Текст книги "Elephant Song"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

Соавторы: Wilbur Smith
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The contingent of police constables reboarded their Landrovers and drove away.  Standing beside the green Cadillac, Chetti Singh watched them go, and it seemed to Daniel through the binocular lens that he was no longer smiling.  Bastard!  Daniel whispered.  You haven't got away with it yet.

He finally got control of his anger and started to think rationally once again.

Could he stop the shipment before it left the country?  he wondered.

And almost immediately he abandoned the idea.  He knew that the goods train was on a non-stop run and would reach the border within hours.

What about intercepting it at the port of Beira, before it was loaded on a tramp steamer bound for the Far East?  This was a better bet, but-still long odds.  From what little he had learned about Chetti Singh so far, it was clear that he had a network of influence and bribery that extended over many countries in central Africa, certainly over Zimbabwe and Zambia, and why not over Mozambique, one of the most corrupt and chaotic states on the continent?

He was certain that a great deal of contraband passed through that warehouse over there, and Chetti Singh would have secured his pipeline to the outside world.  As Malawi was a land-locked state, that pipeline must include the port captain and the Mozarnbiquan army, police force and customs service.

They would be paid off by Chetti Singh and would protect him.

Still, he decided, it was worth a try.

Daniel drove down to the main post office in the town centre.  It was highly unlikely that the Malawi Police had the sophisticated equipment to trace a telephone call swiftly, but once again, he took the precaution of making his message short and of muffling his voice with a handkerchief and speaking in Swahili.  Tell Inspector Mopola that the stolen ivory was shipped out of the warehouse at eleven thirty-five a.

m.

by goods train to Beira.  It is hidden in a shipment of tea-chests consigned to Lucky Dragon Investment Company in Taipei.  Before the operator on the police exchange could ask for his name he cradled the receiver, and crossed to a small general dealer's store on the opposite side of the street.  If the police weren't going to do anything, it was all up to him.

He purchased a packet of safety-matches, a roll of Sellotape, a box of mosquito coils and two kilos of frozen minced meat, then drove back to the Capital Hotel.

As soon as he entered his hotel room he was aware that somebody had searched it.  When he opened his canvas valise he saw that the contents had been disarranged.  Nothing for Chetti Singh there, he muttered with grim satisfaction.  He had deposited his passport and traveller's cheques in the hotel safe at the cashier's desk downstairs, but the search of his possessions confirmed his estimate of Chetti Singh.  He's not only a tough bastard, but a cunning one.  He's organised and he hasn't missed a trick so far.  Let's see if we can spoil his record, but first I need some shut-eye.  He changed the dressing on his arm, and gave himself another shot of antibiotic and then fell on the bed.

He slept until dinner-time, then showered and changed.  He felt refreshed and more cheerful.  His arm was less painful and the stiffness had eased.  It seemed that his mind had been busy even while he slept, for the details of his plan were clear as he sat down at the writing-desk and laid his small purchases out in front of him.  He lit one end of a mosquito coil and left it smouldering as he worked, timing the rate at which it burned.

Using his clasp-knife he snipped the heads off the safetymatches.  He used up the entire package of matches and discarded the decapitated sticks in the waste-paper bin.  He stuffed the match heads back into the paper wrapping, and taped it all up.

It made a neat package the size of his fist, a very functional little incendiary bomb.  He checked the burning rate of the mosquito coil.  It was approximately two inches per half hour.

The acrid insecticidal smoke made him sneeze, so he took the coil to the bathroom and flushed it down the toilet.

He returned to the desk and cut two fresh coils five inches long, to give a delay of a little over one hour.  They were the time-fuses of his makeshift bomb, one as a back-up should the other fail.  He pierced the paper packet of match heads, inserted the ends of the coils in the punctures and taped them carefully in place.

Then he went downstairs and stood himself a good dinner and half a bottle of Chardonnay.

After dinner he checked Chetti Singh's residential address in the telephone directory, and found the street in the town map provided so thoughtfully by the Lilongwe Chamber of Commerce.

Then he went down to the Volkswagen in the hotel parking lot and drove through the almost deserted streets.  He passed the lighted shop-front of Chetti Singh's supermarket, then circled the block.  in the alley behind the building he noted the bags of garbage and empty cardboard boxes piled against the rear wall of the supermarket, awaiting collection.  He smiled with satisfaction as he noticed the smoke-detector of the firewarning system high on the wall above the piles of garbage.

From there he drove out to the airport.  The Landcruiser was now conspicuous in the almost deserted airport carpark.  He gave the attendant a ten kwacha note and asked him to keep an eye on it.  Then he opened the back doors of the truck and rummaged around in his medical box until he found the plastic canister of sleeping capsules.

Parked under a street light he opened the plastic bag of minced meat in his lap.  By this time it had defrosted.  With his thumbnail he split open the sleeping capsules and poured the white powder over the meat. He used fifty capsules.

That should be enough to stun a bull elephant, he decided with satisfaction, and thoroughly mixed the drug into the chopped meat.

Then he drove out to Chetti Singh's home in the elite suburb behind State House and the main government buildings.  The house was the grandest on the street, set in two or three acres of lawns and flowering shrubs.  He parked the Volkswagen further down the street in an unlit section and walked back along the sidewalk.

As he came level with the fence surrounding Chetti Singh's property, two dark shapes detached themselves from the shadows and hurled themselves against the wire mesh.  German Rottweilers, Daniel noted, as the two guard dogs clamoured for his blood.  My least favourite animals, after the hyena.  On the other side of the fence, they kept pace with him as he followed the sidewalk to the end of the property.

As he passed the gates at the entrance to the driveway he noted that the padlock on the chain was of simple construction.

Two minutes' work with a paper-clip.

He left the two Rottweilers staring after him hungrily and turned the corner into an unlit side street.  From his pocket he brought out the packet of doped minced meat and divided it into two equal portions.

Then he walked back the way he had come.  The dogs were waiting for him. He tossed a portion of the meat over the fence and one of the dogs sniffed it and then gulped it down.  Then he threw the second portion to the other dog and watched while it was devoured.

He returned to the Volkswagen and drove back into town.

He parked a block away from the supermarket.  Still sitting in the front seat, he lit the ends of the mosquito coils protruding from the packet of match heads.  He blew on them gently to make sure they were burning evenly, then left the Volkswagen and sauntered down the alley behind the supermarket.

It was dark and deserted.  With barely a check in his stride, he dropped the incendiary bomb into one of the cardboard cartons that made up the pile of rubbish and sauntered out of the alley.

Back in the Volkswagen he checked the time; it was a few minutes before ten o'clock.  He drove back and parked three blocks away from Chetti Singh's home.  He pulled on the black leather gloves.  From under the driver's seat he brought out the twelve-gauge shotgun still wrapped in its sheet of light tarpaulin.  He broke down the weapon into its three component parts and wiped them down meticulously, made certain there were no fingerprints.  Then he refitted the forestock to the double barrels.

When he stepped out of the Volkswagen he slipped the barrels down one leg of his trousers, while the breech and buttstock section he tucked under his leather jacket.

The barrels in his pants hampered his gait, but it was better to lien a little than parade fully armed through the streets.  He had no idea how often the police patrolled this area.  He checked his pockets to make sure that he had the spare cartridges and Chawe's warehouse keys.

Then he limped on one stiff leg towards the Sikh's home.

There were no guard dogs to greet him when he reached the corner fence of the property, and neither of them appeared even when he whistled softly for them.  The dosage of the drug he had given them might have put them out for good and all.  At the gates to the driveway it took him even less than the two minutes he had estimated to deal with the padlock.  He left the gates wide open and moved quietly across the lawns, avoiding the crunching gravel of the driveway.

Daniel was prepared for a challenge from a night-watchman; even though Malawi was not as lawless and uncontrolled as Zambia there might have been a guard.  However, Chetti Singh seemed to place more faith in animals than in humans.

No challenge came, and from the shelter of a spreading bougainvillaea arbour he surveyed the main house.  It was in low ranch-house style with large picture windows, most of which were curtained and lit.

Occasionally he saw the shadows of the occupants flit across the curtains and he could distinguish between the silhouettes of Mama Singh and her more sylphlike daughters.

The double garage was attached to the main house.  One of the doors stood open and through it he made out the gleaming chrome work of the Cadillac.

Chetti Singh was at home.

Still standing in shadow, Daniel reassembled the shotgun and slipped two cartridges into the breeches.  At close range they would almost cut a man in half.  He closed the action, and set the safety-catch.

Turning the dial of his wristwatch to catch the light from the windows he read the luminous numerals.  In something under twenty minutes, depending on the burning rate of the mosquito coils, the packet of match beads would explode into bright phosphorous flame.  The garbage pile should burn with a heavy outpouring of smoke and within seconds the fire alarms would detect it.

Daniel moved quickly across the open lawn, watching the windows of the house.  The gravel crunched lightly under his feet and then he was into the garage.  He tensed for any outcry, and when none came he checked the doors of the Cadillac.

They were all locked.

In the garage wall nearest the driver's side of the Cadillac there was a door that obviously connected with the main house.  Chetti Singh would have to come through that.

He probably had another fifteen minutes before the fire alarm was reported and Chetti Singh came rushing into the garage to drive to the scene of the fire.  It was a long time for Daniel to wait, and he tried to put from his mind any consideration of the morality of what he was about to do.

Killing Chawe had been an act of self-defence, but Daniel had killed deliberately before, during the bush war.  However, he had never derived any pleasure or satisfaction from it, as some of the others had done.

Even though it had been his duty as a soldier, the sickening guilt and remorse after each episode had built.  up slowly within him.  That guilt had contributed overwhelmingly to the final revulsion and rejection of the whole ethic of the war which had led him to join the Alpha group.

Yet here he was preparing to kill again, in a much more cold blooded and calculating manner.  Those other nameless victims that he had left as blood-soaked bundles lying in the battlescorched veld had been patriots too, in their own light, brave black men, almost certainly braver than he, who had been prepared to die for their own vision of freedom and justice.  In the end they had succeeded where he had failed.  Even though long dead, their vision still burned brightly where his had dimmed and faded away.  The Rhodesia he had fought for no longer existed.  For him those long-ago killings had been an obscene ritual, without passion and, he now realised, without morality.

On the other hand, could he justify what he was about to do by the memory of Johnny Nzou?  Could he convince himself of the justice of it, become executioner when no judge had passed sentence?  Was there enough angry fire in his belly to carry it through?

Then he remembered Mavis Nzou and her children, and the fire burned up brightly.  He knew he could not turn away from it.  He had to do it.

He knew he would be sick with guilt after the fire of his anger had turned to cold grey ash, but he had to do it.

Somewhere in the house beyond the door he heard a telephone ring.

Daniel stirred, shaking himself like a spaniel coming from the water on to the bank, throwing off the doubts and uncertainty.  He tightened his grip on the stock of the shotgun and lifted it to high port.

There were hurried footsteps beyond the door, the lock turned and then it was thrown open.  A man came through.  The light was behind him and for a moment Daniel did not recognize Chetti Singh without his turban. He stooped beside the Cadillac.

His keys tinkled as he searched for the lock, and cursed softly when he could not find it and turned back to the light switch on the wall.

Light flooded the garage.

Chetti Singh was bare-headed.  His long, never-trimmed hair and beard twisted up into a top-knot on his head were lightly streaked with grey.

His back was still half-turned to Daniel as he fingered the bunch of keys, and then thrust one of them into the Cadillac's door lock.

Daniel stepped up behind him and poked the muzzle of the shotgun into his back.  Don't do anything heroic, Mr.  Singh.  Mr.  Purdey is looking down your spine.  Chetti Singh's body froze, but his head swivelled slowly until he was gawking at Daniel over one shoulder.

I thought.  . . he said, and then caught himself.

Daniel shook his head.  It didn't work out that way.  Chawe wasn't very bright, I'm afraid.  You should have fired him long ago, Mr.

Singh.  Now move around to the other side of the car, but move slowly.

Please let us keep our dignity.  He jabbed the gun into the Sikh's back, hard enough to bruise him through the thin cotton shirt which was all he wore above a pair of khaki slacks and sandals.  Chetti Singh had obviously dressed in great haste.

They moved in close file around the front of the Cadillac's fancy radiator grille to the passenger door.

Open the door.  Get in, Daniel instructed.

Chetti Singh settled himself on the gleaming leather upholstery, and looked up into the barrel of the shotgun only inches from his face.  He was sweating more heavily than the warm night air warranted.  Beads of sweat twinkled on his beaky nose and slid down his cheeks into the plaited beard.  He smelt of curry spices and fear, but there was a tiny spark of hope in his eyes as he offered the keys of the Cadillac to Daniel through the open door.  Arc you going to drive?  Here are the keys; take them.

I place myself in your hands, absolutely.  Nice try, Mr.  Singh, Daniel smiled coldly.  But you and Mr.  Purdey are not going to be separated for a moment.  just slide across to the driver's seat, nice and slowly.

Awkwardly Chetti Singh moved his big frame across the console between the seats, grunting with the effort, and Daniel prodded him with the shotgun.

That's it.  You are doing very well, Mr.  Singh.  He slid into the passenger seat as Chetti Singh settled at the wheel.  He held the shotgun across his lap, out of sight of any casual observer, but with the muzzle still pushed hard into the Sikh's lower ribs.

With his free hand he closed the door.  All right.  Start up.  Drive out.

As the headlights swept across the lawns, they lit the body of one of the Rottweilers lying on the grass.  My dogs, my daughter is very fond of them.  She has my commiserations.  Daniel gave the taunt back to him.

But the animal is doped, not dead.  They drove out into the street.

My shop, my supermarket in town is on fire.  I think this is your doing, Doctor.  It is an investment of several millions.  Again, you have my commiserations, Daniel nodded.  It's a tough life, Mr.  Singh, but worse for the insurance company than for you, I imagine.  Now drive to the warehouse please.  The warehouse?  Which warehouse?  Where you and Chawe and I met earlier today, Mr.  Singh.

That warehouse.  Chetti Singh turned in the correct direction, but he was still sweating.  The smell of curry and garlic was very strong in the confined interior of the Cadillac.  With his free hand Daniel adjusted the air-conditioning.

Neither of them spoke but Chetti Singh kept glancing in the rearview mirror, obviously hoping for assistance.  However, the streets were deserted until they stopped at a traffic light at the entrance to the industrial area.  Then headlights flooded the interior from the rear, and a Landrover pulled up alongside them.  It was painted grey and when Daniel glanced sideways at it, he made out the peaked cap brims of the two police constables in the front seat.

Beside him he felt Chetti Singh stiffen and gather himself.

Stealthily the Sikh reached out for the door handle at his side.

Please, Mr.  Singh, Daniel said pleasantly.  Don't do it.

Blood and guts all over the upholstery will ruin your Caddie's resale value.  Chetti Singh deflated slowly.  One of the police constables was now staring across at them.  Smile at him, Daniel instructed.

Chetti Singh turned his head and snarled like a rabid dog.

The constable looked away hurriedly.  The lights changed and the Landrover pulled forward.

Let them get ahead, Daniel instructed.

At the next intersection the police vehicle turned left.  You did that well, Daniel congratulated him.  I am pleased with you.  Why are you victimising me in such a barbarous fashion, please, Doctor?  Don't spoil your record by asking facetious questions, Daniel advised him.

You know why I'm doing this.  The ivory was no concern of yours, surely, Doctor?

The theft of the ivory is the concern of any decent man, but you are correct.  That is not the main reason.  The business with Chawe.  That was not personal.  You brought that upon yourself.  You should not blame me for trying to protect myself.  I am a very wealthy man, Doctor.  I would be glad to make up to you any injury to your dignity or person you might have suffered.  Let us discuss a figure.  Ten thousand dollars, US, of course, Chetti Singh babbled.  Is that your final offer?  I find it miserly, Mr.  Singh.  Yes, you are right.

Let's say twenty-five, no, make that fifty.  Fifty thousand US. Johnny Nzou was one of the best friends I ever had, Daniel said softly. His wife was a lovely lady, they had three children, two girls and a little boy.  They named the boy after me.

Now you have me at a loss, never mind.  Who is Johnny Nzou?  Chetti Singh asked.  Let's say fifty thousand for him, as well.  One hundred thousand US dollars.  I give it to you, and you walk away.  We forget this foolishness.  It never happened Am I correct, Doctor?  A little late for that, Mr.  Singh.  Johnny Nzou was the warden at Chiwewe National Park.

Chetti Singh let out his breath softly.  I am terribly sorry about that, Doctor.  Those were not my orders.  . . There was the brittle edge of panic in his voice.  I had nothing to do-with that.  It was, it was the Chinaman.  Tell me about the Chinaman.  If I tell you, will you swear not to harm me?  Daniel seemed to consider this at length.  Very well, he nodded at last.  We will go to your warehouse where we can have a private uninterrupted chat.  You will tell me all you know about Ning Cheng Gong, and afterwards I will release you, immediately, unharmed. Chetti Singh turned to stare at him in the reflected light from the instrument panel.

I trust you, Doctor Armstrong.  I think you are a man of integrity.

I believe you will keep your word.  To the letter, Mr.  Singh, Daniel assured him.  Now just keep heading for the Warehouse.  They passed the sawmills.  The lumberyard was brightly lit and the teams of sawyers were at work in the long sheds.

The squeal of the saw-blades slicing into timber carried clearly even into the air-conditioned interior of the Cadillac.  Business must be good, Mr.  Singh.  You are working nightshift.  I have a large consignment going to Australia at the end of the week.  You will want to survive long enough to enjoy those profits.

just keep cooperating.

At the end of the street the warehouse stood in darkness.

Chetti Singh stopped at the main gates.  The gatehouse was deserted and unlit.  Left-hand drive, Chetti Singh remarked, indicating the controls of the Cadillac with an apologetic shrug.  You must operate the gate from your side.  He handed Daniel a plastic coated electronic key-card similar to the one retrieved from Chawe's corpse, and lowered the electric window.

Daniel leaned out and pressed the card into the slot of the control-box.

The gate boom rose and Chetti Singh drove through.  Behind them the boom dropped again automatically.  Your guard leopard must save you a great deal in the way of wages.  Daniel's tone was mild and conversational but he kept a firm pressure of the shotgun into Chetti Singh's ribs.  But I don't understand how you have made the animal so vicious.  In my experience, leopards will not attack a man unless provoked.  That is true.  Chetti Singh was more relaxed since they had struck their bargain.  He had stopped sweating and now he chuckled for the first time.

I was advised by the man who sold it to me.  Every once in a while it is necessary to give the brute a little gingering up, never mind.  I use a hot iron under its tail He chuckled again, this time with genuine amusement.  My goodness, it makes the animal very angry indeed.  You never heard such a racket.  You deliberately torment it to make it vicious?

Daniel asked, shocked despite himself.  His tone made evident his disgust and contempt, and Chetti Singh bridled.  You English and your love of animals.  It is merely a form of training to make it more efficient.  The injuries are superficial and heat readily.  They drew up outside the warehouse and once again Daniel used the electronic key-card to open the roller door.  As they drove through, the door tumbled closed behind them.

Park over there on the loading ramp, Daniel ordered.  The headlights swept powerfully down to the girders and corrugated sheeting of the wall at the far end of the cavernous building.

The floor was as cluttered as before with a vast array of trade goods.

For an instant the leopard was caught in the full beam as the Cadillac drove on to the ramp and the headlights were deflected upwards.  The great cat was crouched on the summit of a neatly squared pile of packing-cases.  As the light struck it, the leopard crouched, yellow-eyed, and puckered its lips into a snarl.  The light glinted on its exposed canine fangs.  Then it dropped out of sight behind the pile of cases.  Did you notice the injury to its face?  Chetti Singh asked virtuously.  You did that, and yet you accuse me of cruelty, Doctor Armstrong.  The brute is extremely aggressive and impossible to control at the moment.  I may have to destroy it.  It is too dangerous-, even to me and my men.  This will do.  Daniel ignored the rebuke.  We can talk here.

Switch off the engine and the headlights.  Daniel reached up to the cabin light in the centre of the roof and a soft glow replaced the harsh white glare as the headlights faded.

They sat in silence for a while longer, and then Daniel asked quietly, So, Mr.  Singh, how and when did you first meet Ning Cheng Gong?  It was about three years ago.  A mutual friend told me he was interested in ivory and other commodities which I could supply, Chetti Singh answered.

What were they, these other commodities?  When Chetti Singh hesitated, Daniel jabbed him sharply with the shotgun barrels.  Let us both keep to our side of the bargain, he suggested mildly.

Diamonds.  . . Chetti Singh wriggled away from the shotgun.  From Namibia and Angola.  Emeralds from Sandwana.  Rare Tanzanite gemstones from the mines at Arusha in Tanzania, some dagga from Zululand.  You seem to have access to many sources of supply Mr.  Singh.  I am a businessman, Doctor.  I think I am good, probably the best.  That is why Mr.  Ning dealt with me.  It was mutually beneficial, then?  Chetti Singh shrugged.  He was able to use the diplomatic bag.  Absolutely secure shipment.  . . Except when the products were too bulky, Daniel pointed out.  As was this last consignment of ivory.  As you say, Chetti Singh agreed.  But even then his family connections were abundantly useful.

Taiwan is a convenient entryport.

Give me the details of your transactions.  Dates, commodities, values. .

There were many, Chetti Singh protested, I cannot remember them all.

You have just told me that you are a good businessman.  Daniel prodded him again, and Chetti Singh tried to avoid the shotgun barrel but he was already hard up against the door and could move no further. I'm sure you remember every single transaction.  All right, he capitulated.

The first was in early February three years ago.  Ivory, value five thousand dollars.  It was a trial shipment.  It went well.  At the end of that month there was a second transaction, rhino horn and ivory, sixty-two thousand dollars.  In May of the same year, emeralds, four hundred thousand.

. . Daniel had trained his memory over the years as an interviewer.

He knew he could retain the details until he had a chance to write them down.  The recital went on for almost twenty minutes.  Chetti Singh was quick and incisive until suddenly he ended on a home note. Then this last shipment, the one you know about.  Good.  Daniel nodded. We come to the Chiwewe raid, at last.  Whose idea was that, Mr. Singh?  The ambassador.  It was his idea, Chetti Singh blurted.  I think you are lying.  It is highly unlikely that he could have known about the ivory godown.  Its whereabouts are not public knowledge.  I think that it was more likely your area of expertise.  All right, Chetti Singh agreed.  I have known about it for some years.  I was awaiting an opportunity.

However, Ning told me he wanted a large coup.  His term of office was almost expired.  He was returning home and he wanted to impress his family, his father.  But you recruited the raiders, didn't you?  Ning could not have done that.  He did not have your contacts.  I didn't give the orders to kill your friend, Chetti Singh's voice trembled.  I didn't want that to happen.  You were just going to leave them alive to tell their story, to explain to the police about Ning?  Yes, no, no!

It was Ning's idea.  I do not believe in killing, Doctor.  Is that why you sent Chawe and me into the mountains together?  No!  You gave me no choice, Doctor Armstrong.  Please, you must-understand.  I am a businessman, not a brigand.  All right, let's leave that for the moment. Now tell me, what was your further arrangement with Ning?

Surely you were going to continue such a lucrative partnership, even after he returned to Taiwan?

No!  Please don't lie to me.  That is breaking our agreement.  Daniel jammed the steel muzzles into him so hard that he squealed.  Yes, all right, please you are hurting me.  I can't speak if you do that.

Daniel relaxed the pressure a little.  I must warn you, Mr.  Singh, that I would be delighted if you gave me an opportunity to break our contract.

Johnny Nzou's two daughters were about ten and eight years old.  Your men raped them.  His son Daniel, my godson, was just four.  They beat his brains out against the wall.  It was not a pretty sight.

I'd enjoy it if you reneged on our bargain.  Yes, I would don't want to hear these things, please, Doctor.  I am a family man, myself.  You must believe that I didn't want–'Let's talk about Ning rather than your delicate sensibilities, Mr.  Singh.  You and Ning have plans for the future, don't you?  We have discussed certain possibilities, Chetti Singh admired.  The Ning family have vast holdings in Africa.  After this last shipment of ivory, Cheng's status in the family will be absolutely enhanced.  Cheng has expectations that his father will place him in charge of the African division of Lucky Dragon, that is the family holding company.  You have a niche in these plans, don't you?

Your expert services will be in demand.  Surely you have discussed it with Ning?  NoChetti Singh squealed again as the steel eyes of the shotgun barrels burrowed into his flesh.  Please don't do that, Doctor.

I suffer from high blood pressure; this uncivilized behaviour is absolutely prejudicial to my health.  What are your arrangements with Cheng?  Daniel insisted.  Where will you operate next?  Chetti Singh squeaked.  Lucky Dragon plans toUbomo, move into Ubomo.  Ubomo) There was surprise in Daniel's tone.

President Omeru?  The sovereign state of Ubomo was one of the few success stories of the continent.  Like Malawi, it nestled on the escarpment of the Great Rift Valley, a country of lakes and mountains, on the eastern flank of Africa, where open savannah and primeval equatorial forest met.  Like Hastings Banda, President Omeru was another benevolent despot, ruling in the age-old African fashion.

Thanks to him his country was free of debt, and not as yet divided or ravaged by tribal warfare.

Daniel knew that Omeru lived in a small brick cottage with a corrugated-iron roof and drove his own Landrover.  No marble palaces, no stretched black Mercedes, no executive jet for him.

He flew to the meetings of the Organization of African Unity in the tourist class cabin of a commercial airline as a deliberate example to his people.  He was a beacon of hope, not the type to deal with Lucky Dragon.