‘Rape and eat a stranger might be stretching it — but basically OK. Rape and eat your sister and it’s a really big no-no. Something along those lines?’
‘Something along those lines,’ said Richard, suddenly worried about how seriously Ivan was taking this.
‘Gods and spirits.’ Ivan smirked. ‘Primitive superstitions!’
‘They’re a useful way of laying down the basic ground rules,’ Richard persisted. ‘If you go there or do this then Ngoboi will get you and so forth. Keeps the Poro kids in line just as effectively as it does with the kids in the Army of Christ. Same as it does with kids all over the world. Do this and the bogeyman will get you. Break that and you’ll have seven years’ bad luck … Watch that black cat doesn’t cross your path … Don’t walk under that ladder … The sea’s awash with superstition. Never mind the jungle.’
‘Point taken,’ admitted Ivan. ‘Spit on wood … Never carry an empty bucket … Never move house after dark … Never put an empty bottle on the table … Never give knives as a present … Never give a single girl a corner seat …’
‘But there’s more,’ interrupted Richard. ‘On the one hand, some of the rituals like circumcision are a bit dangerous if not done carefully; on the other hand that’s true of an enormous number of religions and societies. It seems to me that some of the more unique rituals associated with the Poro gods do have a positive side — even if they seem a bit barbaric. They teach the kids endurance, individual strength and self-reliance as well as mutual trust. They make them more of a unit. The natural drugs, the dancing, the rites of passage, the visiting of the spirit plane when they’re exhausted, stoned and awash with adrenaline — it is all brutal but effective team-building. And I bet your men are doing something equivalent now — testing each other in increasingly dangerous and painful ways, seeing who they can count on when their life’s on the line.’ Richard didn’t mention such concepts as stripping weapons while sitting naked underwater. He didn’t need to. Ivan nodded, a good deal of his thoughtlessly patronizing expression vanishing.
‘Even at the end of the ritual, when the kids get covered in scars across their cheeks and chest, they’re supposed to represent the claws of the gods dragging them back into the real world and up into manhood. The bigger the scars, the harder the gods had to pull, the greater a warrior they think you’ll become. But in many cases the cuts originally made are relatively shallow — then the huge scars are built up by having herbs and so forth rubbed in them. But the point is clear. The rituals build calmness under extremes of pressure and tolerance to extremes of pain.’
‘Hmmm …’ said Ivan.
Richard thought back to the men Robin and he had seen training aboard Volgograd. ‘Even the scars are a bit like the tattoos some of your men have all over them.’
‘OK,’ said Ivan with a slightly guarded laugh. ‘But your point is — Kebila’s point is — that because most of his men have gone through this, they know the jungle — the battleground — better than my men ever will.’
‘And each other. Most of them have not only been through it, they’ve been through it together. And themselves come to that — how much pain they can take. They know the jungle, the situation, the enemy and each other inside out, in a way not even the strongest and best trained of your guys ever will.’
‘Until we’ve been up there. I’m a quick learner.’
‘Until you’ve been up there,’ said Richard quietly, ‘and come back out alive and in one piece.’
‘Hmmm …’ said Ivan again. Then he apparently changed the subject slightly. ‘This Ngoboi. The leader of their gods. What does he look like?’
‘Google him,’ said Richard shortly and suspiciously. ‘He’s on the Web. Better make it Ngoboi Poro that you type in. There are videos and everything.’
‘You’re kidding, right?’
‘Nope.’
Over dinner back at the hotel that night Robin and he discussed the tension between the two groups of men and then retired. Fortunately, neither of them was romantically inclined, because no sooner had they switched off the light and settled down side by side than the phone rang. ‘Wow!’ said Robin. ‘That could have been a bit inconvenient.’
‘We wouldn’t have had to answer it,’ Richard replied, lifting the handset. ‘We’ve ignored the bloody thing often enough before. Yes?’
‘Usually with disastrous consequences,’ whispered Robin.
‘Captain Mariner? It’s Andre Wanago here, sir. Major Kebila wonders whether you could join him at the harbour. He has sent a car.’
Richard looked at his Rolex. ‘Kebila’s sent a car for us. Wants us at the harbour.’
‘At this time of night?’ demanded Robin loudly, clearly deciding whether or not to be outraged.
‘At this very moment, if possible,’ said Andre, who had clearly heard her through the phone.
‘Sounds important,’ said Richard. ‘I’ll be there, Andre. Five minutes.’ He hung up. ‘You want to come?’
‘Yes,’ answered Robin shortly.
‘At this time of night?’ he mimicked, stepping into his underwear.
‘At the very worst, it’ll be better than lying here wondering what mischief you’ve got yourself involved in!’ she snapped, rolling out from under the silk sheet and reaching for her panties.
Within ten minutes they were dressed and down. The car awaiting them was a Jeep and the driver was familiar to both of them. ‘What’s up, Sergeant Tchaba?’ asked Richard as he settled into the rear bench seat beside Robin.
‘Bad thing!’ the sergeant grunted with unusual rudeness as he engaged the gear and drove away at top speed.
When Sergeant Tchaba eased the Jeep to a halt at the dockside, Richard was shocked by how bad things actually seemed to be. Beneath the flat sodium-yellow glare of the dockside security lighting, the better part of one hundred men stood in two tense groups on the dock, facing each other down. It seemed as though both sets of soldiers were crowded at the sides of their respective hovercraft and only the greatest efforts of their commanders were keeping them from going at each other like rabid animals. It was certainly instantly clear why Kebila had not risked phoning Richard directly and had simply sent Tchaba in the Jeep. The dapper colonel was, seemingly, single-handedly holding back his usually highly disciplined troops, almost leaning against the front row, arms spread like a policemen in front of a crowd of football hooligans. Richard saw Ivan standing opposite him, in much the same position. The air between them crackled with tension and the threat of immediate violence. It was only when they got a little closer that Richard could see Captains Zhukov and Maina with their respective ships’ security teams backing the commanders and just about keeping the peace. Like the Earp brothers in Tombstone.
On the ground between the outraged soldiers lay what looked like a big pile of straw. Richard recognized it immediately. ‘Oh my God,’ he said.
Robin, who had not been privy to his talk with Ivan earlier, was a little slower on the uptake. But not by much. ‘Is that what I think it is?’ she asked as they hurried forward, side by side.
‘Looks like it,’ said Richard shortly. ‘Looks like someone’s shot Ngoboi.’
Confrontation
‘Colonel!’ called Richard in English as he strode across the concrete towards the fallen god. ‘Senior Lieutenant … Has either of you called Mr Asov?’