Deep in thought, Richard escorted Anastasia and Robin back to their refurbished rooms in the orphanage and then over to the orphanage refectory for dinner. And the smell of the egusi soup and jolloff rice the staff and students were just about to eat proved irresistible, reminding him that he had skipped lunch altogether. Egusi soup was in fact a thick stew of minced beef and seafood with shredded spinach in a spiced tomato sauce. It was accompanied by traditional eba — roasted cassava flour seasoned and boiled then rolled into balls. It was eaten from a communal bowl and looked a little like mashed potato. Jolloff was a fiery rice full of chicken and all sorts of peppers. Richard tucked into it all hungrily. Then he went to the communications tent and found Kebila talking to his cousin. ‘Now that Odem’s on the water, you’ll have to keep a sharp lookout, Caleb,’ Kebila was saying. ‘And warn Captain Zhukov to do the same. He has explosives. The kind they put into vests for suicide bombers. In all likelihood he has a prisoner — so be wary of Russians staggering into your camp, particularly if it’s Brodski.’
‘Both Stalingrad and Volgograd have a full set of countermeasures in place, capable of handling anything he could throw at us,’ came Caleb’s reply. ‘But I’ll warn Mako and Ivan to keep extra watches out when we beach and set the Russians down to proceed on foot. At that point we’ll decide whether to wait or return. We’ll be in contact then, as planned. But I’ve been thinking: with Odem on the river, the orphanage’s back door is pretty wide open until we get back on to your slipway there. If you’re off upriver after the Army of Christ first thing tomorrow, then they’ll be vulnerable to attack from the water, even if you leave Sergeant Tchaba and a pretty strong squad to back him up.’
‘I’ve thought of that,’ said Kebila. ‘When I’ve finished speaking to you I was going to call for a couple of fast patrol boats to get up here at full speed.’
Richard held up his hand.
‘Wait, Caleb. Yes, Captain Mariner?’
‘Since the passage through the ruined bridge at Citematadi downstream has been cleared,’ said Richard, ‘you could get something bigger than a patrol boat past it. You could get a frigate up here if you wanted. She’d have to drop anchor as there’s no docking facility big enough to take her, but something like your frigate Otobo is as well armed as the Zubrs. And as fast as your fast patrol boats. If she could be spared from her sea duties …’
‘Did you hear that, Caleb?’ asked Kebila. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think Captain Sanda might never forgive you for taking his beautiful blue-water command and demoting her to brown-water duties. But apart from that, Captain Mariner is right. The river should be deep enough, Otobo’s draught is seven metres fully laden. And now that the main channels are clear of both water hyacinth and rubble …’
‘Consider it done, then,’ said Kebila decisively. ‘Talk to you later, Caleb. Have a quiet night. Over and out.’ Kebila broke contact and sat for a moment, deep in thought.
‘Do you have the authority to order Captain Sanda and Otobo up here, Colonel?’ asked Richard.
‘No. But Minister Aganga does,’ answered Kebila.
And she’s in Felix Makarov’s pocket unless I’m very much mistaken, thought Richard, remembering what Robin had told him of her last ride down to the docks with Celine Chaka. I wonder how she’ll view Kebila’s request.
But he was not to find out immediately. The minister was not available, it seemed. Kebila was given unusually short shrift. Disturbingly short shrift, considering his position, power and influence.
Undaunted, the colonel contacted Captain Sanda directly, explained the situation and asked him to get his command ready to sail. Sanda appeared to be quite willing to do so, but seemed to doubt that the minister would be as immediately compliant as the colonel assumed. The line was not of the best quality and there were undertones in the swift Matadi language that Richard could not quite grasp. Certainly, when he broke contact, Kebila was frowning thoughtfully, and Richard was really beginning to wonder what was up.
Kebila stood back from the radio transceiver and gestured to the army operator to resume his schedule of contacts. Richard sat, watching the routine, his mind busy, wondering whether to bother with the radio after all when he could contact Ivan on his Benincom cell phone almost as effectively — as long as the electrical current that the orphanage’s generator produced was compatible with the phone’s charger.
Both men were still there five minutes later when Robin came into the tent. ‘Has either of you seen the television?’ she asked. Richard swung round to look at her, pulling his mind back to the here and now. ‘The news is on,’ she said. ‘And it looks as though things are hotting up over the presidential election. There’s growing unrest in Granville Harbour, apparently. Talk of riots.’
‘Riots?’ asked Richard, stunned. ‘What on earth about?’
‘Apparently Celine gave a TV interview yesterday evening while we were playing hide and seek with Ngoboi and co. It was a pretty routine affair, to begin with, at least, but there was a discussion started by one of the other interviewees that ended up with her being trapped into suggesting that if she won the election she would try and move some of the money spent on welfare and infrastructure in Granville Harbour city into expanding the cooperatives out here. The discussion seems to have got a little heated. Manufactured confrontation — no news like bad news; that sort of thing. There seems little doubt that Celine simply meant that more efficient production in the hinterland would help feed the increasing numbers flocking to the city as prosperity there continues to grow. At least that’s what she and her people are saying by way of clarification this morning …’
‘But?’ asked Richard.
‘But the whole thing has been spun. It’s now being presented as announcing that she will take money from ethnic Matadi tribal city folk in order to support the Kukuyu, Masai and Bantu interlopers who are stealing their jobs and prospects — as well as their traditional farmlands out here.’
‘But the farmlands have been without tenants and allowed to run to seed for decades! The Kikuyu and Bantu farmers are simply the experts who are helping rebuild successful farms, cooperatives and so forth,’ said Richard, frowning. ‘Captain Caleb explained it all when he was taking us through the map.’
‘I remember what you told me,’ said Robin grimly. ‘But one man’s foreign expert is another man’s economic invader.’ Robin shrugged. ‘Look how we English have reacted over the years to immigrants from Ireland, the West Indies, India and Pakistan, China, Poland …’
‘I see your point,’ rumbled Richard. ‘But surely it was President Chaka himself who invited these people in—’
‘No,’ interrupted Kebila. ‘It was a project that Celine espoused as soon as she entered parliament. She was not always the leader of the opposition. She held a minor government post for a while. Rebuilding the farms in the tribal hinterland has always been one of her most precious projects. But this interpretation of her work is something utterly new.’
Richard looked at Robin. ‘Felix Makarov …’ he mouthed silently.
She nodded, frowning. For it was she, after all, who had begun to suspect that their other Russian business partner was more than capable of mounting a dirty tricks campaign to ensure his man — and his contracts and his promised concessions — got safely back into the presidential palace.
‘But there haven’t actually been any riots yet?’ asked Richard.
‘No, none,’ Robin answered. ‘Yet.’