Wings of the Morning (39 page)

‘There’s something else. The two most important men in my life are my father and my David. They’re both fixated with the need for something new. My father’s day is almost
done but I think his spirit is carrying on with David. That gives me a very personal reason to support this, but speaking just as another African, I think I’d be willing to give it a
try.’

King Offenbach came back at her, sounding less than convinced.

‘You sure about that last bit, Aischa? It sounds a mite casual to me, and when all’s said and done, you’re not just another African even if you were born there.’

Before Aischa could reply, Alexa had an answer for him.

‘King, you’ve told me about your childhood. Would your mother have cared who was in the White House when she was struggling with kids and bills?’

‘It’s a fair point,’ said Hugh supporting her, ‘and Aischa’s right too. None of us here live on the breadline. We don’t have to think before popping into the
supermarket or putting petrol in the car. So we don’t have the same priorities as a destitute family in Africa, — or one in Manila or Jakarta or Vietnam let me tell you. Wherever in the
world, if wondering where the next drink is coming from means simply finding fresh water, then you’re struggling through a life which none of us have experienced.’

David wanted to hear what Connie had to say, but it was Martin who chipped in first.

‘I’ve had more warning of this,’ he said, ‘because David had to think of the implications to our business. If he goes ahead, he’ll have to sever all connections
with The Mansion House and that has consequences for me as much as for him. I can’t say I’m delighted at the prospect. The company is doing very well and of course, it’s a large
part of our lives. My role is to keep the books here and I’ve never crossed the coastline of Africa in my life. So my first reaction was, why give up so much for such an uncertain future? Why
take such an enormous risk which is certain to cost your reputation, probably your health and perhaps your life? Why?

‘I talked it over with Ruth and she had good advice: she generally does. Think of how your father would have reacted, she said, so I’ve done that and come to a reluctant conclusion
that he would have supported David. He was a great one for tilting at windmills, was my Dad, and he had enough horrors in his own life to know you must sometimes think the unthinkable.’

King came back to ask, ‘Why have you got us together, David? Is it just for support? For approval? And why now?’

Pente nodded in agreement. Conrad was unmoving.

David replied, ‘You’re my friends, King, and you’re my family: of course I’d like your support, but I want advice as well and each of you is a vital asset. As to timing,
let me tell you more.’

He was interrupted by Conrad pushing back his chair. He rose and stood looking at David.

‘No,’ he said firmly, ‘don’t do that. I don’t want to know more and I wish I hadn’t heard this much. I’m entirely opposed to this wholly madcap scheme.
You’ve been too long in the African sun, David and it’s taken your mind and your morals. I’m pretty sure your plan is impossible in execution, but anyway it’s indefensible
in concept. How can you have the arrogance to assume that you know best? How dare you think that you should reorder the lives of an entire population? What gives you the right? What’s the
difference between this and Saddam’s move into Kuwait? You’ve made no mention of rights and respect; apparently you have no concerns for international law or democratic values. Are you
really expecting the rest of the world to stand aside and welcome in some sort of latter day buccaneer? And after your example, who next? I suppose we should expect some Mafioso or maybe a
Columbian drug baron to start helping themselves to their own patch somewhere and bugger the locals.

‘It’s appalling, the very idea of it. I’m surprised, Pente, that you don’t seem as outraged as I am. I’ve really got the same comment for you also, King. And as for
you, Hugh, I may admire your achievements, but you really can’t go zooming round the world just buying up what you fancy. I think you and David should both recognise that you live in this
world, warts and all, but not above it.’

Across the table, Alexa jumped as if she had been stung. Three men of monumental importance to her and it looked like war was breaking out.

‘Connie....’ she began, but he cut her off with a sweep of his hand.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘it’s not me provoking this rift, but as far as I’m concerned there’s no more to be said. Not now or ever for me. I’ll keep
my peace because of our past together, but I want nothing more to do with this. It’s just so wrong.’

He walked swiftly from the room and did not look back.

Mute silence followed his exit.

Hugh sat back in his chair and reached for a glass of water. Pente’s hand hovered over his cigar box. King studied his fingernails. David waited. Finally, he stretched both hands out in
front of him to grip the table top and he spoke more mildly than he felt.

‘Well. That was certainly not what I expected. Not what I wanted either,’ and then to the world at large he added, ‘I wonder where the hell I go from here.’

Before anyone could respond, Alexa rose and slipped away.

Hugh commented immediately, ‘I expect she’s gone to ring Tepee. She could do with some warning and perhaps she’ll calm him down. I’m sorry about this David.’

Aischa signalled to Ursula and they got up together to organise some tea. Martin excused himself to check on things in his office, a shorthand for getting out of the atmosphere for a break. Hugh
sat quietly to reflect. He had no doubt that Conrad’s feelings were genuine, but he suspected an additional agenda. He had felt a bit of animosity from Connie, a resentment that his long
established relationship with David was under threat from him.

Pente lit one of his cigars and climbed out of his seat to stalk around the room. As he walked, he prayed. They could use some help here. King was motionless as he watched David. The guy could
use a little space.

The three men remaining at the table sat on in silence, each immersed in his own thoughts. There was no self doubt in David. He was shocked by Connie’s outburst, but still as sure as ever.
He was right. This was his crusade and he was committed to it.

The tableau was preserved for a further five minutes until tea and drinks arrived. They served themselves and were seated again, Connie’s chair eloquently empty, as Alexa reappeared to
flash a worried smile as she took her place beside Hugh. She was followed into the room by Martin, who remained standing.

David said, ‘Look all of you, that was bad. I asked for reaction and I didn’t expect Connie’s, so now I feel like he’s been banished. Why don’t we wind things up
now and I’ll call you.’

‘Just hold on there, David,’ the interruption came from King, gesticulating with his elegant forefinger, ‘I do believe you’re reading this wrong. Credit to Conrad,
he’s come straight out and said he thinks the whole deal is a crock of shit. Maybe so, maybe not. But what about the rest of us? We’ve not said and you haven’t asked.
Right?’

David just nodded.

‘OK then. Here’s my contribution. I don’t have a problem with the principle. I find it has style and potential. But you’ve not given us anything more: nothing on where or
when or how. And all that’s goin’ to be real tough, perhaps not possible. Still, if you can work it through, I’ll be listening. On that basis, I’m in.’

David could see Pente stirring and turned to him.

‘I agree with King. I’d like to hear more. There are other issues for me, matters of conscience and faith. I need time for them and I need seclusion, but I know now that I
don’t share Connie’s outright rejection. I’ll be waiting David.’

David blew out a deep breath.

‘Thank you both. Now I know where you all stand. It’s up to me to take things forward. I have to put flesh on the bones. I’ll do that and then get us together again. Meanwhile,
I’ll leave you with a code name which is also a clue. I call it Project Zero.’

CONRAD AVELING — 1996

Connie’s anger was intense as he left The Mansion House, further fuelled by the memory of that day of savagery in Zambia, but his remedy was the polar opposite to David
Heaven’s. To raise the bar of standards, you have to work with what you’ve got. You have to involve, to research, to improve and to train: but evolve, not replace. Not for him
David’s chuck out the old and start again. That way lay anarchy. That meant mounting chaos as succeeding pirates imposed their own, self serving rules on a community. Connie thought of some
unsavoury Bastion clients and shuddered at the idea of them mounting a takeover. David must be losing his marbles: that or carried away by his own power complex and by the influence of Hugh Dundas.
Connie would never have believed it. This was a bloody dreadful day.

He took the train to Basingstoke, found a seat, tried to relax and failing, looked out on the suburbs and saw himself standing in the dust outside the small airport at Ndola, Zambia. He was
tired, hot and irritated that Rory Trollope was late. It was April 1992.

Rory Trollope had been with Bastion for only a short time. Conrad interviewed him in South Africa and he joined the company the following day, flying to Ndola where he took over the small team
on assignment to ZCCM, the Zambian Government owned conglomerate which controlled the country’s vital mining interests here in the copper belt. They needed the copper to sustain the lurching
economy, they needed expatriate expertise to produce the copper, and they needed Bastion to keep the expats feeling secure enough to work and to keep their families here.

Finding the right recruits for Bastion was a permanent challenge and Conrad insisted on talking to applicants himself. One of those he rejected was Rory Trollope. Conrad’s gut feel said
that the guy was overconfident and gung-ho, but that evening brought a knock on his hotel door. He opened it to see a man who looked to be in his late sixties, average height, trim figure,
remaining head hair grey and trimmed, upright bearing, immaculate in grey flannels, highly polished shoes, smart blazer and a regimental tie which signalled a loud message to Aveling.

‘Good evening, Sir,’ he spoke soft but firm, ‘Might I have a word please, Sir. I’m Rory Trollope’s father, Josh. Formerly of the Grenadier Guards, Sir.’

He would have snapped off a salute had that been in order, and Conrad replied ‘Come on in, Mr Trollope, and tell me what’s on your mind.’

With some difficulty, Josh Trollope was persuaded to accept a beer from the minibar and to take a seat. But he was not reluctant to speak.

‘Mr Aveling,’ he said, ‘you and I are from the same background, Sir, long term service in the best professional army in the world. I came out in ’64, just married to my
Moira who comes from these parts. Her father, long gone now rest his soul, had a farm outside Nelspruit and we took it on. It was a new life for me since I joined the Colours as a boy soldier. It
was tough going, but we made a fair go of it. Our son Rory is our only child, Moira couldn’t have more. She and I have decided to move back to UK. We’ve just sold the farm and will be
on our way by Christmas. We have just enough saved to get us by and I’m afraid I shan’t be sorry to go. There are big changes coming and they may be right and proper, but I reckon that
things here will get a lot worse before they get better, and that won’t be in our lifetime. For Rory, well it’s different of course. He was born, bred and educated here: never lived
anywhere else. He’s got to make his own way, but he’s all we’ve got and I’d like him to have the chance to widen his horizons a bit. Your firm straddles two worlds and he
has two passports. Your job seemed like the perfect chance for him and that matters to me. And so begging your pardon, Sir, but that’s what made me drive in this evening to ask what you see
wrong in him, see if there is anything I can explain.’

Conrad was careful to keep any suggestion of a smile from his face, but he rejoiced to hear the military discipline of a short, sharp précis and it came from his sort of man. Salt of the
earth and a fighting soldier from way back, the very type to have beside you and behind you.

He said, ‘Tell me why I should change my mind and take him on.’

Josh Trollope put down his glass on the table beside him and screwed up his weather beaten face in concentration before he replied.

‘My Rory is a tough nut for sure: fit, confident, well trained. He’s officer material, I’ll be bound Sir, and I’ve seen enough to know. Rory started with National Service
and then stayed in. He went through the full training and did well. Then he spent time in the Recces — that’s what they call the Special Forces here — and was noticed for his
ability in covert ops. He had good career prospects but he got restless. You know what the young ones are like these days, Sir. Sum it up, Mr Aveling, it’s hard to judge as a parent, but my
own feeling is that he’s weak in strategic appreciation. Tell him to kill or destroy ... and it’s job done. Ask him to consider why, and he’s lost. But he’s bright and he
can learn. He just needs a firm hand and the right leadership.’