The Devil's Handshake

20

Borama

Sitting with the President a month ago, sharing a sweet, bitter coffee, the staple drink of East Africa, and pleasantries out of the way the conversation was nervously opened by the worried man.

“My friend, I have a problem with Wasir!” Omar had said before launching into a diatribe about the man and his constant undermining of his position. He is the richest man in Adwalland! I have nothing!” he had continued emotions boiling over, waving his hands in the process.

“You have me, Omar,” Thomas had countered evenly to his dramatics. “And the word of the President of Russia,” he had continued in reference to the Russian Government offering technical support to his Army and Police forces which would be borne out of the Militia disbandment.

“Yes I know, but as you know he is using his money to gain loyalty within the new Army and Police forces,” the President had countered. “And the support of Russia still needs to be approved by the leaders!” he then had added in reference to the tribal leaders of the land that he had to adhere to.

Thomas had looked at him as he talked and could tell the President was a man under pressure and reflected that had having fought for so long for the birth of their nation he now faced the added problem of having an ex-pirate erode away at his power base with the tribes as an intended power grab.

“What would you like me to do, my friend?” Thomas had asked to help, knowing it was almost certainly going to involve a payoff.

The man didn’t need to be asked twice.

“Please, my friend, reach a deal with him over the provision of security to your drilling teams,” the President had said.

Thomas nodded his head. He had taken out one of his Cuban Robustos from his cigar case and he offered one to the President. He knew he needed to give the President time to deal with the tribal elders while he waited for the first deployment of support by Russia, something that he had understood would happen over the next six months from the man who had also accompanied him as part the investment delegation from Russia on the trip and would eventually become the Ambassador to the country. As his African friend had taken the cigar, Thomas gave him the answer he knew he needed to hear.

“I will ask Hussein to organize that he comes to France as my guest in a month.”

“So long?” the President had questioned.

“There’s much I need to cover up to make sure my partners are happy,” Thomas had replied, something that was only a half-truth, but he wasn’t going to tell his friend. He needed to make sure that TLH’s bases were covered politically.

The worry written on the President’s face had told Thomas he felt it was too long. He had moved to put him at ease.

“Don’t worry, Omar, we will find a suitable solution,” he had said as he offered his gas lighter to the President.

“Thank you, my friend,” a very relieved President had acknowledged.