Minute Zero (20 page)

Harare, Zimbabwe
Sunday, 10:35 a.m. Central Africa Time

H
is Excellency, Father of the Nation and Warrior of the People, President Winston H. R. Tinotenda, will see you now,” said the butler.

“My dear Simba.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency. I am not interrupting your morning tea?”

“Please come in. It is a glorious morning for Zimbabwe. Would you like some tea?”

“It is indeed a beautiful morning, but I have no time for tea. I’m afraid I come bearing some troubling news.”

“Oh, dear,” said the president, who coughed and then shooed away the butler with a flick of his wrist.

“I hoped you would be coming to tell me of another landslide victory. I have great plans for my next term. For you, Simba, in my next term.”

“
Sekuru
, I am coming to you straight from the election commissioner’s office.”

“Who is the commissioner? Whittington?”

“No, Your Excellency, you dismissed Chief Justice Whittington years ago. The current commissioner is Judge Makwere.”

“Ahh, that’s right. Makwere. That old fool. My wife’s uncle. He owes his career to me. He owes his life to me. I made him chief justice?”

“No,
Sekuru
, you made him election commissioner.”

“Of course, of course.”

“
Sekuru
, I just came from Makwere’s office and he had some disturbing news. He refused to come here to brief you himself. He is afraid.”

“Afraid? Who is afraid to give me bad news?”

“
Sekuru
, you know the answer to that. That is why I am here.”

“That is why I can trust you with my most important assignments, Simba. What is this bad news?”

Simba Chimurenga, despite his ample self-confidence, took a small step back as he delivered the message. “According to the current vote tally, Your Excellency . . . Gugu Mutonga has more votes.”

Tino dropped his chin and shook his head. “I have lost?”

“No, Your Excellency, you have not lost. Not yet. The count is not yet complete. Not yet official. I have ordered Makwere to check his figures and recount if necessary.”

Tino shook his head and slumped deeper into his chair.

“Makwere’s recount will, I am certain, show you have won reelection, Your Excellency. If he makes a mistake again, I will be sure any errors are corrected.”

“I lost . . .” the president muttered to himself.

“
Sekuru
, do not talk that way. If you are ready to retire, we will arrange for you to do so after you are reelected by the people. You will rest when you are ready, not when the traitors and turncoats have cheated you. You will retire when you are ready. When
we
decide you are ready. Not like this.”

“I am tired of fighting. Perhaps it is more honorable to step down now?”

“Is it honorable for the puppets to be manipulated by the British and the Americans? To trick our people—
your people
—with their propaganda? No! Your legacy is too important to allow the enemies of the revolution to succeed. No! We cannot allow them to win!”

“I don’t know, Simba.”

“I will take care of the voting,
Sekuru
. You will only have to accept victory later today. I will arrange everything. You only need to arrive and claim your triumph.”

The president coughed against the back of his hand and turned to the window. “Where are my herons?”

“Your Excellency, leave it to me. I will take care of everything. It cannot be any other way. We cannot give up now when the barbarians are at the gate. They are clever, but we must be steadfast. We must be ruthless.”

“I don’t see my herons,” Tino muttered.

“If someone is stealing from us, do we turn the other cheek? No. If someone is stealing from us, do we allow that? No. They will be crushed.”

The president coughed weakly.

“How did we deal with Chirundu and Gokwe and Kanyemba? We crushed them, did we not?”

“We did,” said Tino, still looking away.

“I must give you some more bad news, Your Excellency,” said Simba impatiently.

“What could be worse?”

“General Zagwe is dead.” Tinotenda turned to meet Chimurenga’s face.

“Solomon? Dead? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Who could tell you other than me?”

“How?”

“A fire at his villa around midnight destroyed the house and killed everyone inside.”

“A fire? How did that happen? Who could have done that?”

“The investigation is not yet complete. I have sealed off the area.”

“But I promised to protect him.”

“I am sorry,
Sekuru
.”

“You were in charge of his security, Simba. You were supposed to protect him for me. Who could have killed him? How could you have failed?”

“I did not fail.”

“What?”

“Zagwe was stealing.”

“What are you saying?” The old man’s eyes narrowed.

“I am certain he was stealing from you and from me.”

“What are you saying, Simba?” Tino’s hands clenched into fists.

“If you receive two hundred and seventy-five million dollars and only tell your partners you have one hundred and fifty million, then are you not stealing? Do you not agree, Your Excellency?”

“What are you saying, Simba?”

“I already told you. If someone is stealing from us, they will be crushed.”

“Solomon was under my protection.”

“Sekuru”
—Chimurenga took a step closer to the old man and looked down at him—“
you
are now under my protection.”

Molweni Hotel, Cape Town, South Africa
Sunday, 11:05 a.m. Central Africa Time

M
ariana Leibowitz couldn’t believe what she was hearing. They were so close and now it was all going to hell.

“Missing?”

“Yes, ma’am, he’s missing.”

“How does the goddamn election commissioner go missing an hour before he’s due to announce the results of the biggest election in the country’s history? How the fuck does that happen?”

“I don’t know, ma’am. Maybe he has the fear.”

“The fear? You mean he fled? Where would he flee?”

“I don’t know, ma’am.”

“Maybe they killed him?”

“Yes, ma’am. Maybe.”

The young Zimbabwean campaign staffer, embarrassed by the American woman’s brash manner and foul language, was grateful when Mariana’s phone rang.

“About goddamn time I heard from you, Judd!” she shouted, picking up after one ring. “Where is the embassy? Where is the fucking embassy? I haven’t heard shit from them!”

“Good morning, Mariana.”

“Don’t give me that, Judd. Where is the United States government when we need them? I told you Gugu Mutonga won this thing!”

“I’m waiting on your data.”

“I told you! We’re working on all the numbers, but it’s clear she won by a landslide. A fucking landslide, Judd.”

“Congratulations, Mariana.”

“I’m not celebrating. This thing is far from over. You know Makwere is missing, right? He’s goddamn missing!”

“Who’s Makwere?”

“Oh, good Lord, Judd. He’s the goddamn election commissioner! He’s supposed to announce the official results in less than an hour and no one knows where he is.”

“So where is he?”

“If he was smart, he’s fled to Botswana or Dubai or somewhere far away. But he was never too clever, so he’s probably dead. I wouldn’t be surprised if we find out later today he’s been killed in a car accident.”

“Car accident?”

“Zimbabwe’s top politicians are always having car accidents. Didn’t you read your briefing book?”

“So what’s our next move, Mariana?”

“That’s where you come in.”

“I’m listening,” Judd said.

“We have no idea what’s going to happen with the official announcement. Clearly, the government is panicking. If they haven’t figured out yet that Tinotenda has lost, they will soon. I’m going to need the U.S. embassy to release the
real
results. Can you make that happen?”

Judd didn’t answer.

“Judd,” she continued, with mild panic rising in her voice, “you
are
going to make this happen, right?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“Isn’t that why you called me? To get the election data?”

“No, actually, I called for a completely different reason.”

“What could that possibly be?”

“I know about Lucky Magombe.”

“Yes, fine, Judd. I should have told you he’s the one paying me. I didn’t tell you. But I didn’t see it as relevant. I don’t see any problem.”

“That’s not the issue. How well do you know Lucky?”

“He’s a client. A self-made millionaire. Smart as a whip. Data freak, like you. Patriotic, too. He’s just trying to fix his country so he can go home. That’s why he’s backing Gugu Mutonga. That’s why he’s paying me.”

“Do you know all his activities?”

“Of course not. How could I?”

“Well, it’s a problem.”

“I don’t believe he’s into anything illegal. Why would he? What’s he done?”

“I can’t say. But trust me, it’s serious.”

“So why are you telling me?”

“I need you to tell him to cool it. To call it off. He’s only going to make matters worse. It’ll destroy everything we are doing. It’ll destroy Gugu, too.”

“Tell him to call
what
off, Judd?”

“Just tell him to stop playing cricket. I can’t say any more. Lucky will understand.”

“What?”

“
Cricket.
He’ll understand. You have to trust me on this one. And you have to do it right now.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll pass the message.”

“And for God’s sake, Mariana, tell him to stay off the telephone.”

“The phone? Is he bugged?”

“It’s a deal, right?” Judd asked.

“Are
we
bugged right now? Who is listening to us, Judd?”

“Tell me it’s a deal, Mariana.”

“Yes. Okay. Deal. You work on the embassy and I’ll get you the election data.”

“And you’ll tell Lucky.”

“I’ll tell Lucky,” Mariana repeated. “Is there anything else?”

“I need you to reach out to Landon Parker again.”

“Me? You work for him.”

“I know, but this message is better coming from an outsider. It’s better coming from you, Mariana.”

“Which is . . . ?”

“You remember I asked you about Max O’Malley?”

“Sure. The President’s bundler.”

“And you asked me what he’s got to do with Zimbabwe?”

“Yes . . . Don’t tell me he’s involved with this cricket business?”

“No. It’s quite the opposite.”

“I’m listening.”

“He’s funding the other side.”

“What do you mean?”

“Max O’Malley is the secret business partner for”—Judd swallowed hard—“Simba Chimurenga.”

Leesburg, Virginia
Sunday, 5:16 a.m. Eastern Standard Time

W
illiam Alfred Rogerson lay awake in his four-poster bed staring at the Georgian-era cornice on his ceiling. The sun had not yet risen, so he couldn’t see the trees outside his window or the barn beyond them that housed his prize show horse, a chestnut gelding named Roosevelt.

Instead, he lay there, listening for predawn birdsong and trying to block out the frustrations of the office. The chirping of a phone broke his bedroom’s serenity.
Khartoum?
That was the first thought that ran through his mind.
Or maybe Kinshasa? Or Stuttgart?
Rogerson groaned as he rolled over in bed to reach for the handset. He squinted with one eye. A video call from Embassy Harare. He groaned again and answered.

“What’s the emergency?”

“Sorry, Bill,” said the pale face on the screen. “I didn’t want to wake you, but we’ve got a problem.”

“What is it, Arnie?” asked Rogerson as he plucked his reading glasses off the side table and slid them onto the end of his nose.

“Ryker.”

“Goddamn Landon Parker!” blurted Rogerson. “I told him sending Ryker was a stupid idea. But you know the seventh floor. They always know best. What’s Ryker done this time?”

“Completely off the reservation on the election statement.”

“You woke me before sunrise on a Sunday morning for an election statement?”

“I’m sorry, Bill. The official election results are due to be announced at noon local time. That’s forty minutes from now. I’m trying to get the U.S. statement ready to release as soon as they announce the results. I don’t want a moment of uncertainty. I want to nail this thing down as quickly as we can. We can’t have confusion here about where the United States stands. It could create problems if we wait too long.”

“Fine, Arnie. So what’s the problem?”

“Ryker won’t clear it.”

“What do you mean he won’t clear it? He doesn’t have to goddamn clear it.”

“Ryker has some of the bureaus back in D.C. worried about crossing Landon Parker. They’re holding things up until we get agreement on the text.”

Proxy war punk,
thought Rogerson. He steeled himself and exhaled deeply. It was too early to get pissed off about Ryker. “Can we live with his changes to the statement? It’s not policy. It’s just a report of your observer mission, right?”

“That’s the problem. It’s not a few tweaks. Ryker’s insisting we go in a
completely different
direction. He wasn’t even part of the observer team, but he’s refusing to cave. I keep telling him this is what headquarters wants.
This is what
you
want.
But he’s stonewalling. I can send it over now. If you clear it, I’ll get the others to go along.”

“Don’t send it. We can do this right now. Read it to me.”

“Yes, Bill. One second. I’ve got it right here . . .” Rogerson glanced at the clock.
Five eighteen in the morning. For
Zimbabwe
?

“Okay, ready, Bill. ‘On behalf of the United States of America, I want to congratulate the people of Zimbabwe for their peaceful vote. The election has been an historic opportunity for the people of Zimbabwe to come together to build a better future. Across the country, ordinary Zimbabweans turned out by the thousands to exercise their fundamental democratic rights. We are inspired by the population’s desire to make their voices heard through the ballot box. We applaud the patience of those who waited hours to vote and commend all parties for waiting for the official tally. The American Embassy Election Observer Mission in Zimbabwe was satisfied with the conduct of the elections. We strongly urge all parties and their supporters to respect the determination of the election commission and to settle any disputes through the courts rather than the streets. The United States stands with Zimbabwe and will continue to be a strong friend and ally of the Zimbabwean people.’”

“Poetry, Arnie.”

“I’m glad you still like it, Bill.”

“
Still?
”

“It’s the statement you and I wrote together after the elections in Benin back in ’96. Nearly word for word.”

“Holds up, Arnie.”

“Yes, it does.”

“So what’s Ryker’s problem?”

“Ryker insists there are major problems with the election. That AEEOMZ got it wrong. That
I
got it wrong.”

“What went wrong?”

“If you ask him, everything. The conditions for a free and fair vote, the polling stations, the vote tallies.”

“Did you tell him it’s Africa? That no vote is perfect? That he’s being naïve?”

“Of course. He’s holding his ground. I told him a delay in the U.S. statement would have consequences. It would create uncertainty and could even spark violence. But he doesn’t care.”

“If persuasion won’t work, what about the facts? You’ve got the observer mission reports on your side. What’s his evidence?”

“He doesn’t have any. He says it’s coming.”

“Coming? The United States is supposed to sit on its hands and unnecessarily invite chaos in a foreign country while we wait for him? Ryker wants to withhold the U.S. endorsement on a hunch?”

“He’s not just asking for a delay. It’s much worse than that. He’s proposing alternative language condemning the official result. I’ll read it to you.”

“No, don’t. I don’t want to hear it. Ryker is trying to single-handedly change our policy.”

“Right.”

“That’s not his job.”

“That’s what I told him, Bill.”

“I won’t allow it.”

“He’s using his direct line to Landon Parker as leverage.”

“Not for long. I’ll sort this out,” said Rogerson.

“One more thing, Bill.”

“What is it, Arnie?” he growled.

“Ryker and this woman Espinosa from DOJ are asking questions.”

“About what?”

“An incident twenty years ago. An army operation in the north. Supposedly there were civilian deaths. I’m hearing from my staff they are digging deep and asking some tough questions around town about what happened.”

“Twenty years ago?”

“Yep.”

“He was sent to deal with the election and now he’s sticking his nose into ancient history?”

“That’s what I told him.”

“Ryker is supposed to be fixing crises, not creating new ones, goddammit.”

“Uh-huh,” Tallyberger grunted.

“Are there bodies in the streets? Are there bodies, Arnie?” Rogerson asked.

“No, sir.”

“Well, then, it’s not a crisis. Is it?”

“No, it’s not. What do you want me to do about it, Bill?”

“I told you, I’ll sort this out. I’ll sort Ryker out once and for all.”