Ghost Flight

5

‘Okay, gentlemen, you will be pleased to know you check out. A couple of calls was all it took. Your reputations, it seems, go before you.’

The accent was broad South African, the figure in front of them squat and stocky, with the beefy, bearded red face of a Boer. The physique spoke of a youth spent playing rugby, drinking hard and soldiering in the African bush, before age and gout got the better of him.

But Pieter Boerke wasn’t here for the fighting. He was the coup leader, and he had a force of far younger, fitter men to lead the charge.

‘You’re still planning on taking Bioko?’ Jaeger remarked. ‘The Wonga coup pretty much never even got started…’

Several years back there had been a previous attempt to remove President Chambara from power. It had turned into something of a debacle, earning the derisive nickname ‘the Wonga coup’.

Boerke snorted. ‘I run a very different operation. This is the Gotcha coup. Chambara’s finished. The international community, the oil companies, the people of Bioko – everyone wants him gone. Who wouldn’t? The guy is an animal. He eats people – mostly his favourite prisoners.’ He eyed Jaeger. ‘Bet you’re glad you made it out of Black Beach when you did, eh?’

Jaeger smiled. It still hurt to do so, after three days of being battered by tropical storms and washed by sea spray as they crossed the Gulf of Guinea.

‘I’ve got C-130s in-loading weapons as we speak,’ Boerke continued, ‘flying shuttle runs out of Nigeria. We’re building up for the big push. Come to think of it, I could use a couple of extra hands – guys like you who know the lie of the land.’ He eyed the two men. ‘Fancy joining us?’

Jaeger glanced at Raff. ‘According to my big Maori friend here, we’ve got business back in the UK.’

‘Unfortunately,’ Raff growled. ‘After tasting a little of President Chugga’s hospitality, I’d love to go kick his front door in.’

‘I bet you would.’ Boerke let out a bark of a laugh. ‘Last chance, guys. I could use you. Really I could. I mean, you broke out of Black Beach. No one does that. You fought your way off the island with a couple of toothpicks and a bottle opener between you. Made a three-day voyage here by canoe. Like I said, I could use you.’

Jaeger held up his hands. ‘Not this time. I’m done with Bioko.’

‘Understood.’ Boerke got to his feet, a bundle of energy pacing back and forth behind his desk. ‘So, I can get you out of here on the next C-130. You hit Nigeria, you’ll be slipped aboard a BA flight direct to London, no questions asked. Least I can do for you, after delivering that little shit to us.’

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. The heavily bandaged form of Major Mojo was slumped in one corner of the room. After three days at sea and the injuries that he’d suffered, the man was barely conscious.

Raff eyed him, contemptuously. ‘I’d appreciate it if you could give him the same kind of treatment that he gave my friend here, with interest. That’s if he lives.’

Boerke flashed a smile. ‘No problem. We got a lot of questions to ask him. And remember, we’re South Africans. We don’t take prisoners. Now, anything else I can do for you guys before we go our separate ways?’

Jaeger hesitated for an instant. His instinct told him that he could trust the South African, plus they shared the brotherhood of warriors. In any case, if he wanted to get money to Chief Ibrahim, Boerke was about his only option right now.

He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket. ‘When you’ve taken Bioko, can you get this into the hands of the chief of Fernao village? It’s a numbered Zurich bank account, complete with access codes. There’s a sizeable amount of money in there – what Raff paid Mojo to bust me free. The chief’s son died because of us. Money will never bring him back, but maybe it’s a start.’

‘Consider it done,’ Boerke confirmed. ‘But one thing. By bringing that shit Mojo here, you did a very good thing. He knows Chambara’s defences inside out. If one Bioko child had to die to secure that kind of inside knowledge, that’s regretful. Let’s hope his death will bring life to many.’

‘Maybe. Let’s hope so,’ Jaeger conceded. ‘But he wasn’t one of your kids; your star pupil.’

‘Trust me, when Chambara’s gone, every single kid on Bioko will have a far brighter future. Hell, man, that country should be rich. It has oil, gas, minerals – the lot. Sell off Chambara’s yachts, raid his foreign bank accounts – we’ll be making a good start. Now, is there anything else?’

‘Maybe there is one thing…’ Jaeger mused. ‘You know, I was there for three years. That’s a lot of time in a place like Bioko. Long story short, I got digging into the island’s history. Second World War. Towards the end of the war, the British launched a top-secret operation to spy on an enemy vessel. The Duchessa. A cargo ship anchored in Malabo harbour. We went to extraordinary lengths to do so. Question is, why?’

Boerke shrugged. ‘Search me.’

‘Apparently the ship’s captain had filed a manifest with the Bioko port authorities,’ Jaeger continued. ‘It was incomplete; it listed six pages of cargo, but the seventh page was missing. Rumour has it the seventh page is secreted in the Malabo Government House vault. I tried everything I could to get hold of it. When you take the capital, maybe you can grab a copy for me?’

Boerke nodded. ‘No worries. Leave me email and phone details. But I’m curious. What do you think she was carrying? And why the interest?’

‘I got sucked in by all the rumours; kind of grabbed me. Diamonds. Uranium. Gold. That’s what they say. Something that could be mined in Africa; something the Nazis needed desperately to help them win the war.’

‘Most likely uranium,’ Boerke suggested.

‘Maybe.’ Jaeger shrugged. ‘But the seventh page – that would prove it.’