‘And the president’s daughter,’ added Richard shortly, his mind distracted by something of a revelation — the way Kebila had coupled the World Bank and the CIA — could that explain the delectable Dr Bonnie Holliday?
‘Yes.’ Kebila looked straight ahead, frowning. Richard remembered what Robin had said on the night of the white-tie reception. The colonel loved Celine Chaka more than anything and anyone else on earth. ‘As you say,’ whispered Laurent Kebila. ‘And the president’s daughter.’
As Kebila’s staff car drew up at the slipway beside the mooring point occupied yesterday by the crippled Otobo, so Zhukov eased Stalingrad back to the place where his massive fans had all but destroyed the buildings through which the limousine was driving. This time, however, the three great motors were on near-idle, and the airstreams coming from them were pointing safely out to sea. The broad rounded bow of the Zubr slid ashore, the inflated skirts making no differentiation between sea and land, except that the metre-high wall of spray around them fell away to nothing. Then they slowly deflated and the massive vessel settled on to the ground. A fore-section opened and lowered itself on to the concrete with a clang and Richard found himself looking into a rectangle of darkness twenty metres wide and eight metres high, whose depth he could only guess at — though he reckoned fifty metres at least. Kebila gaped. ‘And you expect to get this beast up the river?’ he breathed.
‘Its draft is less than a Shaldag’s, even without the skirts inflated and fully laden. With the skirts up, it will ride over anything up to and including two metre walls. Irrespective of water hyacinth, shallows, sandbars and mud flats, of course. My only real worry is the ruined crossing at Citematadi. But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, as they say.’
Richard stepped out of the staff car and closed the door. He looked in at Kebila’s thoughtful profile for a moment, then he turned and walked swiftly and purposefully towards the Zubr. The Benincom phone in his jacket pocket tapped rhythmically against his thigh and for a moment he considered chucking it into the harbour. But then he thought better of the childish action. He would almost certainly need to use the local cellphone network — and he really didn’t give a damn if Kebila knew exactly where he was during the next twelve hours or so — because he was going to be as far upriver and as near to the heart of the delta as he could get, and it would probably be safer if his movements were known at all times.
Before he reached the huge hovercraft, however, he turned smartly right and crossed to the security barrier that protected the Naval HQ. ‘I’d like to see the CO,’ he said in his rough Matadi, making first use of his letter of authority. The presidential signature and stamp worked wonders and he was ushered into the camp commander’s office five minutes later. ‘What can I do for you, Captain?’ asked the officer in flawless, if French accented, English.
‘Otobo’s chief engineer. Is he available?’ asked Richard.
‘He is aboard at the moment, inspecting the fire damage and the water damage and preparing his report for the admiral’s inquiry.’
‘Is there any way I can communicate with him?’ asked Richard, and five minutes later he found himself in the room that Kebila and Anastasia had been standing in last night when the first news from the Shaldag had arrived.
‘The chief’s name is Oganga,’ the communications officer in smart lieutenant’s whites told Richard. Redundantly, as it turned out.
‘Chief engineer Oganga here,’ barked the radio suddenly, in locally accented English. ‘What is it now?’
‘Chief Oganga, my name is Richard Mariner and I’m sorry to disturb you. I know you’re doing vital work and it can’t be any fun for you.’
‘Well?’ asked the chief, clearly somewhat mollified.
‘I have to ask you a couple of things. They are vitally important. The first is about power aboard Otobo, and the second is about your own personal availability to participate in a little project that we’re planning for later in the day…’
After his conversation with Chief Oganga, Richard went back to the CO’s office. ‘Chief Oganga needs half a dozen of his engineering crew out on Otobo as soon as you can get them there. And some equipment. Here’s a list,’ he said. ‘It’s an urgent matter or I wouldn’t be bothering either of you.’
‘It’s no trouble at all, and I can get all of these men, I think,’ said the officer affably enough after a quick glance at the list. ‘And everything else. I also have Shaldag FPB002 immediately available. Everything and everyone will be there within the hour.’
Richard was hurrying back towards the Zubr when his Benincom cellphone rang. He slipped it out and answered it on the run. It was Anastasia. ‘Are you going back up the river?’ she asked without introducing herself or indulging in any pleasantries.
‘Yes. How did you find out?’
‘Kebila. I’m at the hospital with Esan and Ado. He came in to collect his smuggler for a question and answer session down in his torture chamber. I offered to help but he said no. We’re coming with you. Don’t go anywhere without us.’
Richard was silent for a heartbeat — two strides. On the one hand he was weighing what Max’s reaction to his daughter’s plan would be — especially as it was his vessel under the command of his men. On the other hand, here were the three people who knew the river, the situation, the compound and the Army of Christ the Infant best of all. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Get to the dock as quickly as you can.’
‘You took enough time making up your mind,’ observed Anastasia icily.
‘I must be getting old,’ he countered. ‘My reaction times are slowing down. I suggest you come via Nellie if there’s anything aboard her that you want.’
‘Nothing there,’ she answered shortly. ‘Kebila’s men took all our guns. And we’ve all been supplied with everything else. Whether we wanted it or not. Everything except what we really wanted… Like children…’
‘Don’t worry about that. We’ll have enough guns to satisfy even you.’
‘Boy!’ said Anastasia. ‘Do you ever know the way to a girl’s heart! Maybe you’re the one with the Obi.’
And that was all it took to set something off in Richard’s mind. After he broke contact with Anastasia he contacted the Granville Royal Lodge Hotel and asked for Andre Wanago in person. A few moments later, as he was slipping the mobile back into his pocket, the first of the army trucks came rumbling past at about ten miles per hour, its canvas rear section packed with well-armed men. He leaped up on to the footplate at the back, grabbed a handhold and was carried aboard Stalingrad with the first of the soldiers.
The space inside the Zubr was massive, echoing like a hangar. Twenty-five metres wide and fifty metres deep, the floor space was twelve hundred and fifty square metres. It stood eight metres high so the cubic capacity was just on ten thousand cubic metres. It was more like a level on a multi-storey car park than anything one would expect to find aboard a fighting vessel smaller than an aircraft carrier. The truck drew up beside a T80U main battle tank that was simply dwarfed by the size of the chamber it was parked in.
Richard jumped off as the vehicle slowed to a stop and ran across to the nearest companionway. The layout was not dissimilar to the big Lionheart series of car ferries Heritage Mariner ran across the English Channel, though the scale was far greater. Richard ran confidently upwards, counting off two deck levels in his head until he had no option but to cross inwards and climb more stairways up the centre of the bridge above the weather deck. Finally, he walked forward and found himself in a strange, almost circular command bridge, amid a bustle of officers and crewmen getting ready to set sail.