‘Downstairs,’ he reassured her with a chuckle. ‘He wants a chat.’
‘Tell him we’ll be five minutes,’ she said, flinging the duvet aside and returning to type as she headed for the bathroom. Richard forbore to point out that she hadn’t been invited.
Fifteen minutes later the three of them were seated at an exclusive little table in the corner of a deserted coffee lounge overlooking the hotel’s main swimming pool, which was designed to resemble a lake surrounded by jungle. Richard, having just come back from Lac Dudo, was struck by how much it did not look like a real lake surrounded by actual virgin jungle.
It was the lake, in fact, which Kebila had come to talk to him about. The colonel’s slim, muscular frame was clad in an immaculate uniform identical in cut and perfection to General Chaka’s, differing from his only in the matter of pips and badges of rank. Laurent Kebila and his cousin, Naval Commander Caleb Maina, always reminded Robin vaguely but excitingly of Denzel Washington. Younger and a little leaner, perhaps. One clean-shaven and one with a pencil moustache. Punctilious to a fault, he rose as they arrived and gave them a precise salute. Then he sat silently as coffee was left on the table beside his uniform cap and swagger stick before he started to talk business.
‘I have no doubt you have as clear an idea of the opposition’s likely plan as I do myself,’ Kebila began, his clipped Sandhurst accent coloured ever so slightly by the rhythms and intonations of his native West African Matadi dialect — like Igala, Edekiri and Itsekiri, a subspecies of the Yoruba spoken so generally here. The emphasis he gave to the word ‘opposition’ made it clear he meant Congo Libre rather than Celine Chaka. ‘It is, so to speak, a variant of the Kivu Gambit, if I may call it that.’ He glanced across at Richard and Robin. ‘The way that Rwanda, in the fairly recent past, fomented restlessness in the Kivu region of the DRC immediately across their border.’
‘The point being,’ emphasized Richard, putting down his coffee cup and reaching for the cafetière, ‘that Kivu is a major source of diamonds and coltan, which Rwanda did not have. The trouble in Kivu allowed them to get across the border and gain access without actually invading. It was — still is, to a certain extent — the core of diplomatic problems not only between Rwanda and the DRC but also between Rwanda and the rest of the diplomatic world. It very nearly became a pariah state. No outside contact except with some selected neighbours. No World Bank support. No IMF. Scarcely even any Oxfam, Save the Children or Medecin Sans Frontieres. No tourism. No inward investment. Even the Chinese are unlikely to go in there.’
‘Only one company currently on the record,’ emphasized Kebila. ‘Han Wuhan, in fact. As opposed to forty in the DRC. The same number in Nigeria. And now we have a good number beating a path to President Chaka’s door.’
‘As many as will beat a path to the door of President Celine Chaka after the elections,’ chimed in Robin.
Kebila looked at her, his eyebrows raised. One finger stroked his moustache thoughtfully — a habitual gesture like Richard’s tendency to stroke the scar on his cheekbone when he was thinking. ‘Quite so,’ he said after a moment. Then he switched his attention more exclusively to Richard. ‘I have seen the picture of Ngama with Fola, Chen and Odem. How easy it would be,’ he persisted gently, ‘for our own neighbours in Congo Libre on the far side of Mount Karisoke, where there is no black lake full of coltan but a great deal of poverty, to send in someone like Colonel Odem with his Army of Christ to secure the area around Lac Dudo. Establish a bridgehead, so to speak. Secure a safe route over the mountain and across the border, such as might permit the illegal but unstoppable transport of coltan by Han Wuhan out of Benin La Bas.’
‘But not their troops,’ said Robin, understanding his point at once. ‘The Army of Christ, working under their orders, equipped and supplied by them.’
‘A well-established terrorist army whose roots are already deep in Benin La Bas,’ agreed Colonel Kebila gently. ‘As you say, with material and logistical support from over the border. And with advisors from Han Wuhan Extractions, of course. And the connivance of someone who knows the ground and the ropes, so to speak. An ex-government minister, say. Ex-Minister of the Outer Delta, Bala Ngama, perhaps.’ Kebila leaned forward and refreshed his coffee cup with a steady hand, then lifted it, sat back and continued. ‘He still has contacts in the government — no doubt he will have heard about Max’s discovery. A fortune for Gabriel Fola and all his tribe, family and his government — which are, of course, the same thing. And nothing for ours — whether it be Julius or Celine Chaka in the president’s palace. Nothing to be passed on to the people of Benin La Bas in the form of infrastructure, medical and educational facilities, the rebuilding of our social and financial economy.’
Richard nodded, his mind fixed on the beginning of Colonel Kebila’s speech. It was as he had already calculated it. One glance at the familiar faces in the secret photograph had been enough for him. ‘But no pariah status for Gabriel Fola and his nation,’ he said. ‘A perfect scapegoat instead — just another marauding militia out of control and behaving as they want. No international condemnation. Just two and a half trillion dollars’ worth of coltan there for the taking.’
‘Unless we can stop it,’ said Kebila.
‘We …’ said Richard, his voice alive with speculation.
‘Consider the vital elements of our own version of the Kivu Gambit.’ Kebila ticked them off on his fingers as he enumerated them. ‘A willing government happy to take a few chances. A well-equipped force led by men who know the territory; who will stop at nothing to achieve their mission and overcome their enemies.’ His eyes crinkled with the smallest of smiles and the edge of his clipped moustache lifted infinitesimally. ‘A ruthless business enterprise led by men of questionable reputation who are happy to cut corners — and are not averse to a little backstabbing.’
‘And?’ said Richard, who suspected that he was just about to be compared with ex-minister Ngama somehow — as Bashnev/Sevmash had just been compared with Han Wuhan; Kebila and his men with Odem and his, and the Chakas with President Fola.
‘And a wild card,’ concluded Kebila. ‘An ace in the hole that we cannot quite fathom as yet. Whose involvement may mean nothing. Or everything.’
‘Is there,’ interrupted Robin, ‘a Mrs Ngama anywhere in this parallel?’
Kebila laughed. It was a surprisingly pleasant sound. ‘The ex-minister is famous for his taste in beautiful women,’ he said. ‘But the last I heard, he was still … ah … tasting. So no, there is no Mrs Ngama. However, let us not let my love of rhetoric unbalance the drift of my argument. Your involvement could well be as crucial as your husband’s. Were I to suggest that he might be a unique liaison between the president and Bashnev/Sevmash, then you — to begin with — could perform exactly the same service between Bashnev/Sevmash and the leader of the opposition.’
‘So it’s a race for the coltan,’ said Richard, at his most forthright. ‘Chaka — father and daughter — will sanction an expeditionary force to go upriver as fast as possible. It will be led by you and its main objective will be to find and stop Odem. Any inconvenient red tape will be cut in order to allow Bashnev/Sevmash to assay and annexe the lake — on a commercial basis, while you leave enough men to handle the security.’