Scott Mariani - The Devil’s Kingdom

Dizolele turned the smile on Ben, but it wasn’t long before he realised that the new military advisor wasn’t inclined to shake hands.

‘This is Captain Dekker,’ Khosa said, motioning at Jeff, who scowled back at him as if he wanted to twist his head off and punt it out of the window. ‘Also a celebrated warrior in his own country. And this young man’ – pointing at Tuesday – ‘is the finest marksman in the British army. I am told he can kill a man from two miles away with a rifle.’

Or so Ben had claimed on Tuesday’s behalf, mainly as a way to prevent Khosa from having him diced into pieces. Ben worried that his strategy might have worked too well.

‘Wonderful news, Excellency,’ said the beaming Dizolele. ‘And this old man is what?’

Khosa threw a sour look at Gerber, who was just staring at the floor as if he’d fallen into a state of senility. ‘A sergeant of the United States Marine Corps. Major Hope believes he is of use to us. We will see. I have not decided yet.’

The dismal introductions over with, the colonel updated Khosa on events during his absence. Neither seemed to have any problem discussing business in front of the underlings. ‘There was an incident with some of the workers,’ Dizolele reported. ‘A minor revolt in which three guards were killed, but the disturbance was soon brought back under control and the instigators have been punished.’

Khosa nodded, his face blank. ‘Good. Anything else?’

‘I am happy to report that the payment we expected from America has been received in full, by wire transfer to one of our offshore accounts.’

Khosa seemed mildly pleased by this. ‘Is the package still intact?’

‘In perfect condition, Excellency. Should we return it?’

‘It would be a mistake to return it too quickly. Issue another demand instead.’

Ben wondered what they were talking about. A faint alarm bell was ringing in his mind, but he couldn’t be certain.

‘The same again?’ Dizolele asked with a smile.

‘No, this time double it to two million. Remind them of what will happen if they do not pay. If they are slow, give them a warning.’

‘A warning, by which I take it his Excellency means …?’

Khosa made a casual gesture, indicating his growing boredom with the conversation. ‘The usual. Whatever does not spoil the goods too badly. I leave such details to your judgement, Raphael.’

That alarm bell in Ben’s mind was ringing a little more loudly now.

Dizolele clasped his hands and bowed his head, like a sycophantic mouse. ‘Thank you, Excellency. It will be done exactly as you say.’

‘Is there anything else, Raphael?’

‘I am also pleased to report that the shipment from our friends in the east arrived safely while you were away. The items are awaiting your approval.’

This seemed the most welcome news of all. Khosa’s horror mask of a face crinkled with contentment. ‘I will inspect them shortly. Thank you, Raphael. If that is all, you are excused.’

Once the little colonel had left the room, Khosa stood and paced the deep-pile carpet for a moment or two before seating himself importantly at his desk. He leaned back in the leather chair, laid his big hands flat on the shining desktop and fixed his implacable wide-angle gaze on Ben and the others. His eyes were so far apart that it was impossible to stare back at both of them at once. He seldom blinked, and his breathing was that of a man in the deepest state of tranquillity. He drew another long puff from the Cuban, exhaled a huge cloud of smoke and said, ‘Well, soldier. What do you think?’

‘I think you know what I think,’ Ben said.

‘I do, soldier. I do. But I would like to hear it from you.’

‘I think that whatever dirty little business you’re up to in this luxury rathole of yours, it’s obviously paying off pretty well so far.’

Khosa smiled. ‘Is this your way of telling me that you are impressed, Major Hope?’

Ben had known this man less than a week and already he had seen him order scores of brutal executions, lay waste to an African village and personally blow out the brains of one of his own men. Whatever Khosa proved himself capable of, ‘impressed’ wasn’t the word to describe Ben’s reaction.

‘It’s my way of telling you that all good things come to an end, General . I wouldn’t get too complacent.’

Khosa reached out a lazy arm and swivelled the model field cannon on his desk so that its barrel pointed towards Ben. ‘I see. And what else do you think?’

‘I think that nothing bad had better have happened to my son,’ Ben replied. ‘Because if it has, all good things might come to an end that bit sooner.’

‘You think I should let him go?’

‘That would be the smartest move you’ve ever made in your life.’

Khosa pondered this for a long moment. ‘I would be disappointed, soldier,’ he said at last, ‘if I thought that you had forgotten our deal. Are we not clear on the terms of the arrangement?’

‘You want me and my friends here to train your ragtag rabble into something resembling an army,’ Ben said. ‘We do our job, Jude stays safe. Or so you promise.’

‘I am a man of my word, soldier,’ Khosa said, his big hand still resting on the cannon and the cannon still pointing at Ben’s heart. ‘When I say I will do something, I do it. You can depend on that.’

‘The part I’m not clear on is just how long you intend to keep us here,’ Ben said. ‘One month? Six? We don’t make for the easiest hostages to handle.’

‘Right,’ Jeff said tersely.

‘Six months,’ Khosa said, with a nonchalant shrug. ‘One year. Two. As long as it takes, soldier. But I advise you, I am not a patient man. I expect results quickly.’

Ben stared at him. ‘You haven’t thought this through, have you, Khosa? You’re too lost in your own little fantasy world. People will be looking for us. The kind of people you don’t want to deal with.’

‘There is nothing I cannot deal with,’ Khosa said. ‘You will learn this, if you have not learned it already. I have the power to do whatever I choose. If I am satisfied that you are doing a good job, perhaps I will choose to extend our deal for another ten years. It is, how do you say? An open-ended contract.’ Khosa chuckled at his own joke.

In Ben’s mind, he stepped up to the desk. Snatched the model cannon from under Khosa’s hand and weighed it in his own. A solid cast-iron lump, plenty of heft to it. Plenty of damage when he smashed it down with all his might on the top of Khosa’s head, cracking open the man’s skull. And plenty more when he kept on hammering until the African’s brains were pulped all over the polished mahogany.

And then all it would take would be one brief phone call from Dizolele or any of the rest, and somewhere out there a gun would be pressing at Jude’s temple and the order would be given.

‘He dies, you die,’ was all Ben could say.

Khosa gave him the demon smile.

‘Rest well tonight, soldier. My men will show you to your accommodation, which I trust you will find satisfactory. Eat and drink all you want. Tomorrow you begin your duties.’ He stood. ‘And now, if you will excuse me, I have a diamond to sell.’

While Ben and the others were en route with Khosa’s convoy, Jude Arundel had been heading towards his own unknown destination.

The conversation in the back of the Mercedes limousine had been every bit as uncomfortable as the ride over endless miles of potholes and ruts. Jude was sandwiched between the tall, dapper César Masango, the man who called himself General Khosa’s political attaché, and another well-dressed though somewhat less elegant African who went by the name of Promise. If Masango looked like a rich lawyer, Promise looked like an enforcer for a gangster operation. The muscles, dark glasses and Uzi submachine gun contributed significantly to the effect.