The War of Immensities (53 page)

The silence
grew in the room like a nuclear mushroom cloud, and one by one they
turned and stared.

“It’s that
big?” Roy gasped with sudden realisation.

“Yes, it
is.”

“It’s the big
one,” he cried as the knowledge firmed like concrete within
him.

“Do we have a
deal?” Lorna asked with eyebrows raised benignly.

“We do.”

“Believe me. We
need the money. There is no possibility that you’ll be
disappointed.”

For two days
they were marched along the ridgelines and through the valleys of
the mountains to the west of Lake Nyasa. Even Wagner, and certainly
Fabrini, struggled in the oppressive heat while the locals lost
none of the spring from their stride. The lengthy and arduous trek,
Wagner was certain, was a meandering one designed to obscure the
actual location of the camp, poised as it was above the capital,
preparing for the final assault. Twice they were ambushed by
government troops but the leader of the march had the wisdom to run
most of his force to the flanks of the central group, and the
contacts were soon forced wide and away from them.

They had
finally entered Malawi without official permission, by helicopter
and landed in the town of Kasungu, the nearest settlement, they had
been assured, to the main rebel camp. There they made it known they
wished to speak to the rebel leader, Mombatu. No one had ever heard
of him in Kasungu. Then, in the night as they left the only tavern
in town where plainly Carlsberg had the beer monopoly, they were
accosted by men with machineguns who made it plain they should
follow.

They were taken
in trucks at first, and then on foot through dense forest. Fabrini
ran out of patience on the first day and by the second was too
exhausted to continue his grumbling. He had nasty blisters on his
feet to keep him quiet. Wagner strode on, but even he was becoming
no less blistered and frustrated.

Then they were
in the camp, and the only real way of knowing was that the
population of men in rags with shining new Kalashnikov’s slowly
began to increase until they were all around, watching quietly with
suspicious eyes. Mombatu was just another man in rags, although he
was a little fatter than the rest, and could offer flamboyant
gestures in comparison to his sullen, taciturn troops. He spoke in
the sort of perfect rhythmic English that only blacks can
achieve.

“Ahh, Mr.
Wagner, welcome to our humble headquarters.”

“A pleasure to
arrive,” Wagner replied.

“Nevertheless,
do please forgive us the runaround. There are security measures
that need to be taken, of the sort of which I am sure you are well
acquainted.”

Wagner was
determined not to admit anything. “I suppose you are Mr.
Mombatu.”

“Please.
Colonel is my official rank. You should adopt one for yourself.”
Mombatu said and looked appropriately proud of himself.

“I am a
civilian, Colonel. Just a tourist, really. At least that’s what my
passport says.”

The truth was,
Mombatu was no different to the lethargic and officious border
guards who seemed to make their own rules when stamping the visas
and searching the luggage. The rebel leader might have been
embarrassed on their behalf.

“Such
formalities mean little here. My goodness, Mr. Fabrini, you do look
most unwell. A chair in the shade and a drink for our visitors.
Handsomely, now.”

Mombatu snapped
his fingers, and men even more lethargic than Fabrini responded.
They were seated and Carlsberg was provided, and Mombatu sat before
them, in the sun, his hands on his knees they way schoolboys do in
class photographs.

“You declare
yourself a tourist, Mr. Wagner, and yet you come to my country with
troops and combat equipment of the most sophisticated kind.”

Wagner jerked
his head toward the plain below. “Since the earthquake, it’s chaos
down there, Colonel, as you well know. The rioters have already
overthrown the government on your behalf and the government troops
have been driven out of the city and most of the major towns. Those
troops lie between you and the seat of government, fighting for
their lives because they know they’ll be butchered to a man if they
surrender. Now both sides are gathering into their tribal groups
and taking on all others. There is wholesale slaughter
everywhere.”

“Ah, and since,
as you say, the government has fallen, you must switch your
allegiance from them to us.”

“We are on
neither side, and want to make with you exactly the same
arrangement that we have with the government, without fear or
favour.”

“A barbed wire
fence cannot be the most comfortable kind to sit on, Mr.
Wagner.”

“We have to be
able to work with whichever side wins this conflict, and with both
sides while the conflict remains unresolved.”

“A most
audacious demand, Mr. Wagner. In this state of total propaganda,
how can we be sure of your intentions?”

“You must
listen to the foreign radio broadcasts?”

Mombatu offered
a look of mock horror. “Against the law, as you know.”

“Will it remain
against the law when you have the power, Colonel?” Wagner asked
slyly.

“I do not seek
power. I seek to free my people,” Mombatu declared with
assurance.

No doubt,
Wagner knew, after all of his opponents had been properly tortured
and purged.

And maybe,
Wagner considered, it was a natural law that brutal and barbaric
men like this one were the only kind capable of overthrowing
tyrannical governments. Certainly, for all his cheery manner,
Mombatu looked the part.

“So do we,”
Wagner was saying. “But we want to free your people from forces far
more powerful than the government troops you fight against.”

“So it is said.
Even I have the sense to fear your Professor Earthshaker, and his
ability to control volcanoes. You would be dead already, were it
not the case.”

“Perhaps half a
million people have been snared by the Shastri Effect, Colonel. You
must help us help them.”

Mombatu gave a
helpless shrug. “The people have scattered. As you say, it is chaos
down there. What you ask may not be possible in the
circumstances.”

“Possible or
not, it must be achieved,” Wagner said emphatically. In truth he
wanted nothing more than to use his superior firepower to step on
vermin like Mombatu, but knew he must not let his revulsion show.
As with a savage dog, you needed to be firm and sure.

“And there is
another little difficulty,” Mombatu said with another helpless
expression.

Now we are
coming to it, Wagner knew. After the impossible was accomplished,
there were the strategic considerations to be dealt with.

“Which is?”

“The eruption
of the volcano and the disappearance of the lake struck great fear
into the hearts of my people, and many thousands of them fell into
a sleep and did not awaken for many days.”

Wagner nodded
as if such were everyday events. “These are the people we want to
protect.”

“But this
remarkable event was a sign from the gods. It was the instruction
to rise up and overthrow their tyrannical masters, once and for
all.”

“Yeah. The
interesting thing about a propaganda press is that it can be made
to work both ways,” Wagner said with fraying patience.

“The people you
seek therefore lie at the heart of this popular revolution.”

“And they’ll
remain that way,” Wagner said, and leaned forward with his elbows
on his knees, lowering his voice as if about to share a secret. “In
just twelve days from now, all of those people will rise up and
begin a pilgrimage. They will go as one, in a single
direction.”

Mombatu frowned
dubiously. “How do you know this?”

“Believe me,”
Wagner said, nodding emphatically. “I can prove it to you, if I
must.”

“I have seen
the pictures and heard the words of these marches of the masses,”
Mombatu admitted. “You think it will happen here too?”

“It will
definitely happen here too. As I say, in twelve days time. We know
the exact moment they will begin and the exact direction they will
follow. And there will be half a million of them.”

“It will be a
miracle,” Mombatu cried excitedly.

Wagner
continued keeping his voice level and adamant. “When they go, the
path before them must be declared a no man’s land. Before then, it
must be cleared. Before then, the pilgrims must all be gathered
such that when they move they do not stray outside the
demilitarised zone.”

Mombatu’s mouth
was open and he gazed all around, as if the right words might be
captured like flies. “What you ask is preposterous...”

“You miss the
point. All these things will happen. All I ask of you is that you
cooperate and go along with it when it happens. I’m giving you the
opportunity to exploit it to your advantage.. All you have to do is
get your men to cooperate.”

Mombatu looked
glum. He was sure that someone was trying to saw off a small branch
of his power. And, when he thought about, he knew who, or thought
he did. “My soldiers will do what I tell them... But why should I
cooperate with an American, whose mysterious forces shall must come
only under orders of the President of the U. S. A.”

It was a blind,
to try and allow time for the rebel to think. But it was always
hard for such men to think when the letters CIA were flashing
before their eyes.

“You know I’m
nothing of the kind,” Wagner declared with a lowered brow. “And I
can control the path the pilgrims will follow. Think of it, half a
million people, rebels and government troops alike, marching in a
direct line to the capital. I can order the government troops to
stop fighting and offer them an escape route, all you have to do is
allow them to escape. I can make the pilgrims march directly to the
palace, and all you have to do is walk in front of them.”

That was a
better image. Mombatu smiled at the thought, savoured it, bathed in
it. “How can you do this?”

“When at night
the people have listened to the foreign radio and after the news
programs have ended, isn’t there a single voice amongst the
thousands of voices that they hear which reaches right into their
hearts.”

“Is there?”

“You know there
is.”

“Do I?”

Okay, we’ll do
it the long slow way, Wagner was smiling to himself. He dangled the
bait and the fish was eyeing it with growing hunger. “It is the
voice that will call them all together and tell them which way to
go. And they will follow, whether you help or not.”

“Tell me of
this voice?” Mombatu gasped, as if he hardly dared think it.

“Andromeda
Starlight.”

There was a
massive intake of air from all in earshot, and that seemed to
include Fabrini. Wagner sat back, looking delighted with
himself.

“She would come
here and lead these people?” Mombatu spluttered.

“If you
guarantee her safety, yes she will.”

“She is of the
Maravi?” Mombatu frowned.

“She is the
spiritual leader of all Maravi, in their hearts, as you know.”

Mombatu did
know. He did listen to the foreign broadcasts after all. “Yes, I do
know. So she is.”

Wagner could
only smile. (‘Bullshit!’ Andromeda Starlight had raged when the
idea was put to her three days earlier. ‘I’m from fucking
Trinidad.’

‘But your
ancestors. Surely they... The slave trade...’

‘No, fuck it.
They emigrated from Sierra Leone.’)

But he looked
Mombatu right in the eye and said. “Yes, she’ll be here to lead
them, if that’s what you want.”

Now that he had
embarked upon a life of crime, there seemed to be little reason why
he did not follow his snout into the trough for a thoroughgoing
wallow. After all, that had been the fashion amongst the rich and
powerful for centuries.

Joe Solomon had
always regarded himself as an honest man, the sort of lawyer that
one could allow to attend to trusts or wills with confidence. He
was the sort of man who paid his traffic fines promptly, who walked
back into shops because the salesclerk had offered him a few cents
more change than he was due, who guarded the financial affairs of
all sorts of people, rich and poor, honest or the reverse, never
overcharged for his services and didn’t charge at all if the client
couldn’t afford to pay. A lifetime devoted to impeccable honesty.
Thus he was just a little shocked to discover that he had swindled
the US taxpayers out of many millions of dollars.

Yet it was so.
Of course, he could justify it all. The money had come from suspect
sources in any case, and he had not been required to lie at any
time throughout the long weeks of interrogation. They had
investigated him up and down and around and around and no charges
had been laid. There was a suggestion that there might be charges
later, but that was just one of those threats that petty
officialdom makes as an admission that it was wrong.

No one had
proven anything against him. No one could call him thief without
the serious risk of litigation for slander. No one, that was,
except Joe himself, who made the accusation every time he looked in
the mirror, and saw the guilt in the suspect’s eyes. But he knew
the solution to that problem. He needed to stop looking in
mirrors.

The truth was,
as a man with failed kidneys and a dicey liver and being
overweight, high blood pressured and sedentary in his wheelchaired
ways, he wasn’t going to last. Moreover, the planet was on an even
shorter life expectancy. Seven months tops. There just wasn’t going
to be time to get him into a courtroom, even if they nailed him
dead to rights. That was the first justification.

The second came
from Lorna. ‘It isn’t as if you’re stealing their money for
personal gain, Joe. You’re using it for the benefit of all
humanity. That makes it different.’ Sure it did. Al Capone and
Adolf Hitler would have made the same argument. Al supplied
moonshine to a nation crippled by evil prohibition, and there would
certainly have been a peaceful planet, free of racial and religious
wars, if everyone left alive was a blonde, blue-eyed heathen Nazi.
You could justify anything that way if you were sufficiently
deluded.