Mortal Crimes: 7 Novels of Suspense (189 page)

“It’s quite easy to raise a news crew in Washington,” Anton said. “They’re ready at all times and they’d love a story about a high government official soon to be arrested for treason. I called them all.”

“Dammit, Markov, there’s a national emergency unfolding in Namibia. We can’t have this story break before morning. You’re putting American forces in jeopardy.”

“No,
you’re
putting them in jeopardy. But you don’t care about the health and safety of American agents, you’ve already shown that.”

“Markov,” she pleaded, suddenly desperate. “For God’s sake, listen to me.” She saw everything she’d worked for evaporating—twenty years of climbing, contacts, doing
whatever
it took to get ahead, gone. “Don’t you understand what’s going on? This is the best we’ve ever had to free ourselves from Middle Eastern oil. Do you know how many Americans have died to protect a supply of oil from fanatics and two-bit dictators? And now you’re coming in, knowing nothing, and undermining the top secret policy of the President of the United States, the most forward thinking, ambitious move of the last hundred years. This is way above your pay grade, Anton.”

“No, you listen.” There was anger in his voice and Sarah wondered what she could have possibly done to make an enemy of this man. “The only thing left to do is call off whatever forces you’ve sent to kill me. That will only backfire in a big way. Meanwhile, you can either surrender or you can turn on the TV and see what CNN has to say about the smoking wreckage of your career. I’ll be up shortly to take you by force.”

He hung up and turned his back. She realized with a shock that she’d drawn open the curtain to look more closely at the news crews. And there were cameras trained on her window; they had her on film already.

She shrank back in horror.

________

William Ikanbo, acting president of Namibia, met with the prime minister and half a dozen of the most powerful members of parliament. They gathered in the Presidential Palace and William took a seat behind the ex-president’s desk while the men sat in a semi-circle in front of him. One man had a swollen left eye; Colonel Helck’s men had been overly zealous in summoning him to the meeting.

If there was any question who was in charge of the meeting, William had positioned Colonel Helck and half a dozen soldiers at the doorway and around the room, armed.

William had just finished explaining how foreign assassins had infiltrated the Presidential Palace in the night and murdered the president. Only William’s quick thinking, together with some loyal army troops, had saved the Namibian government from complete collapse. He could see that none of them believed it, but that didn’t really matter.

“So you see, with the president dead and foreigners in the country, we have no choice but to declare an emergency. I will be taking full control of the government until the crisis has passed, and I require your full cooperation.”

The prime minister was a timid man, a compromise candidate between various factions. He was not given to asserting himself, but he cleared his throat and said, “But we need to follow the Constitution, Mr. Ikanbo. It states that in the case of the death of the president, the prime minister is…”

“Let’s be honest, sir,” William cut him off. “You are not capable of handling this emergency. You have no ties with the army, little standing with the people, and lead a weak coalition. Someone stronger than you must run the government or we risk collapse and complete control by foreign powers.” He slid a sheet of paper across the table. “This is a statement that you are too ill to run the government at this time. And that you pledge your support for my unity government.”

The prime minister looked at the paper, glumly. “But what about the Deputy-Prime Minister? She is next in line, according to the Constitution.”

“Alas, the Deputy-Prime Minister was in a car accident as she rushed to join us. Her injuries are severe and she is not expected to survive.” William tapped his finger on the resignation letter and handed the Prime Minister a pen, which the man took with a frown. “Next in line, as I’m sure you’re aware, is a person appointed by the cabinet. The cabinet has chosen me to lead the government through the crisis.” He looked at the other men. “Are there any objections?”

There weren’t, as it turned out, or at least none that were voiced. Now, to add a little incentive to command their loyalty. Fear alone wouldn’t do.

“Good, now as my special representatives within parliament, and with the extra workload you’ll be forced to carry as you help me make the transition, it’s only fair to offer you a bonus to your regular salary. Here is an advance against that bonus.”

He lifted a briefcase and set it on top of the desk. Some of the men leaned forward, others eyed it skeptically. Inside were bundles of American and Namibian dollars, South African Rand, and euros. About fifty thousand U.S., William had figured, would do for a start.

William had liberated the vaults of several banks during the night in order to free enough cash to get the new government up and running. He’d soon have access to a lot more.

He divided the money among the seven men. Colonel Helck’s soldiers eyed the exchange and William realized he’d have to start handing out similar incentives to troops who’d followed him into the city if he wanted to maintain their loyalty.

“Two of my men will escort you to the television station. It’s important that you broadcast your support as soon as possible. After that, we’ll see you to your homes, station guards to make sure you stay safe.” He stood. “That is all.”

As soon as the men left, William followed Colonel Helck outside. Two tanks guarded the entrance, together with several dozen men who set up bunkers and artillery pieces.

“What now?” Helck asked.

“Are the checkpoints in place?”

“Yes, mostly.”

“Good, I want every vehicle entering or leaving the city inspected.”

“What are we looking for?”

William shrugged. “CIS agents, police officers trying to escape, that sort of thing. But mostly I want to show that we’re in charge. Stabilize the situation.”

“And what about the rest of the army, how are you going to bring them over?”

“We’ll contact the Old Crab this morning, make a generous retirement offer. Same goes for the other officers. I don’t expect a problem. A bigger issue is my brother. Any word about Charles?”

“Intelligence is bad,” Helck said. “There has been some fighting up north, including a skirmish outside an army base. I don’t know if it was men loyal to our cause, or maybe your brother, or what. I did get a call from the Americans. They’re not fully onboard yet, but they’re flying surveillance missions over the north of the country, including the Ondjamba camp. We should get word shortly.”

“You know what I think?” William said. “I think Charles will try something, and soon.”

In fact, William thought as he looked to the east, where the sun lit the horizon in pink, he suspected that Charles had been busy throughout the night, preparing a counter punch. Where and how would it fall?

________

Malcolm Hathwell leaned back in his Broyhill Giannelli leather executive chair. To his left, Abe Goldberg studied a bank of monitors suspended from the ceiling that showed captioned video news feeds around the world and current valuations of handpicked equities updated twice a second. To his right, James Ivie sat before a solitary computer screen, which was hopelessly dwarfed by the table on which it sat.

All three had been there all night. The room smelled like stale turnips. And yet, Malcolm was quite sure that either of his senior partners would happily wash his feet if he so much as suggested it. The atmosphere in the room was like a college frat party without the beer and women.

The best part was that the financial markets were in such turmoil that nobody even knew yet what he had pulled off. There had been no calls from the Wall Street Journal, no congratulatory emails from Warren Buffett or Peter Lynch. Almost anyone who could have appreciated his triumph was either hungover or frantically trying to catch up.

Within seconds of leaking the news about the Namibian oil field, Malcolm’s buying spree had begun. He had it timed perfectly. A frenzy ensued, and he was on the rising edge, pushing the price of over two dozen core equities higher and faster than anyone could have believed. And he kept buying.

The acceleration in price started a panic. The key was to know when to stop. Only one man had done the calculations to predict the correct valuation of the companies in play given the suggested size of the new oil field. It would have been nice to have a week to run more rigorous economic forecast models, but his team of investment bankers had done a damn good job. No leaks.

So when price of oil collapsed in the American futures markets and companies on his watch list in Hong Kong, London, and Tokyo exchanges approached three times his expected valuation, he flipped the switch. The last two hours had been all about selling.

He’d started slow, trying not to be noticed among the buying that continued unchecked all around him. Then he started in earnest, shedding stocks as fast as he could and putting his profits into rock bottom oil futures. His partners had been more than skeptical.

“Ride it further! Ride her like a bitch in heat!” had been Goldberg’s advice, but Malcolm had done the risk analysis – anything beyond three times valuation and he was likely to come down with the ricochet.

Ivie had been on the brink of overriding Malcolm when the news feed came in, like an angel of God, riding in on gossamer wings. There was unrest in the Namibian capitol. Unconfirmed reports of violence. Malcolm’s partners had stared in shock at the unexpected news.

“Get off your asses!” he shouted. “Sell everything, now!”

Thank God they’d been selling already or they’d have been caught with their pants down, like everyone else. They liquidated every last share.

It had been just in time. An hour later when it became clear there was a coup attempt underway, the market became violently erratic. Two hours later, it crashed. Now Malcolm watched with a grin as one by one, the stock prices overshot his valuation in a downward trajectory. News feeds all over the world were about one thing, the Namibian coup. Nobody had crews on the ground, but they would within hours. In the meantime, there were parades of experts and pundits, discussing every frantic phone call in pigeon English from Windhoek residents.

And Malcolm had made more money in the crash than he had in the buying spree. Pure gold. He owed Terrance big time. Of course, “owed” was a term of art in his business. Like he
owed
his mother for washing his socks. It didn’t mean his mother would get anything but a nice birthday card and a phone call on Mother’s Day.

When the news came that trading on American exchanges was suspended for the rest of the day, Malcolm was sitting on twenty billion dollars that hadn’t been there twelve hours earlier.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Ian’s army approached Windhoek from the north. They seized the B1, which was the main trunk road into Windhoek, near the slums on the northwest edge of the city. There was an army blockade across the highway, behind which a long line of cars trying to flee the city had stacked up.

Julia thought there would be a fight, but after a brief exchange of gunfire that sent civilians fleeing in all directions, the Namibian army forces retreated into the city.

Ian and Julia rode in a Jeep near the front of the formation and he stood to watch the retreat through a pair of binoculars. He sat back down as the Blackwing commanders shouted through bullhorns to clear civilian vehicles off the road.

Once the road was clear, Charles Ikanbo and his Central Intelligence Service men streamed past in trucks armed with heavy machine guns, scavenged from Blackwing supply depots at Ondjamba. They exited the B1 a quarter of mile ahead of where Blackwing set about fortifying the roadside.

“Where are they going?” Ian asked.

Julia had a map spread in her lap. She glanced down, then up at the exit signs. “Hosea Kutako Drive. It will take Charles into Windhoek Central.”

Ian pulled out his satellite phone and raised one of his commanders. “Follow Ikanbo. Go until you reach—” He tapped at an intersection on the map.

“Robert Mugabe,” Julia filled in. She looked at Ian. He was sweating, uncomfortable, distracted.