Taiwan is Ning's home wicket. From what I hear, his family all but owns the island. Whole place is sure to be bristling with Ning's uglies. If you're determined to play the avenging angel, best bide your time. If what you tell me is correct, Ning will be back in Africa soon. Ubomo is a nice neutral turf, better than Taiwan. At least I could back you up there. We've got an office in Kahah, the capital, in fact there is a chance that- Michael broke off. Bit premature, but there is talk that I may be sent to Kahah on my next posting. Daniel stared into his glass, swilling the contents slowly as though admiring the ruby lights in the wine. At last he sighed and nodded. You're right, as always. He grinned at Michael ruefully.
I was getting carried away, besides which I'm terrifyingly short of cash.
Doubt I could raise the airfare to Taipei. Never have believed it of you, old boy. Thought you were rolling in the filthy stuff. Always been green with envy. All those million-dollar TV contracts.
Everything I have is wrapped up in those video cassettes you sent to London for me.
Not worth a damn until I cut and dub them. That's what I'll have to do right now. Before you go, you'd better give me a briefing on all you know about this pair, Singh and Ning. I'll follow up on my side, in case. . . In case anything happens to me, Daniel finished for him.
Never said that, old boy. Perish the thought.
Although this time you do seem to have picked on a pair of heavyweights.
I'd like to leave my Landcruiser and all my gear here in Lusaka with you in the usual way, if that isn't inconvenient?
Pleasure, dear boy. My home is your home. My garage is your garage.
Feel free.
The next morning Daniel returned to the Hargreaves' home.
Michael was at work, but Wendy and her domestic staff helped him unpack the Landcruiser. His equipment was stiff with dust and the accumulated filth of six months bush living. Between them they cleaned it all and repacked it into the vehicle. They threw away the perishables and Daniel made a list of replacements.
Then he parked the Landcruiser in the spare garage, and put the battery on charge, ready for his next expedition, whenever that might be.
When Michael came home for lunch from the High Commission, he and Daniel spent an hour sequestered in his study.
After that the three of them split a bottle of wine, sitting under the Morula trees beside the swimming-pool.
I passed on your message to Lcmdon, Michael told him. Apparently Omeru is in London at the moment. The Foreign Office had an urgent word with him, but it didn't do much good, by all accounts. Without chapter and verse, and your intelligence was rather vague, the old boy pooh-poohed the idea of a coup. "My people love me," he said, or words to that effect. "I am their father. " Turned down the PM's offer of support.
Nevertheless Omeru is cutting short his visit, and going back to Ubomo, so we might have done some good. Probably sent him straight into the jaws of the lion, Daniel said morosely, and watched Wendy heaping his plate with fresh salad grown in her own vegetable garden.
Probably, Michael agreed cheerfully. Poor old brighter.
Speaking of lion's jaws, and that sort of thing, I have more news for you. I buzzed our man in Lilongwe. Your friend Chetti Singh is off the danger list. Hospital describes his condition as "serious but stable," although they did have to amputate one arm. Seems as though the leopard chewed it up rather thoroughly. Wish it had been his head.
Can't have everything, can we?
Must be thankful for small mercies. Anyway, I'll keep you posted while you are in London.
Have you still got that flat in Chelsea, near Sloane Square? It's not a flat, said Wendy. Bachelor house of ill-repute, more like it.
Nonsense, old girl, Michael twitted her. Danny is a monk; never touches the stuff, do you? Is the telephone number the same, 730-something? I've got it written down somewhere. Yes, same address.
Same number. I'll ring you if anything comes up. What can I bring you from London when I come back, Wendy? You can bring me the entire stock of Fortnum's, she sighed. No, I'm joking. just some of those special biscuits in the yellow tin; I hallucinate about them. And some Floris soap, and perfume, Fracas. Oh! And undies from Janet Reger the same as you brought last time, and while you're about it, some real English tea, Earl Grey. Easy, old girl, Michael chided her. Lad's not a camel, you know.
Keep it down to a ton. Later that afternoon, they drove Daniel out to the airport and put him on the British Airways flight. It landed at Heathrow at seven the next morning.
That same evening the telephone in Daniel's Chelsea flat rang.
Nobody knew he was back in town. He debated with himself whether to make the effort to answer it, and gave in after the tenth peal. He couldn't ignore such persistence. Danny, is it really you, or that cursed answering machine? I refuse to talk to a robot, matter of principle.
He recognized Michael Hargreave's voice immediately. What is it, Mike?
Is Wendy okay? Where are you? Still in Lusaka. Both of us fine, old boy. More than I can say for your pal, Omeru. You were right, Danny.
News has just broken. He's got the axe. Military coup. We've just had a signal from our office in Kahah. What's happened to Omeru?
Who's the new man in power? Don't know to both questions. Sorry, Danny. It's all a bit confused still. Should be on the BBC news your end, but I'll ring again tomorrow as soon as I have any more details.
That evening it was tucked in at the end of the news on BBC 1 over a file photograph of President Victor Omeru. just a bare statement of the coup d'tat in Ubomo, and the takeover by a military junta. On the Tv screen Omeru was a craggily handsome man in his late sixties. His hair was a silver fleece and he was ligbr-skinned, the colour of old amber. His gaze from the television screen was calm and direct. Then the weather forecast came on and Daniel was left with a sense of melancholy.
He had met Victor Omeru only once, five years ago, when the President had granted him an interview covering the dispute with Zaire and Uganda over the fishing rights in Lake Albert.
They had spent only an hour together, but Daniel had been impressed by the old man's eloquence and presence, and even more so by his obvious commitment to his people, to all the various tribal groupings that made up his little state, and to the preservation of the forest, savannah and lakes that were their national heritage. We see the riches of our lakes and forests as an asset that must be managed for posterity, not something that is to be devoured at a single sitting.
We look upon nature's bounty as a renewable resource which all the people of Ubomo have the right to share, even those generations as yet unborn. That is why we resist the plunder of the lakes by our neighbours, Victor Omeru had told him, and it was wisdom of a kind that Daniel had seldom heard from any other statesman. His heart had gone out to someone who shared his own love and concern for the land that had given them birth. Now Victor Omeru was gone and Africa would be a poorer, sadder place for his passing.
Daniel spent the whole of Monday in the City talking to his bank-manager and his agent. It went well and Daniel was in a far better mood when he returned to the flat at nine-thirty that evening.
There was another message from Michael on the answering machine.
God, I hate this contraption. Call me when you come in, Danny. It would be two hours later in Lusaka, but he took Michael at his word.
Did I get you out of bed, Mike? No matter, Danny.
Hadn't turned the light off yet. just one bit of news for you. The new man in Ubomo is Colonel Ephrem Taffari. Forty-two years old.
Apparently educated at London School of Economics and University of Budapest. Other than that, nobody knows much about him except that he has already changed the country's name to the People's Democratic Republic of Ubomo.