Time of the Assassins

SIX

Sabrina flew out of Beirut the following morning on a Ugandan Boeing 747 bound for Kampala via Habane and Khartoum. It was barely half full. It touched down at Habane International Airport six hours later and she was one of only eight passengers to disembark. They were met on the tarmac by a friendly ground stewardess and driven the five-hundred yards to the small, oval-shaped terminal building. The interior had recently been redecorated and the pungent odour of fresh paint still hung in the air. Armed soldiers stood guard inside the building and she could feel the tension as she joined the short queue waiting to pass through passport control. The official ran his eyes the length of her body as she approached the counter then held out his hand for her passport. He wet his finger then leafed through it slowly before looking up at her.

'What is the nature of your visit to Zimbala, Miss Cassidy?' he asked in a thick English accent.

'I'm a journalist,' she replied with a smile. 'And this country is news at the moment.'

'And how long do you intend staying in Zimbala?'

'That all depends on my editor. I would hope to be here for about a week, though.'

The official stamped the passport then handed it back to her. 'Your visa is valid for ten days. If you wish to stay longer, you will have to apply to have it renewed.'

'Thank you,' she replied, slipping the passport back into the pocket of her fawn blouson.

'Enjoy your stay in Zimbala,' he said with a half-smile then beckoned the next person in line to step forward to the counter.

She collected her lightweight Vuitton suitcase then went to the information counter where she picked up the locker key that had been left there for her. The lockers were situated at the far end of the terminal. She unlocked the one corresponding to the number on the key. Inside was a black holdall. She unzipped it. It contained a Beretta, tucked into a Boyt shoulder holster, and a manila envelope. She opened the envelope and took out the fax confirming her hotel booking. The hotel was called the International. Taking a pen and notepad from her overnight bag, she wrote down the name and address for Graham then placed the sheet of paper inside the locker and closed it again. She returned to the information counter and asked the stewardess for an envelope. She put the key inside the envelope, sealed it, and wrote MILES GRANT across it then told the stewardess that a Mr Grant would collect it later.

Picking up her suitcase, she went outside to look for a taxi. She slipped on her sunglasses then crossed to the nearest taxi which was parked directly opposite the main entrance, a white Toyota. The driver beamed at her then took her suitcase and put it carefully in the boot.

'Where to, Missy?' he asked.

'The International,' she replied.

The driver frowned momentarily then nodded. 'It only called the International after the President die. It built many years now, and always called Alphonse Mobuto Hotel.'

'That figures,' she muttered.

The driver closed the back door behind her, got in, then climbed behind the wheel and pulled out into the road, heading for the exit.

A pale blue Cortina, which had been parked in the carpark, followed at a discreet distance. There were two men in the car. Both wore blue overalls. The driver was Gordon Gubene, a former sergeant in the Security Police who had driven the van when Ngune was sprung from jail. Thomas Massenga sat beside him in a black leather cap and dark sunglasses. He opened the glove compartment and removed a Walther?5. He had lost count of the number of assassinations he had carried out during his seventeen years with the Security Police — dozens, certainly. Men, women, children: it had never made any difference to him.

He slipped the pistol into his overall pocket then picked up the brown folder off the dashboard. It had been given to him the previous day at the airport by a man known only to him as 'Columbus'. Inside was a photograph of Sabrina. 'Columbus' had told him that she was part of a team which had been assigned to track down the assassins before they could carry out the hit on Jamel Mobuto. She had to be stopped before she could uncover any incriminating evidence in

Zimbala. He had long since memorized her face but it was the first chance he had had to compare it to her in person. It did her little justice. But he had no time for sentimentality. She was the enemy, and he would kill her once she reached her destination.

Sabrina was immediately struck by the number of blocks of flats, all of identical height and width, that lined the road into Habane. Tall, unsightly structures positioned equidistantly from each other and painted a depressing shade of grey.

'Don't you have any houses around here?' she asked finally.

'House not here,' the driver answered without taking his eyes off the road. 'Other side Habane. Plenty money house for rich peoples.'

'But surely all that will change now that Alphonse Mobuto is dead?'

The driver shrugged. 'No money to build house.'

'That's why Jamel Mobuto went to America, isn't it? To get money to rebuild the country.'

'Good man, Jamel Mobuto. Not bad like his father.'

Sabrina just nodded, realizing she was talking way over his head. She suddenly wondered if he even knew that Jamel Mobuto was in America. Probably not.

'Where you from, missy?'

'America,' she replied.

'Like Chicago?'

'Chicago's in America, yes. But I'm from New York.'

'The Yankees,' he said, grinning at her in the rear-view mirror. f

'That's right. You like baseball?'

He nodded. 'We see baseball on television. And football. Chicago Bears my team.'

'I've got a friend who played professional football. He was a quarterback for the New York Giants."

'Your boyfriend?' he asked excitedly.

'No, just a friend,' she replied with a smile, wondering how Graham would have reacted to being called her boyfriend.

'He still play?'

She shook her head. 'No, he injured his arm in Vietnam. He couldn't play again.'

'Vietnam?' the driver said with a frown. 'What their team called?'

She was about to explain then decided against it. It would only lead to more misunderstanding. She fell silent.

The military presence became significantly stronger the closer they got to Habane. Apart from the roadblocks manned by soldiers armed with Mi6s, old M4i tanks stood menacingly on every street corner. She could sense the same tension that she had felt back at the airport. Most of the soldiers they passed were still in their teens, the uncertainty of the situation etched onto their youthful features.

They wouldn't stand a chance against the heavily armed and well-disciplined squad of ex-Security policemen that were reportedly amassing in the south of the country. But the reports UN AGO had received were mostly hearsay from locals in and around Kondese. Much of it would be propaganda spread by Ngune and his officers. They had also received the draft of a statement made by a deserter who had fled to Chad. He claimed that the squad wasn't nearly as big as Western intelligence had feared and that there was a bitter internal struggle amongst the officers about who would be included in Ngune's cabinet once they had seized power. The animosity was running so high that one officer had already been executed by Ngune for killing a fellow officer in an argument. UN AC O were well aware that the deserter could be a plant to try and lull Jamel Mobuto into a false sense of complacency. But they knew his claims could also be genuine. All they could do was await developments. Mobuto had so far refused the offer of a United Nations peacekeeping force in Zimbala, insisting that his troops would be able to crush any uprising by Ngune and his rebels. Sabrina didn't share his optimism. It worried her.

'Hotel,' the driver announced.

'What?' Sabrina replied, her thoughts interrupted.

'Hotel,' the driver repeated, pointing it out.

The International was a box-shaped building painted out in white and gold. It was certainly nothing spectacular. And it was reputedly the best hotel in town. She shuddered to think what the worst was like. The driver stopped the taxi in the forecourt and a doorman immediately stepped forward and opened the back door. He doffed his cap to Sabrina when she climbed out and snapped his fingers at a porter who came hurrying over and took the suitcase from the boot. What it lacked in appearance, it seemed to make up for in service. She used some of the money in the envelope to pay the driver.

'Thank you,' he said appreciatively. 'If you want to go anywhere, I take you. My name is Harris. The staff know me.'

She nodded then bit her lip thoughtfully as she watched him climb back into the taxi and drive away. Had she tipped him too generously? He'd probably ripped her off anyway. She made a mental note to study the currency more closely once she got to her room.

The Cortina slowed to a crawl and as it drew abreast of the hotel Mcssenga took the Walther from his pocket and aimed it at Sabrina.

'Get down,' a voice yelled but before Sabrina could react she was bundled roughly to the ground in the same moment as Massenga fired.

The bullet smashed into the wall. Massenga cursed angrily, unable to get in another shot at Sabrina who had rolled to safety behind one of the two concrete pillars that stood on either side of the doors. He snapped at Gubene who immediately accelerated and sped off down the road.

The doorman, who had taken sanctuary behind the other pillar, sprang to his feet and ran over to where Sabrina lay. He helped her up, his eyes wide with concern. 'Are you alright?'

She rubbed her bruised elbow painfully. 'I'm alright. I hope that wasn't a traditional Zimbalan welcome.'

'Rebels,' the doorman spat angrily. 'Now they are shooting at tourists.'

Sabrina's mind was in turmoil. Why had someone just tried to kill her? Who, outside UN AGO, knew she was in Zimbala? The questions disturbed her but, pushing them from her mind, she turned to the man who had shouted the warning before knocking her to the ground. He was a small man in his forties with a thin face and wire-rimmed glasses. She was about to thank him when the manager emerged from the hotel and hurried over to them. The doorman explained in Swahili what had happened and the manager immediately began to apologize but Sabrina held up her hand to silence him.

'It's not your fault,' she said with a quick smile.

'Are you hurt?'

'No, I'm fine.'

The manager ushered her into the foyer and led her across to the reception desk. 'I'm sure you want to get up to your room but we need you to fill in the register first. I'm sure you understand.'

She was becoming irritated by the way he was treating her like a child but she let it pass and completed the formalities.

'I'll let you know when the police arrive, Miss Cassidy,' the manager said after the receptionist had handed her key to the porter.

'Don't call the police on my account. I told you, I'm fine.'

'I must by law.'

'Well, you know where to find me. Now, if you'll excuse me.'

'Of course,' the manager replied then bowed curtly before withdrawing to his office to phone the police.

She turned to the man in the wire-framed glasses and held out her hand. 'Sabrina Cassidy. I owe you my life. Thank you.'

'Joseph Moredi,' he replied, shaking her hand firmly. He led her away from the reception desk. 'Can we talk?'

'What about?'

He glanced at the porter who was hovering beside him then turned back to Sabrina. 'Not here. Can we go to your room?'

'I appreciate what you did for me, but I do feel a little shaken right now. Perhaps you could — '

'Please, Miss Cassidy,' he cut in. 'It is important.'

'O K,' she replied, seeing the intensity in his eyes.

They took the lift to the fourth floor and the porter led them to the room. It was spacious and tastefully decorated with a bathroom en suite. The window overlooked the main road. Sabrina tipped the porter after he had put the suitcase on the luggage stand and closed the door behind him.

'I know who tried to kill you, Miss Cassidy.'

'Rebels, I believe you call them,' Sabrina replied.

'His name's Massenga, Thomas Massenga. He was deputy head of the Security Police for the last five years before it was disbanded.' He walked to the window then turned back to look at Sabrina. 'These "rebels", as you call them, aren't in the habit of tailing foreigners from the airport and trying to shoot them outside their hotels. Massenga took a great personal risk coming out in the open like that. I don't know who you're working for but your investigations are obviously linked to the Mobuto brothers. It's the only reason Massenga would have tried to kill you: to prevent you from stumbling on the truth.'

'This is all very interesting, Mr Moredi — ' 'Miss Cassidy, your life's in danger,' he snapped angrily then held up his hands apologetically. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to shout at you like that. I can appreciate your wanting to keep your cover intact. And I know what's going through your mind right now. You're thinking that I could be working in league with Massenga and the shooting outside the hotel was all staged to try and get you into my confidence. Believe me, it wasn't. But I don't expect you to take my word for that. Jamel Mobuto will vouch for me. We were at Oxford together. I'm sure your organization can contact him in New York. Tell him to set a question that only the real Joseph Moredi would be able to answer. Then call me at this number.' He took a business card from his pocket and placed it on the dresser. 'We can help each other, Miss Cassidy. Please, call me.'

She waited until he had left the room then crossed to the dresser and picked up the card. Joseph Moredi, deputy editor of La Voix, Remy Mobuto's newspaper. If he was who he claimed to be then he could prove to be a valuable contact for them in Zimbala. There was only one way to find out. She sat down on the edge of the bed and dialled UN AGO headquarters in New York.

Massenga climbed out of the car after Gubene had parked it in the garage of the safe house and slammed the door angrily behind him. Gubene waited until he had stalked out of the garage before getting out of the car himself and locking the driver's door. Moments later he heard Massenga unlocking the front door and he winced as it hammered against the wall. Then silence. He exhaled deeply then closed the garage door and walked down the narrow path. He pushed open the front door gingerly with his fingers and entered. He found Massenga perched on the edge of the sofa in the lounge, his hand resting lightly on the telephone.

'You want a drink?' Gubene asked apprehensively, gesturing towards the cabinet in the corner of the room.

Massenga shook his head then looked down at the telephone. 'What am I supposed to tell him?'

'The truth,' Gubene replied then crossed to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a Scotch.

'That we failed?' Massenga said then slumped back on the sofa. 'He'll crucify us, you know that.'

'You couldn't have anticipated what happened. She'd be dead now if that man hadn't intervened when he did. It wasn't your fault.'

'You want to tell that to Ngune?'

'You're the only one with his number,' Gubene said with a shrug then left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Massenga dialled the number he had memorized. Ngune answered it immediately at the other end. Massenga told him what had happened at the hotel.

'So she's still alive?' Ngune concluded once Massenga had finished.

'Yes, sir,' Massenga muttered.

'And who was this knight in shining armour?'

Ngune asked sarcastically as he struggled to control his temper.

'I didn't get a good look at him, sir,' Massenga replied. 'It all happened so quickly.'

'You disappoint me, Thomas. I thought you were the one person I could rely on to carry out an order.'

'I couldn't have anticipated his intervention, sir,' Massenga replied defensively, remembering Gubene's words.

'I want results, not excuses!' Ngune snarled angrily. 'And if you can't get them for me, I'll find someone who can. Do I make myself clear?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Find out the identity of the man. Then call me.'

'Do you want him killed?'

'If it's not asking too much,' Ngune retorted facetiously.

'I'll see to it, sir.'

'I hope so, Thomas. If I have to send someone else to Habane it could seriously jeopardize your chances of becoming the new head of the Security Police once we're in power. Remember that.'

'Yes, sir, I realize…" Massenga trailed off when he heard the dialling tone. He replaced the receiver then crossed to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a Scotch. He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

Sabrina was studying a map of the city when there was a knock at the door. She picked up the Beretta off the bedside table and peered through the spyhole. It was the man with the wire-framed glasses. She opened the door.

'Inside,' she said, beckoning him into the room.

He entered and she closed the door behind him. His smile faltered when he saw the Beretta in her hand. 'You won't need that, I assure you.'

'Not if you're really Joseph Moredi. But I don't know that yet, do I?'

He swallowed nervously and nodded hesitantly. 'Did you speak to Jamel Mobuto?'

'Not personally. I had one of my colleagues do it.'

'And did he set a question for me?'

She nodded.

'Could we get on with it?' he said anxiously, his eyes darting towards the gun aimed at his stomach.

'While you were at Oxford you once went to a rugby match together. Who was playing?'

'I've never been to a rugby match in my life. We once went to a football match together. Arsenal was the home team. Who were they playing?' he mused thoughtfully. 'They weren't from London. Black and white striped shirts.' He suddenly snapped his fingers together and pointed at Sabrina. 'Newcastle.'

Sabrina lowered the gun. 'I'm glad you got that right.'

'Not half as glad as I am,' Moredi said, indicating the gun in her hand. 'But why did you say rugby…' he trailed off with a knowing smile. 'Of course, a trick question.'

'An added precaution,' she replied then indicated the armchair in the corner of the room. 'Please, won't you sit down, Mr Moredi.'

'Thank you,' he said and eased himself into the armchair.

She replaced the Beretta on the table and sat on the bed. 'One thing still puzzles me. How did Massenga know I would be on that plane?'

'He was obviously tipped off, but by whom I couldn't say.' He shrugged. 'Was I right about your investigation being linked to the Mobuto brothers?'

'Yes, but I can't go into details.'

'I appreciate that.' Moredi suddenly sat forward, his arms resting on his knees. 'Jamel and Remy Mobuto have been friends of mine for over twenty years. And now they're both in danger. I'll do anything I can to help them, anything.'

'You said earlier that Massenga tried to kill me to prevent me from stumbling on the truth. What exactly did you mean by "the truth"?'

'I only know part of it. Remy's the only one who knows the whole truth. And he was kidnapped earlier today.'

'By Massenga?'

'By him, or on his orders. Massenga's been Ngune's right-hand man for the past five years. An anonymous caller telephoned me at the newspaper to say that the rebels were holding Remy.'

'Do you have any idea where he's being held?'

'I have it on good authority from one of my more reliable sources that he's being held at the Branco prison in Kondese, in the south of the country, a couple of hours drive from here.'

'How much did Remy Mobuto tell you before he was kidnapped?'

'Only that he was onto a story about a plot to assassinate his brother. It was something big, or so he claimed. It involved Ngune, Massenga and a third man, the man who would pull the trigger.'

'Did he mention a name?'

Moredi shook his head. 'He knew who it was but he wouldn't tell me. Not until he had the proof he needed to publish the story. Remy was like that. He always played his cards close to his chest. He went to a rendezvous with an informant who had that proof. That's when he was abducted.'

'And the informant?'

'Blood was found in his car but there was no sign of him.'

'So Remy is the key to this whole affair?'

Moredi nodded. 'Not only does he know who will pull the trigger, he also knows where and when the assassination will take place.'

'Does the name Bernard mean anything to you?' Sabrina asked.

Moredi bit his lip thoughtfully then shook his head. 'No, I can't say it does. Who is he?'

'That I can't tell you,' Sabrina replied apologetically. 'At least not for the moment.'

'I understand.'

Sabrina bit her lip thoughtfully. 'Why don't the army check out this Branco prison to see if Remy Mobuto is being held there?'

'Kondese is rebel country. The army won't go there. They're waiting up here, in the north, for Ngune to make his first move.'

'So it's a stalemate.'

'At the moment, yes. But Jamel intends to get his generals round the table for talks when he gets back from America. He wants to crush Ngune and his rebels before they set out for Habane. That's certainly one of the reasons why Ngune wants Jamel dead. He believes it would throw the army into disarray.'

'Would it?'

'Yes,' Moredi replied bluntly. 'But then the army's already in disarray. Many of the soldiers had friends and relatives in the Security Police, Now they're on opposite sides. But will the army try and stop Ngune's men if they do march on Habane? Or will they join them? Nobody really knows the answer. That's what makes it all so uncertain. Zimbala's a powder keg waiting to explode. All it needs is a single spark to set it off. That's why Jamel wants to stop Ngune in his tracks. If Ngune does march on Habane, then the sparks will fly. And whoever does win will have inherited a country bathed in the blood of innocent people. Jamel doesn't want that. He saw enough bloodshed under his father's regime.'

'I still don't see why Massenga tried to kill me this afternoon. If Remy Mobuto is the only person who knows what's going on, then how can I be a threat to them? They've got him. They're holding the aces, not me.'

'They obviously think you're out here to find him. That could ruin everything for them.'

Sabrina propped a pillow against the wall and leaned back against it. 'How long have you had Massenga under surveillance?'

'How did you know that?'

'Why else would you have been at the hotel when he tried to kill me?'

Moredi smiled. 'You're very astute. I don't know how long he's been in Habane. An informant contacted us two days ago and said he'd seen Massenga. We checked out the story and I've had a team of reporters watching him ever since. He won't know he's being watched.'

'Why don't you tell the police about Massenga?'

'Two reasons. Firstly, if they did arrest Massenga it could put Remy's life in danger. And secondly, there are policemen who are sympathetic to Ngune. They would tip him off and Massenga would be pulled out. This way he could still lead us to Remy. I know it's a long shot but we've got to take it.' Moredi paused to wet his lips. 'I've been watching him ever since he went to the airport this afternoon. Actually, it's the second time he's been to the airport in the last two days. He met someone there yesterday off a flight from Beirut. Around noon. They spoke for about an hour. Then the man flew out again. I couldn't find out his name. Only that he'd taken a Pan Am flight to New York via Morocco and Bermuda.'

'Describe him.'

'He was pretty distinctive: tall, good-looking, black hair, black moustache.'

'And a scar,' Sabrina added, tracing her finger down her left cheek.

'Yes,' Moredi replied in surprise. 'How did you know?"

Sabrina swung her legs off the bed. 'I've got to make an urgent phone call. In private.'

'Oh, of course,' Moredi said, getting to his feet. Til go down to the bar and get a beer. Would you like anything?'

'A Diet Cola.'

Moredi left the room.

Sabrina rang Kolchinsky at UN AGO headquarters and briefed him on what Moredi had told her.

'So Bernard met Massenga in Habane,' Kolchinsky said once she had finished. 'I don't see anything suspicious in that. He is supposed to be working with them, remember? It's part of his cover.'

'That may be, Sergei, but it seems a bit of a coincidence that Massenga tries to kill me the day after he meets Bernard.'

'You're reading too much into this meeting, Sabrina.'

'It would certainly explain the attempt on my life this afternoon. How else would Massenga know I was due in Zimbala?'

'It's a possibility, I agree,' Kolchinsky conceded.

'And what about this third man that Remy Mobuto mentioned? It has to be Bernard.'

'Why does it have to be Bernard?' Kolchinsky retorted. 'What do the CIA have to gain by assassinating Mobuto?'

'Who says it's on CIA orders? He could have made a private deal with Ngune to kill Mobuto.'

'And double-cross Bailey? He wouldn't live long enough to spend the money.'

> 'Put yourself in Bernard's shoes, Sergei. Bailey's sure to have promised him a new identity once this is all over. But Bernard's no fool. He knows the CIA will never use him again. So what's he got to lose by contracting himself to Ngune?'

There was a pause while Kolchinsky pondered her words. 'So you're suggesting that Bailey would have him killed rather than give him a new identity?'

'He knows too much.'

'But you don't have a shred of evidence to back up this elaborate theory of yours.'

'Remy Mobuto has the evidence. I'm convinced of that now.'

'Remy Mobuto has been kidnapped.'

'And he's being held in Kondese.'

'Don't even think of it, Sabrina!' Kolchinsky snapped sharply. 'You've been assigned to find Michael, not to poke about in rebel country looking for Remy Mobuto. Stay away from Kondese. That's an order!'

'Yes, Sergei,' Sabrina muttered through clenched teeth.

'I think it would be better if you caught the next available flight back to the States. After all, if Moredi's right, then Bernard's here now. And Michael's sure to be close behind him.'

Til make the necessary arrangements.'

There was a knock at the door.

'I've got to go, Sergei. Moredi's back. I'll call you if there are any new developments before I leave. Otherwise I'll see you back in New York.'

'Fine. Goodbye, Sabrina.'

She replaced the receiver then crossed to the door and peered through the spyhole. It was Moredi. She opened the door.

'Finished?' he asked.

'Sure,' she replied and stood aside to let him in.

He handed her a can of Diet Cola. 'What happens now?'

'Nothing,' she replied, opening the can. 'At least not until I've heard from my partner.'

'Where is your partner?'

'I haven't the faintest idea,' she replied then moved to the window and looked down into the street. 'But he'd better contact me soon. We're running out of time. Fast.'

'Not another roadblock,' Graham said tersely, seeing the army patrol ahead of them. 'This is the third one in as many miles.'

'It is the airport road. They're obviously taking no chances,' Laidlaw replied, bringing the white Toyota to a halt behind a rusty blue Fiat.

Graham looked out of the passenger window and counted eight vehicles ahead of them. He threw up his arms in despair. All they could do was wait.

It had been Laidlaw's idea that they both dress as priests. He had borrowed the costumes from a friend, who ran a small theatre in West Beirut, on the pretext of needing them for a fancy-dress party the following evening. They had changed into the costumes before leaving for the airport that morning where they had caught a direct flight to N'djamena, the capital of Chad. Laidlaw had hired the car at N'djamena Airport and they had driven the eighty miles to the Chadian-Zimbalan border where the.Zimbalan authorities had issued them with ten-day visas, like Sabrina. They were stopped regularly by army patrols on the main highway into Habane but each time they were waved on when the soldiers realized they were priests. And, judging by the size of the military presence around them, they assumed that this would be the last roadblock before the airport.

The Fiat was waved through and Laidlaw drove up to the boom gate and cut the engine. An armed soldier approached the car and peered through the driver's window.

'Passport,' the soldier said in a thick English accent.

'I speak your language,' Laidlaw replied in Swahili and handed the passports to him.

The soldier was surprised to hear his native tongue and smiled at Laidlaw before opening the passports to compare the photographs with the two men in the car. 'What is your business at the airport, Father?'

'We are meeting a friend,' Laidlaw replied then glanced at his watch. 'His flight is due in twenty-five minutes.'

The soldier closed the passports and gave them back to Laidlaw. 'Thank you, Father.'

'Thank you, my son,' Laidlaw replied.

The soldier was about to give the order to raise the boom gate when he saw his commanding officer standing at the entrance of the small Nissen hut at the side of the road. He immediately snapped to attention.

The colonel, a dark-skinned African in his early forties, told him to stand easy then crossed to the Toyota and looked through the passenger window. 'Your passports,' he said to Graham.

'Father Grant doesn't speak Swahili,' Laidlaw said with an apologetic smile. 'He's only been out here a few days.'

The colonel took the passports from Laidlaw and leafed through them slowly. 'Get out of the car, both of you,' he said, suddenly switching to English.

'What's the problem?' Laidlaw asked suspiciously.

'Just get out of the car,' the colonel repeated.

They did as they were told and the colonel walked round to the driver's side and took the keys from the ignition. He beckoned two soldiers towards him and gave the keys to one of them. He spoke to them quickly in Swahili and they immediately hurried round to the back of the car.

'And what do you hope to find in the boot?' Laidlaw said, sticking to English.

The colonel ignored the question and watched as the boot was opened. One of the soldiers immediately called out to him. He walked to the back of the car then looked round at Laidlaw and beckoned him forward with his finger. Laidlaw's eyes widened in horror when he looked inside the boot. Two AK-47 assault rifles and a hand grenade lay beside their holdalls.

'We know nothing about these,' Laidlaw said, looking to Graham for support.

'They weren't here when we hired the car,' Graham snapped.

'You're both under arrest,' the colonel said then gestured towards a jeep parked at the side of the road. 'Get in.'

'This is outrageous,' Graham said. 'We demand to see your superior.'

'I am the most senior officer on duty,' the colonel retorted then barked out an order and five soldiers immediately unshouldered their Mi6s and aimed them at Laidlaw and Graham. 'You have a choice. Either you get in quietly or you'll be handcuffed and thrown in. It's your choice.'

Laidlaw looked helplessly at Graham. Graham bit back his anger and clambered into the back of the jeep. Laidlaw glanced at the soldiers then reluctantly followed him. Their holdalls were tossed into the back after them. The two soldiers who had discovered the weapons got into the back seat and covered Graham and Laidlaw with their Mi6s. The Colonel ordered a soldier to move the Toyota to the side of the road then climbed into the front of the jeep and told the driver to go to the airport. The boom gate was raised and the jeep sped down the highway towards the airport terminal. The Colonel pointed to a slip road and the driver nodded before indicating and turning the jeep off the main road.

'This isn't the way to the airport!' Laidlaw shouted above the noise of the jeep's engine.

The colonel glanced at him but said nothing.

'Where on earth are we going?' Graham snarled but an Mi6 was pressed into his stomach when he leaned towards the nearest soldier.

The driver slowed down as he approached a stationary white Isuzu van then swung off the road and pulled up behind it.

Graham's mind was racing. What was happening? Were they about to be executed and their bodies taken away in the back of the van? But why? And where had the weapons come from? Had they been planted by the soldiers? None of it made any sense. He was about to try and signal Laidlaw for them to tackle the two armed guards when the van's passenger door swung open and Sabrina got out. Moredi climbed out of the driver's side and they walked to the jeep.

'Is nothing sacred any more?" Sabrina said with a smile as she eyed Graham's outfit.

Graham jumped nimbly from the back of the jeep. 'What the hell's going on?'

Til tell you, later,' she replied then gestured to Moredi and introduced him to Graham and Laidlaw.

Moredi shook hands with them then spoke briefly to the colonel who immediately ordered his troops into the jeep and the driver did a U-turn and headed back towards the highway.

Moredi led the colonel over to the others. 'This is Colonel David Tambese, one of the few soldiers I would trust with my life. He was at Sandhurst when Jamel Mobuto and I were at Oxford together.'

'No hard feelings, I hope,' Tambese said, shaking Graham's hand.

'Not if you tell me what's going on,' Graham retorted.

Tambese glanced at Sabrina who nodded. 'When Joseph told me you were going to pick up a message from the information desk at the airport, he asked me to check the area for any signs of Ngune's men. There are at least four of them in the terminal. We had to stop you before you got there.'

'Why didn't you just arrest them?' Laidlaw asked.

Tambese shot a glance at Laidlaw. 'It's almost certainly a suicide squad. Any attempt to approach them would result in a bloodbath. They would open fire indiscriminately. And who knows how many innocent people would have been killed? It's a new form of terror Ngune has introduced in the last couple of days. We've already had to deal with two suicide squads in the city centre. Fourteen innocent people have been killed in those two incidents alone. We'll wait for them to leave then ambush the car. It's the only way to deal with them.'

'How do you know they were waiting for me?'

'We don't,' Tambese answered. 'But after the attempt on Miss Cassidy's life we couldn't take any chances — '

'What happened?' Graham cut in quickly.

Til brief you later,' she replied.

'How did you know when we'd get here?' Graham asked Sabrina.

'I didn't. I just knew you had to come to the airport sooner or later. I gave Colonel Tambese a photograph of you to make sure he'd stop you before you reached the airport. It's the one I took to Beirut with me in case I needed it when I approached the Lebanese police.'

'The three men in the jeep are trusted soldiers of mine,' Tambese continued. 'Most of the others at the roadblock are new recruits. We still don't know where their true sympathies lie. I had to make your arrest look realistic. Arresting foreigners for no apparent reason isn't exactly part of the plan for the new Zimbala. That's why we planted the AK-4ys and the grenade. Word is sure to get back to Ngune that you've been arrested.'

'Which means Ngune will think you're in custody, at least for the time being,' Moredi added.

'Why do I get the feeling this is leading up to something?' Graham said, his eyes flickering between Moredi and Sabrina.

'It is,' Sabrina said. 'We're going to Kondese to find Remy Mobuto.'

Graham took Sabrina to one side. 'And what about Bernard? You remember our agreement.

'You don't have to whisper,' Sabrina said. 'They know about Bernard.'

'What's so important about Remy Mobuto?' Graham asked.

'He knows where and when the hit on his brother will take place. That's why he was abducted.'

'So where does Bernard fit into this?'

'Ngune and his deputy, Massenga, are obviously the two brains behind this whole operation. But, according to Remy Mobuto, there is a third man, the assassin. And from what Joseph's told me, it has to be Bernard. I think all this talk of a hit squad made up of ex-Security policemen was just a red herring to throw the authorities off the scent.'

'But you've got no proof that this third man is Bernard?'

'No, it's just a hunch. And there's only one person who does know the truth.'

'Remy Mobuto,' Graham concluded.

'We have to find him, Mike. Quickly.'

'How far is Kondese from here?'

'It's a good two-hour drive,' Moredi told him.

'So what are we waiting for?' Graham said then picked up his holdall and walked to the van.