Colonel Bukharin sat forward in his canvas camp-chair and became businesslike and brisk.
"OpportunityP "Economic chaos, and intertribal warfare, the breakdown of central government." Peter Fungabera counted them off on his fingers.
"The present government is meeting you more than halfway in creating its own economic breakdown," the Russian observed, "and you are already doing fine work in fanning tribal hatreds."
"Thank you, comrade."
"However, the peasants must begin to starve a little before they become manageable-"
"I am pushing in the Cabinet for the nationalization of the white-owned farms and ranches. Without the white farmers I can produce you a goodly measure of starvation," Peter Fungabera smiled.
"I hear you have already made a start. I congratulate you on the recent acquisition of your own estate, King's Lynn?
That is the name is it not?"
"You are well informed, Colonel."
"I
take pains to ensure that I am. But when the moment comes to seize the reins of state, what kind of man will the people look to?"
"A strong man," Peter answered without hesitation. "One whose ruthlessness has been demonstrated."
"As yours was during the chimurenga, and more recently in Matabeleland." A man of charisma and presence, a man well known to the:4 people."
"The women sing your praises in the streets of Harare, not a single day passes without your image on the television screens or your name on the front page of the newspapers."
"A man with force behind him."
"The Third Brigade," the Russian nodded, "and the blessing of the people of the USSR. However," he paused significantly, 'two questions need answers, Comrade General."
"Yes?"
"The first is a mundane and distasteful question to raise between men such as you and I money. My paymasters become restless. Our expenses have begun to exceed by a considerable amount the shipments of ivory and animal products that you have sent us-" He held up his hand again to forestall argument. It was an old man's hand, dappled with withered dark spots and crisscrossed with prominent blue veins. "I know that we should do these things merely for the love of freedom, that money is a capitalist obscenity, but nothing is perfect in this world. In short, Comrade General, you are reaching the limits that Moscow has set on your credit."
"I understand," Peter Fungabera nodded. "What is your second question?"
"The Matabele tribe. They are a warlike and difficult people. I know that you have been forced to stir up enmity, to cause dissension and strife and to bring upon the present government the disapproval of the Western powers by your campaign in Matabeleland. But what happens afterwards?
How do you control them once you yourself have seized power?
(I " est ions with a single name, Peter answer both qu Fungabera. replied.
"Me name?"
"Tungata Zebiwe."
"Ha! Yes! Tungata Zebiwe. The Matabele leader. You had him put away. I presumed that by now he had been liquidated."
"I am holding him in great secrecy and safety at one of my rehabilitation centres near here."
"Explain."
"Firstly, the money."
"From what we know, Tungata Zebiwe is not a rich man," the Russian demurred.
"He has the key to a fortune which might easily exceed two hundred million US dollars." The Russian raised a silver eyebrow in the gesture of disbelief that Peter was coming to know well, and which was beginning to irritate him.
"Diamonds," he said.
"The mother country is one of the world's largest Producers. "The Russian spread his hands disparagingly.
"Not industrial rubbish, not black boart, but gem stones of the first water, large stones, huge stones, some of the finest ever mined anywhere." The Russian looked thoughtful. "if it is true-"
"It is true! But I will not explain further. Not yet."
"Very well. At least I can hold out some sort of promise to the money-sucking leeches in our treasury department?
And the second question. The Matabele? You cannot plan to 0 blite rate them, man, woman and child?" Peter Fungabera shook his head regretfully. "No. Though it would be the better way, America and Britain would not allow it. No, my answer is Tungata Zebiwe again. When I take over the country, he will reappear it will be almost miraculous. He will come back from the dead. The Mota
,
bele tribe will go wild with joy and relief They will follow him, they will dote upon him, and I will make him my vice-president."
"He hates you. You destroyed him. If you ever free him, he will seek to revenge that."
"No," Peter shook his head. "I will send him to you. You have special clinics for difficult cases, do you not? Institutes where a mentally sick man can be treated with drugs and other techniques to make him rational and reasonable once more?" This time the Russian actually began to chortle, and he poured himself another vodka, shaking with silent laughter. When he looked up at Peter, there was respect in those pale eyes for the first time.