The War of Immensities (63 page)

“And the
government of The Congo...”

“Is very
unpredictable. However, The Congo Republic is a big place and most
of the military power is concentrated at the centre, protecting the
President. You will always be a long way away from there and their
transport and communications are woeful. Everything favours you,
Captain.”

“I think I
understand.”

“However, to be
on the safe side, the President has offered a little toy that might
help. It will be delivered with the first drop when you reach the
border.”

“Harley, where
are we going, exactly?” Andromeda had to ask.

“Every bit of
ground you make to the west helps us with adjusting the focal
point,” Harley said and he pulled out a small map, folded in
preparation for this moment. “See this road? From Kalemie, it goes
north-west, given a few staggers, all the way to the Congo at
Bogbonga. Stay on that road. Otherwise, you’ll get trapped by the
rivers.”

“And then
what?”

“And then it’ll
be June and if we all still exist, we’ll need a new plan.”

Within the
hour, Harley was back in his helicopter and gone.

“Always
inspirational when the commander-in-chief drops by,” Maynard
remarked.

The two
gentlemen—agents of the US Treasury—sat with their hands clasped
before them. They might have been waiting for the teacher to ask
them the next question. The younger one was a very handsome, neat
fellow, in a designer suit and wearing cufflinks embossed with the
American Eagle. The older man was exactly what the younger man
would become when he went bald in twenty years time, frequented the
same tailor and wore the same cufflinks. Maybe they were a
departmental job lot. Maybe they were a uniform. Joe Solomon had
never met two such polite and obliging gentlemen in all his life.
The very improbability of finding two such considerate souls in one
American city made them suspicious in itself. They made you want to
confess everything, just because they were so nice.

“I want to
confess everything,” Joe Solomon said cheerily.

They even took
him to the hospital where he lured them into the morgue to watch
while he identified the body. Val Dennis had no known
relatives—apparently Joe’s dubious status as ‘colleague’ was the
nearest thing he could manage to a friend. Or at least, a friend
who would willingly expose themselves to official channels. Joe
considered the fact that he was under arrest and escorted by two US
Treasury Agents at the time was most appropriate.

“He died of a
cerebral haemorrhage, but you can see plainly how they beat him to
a pulp,” Joe said grimly. “A brilliant young man, top scientist,
but he was a radical and independent soul who didn’t want to devote
his talents to making weapons. But that wasn’t why they killed him.
They killed him because they wanted Project Earthshaker. They
wanted to control it. There was nothing he could tell them that
they didn’t already know. It was just that they didn’t control the
source of the data. They beat him to the point where he would be
paralysed for life. If the haemorrhage hadn’t killed him, he’d have
been an permanent invalid. This is how we treat our brilliant young
minds.”

The two
Treasury agents were as respectful of the dead as they were of the
living. They stood by without comment while Joe Solomon delivered
the eulogy of Val Dennis. He did so there, in the morgue at the
hospital, because he knew there would be no chance at any
graveside. Val Dennis had donated all of his body to medical
science and insisted there be no funeral. The sad thing was that so
few of his body parts would be of any use.

“We have to go
now, Mr Solomon,” the older agent said.

“I just wanted
you blokes to be sure you know who you’re working for,” Joe said
coldly as he spun his wheelchair around and led them out.

And so he
continued to lead, for there were two other sets of agents,
identical to these, who would accompany him everywhere he went from
now on. And he could go anywhere he wanted. At least there would
always be someone to push the wheelchair, which was their own fault
since they had deprived him of his motorised one.

“Take me to
your offices,” Joe insisted. “It’ll save us all a lot of
trouble.”

They didn’t
interrogate him, not as such. There was no nice cop, nasty cop
routine nor any of those techniques. They sat him down and gave him
tea. The room was plush leather couches and coffee tables and they
all sat about informally. No one took any notes, but there was a
video surveillance camera on the wall with the red light on.

“There are just
some broad questions we wish to put to you, Mr Solomon. You are
under no obligation to answer them. Since you have not been
formally arrested, nor warned of your rights, this interview cannot
be used in evidence. The video recording is for reference only and
is not considered admissible evidence in court.”

“I want to
confess everything,” Joe insisted.

“You’ll need to
do that in writing, Mr Solomon.”

“Bring me pen.
Bring me paper.”

“Perhaps it
would be better if you answered our questions first, Mr
Solomon.”

“Ask away.”

“We are
interested in certain extensive properties you purchased on behalf
of yourself or others in California and Nevada during the period
from the 15th of December last year until the 19th of January this
year.”

“I bought every
bit of land I could lay my hands on.”

“And what have
you paid for it so far?”

“Nothing. It’s
only been a month or so since purchase was arranged. The first
payments aren’t due yet.”

“But, on the
15th of next month, the first payments will begin to fall due.”

“Yes.
Arrangements have been made for payment as they fall due.”

“What
arrangements?”

“There’s a
numbered account in a Swiss Bank.”

“Are you
prepared to provide us with details of that account?”

“Don’t be
bloody silly.”

“Have you any
idea what funds are available in that account?”

“No idea. But
plenty.”

“We find that
hard to believe.”

“There was too
much money. I got tired of counting it.”

“So you refuse
to answer.”

“No. I don’t
know the answer. And the account is arranged such that it can only
be accessed by the claimants, for the sum claimed, for ten days
after the date due.”

“A curious
arrangement, Mr Solomon. How was it made?”

“The bank’s
agents handled it. I know nothing.”

“I see. Now.
You seem to have arranged for all those properties to be divided
into allotments and made available to certain persons.”

“That’s right.
Anyone who lost property in the 19th of January disaster is
entitled to an allotment, free of charge. The allotment of their
choice, on a first come first served basis.”

“You’ve given
them the land.”

“That’s right.
All persons whose property fell into the sea are entitled to an
allotment.”

“And what plans
do you have for development of the allotments?”

“None. The
government has provided reconstruction funding. I’m providing land
for them to do that reconstruction on.”

“Yes. So we
understand. But... Mr Solomon, if you’ll forgive me, we can’t quite
see how you intend to profit from these arrangements.”

“There’s a wide
margin for profit. Built in is an agreement that if any of the
allotments are exploited for profit, we own ten percent of it. It’s
likely to amount to a great deal.”

“But if they
just build a house and live there...”

“No
charge.”

“Well, there
are matters of land tax and other charges...”

“It’s up to the
government to collect those, when and where and how it thinks
appropriate.”

“This is a very
strange arrangement, Mr Solomon.”

“Strange
circumstances require strange arrangements.”

“But, since the
January 19 subsidence, the value of these properties has increased
a hundred fold and more.”

“That’s
right.”

“Yet you claim
to give them away.”

“I do. I
have.”

“Still, you see
how our suspicions are aroused.”

“You Treasury
blokes will always have a problem with generosity.”

“Generosity.
Yes. But tell me, in consideration of the increase of value of the
properties, were they bought with prior knowledge of the
increase?”

“Certainly.”

“From what
source was this knowledge obtained?”

“General press
releases from Project Earthshaker.”

“Project
Earthshaker being Professor Harley Thyssen?”

“Project
Earthshaker being Project Earthshaker.”

“But Project
Earthshaker did not exist at the time.”

“Oh yes it did.
It was just that the government tried to pretend it didn’t
exist.”

“Nevertheless,
it must be regarded that Project Earthshaker was embodied wholly or
in part in the person of Professor Thyssen.”

And finally,
finally, Joe could see where they were going. It was almost
disappointing to him. It wasn’t him they were after at all. He was
just a small fish. He was just the bait.

“Professor
Thyssen played no part in nor had any knowledge of these
transactions,” Joe said coldly.

“Surely you
were acting on his behalf?”

“Nope.
Completely autonomous.”

“Or with his
permission.”

“Professor
Thyssen has no control or interest in my activities
whatsoever.”

“I see.”

“No you don’t.
Professor Thyssen has never had any authority over me. He has never
directed my activities in any way. He has never sought any
information regarding my activities nor sought to guide them in any
way. He has no idea about this still.”

“He doesn’t
know that you are giving his property away?”

“Not his
property. Never was.”

“It was
purchased for or on behalf of Project Earthshaker of which he is
regarded as the executive authority.”

“No. The
Project is leaderless. All parts of it are autonomous. Professor
Thyssen has no executive authority in the Project nor any authority
over me or anyone else in the project whatsoever.”

“A very
improbable arrangement, Mr Solomon.”

“We live in
improbable times.”

“All right
then. Now, if we may, there are some interesting facts concerning
your purchase of extensive properties in Brazil...”

They had been
stopped continually throughout Zambia. The march had continued
relentlessly at around seven miles a day by Maynard’s calculations,
and it had been ninety days since it began at the fall of the
Malawian capital Lilongwe. At first they had travelled within their
own country, roughly following the road that ran north parallel to
Lake Nyasa, until Andromeda had returned from her conference with
the Earthshaker group and turned them west, or at least slightly
north of west.

On the day
following Thyssen’s impromptu visit, two very officious Zambian
gentlemen arrived. They brought with them a huge stack of
outstanding fines and duties to be paid. Such payment was to be
made in US dollars.

“In Zambia,
only bribes are to be paid in US dollars,” Andromeda Starlight told
them.

“You accuse us
of taking bribes. This is outrageous. There will be further
fines...”

“Captain!…”
Andromeda called over their heads.

The immediate
response was that Captain Maynard turned out twenty of his most
heavily armed men, clumping into a line directly behind the two
officials but they were not to be so easily intimidated.

“Lock and
load,” Maynard ordered, and his men responded with well drilled
skill. The two officials turned now to confront the soldiers, while
Andromeda towered over them behind. And then she saw the solution
to the confrontation with a clarity that shocked her—after all,
despite Thyssen’s warnings, she was sure that it would not be right
to fire upon these men, however corrupt they might be. The right
answer was so obvious that she carried it out in the same instant
she thought of it. All she had to do was reach forward, and with a
grand sweep of her hands, cracked the heads of the two officials
together.

They went down,
both of them, in a rather awkward embrace. Andromeda stood over
them triumphantly. Captain Maynard was staring at her in complete
disbelief.

“I can’t
believe you did that,” he murmured.

“Well,
captain,” Andromeda said with an assurance that she definitely
didn’t feel. “It sure was better than shooting them. In this part
of the world, people get shot all the time, but how often does
something like this happen?”

Maynard, still
shaking his head in disbelief, called to a medic and between them
they got the two dazed officials back onto their feet. Hastily,
they rushed them off to their cars. Their drivers and attendants
looked on in utter bewilderment. Then the cars were gone.

Maynard
dismissed his men and walked over to Andromeda. She could shrug it
off.

“I just did it
on impulse. And maybe, when word of this little humiliation gets
around, some of these jokers will be a little more reluctant to
harass us.”

“Oh yes,”
Maynard smiled. “I should imagine a lot of people will find this
incident quite unforgettable.”

“Being
unforgettable is what they pay me for, Cap’n,” Andromeda
smiled.

But she proved
to be right. There were no further Zambian officials after
that.

And so it was
back to the House of the Golden Carp where they could sit on the
wide verandah and survey the countryside in the evening glow,
served saki by the geishas in their colourful kimonos and lament
upon the hardship of their lives.

“We never even
went close to meeting the deadline,” Brian said grimly.