“Why are you asking?” he probed with a forceful look.
“We are trying to make sure that no laws are being broken with respect to possible links back to Her Majesty’s Government,” she offered using the government’s latest crusade in the buildup towards the General Election.
Again that told both men they were also listening to their conversations, but that was pretty weak positioning as nobody took any notice what really happened in a third world country.
Having gathered his thoughts, Thomas answered this time instead of Angus. “He is the Interior Minister of Adwalland and provides security to the TLH exploration teams in the fields, because at the moment the law enforcement officers of the country are still pretty much in their infancy. His Ministry is responsible for the protection of all foreigners in the country.”
Angus offered a question back. “So why is he a problem Mrs. Field?”
“I take it you’re aware of his rather suspect past and business operations?” she countered ignoring Angus’s question for the moment.
“Well my dear, we know he isn’t a saint!” Angus answered annoyed at her rudeness in ignoring his probing and the fact that it was an unwritten rule that the role of MI6 wasn’t there to pass judgment on Her Majesty’s subjects and business practices of companies registered in the United Kingdom with regimes, not under UN Sanctions. It was only supposed to get involved or provide assessment with respect to whether British interests were at risk. This was a line of questioning was overstepping the mark in his opinion.
“Bribery! I will be damned,” he thought.
Sensing she had touched a nerve by Angus’s tone, this time Rebecca chose to stay silent to get the answer she needed to hear one way or another.
How Thomas answered it over the coming seconds or minutes, would tell her whether he would be an asset or represent an obstacle to her plans. Reading her face, trusting his instincts that there was more to this than meets the eye, Thomas chose to answer her question.
As he did so, Angus raised an eyebrow at his answer.
“Elizabeth, I actually agree with your service’s assessment. I think he is a dangerous man with his own agenda with respect to the leadership of his country and he is somebody that we are very aware could cause serious harm to TLH reputation if we do business with him.”
Her next answer totally surprised him in return.
“Her Majesty Government will be pleased to hear that, Sir Thomas, as you are aware the Prime Minister is keen on seeing your investment in the country gets the full support it needs. I have been tasked with making sure that happens and it is our office opinion he represents a clear threat to that.”
Rebecca’s next statement told them everything.
“Our American cousins believe he is a strong leader who has the support of the Clans. Therefore he represents to them a potential ally in the region against Al-Shabaab for them.”
“Interesting,” answered Thomas quickly understanding the significance of the exchange of information now taking place, for Al-Shabaab though a useful “PR” tool, had nothing to do with the real reason behind the American positioning.
“So they think that the Russians are backing the wrong man in the President?” asked Angus.
“That appears to be their assessment of the situation in Adwalland,” answered Rebecca.
Deciding to push a little further, Thomas asked, “So if he were to convince the Chiefs that he was a suitable alternative then he could count on their full support?”
“We can’t speak for our cousins, but we believe that is indeed the case,” the MI6 officer responded without emotion, years of training masking Rebecca’s true feelings.
A dumbfounded Angus now sat in silence processing Rebecca’s words as she started her briefing on Wasir Osman Hassan to ensure that TLH Group could best prepare with the threats coming from within Adwalland.
“Her Majesty’s Secret Service has just basically tipped a wink towards us that they’d rather see the Russians secure their interests in Africa over that of the United States of America! Just like Thomas told me over lunch,” the old General thought as she went about briefing them on the Americans view of him.
“The next Cold War is not going to be fought over ideology but rather over natural resources and in future, Her Majesty’s interests will have to be wrapped up in who best provides them to our way of life,” Thomas had said to him.
“That’s the only ideology that matters now, Angus,” he had said with absolute conviction when they had disagreed with each other two hours earlier.
“Britain would never back the Russians over American interests there’s just too much history, old boy,” he had said to back to Thomas, but now this beautiful young woman had just proved him wrong. He suddenly felt very old.
“It was always easier when it was just black or white, Communist or Capitalist, Christian or Muslim, Jew or Muslim, this new game only had survival of the fittest at its heart,” Angus sadly thought.
“The lines from now on would only be blurred!” he reflected in sadness. “The world was now the Devil’s playground!”
By letting Thomas know the Americans were taking a close look at Wasir as a possible replacement of the President she had thereby planted a seed. Dressing for dinner, Rebecca’s mind pondered on their exchange of the afternoon.
“Dad would be pleased in his little Jewish princess!” she told herself as she did her makeup.
She hadn’t actually formulated what she would do had Thomas’s answers indicated that he had in fact, a close relationship with Wasir. The fact that he didn’t, she took as a sign of “Bashert” was in motion.
Pleased with her overall appearance, she was wearing a simple long, black evening dress with her hair up in a bun above her face to show off her angled features. She picked up her clutch bag as she shut the door behind her and joined the rest of the guests in the lobby to wait for the convoy of BMWs and Audis that had been leased to take guests to the main house.
She spotted Michael dressed in a white dinner jacket with black trousers engaged in conversation with a colored gentleman and a lady Rebecca assumed immediately were Somali by their profiles. She gracefully joined them at his side.
“Ah, Elizabeth there you are!” Michael said smiling as he kissed her cheek.
“I was just having a chat here with His Excellency Suleiman Qalajango and his lovely wife, Aasyia,” Michael said. “Your Excellency, may I introduce my colleague, Mrs. Elizabeth Field,” he said keeping in line with their simple cover of civil servants newly attached to the East Africa desk. She offered her hand to the man who she guessed was the Ambassador of Adwalland and whom Michael had befriended earlier, before they had had a cup of tea together on her return from the main house so she could brief him on the meeting she just had with Thomas and Angus.
After introductions, a young member of staff, with an overriding instruction to herd the guests towards the cars outside to maintain the steady flow up to the house and avoid congestion in the lobby, wandered over. Politely he asked that the four of them make their way out of the hotel to the porte-cochere where a car would take them to the main house. Taking the hint, Michael suggested that they should catch up later. Something the Ambassador also agreed on.
Reaching the house in a matter of minutes they were met by yet another member of staff who quickly directed them through the Tudor hall and out towards the back of the house. As they wandered through the corridor, Michael’s eye was drawn to an overly large picture of an Elizabethan Buccaneer with piercing eyes watching over them from above.
“He looks like a hard bastard! Christ, doesn’t he look like Litchfield,” Michael observed.
“Yes he does,” answered Rebecca. “They’re very similar as well!” she offered.