“What can I do for you, Mr. Newman?” Sir Clive asked, as the man set down two huge cardboard beakers full of coffee on the metal table
Harvey smiled. “It’s more a question of what we can do for you.” He took a sip of the tasteless coffee and grimaced. “Ugh, apologies for the dishwater. This country is good at many things but making a decent coffee isn’t one of them.” Sir Clive didn’t say anything, hoping it would encourage the man to get to the point.
“See anything you like at the fair?” Harvey asked. The tactic evidently didn’t work. Sir Clive remained silent, he focused his clear blue eyes on Harvey, unblinking, his mouth set patiently in a neutral expression. Harvey got the message and got to the point.
“We like your work, Sir Clive,” he said, his voice low. “Been watching you for some time. Over in Iraq, in Nigeria. You’re precise, efficient, and have a good handle on the logistics of moving troops about. We like that.” Sir Clive allowed himself a cautious smile, he sensed a sales pitch coming. The man was probably hoping he was in charge of procurement and would put in a hefty order for some over-priced, untested, and probably completely useless missile system.
“We could do with someone like you on our executive board. On a purely consultative basis, not more than one day per month of your time.” Sir Clive was surprised, he hadn’t seen that coming, but he kept his face neutral.
“Why me?” He asked. Harvey nodded. “You have experience in Africa. We need some help there. Some advice. You heard of coltan?” Sir Clive nodded his head.
“Of course. It’s the reason the civilian population in the Eastern Congo is getting the shit kicked out of it by three different countries and a range of militias all at the same time. One of the most beautiful areas of the planet turned into hell on earth. But you don’t need an intelligence chief to tell you that. The Human Rights agencies have been all over it.”
“No, you’re right. We need your advice on a more strategic issue. You see, we need a steady supply of the metal for a new weapon we’re developing, a contract we have with the US government. Not enough is getting through, and when it does, the prices are so high they’re squeezing our profit margins.” He took another swig of the coffee, grimacing. “And we don’t very much like our profit margins being squeezed.”
He opened his brief case and passed a photo across the table. Clement Nbotou on a mobile phone, standing outside a bank on a sun-lit street in Zurich. He was in his business uniform, tailored suit and crisp white shirt. Gold-rimmed Christian Dior sunglasses glinting in the bright light.
“Know who this is?” Sir Clive looked at the photograph. He nodded, but didn’t say the name out loud. “We’re aware of him. An intelligent and dangerous man. More so than your average self-styled general.”
“Clement Nbotou. The man’s been building up a private army, taking over the area. He’s the reason we’re going into the red on this project.” Harvey tapped the photograph with his finger, he looked angry, as if Nbotou had set out to vex him personally.
“What do you propose to do about him?” Sir Clive asked gently. Harvey shook his head and grinned, “we were sort of hoping you might be able to help us in that area. I know you led covert ops in Nigeria for the British Secret Service, and I know you have experience with jungle warfare, with separating and crushing militias. We want you to help us decide what to do.”
Sir Clive frowned. It was a pitch, but they were trying to sell him a job, not a dodgy missile system.
“No government, neither yours nor mine would sanction an invasion to secure supplies of a metal so it could be used to build weapons.” He said quickly, “Hell, the UN peace keepers couldn’t even stay in the region long enough to ensure the safety of the civilian population.” Sir Clive paused, thinking through the problem. “But they might be persuaded to go in on a covert basis, that’s if they thought there was an immediate risk to British or American security. The risk would have to be significant. Unprecedented even. The operation under the radar, no sections of the regular army involved.”
Harvey nodded, satisfied he had judged his man correctly. By presenting him with a problem, he’d drawn him in. A man who couldn’t resist a challenge.
Sir Clive had thought about the offer on the flight home. The terms of remuneration were more than generous. The conflict of interest with his work for MI6 considerable, but not insurmountable, not if he was discreet, kept matters to himself. He had spent half his career working in the shadows, pulling strings for a variety of government ministers and senior officials, even when he knew their requests were for personal rather than political reasons. Besides, now that he was running the new Cyber Crime division there would be no one to question his actions. Effectively he was his own boss, his brief was to use his judgement to assess and neutralise the perceived threat of web-based terrorism.
No reason why he couldn’t do a little consulting for a large defence firm in the process. Set aside a nest egg to subsidise the paltry pension he would get from the Service. He reclined the chair and signalled to the stewardess to bring him a whisky, then sipped it slowly, allowing himself a rare moment of relaxation. In any case, regardless of Centurion’s motives, the only successful strategy they could employ was one that involved the defeat and removal of Clement Nbotou. And he was quite happy to advise them on how to do that.
29
Jack’s father and the MI6 surveillance team didn’t have to track the Mercedes for long. Three miles outside of Cambridge the car pulled into a private airport where a chartered jet waited to take Monsieur Blanc and his cargo to Africa.
“Target group entered airfield at 2100 hours. No plane has taken off yet.” One of the MI6 officers said into his radio mic. They’d parked away from the main entrance, taken up positions around the airfield and had their night vision binoculars trained on the private jets lined up beside the runway.
“Keep your eyes on the scene. We’ll get satellite tracking on whatever flights leave there during the next couple of hours. See if you can get the registration from the tail too.” Sir Clive replied, knowing full well the flight would be headed to the private airstrip Clement Nbotou had built for himself in the Eastern Congo. You had to admire the entrepreneurial spirit of the man. The runway gave him the ability to fly in supplies of weapons, including heavy armaments, and transport out his coltan without any interference from the state. A considerable advantage over his competitors.
“Will do. One more thing, Sir Clive. There’s someone else watching the airport. His car was following the Mercedes. Discretely though. Moved behind us, then in front, then drifted away. Classic surveillance tactics.” Sir Clive pursed his lips.
“Get as close as you can and get an eyeball on him, but don’t let yourself be seen. Primary target is Monsieur Blanc and the flight.”
Sir Clive had his suspicions about the unexpected observer, but he didn’t expect any trouble from the man. He knew Jack’s father had been a drunk long enough to nullify any threat he might pose to the mission. And if suddenly decided to sober up, well, he would just have to be taken out of the equation.
Runway ready, clear for take-off. The pilot’s voice projected into the cabin, tinny through the speaker system. Monsieur Blanc tensed in his seat, his hands gripping the arms of the chair. He had flown in private jets on numerous occasions, but compared with a large commercial airliner they felt considerably less stable. He tried not to think about landing on the strip of tarmac Clement Nbotou had cleared in the jungle.
As the plane accelerated upwards into the night, he twisted his neck and looked out the window. A cloudless blue-black sky over the east of England, towns and cities dissolving into yellow string beads over the landscape. Jack was still out for the count. Sleeping off the sedative. Monsieur Blanc hadn’t checked how much he had given him. He hoped it was enough to keep him under for at least eight hours, the time needed to fly to the Congo, land and hopefully extract the device.