Running Dark

28

MUNGABE LISTENED TO THE VULTURE GIVE AN EXCUSE ABOUT why Darkview still existed. He paced the length of the trawler in the early-morning hours, holding the phone to his ear and doing his best to keep his temper in check.

“We have a congressional committee pressuring Darkview to give answers on a job they completed four months ago, the American tax authorities are auditing its income, and a new offensive is on the way. Things are moving along nicely,” the Vulture said.

Mungabe couldn’t believe his ears. “That is nothing! Hire a man and shoot the head of the company dead. Why do you waste your time?”

The Vulture made a disgusted sound. “The man works contracts for the Department of Defense. Killing him will alert the authorities with their endless questions. I won’t kill him until it’s required. You should trust my judgment.”

Mungabe wanted to laugh. Men like them didn’t use the word “trust.” “As soon as you can, kill him.”

“Killing him won’t stop the company. He has a vice president who will simply continue to operate it.”

“Then kill him, too,” Mungabe said.

“Her. It’s a woman, and I will kill her once I have completed testing and have the information I need. But killing her still may not end the corporation. The only way to be sure that the company no longer functions is to remove its supply of funds. Without money every business starves. This company is no different. I am taking the necessary steps to stem its flow of defense contracts, squeeze off its private clients, and cost it time and effort in battling the tax authorities. Soon it will have to close its doors, only because it cannot fight on all fronts. Just stick to attacking the ship. I’ll handle the rest.”

If Mungabe could have killed the man right through the phone, he would have at that moment, for no other reason than the patronizing sound in the man’s voice.

“I will have the ship by tomorrow. But I don’t give it to you until Darkview is dead, do you understand?” The man on the other end of the line was silent so long that Mungabe thought he’d hung up.

“No one dictates to me,” he said at last.

Mungabe could not believe his ears. Was the European threatening him? If he was, Mungabe would be sure that the man would not survive the week. “Is that a threat?” he said.

“Merely a fact. I suggest that we both work on our respective duties and talk again after you have taken the ship.”

“And after you have destroyed Darkview.”

“Yes,” the Vulture said.

Mungabe hung up and immediately dialed Roducci. He would get to the bottom of the cargo question. When the man answered the phone, Mungabe dispensed with hellos and got right to the point.

“It’s Mungabe. I’ll pay you four thousand dollars to tell me what news you have heard about the cargo on a cruise ship in this area and an additional six on the delivery of three new RPG-7s.”

Roducci hesitated. Mungabe could hear him breathing over the phone.

Eventually he said, “I’ll give you information. You know I cannot sell you guns. Somalia is on a restricted list. No weapons.”

Mungabe wanted to spit at the man. He sold his guns all over the world, but not to Somalia? He was a hypocrite.

“I’ve lost five RPGs in as many hours. I need some more weapons.”

“Then call the Russian. He has no morals. He would sell fire to the devil.”

“He cannot be found. His partners think he is dead.”

“Ah, see what happens to those who mess with the restricted list?”

“Then transfer them to the Sudan. I’ll—”

“Also on the list.”

“Not all of it. But if you are so worried about bureaucratic lists instead of making money, send them to Kenya. The Russian used to deliver his to Mombasa port. I pick them up there.”

Roducci sighed. “Mungabe, I am truly sorry not to be able to do business with you in arms, but the situation in your area is troublesome. You are stinging the shippers, the Western media is watching, and the companies that insure the ships are screaming for blood. They’ve had to pay out too much as a result of your activities.”

Mungabe chuckled despite himself. He loved the idea that his work was being recognized the world over. He basked in the praise for a moment. Then Talek stepped up to him, listening to Mungabe’s side of the conversation.

“Fine. I’ll locate my arms elsewhere. For now I will wire you the money for information. What is the agent’s name, and where can I find him? When you call me back, I want to hear all about the Western companies shrieking for blood. Send me the latest paper by e-mail.”

“Read Al Jazeera. They report from their side of the conflict.”

Mungabe snorted. “Arab trash.”

“The New York Times, then.”

Mungabe was getting angry. They were communicating in English, that was true, but only because it was the language of war the world over. The man knew he couldn’t read that well, and especially not English. Roducci must be messing with him. “No English.”

Roducci made an annoyed sound. “Stick to reading the Koran. I will tell you the news when your wire transfer clears. I’ll call you back.”

“Tell me now. You know I pay my debts.”

Roducci chuckled. “You are a good client, that’s true, but I wait for the transfer nonetheless.”

Mungabe hung up. He waved Talek over. “Send Roducci four thousand dollars.”

Talek brightened. “We’re getting some more guns? Roducci sells the best. How did you convince him?”

Mungabe felt a flash of irritation. “He’s not selling us arms. We’re buying information. If there is anything special about the cruise ship’s cargo, Roducci will have heard about it. In fact, he may even have sold it.”

Talek nodded. “That’s right. Roducci knows everything.”

Mungabe returned to staring out at the ocean. He was no further in his quest to destroy Darkview. He looked at Talek. “How well can you read?”

Talek shook his head. “Not at all. When Barre went down, the schools were closed. I was sent home.”

“You can read the Koran, can’t you?”

Talek shook his head again. “A little. My grandfather read to me, but he died shortly after the schools’ closing. My father can read, but he never taught me.”

Mungabe wasn’t surprised. When the Ethiopians took down the Siad Barre government in ’91, most of Somalia fell into anarchy. The latest generation was barely surviving. There was no time for education. He didn’t read to his children either. Actually, when he thought about it, he wasn’t sure if any of his children were able to read. He made a mental note to ask his women.

“Why do you ask me this?” Talek sounded suspicious. “Reading is of no use.” He sounded dismissive, but Mungabe saw the comment for what it was, a way for Talek to cover for his lack of education.

“I want to know what the media are reporting about our conquests here.”

“They are singing our praises.”

Mungabe snorted. “Perhaps not praises exactly.” He thought a minute. “But when we take the cruise ship, they will speak about us with respect. That much I promise you.”

The phone rang. Mungabe checked the display. It was Abdul.

“Hassim Reboude just drove into Berbera with the woman that Vanderlock claimed was his girlfriend.”

Mungabe stopped pacing. “Are you sure it’s the same woman?”

“A white Western woman with brown hair and light eyes. Who else would it be? I knew he was lying. She’s the Darkview agent we’ve heard about.”

“Or an aid worker,” Mungabe said.

“So? We take her first and ask questions after.”

“Did Vanderlock continue with the shipment?”

“Yes. He’s probably in Nairobi by now. And there’s more. The bombed jet at Hargeisa airport? It was owned by a pharmaceutical company.”

Mungabe resumed his pacing, his mind whirring. “Who carried it out?”

“The insurgents. I don’t know the whole of it, but the rumor is that a European paid them to do it.”

The Vulture, Mungabe thought. The ship’s cargo was the real prize, not the worthless cruise liner. Mungabe would take it all. “Where is the woman?”

“On the old trading boat near the fishing dock. There are two guards as well.”

“And Hassim? Is he there?”

“Yes. He’s arranged to take Ali’s skiff.”

“Stop him. And when you do, kill them both.” Mungabe switched off the phone and smiled.