Black Pearl (6 page)

Robin leaned forward too. ‘I know this is something that would come from Richard under normal circumstances,' she said quietly. ‘But they don't call him
Dr No
like in James Bond. They call him
Dr Yao
,
which is Mandarin for
Yes
. Yes to
anything
, no matter
what
…'

‘You were quite right to bring this to my attention,' said President Chaka, pulling himself erect and consulting his watch once more. ‘This Doctor Chen sounds like an extremely dangerous proposition. But I'm not certain it was worth interrupting my preparations for the rally.'

‘I agree, Mr President. And if that was all I would have brought it to the attention of Colonel Kebila, your chief of security and, via him, to Mr Ngama's replacement as minister of the outer delta. But there is more.' Richard took a deep breath, then continued. ‘If we zoom into the background of this picture as we did to the picture of Lac Dudo … There. You see? A fourth man, trying very hard to remain in the shadows. And I'm sure you can recognize him, now.'

‘Odem,' said President Chaka. ‘It's Colonel Odem. Once again.'

R
ichard was woken the next morning by the only piece of communications equipment in the Granville Royal Lodge hotel's Nelson Mandela suite which did not require tantalum processors. He put the handset of his old-fashioned bedside phone to his ear after the third ring. ‘Mariner?' he said sleepily.

‘This is Andre Wanago, Captain Mariner,' said the precise voice of the general manager. ‘I have Colonel Laurent Kebila here and he wonders if you could spare a moment to talk to him. The matter is as urgent, apparently, as that with which you disturbed the president's plans last evening.'

Richard sat up, frowning thoughtfully. Benin La Bas's chief of security was clearly on his best behaviour. In the past he had simply come banging on the suite's main door with a squad of soldiers at his back. They had first met like that in the bad old days, when Liye Banda had been president, Celine Chaka had been a political prisoner in the regime's torture chambers and her father had been the general commanding an irregular army in the delta, seemingly little more politically powerful than Odem's Army of Christ the Infant. It was in Granville Harbour's central police station, shortly after Kebila had arrested him, that Richard first met Celine – in the days before her father took over the country and it emerged that young Captain Kebila had been the only reason she had survived her arrest and interrogation. The only reason they had both survived.

Robin stirred sleepily. ‘Who is it, Richard?'

‘Kebila,' he answered.

She sat up at once, pulling the duvet over her pink-tipped chest like an outraged Victorian virgin. And putting one hand to her golden curls to assess whether they were fit to be seen. ‘
Here?
' She looked around, half-expecting the colonel to be standing at the bedroom door.

‘Downstairs,' he reassured her with a chuckle. ‘He wants a chat.'

‘Tell him we'll be five minutes,' she said, flinging the duvet aside and returning to type as she headed for the bathroom. Richard forbore to point out that she hadn't been invited.

Fifteen minutes later the three of them were seated at an exclusive little table in the corner of a deserted coffee lounge overlooking the hotel's main swimming pool, which was designed to resemble a lake surrounded by jungle. Richard, having just come back from Lac Dudo, was struck by how much it did
not
look like a real lake surrounded by actual virgin jungle.

It was the lake, in fact, which Kebila had come to talk to him about. The colonel's slim, muscular frame was clad in an immaculate uniform identical in cut and perfection to General Chaka's, differing from his only in the matter of pips and badges of rank. Laurent Kebila and his cousin, Naval Commander Caleb Maina, always reminded Robin vaguely but excitingly of Denzel Washington. Younger and a little leaner, perhaps. One clean-shaven and one with a pencil moustache. Punctilious to a fault, he rose as they arrived and gave them a precise salute. Then he sat silently as coffee was left on the table beside his uniform cap and swagger stick before he started to talk business.

‘I have no doubt you have as clear an idea of the opposition's likely plan as I do myself,' Kebila began, his clipped Sandhurst accent coloured ever so slightly by the rhythms and intonations of his native West African Matadi dialect – like Igala, Edekiri and Itsekiri, a subspecies of the Yoruba spoken so generally here. The emphasis he gave to the word ‘opposition' made it clear he meant Congo Libre rather than Celine Chaka. ‘It is, so to speak, a variant of the
Kivu Gambit
,
if I may call it that.' He glanced across at Richard and Robin. ‘The way that Rwanda, in the fairly recent past, fomented restlessness in the Kivu region of the DRC immediately across their border.'

‘The point being,' emphasized Richard, putting down his coffee cup and reaching for the cafetière, ‘that Kivu is a major source of diamonds and coltan, which Rwanda did not have. The trouble in Kivu allowed them to get across the border and gain access without actually invading. It was – still is, to a certain extent – the core of diplomatic problems not only between Rwanda and the DRC but also between Rwanda and the rest of the diplomatic world. It very nearly became a pariah state. No outside contact except with some selected neighbours. No World Bank support. No IMF. Scarcely even any Oxfam, Save the Children or Medecin Sans Frontieres. No tourism. No inward investment. Even the Chinese are unlikely to go in there.'

‘Only one company currently on the record,' emphasized Kebila. ‘Han Wuhan, in fact. As opposed to forty in the DRC. The same number in Nigeria. And now we have a good number beating a path to President Chaka's door.'

‘As many as will beat a path to the door of President
Celine
Chaka after the elections,' chimed in Robin.

Kebila looked at her, his eyebrows raised. One finger stroked his moustache thoughtfully – a habitual gesture like Richard's tendency to stroke the scar on his cheekbone when he was thinking. ‘Quite so,' he said after a moment. Then he switched his attention more exclusively to Richard. ‘I have seen the picture of Ngama with Fola, Chen and Odem. How easy it would be,' he persisted gently, ‘for our own neighbours in Congo Libre on the far side of Mount Karisoke, where there is no black lake full of coltan but a great deal of poverty, to send in someone like Colonel Odem with his Army of Christ to secure the area around Lac Dudo. Establish a bridgehead, so to speak. Secure a safe route over the mountain and across the border, such as might permit the illegal but unstoppable transport of coltan by Han Wuhan out of Benin La Bas.'

‘But not
their
troops,' said Robin, understanding his point at once. ‘The Army of Christ, working under their orders, equipped and supplied by them.'

‘A well-established terrorist army whose roots are already deep in Benin La Bas,' agreed Colonel Kebila gently. ‘As you say, with material and logistical support from over the border. And with advisors from Han Wuhan Extractions, of course. And the connivance of someone who knows the ground and the ropes, so to speak. An ex-government minister, say. Ex-Minister of the Outer Delta, Bala Ngama, perhaps.' Kebila leaned forward and refreshed his coffee cup with a steady hand, then lifted it, sat back and continued. ‘He still has contacts in the government – no doubt he will have heard about Max's discovery. A fortune for Gabriel Fola and all his tribe, family and his government – which are, of course, the same thing. And nothing for ours – whether it be Julius or Celine Chaka in the president's palace. Nothing to be passed on to the people of Benin La Bas in the form of infrastructure, medical and educational facilities, the rebuilding of our social and financial economy.'

Richard nodded, his mind fixed on the beginning of Colonel Kebila's speech. It was as he had already calculated it. One glance at the familiar faces in the secret photograph had been enough for him. ‘But no pariah status for Gabriel Fola and his nation,' he said. ‘A perfect scapegoat instead – just another marauding militia out of control and behaving as they want. No international condemnation. Just two and a half trillion dollars' worth of coltan there for the taking.'

‘Unless we can stop it,' said Kebila.

‘
We
…' said Richard, his voice alive with speculation.

‘Consider the vital elements of our own version of the Kivu Gambit.' Kebila ticked them off on his fingers as he enumerated them. ‘A willing government happy to take a few chances. A well-equipped force led by men who know the territory; who will stop at nothing to achieve their mission and overcome their enemies.' His eyes crinkled with the smallest of smiles and the edge of his clipped moustache lifted infinitesimally. ‘A ruthless business enterprise led by men of questionable reputation who are happy to cut corners – and are not averse to a little backstabbing.'

‘And?' said Richard, who suspected that he was just about to be compared with ex-minister Ngama somehow – as Bashnev/Sevmash had just been compared with Han Wuhan; Kebila and his men with Odem and his, and the Chakas with President Fola.

‘And a
wild card
,' concluded Kebila. ‘An ace in the hole that we cannot quite fathom as yet. Whose involvement may mean nothing. Or everything.'

‘Is there,' interrupted Robin, ‘a
Mrs
Ngama anywhere in this parallel?'

Kebila laughed. It was a surprisingly pleasant sound. ‘The ex-minister is famous for his taste in beautiful women,' he said. ‘But the last I heard, he was still … ah …
tasting
. So no, there is no Mrs Ngama. However, let us not let my love of rhetoric unbalance the drift of my argument. Your involvement could well be as crucial as your husband's. Were I to suggest that
he
might be a unique liaison between the president and Bashnev/Sevmash, then
you
– to begin with – could perform exactly the same service between Bashnev/Sevmash and the leader of the opposition.'

‘So it's a race for the coltan,' said Richard, at his most forthright. ‘Chaka – father and daughter – will sanction an expeditionary force to go upriver as fast as possible. It will be led by you and its main objective will be to find and stop Odem. Any inconvenient red tape will be cut in order to allow Bashnev/Sevmash to assay and annexe the lake – on a commercial basis, while you leave enough men to handle the security.'

‘And, frankly, to keep an eye on your Russian colleagues, who are to be given the green light now because they are the only opposition to Han Wuhan that we have to hand,' added Kebila smoothly. ‘There will be certain carefully negotiated provisos with regard to long-term extraction rights, of course. Perhaps, at a later date, an open bidding process …'

‘That goes without saying,' said Richard, cutting to the chase. ‘But in the long term, we're all dead, as John Maynard Keynes observed. In the
short term
, Chaka wants to put Bashnev/Sevmash in there before Han Wuhan can get a foothold, with you to keep an eye on their security and their behaviour. Longer term to be negotiated as and when, after an increasingly hard-to-call election. And you want Robin and me to be liaison on the ground, oiling the wheels between all concerned – aware that there might well be unexpected additions to the situation that will have to be handled – like I said –
as and when
.'

‘A very precise summation,' nodded Kebila. ‘Are you game?'

Richard exchanged glances with Robin. She nodded infinitesimally.

‘Right,' said Richard. ‘You're on. And we're in.'

T
en minutes later, Richard was hammering on the door of Max Asov's presidential suite. Robin and he had discussed the best way forward as they rode up in the lift. Courtesy really demanded that they phone Max and Felix to arrange a meeting rather than banging on their doors, but it was by no means first thing and Richard was certain that news as good as this warranted immediate action. So they emerged from the lift, swept past the security guards and took a door each.

The door half opened and Max's bleary-eyed face appeared on Richard's third knock. ‘Richard! Only you …' Even as Max reluctantly answered Richard's knock, Robin, a little way down the corridor, started pounding on Felix's door.

‘Max. We have to talk …' snapped Richard.

‘Who is it, Max?' came the voice of Max's current companion – the model Tatiana Kolina – from the bedroom. At least Tatiana seemed a little more mature than usual. Most of Max's girls would make better companions for his daughter Anastasia. Some of them, indeed, were even younger than Anastasia.

‘It's just Richard, Tatiana,' Max called back, without looking round.

‘What is so important, Richard, that you must disturb us so early?'

‘We're off!'

‘Off? Who's off?' demanded Max. ‘Where to? Richard! What are you talking about?'

‘We are! Bashnev/Sevmash and the whole of your team. Off upriver. As fast as you like, as far as you want; but back to the lake at least. With an escort of soldiers armed to the teeth, and carte blanche from the president and the leader of the opposition.'

Max's eyes narrowed. His face lost that sleepy look and became calculating. ‘Carte blanche?'

‘For anyone and anything you need. Any provision or permission the country can give. No limits. Just get up the river and take hold of the Lac Dudo on behalf of your company and the Benin La Bas government while an elite force sorts out your security and makes sure your people are safe.'

Max stood gaping as his brain clearly tried to calculate the full implications of the sudden change in President Chaka's position. The door swung wide. Tatiana padded out of the bedroom behind him wearing a nightdress that was more or less transparent. She caught Richard's eye, which was not – to be fair – difficult, gave him a wicked smile and a wave and vanished again.