The presidential mansion was surrounded by an enormous crowd. They were everywhere, on all the approach roads, inside the gates, right up to the damaged doors, where a squad soldiers stood guard, all looking rather uncertain.
Police and soldiers were attempting to push the crowd back out of the grounds, towards the gates we’d damaged earlier. The problem was exasperated by crowds outside trying to get in at the same time. People were climbing the railings that surrounded the mansion, while policemen with long clubs were dislodging them as soon as more replaced them.
The whole scene had a carnival atmosphere, as somewhere some drums were being played, beating out a simplistic rhythm, to which a growing line of women were dancing in sheer delight.
Outside the gates, and drawn up in a neat line were vehicles that belonged to the International Press contingent.
As we swept through the crowd; in through the gates and up to the front steps, the cameras on the vehicles and held by the many cameramen all turned our way.
“Smile, we’re on candid camera,” I said.
Harvey grunted.
As we came to a halt, another senior army officer, with his many medals jingling ridiculously, came down the steps to meet us. He opened my door so I could get out and flung up a salute with which the RSM at the Guards Depot would have been delighted. He must have been Sandhurst trained, I thought.
“Miss Blanchard, you are welcome Ma’am. President G’ymbai requests you come in as he wants to greet you,” he said.
“All of us?” I asked.
“No Ma’am, just you and the big man.”
I looked at Harvey and grinned at him.
“You never told me you were big,” I said.
“You never asked, Cap,” he said, showing me all his teeth. And yes, they were as white as snow.
Leaving the remainder of the team with the vehicles, we were ushered straight up the steps and down the same corridor we’d come along just an hour or so previously.
There were soldiers everywhere, as well as sombre looking men in suits. There were few white faces among them. We received curious glances and caused not a few frowns, but we weren’t allowed to tarry, being almost thrown through the door into the President’s office.
Holasu G’ymbai was standing behind the desk. The office had been tidied up since my last fleeting visit, not a lot.
There were six others in the office, most in a uniform of one type or another. Most were talking at the same time.
On seeing us, he raised his arms and called for quiet.
“Miss Blanchard, I am told you managed to detain the traitor at the airport?”
“We did, sir, yes.”
“He is still alive?”
“He was when I left, although he might have a painful jaw when he wakes up.”
“He was injured?”
“Um, Mr President, Miss Blanchard was forced to, ah, um, render the man unconscious to prevent an over enthusiastic soldier from executing him before he had a trail,” Harvey said.
“Thank you, Mr Jackson. And may I say how nice it is to see you again.”
“Thanks, Mr President.”
“Jackson?” I said, staring at Harvey.
“No relation, I promise,” he said with a smile.
I turned to the President and placed the briefcase on the desk. I opened it and turned it towards him
“Sir, I managed to seize this from the aircraft that Malcolm Mombossu was intending to use to flee the country. I think these belong to your people. Enough blood has been shed over them, I think.”
He stared at them for a moment. One or two of the other men looked and then whispered to each other. All of them looked at me.
“Miss Blanchard, when my friend told me she was appointing her best person on this job, I was curious to know who it would be. When she told me that you were the best she had, I thought for the first time in her life, she had made a mistake. Now, I see that it was I who made the mistake and underestimated you. So, please forgive me.”
“You’re forgiven, Mr President.”
He looked at me with a strange expression.
“Are you perhaps related to one Captain Carlisle?”
“Who, sir?” I asked innocently, as Harvey suddenly suffered a coughing fit.
“The young British officer who saved the lives of so many of my people, including mine and that of my entire family.”
“Sadly, sir, I’m not related to him.”
He nodded, looking at me for a moment. Then, abruptly, he changed the subject onto how best to regenerate his nation’s fortunes.
I smiled.
“Sir, my expertise is elsewhere, but I’m sure there will be many people willing to give you advice.”
“Indeed, I agree, but which ones to take?”
“Ah, if we knew that, all our problems would be too easy to solve,” I said.
“Very true, Miss Blanchard, very true.”
“In which case, sir, I shall take my leave, with your permission?” I said.
“Yes, of course. But I want you to know that you have my and my nation’s gratitude. There will be a more formal event where this gratitude may be made clear, but for now I will simply say, thank you, both of you, from the bottom of my heart.”
“It was a pleasure to be of service, sir,” I said, and he looked at me with that expression again.
“Yes, well, you will find that your employer has taken over the entire fourth floor of the Hilton hotel, not far from here. I think you deserve a shower and something to seat and drink. Please send my regards to Maryanne when you next see her.”
“We shall, Mr President.”
The audience over, we left.
The Hilton hotel was typical of the African style. A large, white concrete block, fitted out with all the trappings of western luxury, but with three fifths not functioning properly. Set in an impressive compound, with tall palm trees and a functioning swimming pool, it looked at first glance to be the same as luxury hotels the world over. However, when one looked closely, one could see the occasional bullet hole and broken window. There seemed an army of workmen sitting about, preparing, no doubt, to assault the hotel and put right the many wrongs. However, one was given the impression that they might actually be still at it in a year’s time.
Given that the nation had been subject to a civil war and so there were good reasons that much of what one would normally expect would be absent. I was pleased that there was hot water and a toilet that actually flushed. The only thing I missed about my old life was the ability to take a pee virtually anywhere without the necessity of dropping one’s drawers and squatting in the bushes. I always felt incredibly vulnerable, not only to the myriad of insect-life that abounded in the African bush, but also the occasional wandering African, as they seemed wont to do.
To have a fully fitted and working bathroom was a luxury that I fully appreciated.
The air-conditioning didn’t seem to be working anywhere in the hotel, and the man at the reception desk informed me gravely that they were hoping to have it fixed sometime soon. This, I knew, could mean a month or even before Christmas, so I was happy to use the ceiling fan for the moment. At least there was electricity, for most of the time anyway.
It was nice to wear a light dress and sandals, leaving the body armour and boots under my bed. I kept the Glock in my shoulder bag, just in case.
The lobby was spacious and cool, with a mosaic, marbled floor, a tall ceiling and a through draught to the expansive veranda beyond. There were three bars, one of which was on the veranda, sheltered by the palms and other tall trees. A troop of monkeys seemed resident in the garden, and they made a tremendous noise for much of the time. Occasionally one of the hotel employees would go out and try to shoo them away, not with any great success.
As I walked onto the veranda bar, Harvey handed me a cold beer in a long glass.
“You scrub up well, Cap,” he said with a smile.
“You never seem to change. Did you have a shower?”