Dictator

81

‘Shall I tell you one good thing about my job? No one ever gives any crap to the one guy in the company who wears a gun to work!’

Sonny Parkes roared with laughter at his own wit, the four men he’d picked for the mission chuckled dutifully, and Carver managed a grin. It was plainly a line that got used on a regular basis, but he wasn’t about to complain. Not when he was sitting in the cabin of the propeller-driven De Havilland Twin Otter that was currently flying him at a stately one hundred and ninety miles an hour over the southern African bush towards the Malemban city of Buweku.

‘What did you tell them?’ Carver asked.

‘The truth, or as close as I could get to it. I said I was urgently pursuing a lead on Mr Klerk’s murder. I also said that this was a matter that had to be handled independently. In our organization, Carver, the word “independent” has a very special meaning. And do you know who’s responsible for that meaning?’

‘No idea.’

‘You are. When you went into Mozambique ten years ago and got Miss Stratten the first time-’

‘I never thought there’d be a second one.’

‘I’ll bet. Anyway, Mr Klerk was very impressed. He realized that with Africa being the way it is – you know, total fucking chaos nine-tenths of the time – there was no point even trying to rely on governments and official authorities to, you know, protect you or uphold the law. A man had to be able to act independently.’

‘Which is what you and your blokes do.’

‘Correct.’

‘Let’s get on with the independent plan for today then. Were you able to get what I needed?’

Parkes grinned. ‘You mean apart from the shower and the change of clothes? Man, you needed those. Smelled like a rotting warthog when you got off that flight!’

‘Apart from that…’

‘Yeah, I got most of it, and I got us a cover, too. Klerk’s still got – sorry, had – businesses in Malemba. They’re all run by locals these days, because that’s the only way you can keep the government from seizing all your assets. But they’re actually controlled by us through a bunch of shell companies and offshore trusts. Point is, no one in Malemba’s going to connect them with Wendell Klerk, which is good for us right now. Same with this plane. As far as anyone in Buweku is concerned, we work for an independent security contractor and we’ve come to pitch our services to a potential client in Malemba. When we get to the airport, I’ll show the customs people the flight cases containing all the fancy audiovisual equipment we’re going to use for our presentation. They’ll shake their heads and go tut-tut. Then they’ll explain that it is against government policy to allow the importation of such products because it makes it harder for local Malemban industry to compete. Of course, there is no Malemban industry any more, but I will nod all the same and say that I quite understand, and would one thousand US dollars cover the import duty? We will then be waved through. And so will the weapons – including, you may be pleased to hear, a couple of AA-12s – that are hidden in the cases beneath the projector, the lights and the PA system.’

‘You’ve got some non-lethal stuff, too?’

‘Yeah, yeah… I can’t believe you’re so pussy. What’s wrong with just blowing the bastards away?’

‘Nothing, when they’re the right bastards. But I don’t want to kill innocent people. I leave that kind of thing to people like Mabeki.’

‘That’s a very noble principle. I just hope it doesn’t kill you.’

‘Hasn’t yet. How about transport?’

‘A minibus to meet us at the airport; one three-ton truck; some anonymous Japanese four-by-fours to get us in and out of the target area; and three drivers who know their way through every rat-run in Buweku. Yeah, we’ve got transport all right.’

‘Outstanding,’ said Carver. ‘Right, let’s go over that plan.’