153 page)

Then he switched off the tape and spoke without looking at Daniel. “It’s genuine, he said. You couldn’t have faked it.”

“You know it’s genuine,” Daniel told him. “You knew about the mining and logging. It’s your bloody syndicate. You gave the orders.”

“I meant the labour camps, and the use of arsenic. I knew nothing about that.”

“Who is going to believe that, Tug?” Tug shrugged and said, “So Omeru is still alive.”

“Yes. He is alive and ready to give evidence against you.”

Tug changed the subject again. “Of course, there are other copies of this tape?” he said.

“Silly question,” Daniel agreed.

“So this is a direct threat?”

“Another silly question,” Daniel said again.

“You are going to go public with this?”

“That’s three in a row,” Daniel said grimly. “Of course, I’m going public. Only one thing will stop me. That is if you and I can make a deal.”

“What deal are you offering?” Tug asked softly.

“I will give you time to get out. I will give you time to sell out your interest in Ubomo to Lucky Dragon or anyone else who will buy.” Tug did not answer immediately but Daniel saw the faintest gleam of relief in his gaze.

Tug drew a breath. “In return?”

“You will finance Victor Omeru’s counter-revolution against Taffari’s regime. After all, it won’t be the first coup in Africa that you have orchestrated, Tug, will it?”

“How much will this cost me?” Tug asked.

“Only a small fraction of what you would lose if I were to release the tape before you have a chance to pull out. I could get a copy around to the Foreign Office and another to the American ambassador within thirty minutes. It could be on BBC 1 at six o’clock.”

“How much?” Tug insisted.

“Five million in cash, paid into a Swiss account immediately. With you as the signatory? And Omeru as a counter-signatory.”

“What else?”

“You will intercede with the president of Zaire. He is a friend of yours, but no friend of Taffari’s. We want him to allow clandestine passage of arms and munitions across his border with Ubomo. All he has to do is turn a blind eye.”

“Is that all?”

“That’s the lot.” Daniel nodded.

“All right. I agree,” Tug said. “Give me the account number and I’ll deposit the money before noon tomorrow.”

Daniel stood up. “Cheer up. All is not lost, Tug,” he advised.

Victor Omeru will be very kindly disposed towards you once he is reinstated in his rightful position. I am sure he will be prepared to renegotiate the contract with you, with the proper safeguards in place this time.

After Daniel had left, Tug Harrison sat staring at his Picasso for fully five minutes. Then he glanced at his watch. There was a nine-hour time difference in Taipei. He picked up the telephone and dialled the international code, followed by Ning Heng H’Sui’s private number. The old man’s eldest son, Fang, screened the call, and then passed him on to his father.

“I have a very interesting proposition for you,” Tug told the old man. I want to fly out to speak to you face to face. I can be in Taipei within twenty-four hours, will you be there?”

He made two other phone calls. One to his chief pilot’s home number to warn him to get the Gulfstream ready, and the second to the Credit Swisse Bank in Zurich. “Mr. Mulder, I will be making a large transfer from the number two account within the next twenty-four hours. Five million sterling. Make certain there is no delay once you receive the code card instruction.”

Then he hung up the telephone and stared at the painting again without seeing it. He had to decide what reason he would give Ning for wanting to sell his share in UDC. Should he say that he was in a cash bind? Or that he needed to be liquid for a new acquisition?

Which would Ning fall for more readily?

What was his price? He mustn’t set it too low, for that would arouse the cunning old oriental’s suspicions immediately. Not too high either. Low enough to excite his greed, high enough not to alarm him. It was a nice calculation. He would have the duration of the flight to Taipei to consider it.

That young fool Cheng has dropped me in it. It’s only right that his father be made to pay. He thought about Ning Cheng Gong. He has been too good a choice, Tug smiled bitterly. He had asked for a ruthless one, and got more than he bid for.

Of course, Tug had known about the forced labour, but not the details of their treatment. He had not wanted to know. Neither had he known for certain about the use of the arsenic reagents, though he had suspected that Cheng was using them. The platinum recovery figures had been too high, the profits too good, for it not to be so. He had not wanted to know any of the unpleasant details. But, he thought philosophically, the enhanced profitability of the mining venture would make it easier to sell out his interests to Lucky Dragon.

Ning Heng H’Sui would think he was getting the bargain of his life.

“Good luck, Lucky Dragon,” Tug grunted. “You’re going to need all of it.”

Chapter 40

Three months to the day since his last crossing Daniel stood on the moraine below the Ruwatamagufa glacier. This time he was properly equipped for the alpine conditions; there would be no more frostbite. And this time he was not alone.

The line of porters, each man bowed forward against the headband of his pack, stretched back as far as Daniel could see into the mountain mist. They were all men of the Konjo tribe, dour mountaineers who could carry heavy loads at these high altitudes. There were six hundred and fifty porters, and each man carried an eighty-pound pack.

In all, that made twenty-six tons of arms and ammunition. There were no sophisticated weapons in the loads, only the tried and true tools of the guerrilla and the terrorist, the ubiquitous AK 47 and the Uzi, the RPD light machine-gun and the RPG rocket-launcher, Tokarev automatic pistols and American M26 fragmentation grenades, or at least convincing copies of them made in Yugoslavia or Romania.

All of these were readily obtainable at short notice in any quantity required, as long as the buyer had cash. Daniel was amazed how easy it had been. Tug Harrison had supplied him with the names and telephone numbers of five dealers, one in Florida, two in Europe and two in the Middle East. “Take your pick, Tug had invited. But check what you’re getting before you pay. Some of that stuff has been floating around for forty years.” Daniel and his instructors had personally opened every case and laboriously checked each piece.

Daniel had calculated that the very minimum number of instructors he needed was four. He went back to Zimbabwe to find them. They were all men he had fought with or against during the bush war. They were all Swahili speakers and they were all black. A white face attracted a lot of attention in Ubomo.

The leader of the group of four was an ex-sergeant-major in the Ballantyne Scouts, a man who had fought with men like Roland Ballantyne and Sean Courtney. He was a magnificent figure of a Matabele warrior called Morgan Tembi.

There was another recruit in the party, a cameraman to replace Bonny Mahon. Shadrach Mbeki was a black South African exile who had done good work for the BBC, the best man that Daniel could find at such short notice.

To the north Mount Stanley was hidden in clouds, and the cloud dropped down to form a grey cold ceiling only a hundred feet above their heads, but to the east below the cloud it was open. Daniel gazed down upon the forest almost ten thousand feet below. it looked like the ocean, green and endless, except to the north where a dark cancer had bitten into the green. The open mined area was deeper and wider than when Daniel had last seen it from this vantage point only a few short months ago.

The cloud and the mist dropped over them abruptly, blotting out the distant carnage, and Daniel roused himself and started down, the long column of porters unwinding behind him.

Sepoo was waiting for him where the bamboo forest began at the ten thousand foot level. “It is good to see you again, Kuokoa, my brother. Kara-Ki sends you her heart,” he told Daniel. “She asks that you come to her swiftly. She says she can wait no longer.”

The men of Sepoo’s clan had cut out the trail through the bamboo, widening it so that the porters could pass through without having to stoop.

Below the bamboo where the true rain forest began at the six thousand foot level, Patrick Omeru was waiting with his teams of Uhali recruits to take over from the Konjo mountaineers. Daniel paid off the Konjo and watched them climb back through the bamboo into their misty highlands. Then the Bambuti guided them on to the newly opened trail, back towards Gondola.

After Kelly’s message Daniel could not restrain himself to the pace of the heavily laden convoy, and he and Sepoo hurried ahead. Kelly was on the trail coming to meet them, and they came upon each other suddenly around a bend in the forest path.

Kelly and Daniel came up short and stared at each other, neither of them seemed able to move or even to speak until Kelly said huskily, without taking her eyes from Daniel’s face, “Go on ahead, Sepoo. Far, far ahead!”

Sepoo giggled happily and went without looking back.

During Daniel’s absence, Victor Omeru had built his new headquarters in the edge of the forest beyond the waterfall at Gondola where it would be hidden from any possible aerial surveillance.

It was a simple baraza with half walls and a thatched roof. He sat with Daniel on the raised dais at one end of the hut. Daniel was meeting the resistance leaders, many of them for the first time. They were seated facing the dais on long splitpole benches, like students in a lecture theatre. There were thirty-eight of them, mostly Uhali tribesmen, but six were influential Hita who were disenchanted with Taffari and had thrown in their lot with Victor Omeru as soon as they heard that he was still alive. These Hita were vital to the plan of action that Daniel had devised and discussed with Victor.

Two of them were highly placed in the army and one was a senior police officer. The other three were government officials who would be able to arrange permits and licences for travel and transport. All of them would be able to supply vital intelligence.

At first there had been some natural objection to Daniel’s new cameraman filming the proceedings, but Victor had interceded and now Shadrach Mbeki was working so unobtrusively that they soon forgot his presence. As a reward for his assistance Victor Omeru had agreed that Daniel could make a film record of the entire campaign.

Daniel opened the meeting by introducing his four Matabele military instructors. As each man rose and faced the audience, Daniel recited his curriculum vitae. They were all impressive men, but Morgan Tembi in particular they regarded with awe.

“Between them they have trained thousands of fighting men,” Daniel told them. “They won’t be interested in parade-ground drills or spit and polish. They will simply teach you to use the weapons we have brought over the mountains and to use them to the best possible effect.”

He looked at Patrick Omeru in the front row. “Patrick, can you come up here and tell us how many men you have at your disposal, and where they are at the present time?” Patrick had been busy during Daniel’s absence. He had recruited almost fifteen hundred young men. “Well done, Patrick, that’s more than we need,” Daniel told him. “I was planning on a core of a thousand men, four units of two hundred and fifty, each under the command of one of the instructors. More than that will be difficult to conceal and deploy. However, we will be able to use the others in noncombatant roles.” The staff conference went on for three days.

At the last session Daniel addressed them again. “Our plans are simple. That makes them good, there is less to go wrong. Our whole strategy is based on two principles. Number one is that we have to move fast. We have to be in a position to strike within weeks rather than months. Number two is total surprise. Our security must be iron-clad. If Taffari gets even a whiff of our plans he’ll crack down so hard that we’ll have no chance of success whatsoever. There it is, gentlemen, speed and stealth. We will meet again here on the first of next month. By then President Omeru and I will have a detailed plan of action drawn up. Until then you will be taking orders from your instructors in the training-camps. Good luck to all of us.”

Chapter 41

Pirri was confused and angry and filled with formless despair and hatred.

For months now he had lived alone in the forest with not another man to talk to, or woman to laugh with. At night he lay alone in his carelessly built leaf hut far from the huts of other men and he thought of his youngest wife. She was sixteen years of age, with plump little breasts. He remembered the wetness and lubricious warmth of her body, and he moaned aloud in the darkness as he thought that he would never again know the comfort of a woman’s body.

During the day he was lethargic and without care. He no longer hunted with his old intensity. Sometimes he sat for hours gazing into one of the dark forest pools. Twice he heard the honey chameleon call and he did not follow. He grew thin and his beard began turning white.

Once he heard a party of Bambuti women in the forest, laughing and chattering as they gathered mushrooms and roots. He crept close and spied upon them, and his heart felt as though it would break. He longed to join them, but knew he could not.

Then one day while wandering alone, Pirri cut the trail of a party of wazungu. He studied their tracks and read that there were twenty of them, and that they moved with purpose and determination as though on a journey. It was exceedingly strange to find other men in the forest, for the Hita and Uhali were afraid of hobgoblins and monsters, and never entered the tall trees if they could avoid doing so. Pirri recovered a little of his old curiosity, and he followed the tracks of the wazungu.

They were moving well, and it took him many hours to catch up with them. Then he discovered a most remarkable thing. Deep in the forest he found a camp where many men were assembled. They were all armed with the Banduki that had a strange banana-shaped appendage hanging from beneath either a tail or a penis, Pirri was not certain. And while Pirri watched in astonishment from his hiding-place, these men fired their banduki and made a terrible clattering clamour that frightened the birds into flight and sent the monkeys scampering away across the forest galleries.