‘Soldiers of Her Majesty,’ said the arsehole. ‘What are you doing in Free Kamanga?’
His voice was hoarse, and too high for his size, his accent definitely American. He sounded excited, or angry, or both.
‘We’re a training team, sir,’ I said.
‘A training team? Is that right?’ He turned to the woman, who spoke briefly in dialect. Then he went, ‘Uh huh,’ and faced us again. He seemed to be having difficulty summoning words and collecting himself to speak. ‘Mercenaries, I suppose.’
‘No, sir. We’re here on an official tour, invited by the Government of Kamanga.’
‘The Government of Kamanga!’ Muende shouted. ‘I might have known. That neo-colonialist bum Bakunda has been licking the ass of the British Government again.’ He reached for his bottle, unscrewed the cap and held the neck to his mouth. Whatever it was he drank, it made him gasp and blink. Then he said, very loud, ‘What’s the goddamn difference, anyway? You’re being paid to kill people, just like if you were mercenaries.’
‘No, sir. We’re not being paid to kill anyone. We’re serving members of the British army,’ I said, evenly. ‘We were sent here by the British Government.’
‘I don’t care who in hell you are!’ Muende was getting more worked up by the minute, shouting louder and louder. ‘You ought to be shot. You’ve been killing our people. Killing an Afundi is a capital offence.’
I was going to deny that we’d killed anybody, but I held off, because I didn’t want to provoke him. What we needed to do was soothe him down, flatter his ego. Subservience, I told myself again.
Suddenly, his manner changed. His tone became friendly, conversational. ‘But look,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to shoot you. Tell me what you think of Kamanga.’
I was taken aback. What was he trying to do now? Make some friendly overture? I had to think fast. Better not tell him it’s the arsehole of Africa. ‘You have tremendous potential, sir,’ I said.
‘That’s right. We got the resources. We just need to develop them. What we don’t need is these sonofabitches in the north messing us up.’
‘I’m not up in Kamangan politics.’ I tried to sound naïve. ‘I don’t know what the war’s about. What’s wrong with the north?’
‘What’s wrong with it?’ His voice rose again. ‘What’s right with it? That crazy bum Bakunda, hiring people like you to fight for him.’
‘We’re training,’ I repeated. ‘Not fighting.’ I should have left it at that, but I made a bad mistake by adding, ‘And anyway, you hire whites to fight for you.’
‘I do not. That’s an insult.’
‘Listen,’ I went, growing reckless. ‘We’ve seen them. And who’s that guy behind you?’
Muende glanced round at the heavy in the background, glared at me, and ostentatiously drew his pistol. I thought he was going to shoot all three of us there and then, but he laid the weapon on the table in front of him.
Then, with a kind of snarl, he said, ‘You’re lucky.’
‘How’s that?’
‘We need to do a deal.’
‘Sorry, I’m not with you.’
‘Your lives in exchange for the stone.’
‘What stone?’
‘What stone?’ He echoed my words with a tenor shout and crashed his fist on the table. ‘See here, Englishman! I’m not taking any shit from you!’
Still I was determined not to provoke the bastard, so I said nothing. When he glowered at me, I lowered my eyes submissively. The bare bulbs hanging from the roof flickered down very faint, then came back bright again. Then, into the silence, Whinger mumbled, all too audibly, ‘Tell him he’s a cunt, from me.’
I saw Muende’s bloodshot eyeballs bulge. With shaking hands he unscrewed the stopper of his water-bottle again and raised it to his mouth. Genesis, obviously feeling the tension needed to be lowered, said mildly, ‘General, if you tell us what you’re on about, we may be able to help.’
‘You better,’ he said. ‘Have you got families?’
‘Families?’ I was taken aback. ‘No. None of us.’ In a kind of lightning flash I saw Tim’s face looking back at me from the door of the departure lounge at Birmingham airport, the last time I sent him back to Belfast. But I thought it better to pretend we were all single.
‘Just as well,’ said Muende, with heavy menace. ‘But look, all you need do, to get out of here alive, is say what you did with it.’
I felt panic threatening. The guy was making no sense, and I reckoned his patience would soon run out. I should have gone on being obsequious, but instead I said sharply, ‘Come on! This is ridiculous. Stop pissing about and tell us what you want.’
Muende gave an upward flick with his right hand. A second later a crashing blow caught me on the left cheekbone and sent me lurching against Whinger. For a few seconds the light bulbs spun and swam.
‘You went to the airplane!’ Muende shouted. ‘Do you deny that?’
‘What airplane?’
‘The Beechcraft. When it crashed.’
‘Of course. Yes. I mean, no.’
‘Yes or no? Were you there or not?’
‘Of course I was there.’
‘Why deny it, then?’
‘That’s what I meant. I don’t deny it. My colleague was with me. Both of us were there together. That’s where he got burned. He nearly killed himself rescuing this bloody woman.’
That brought a signal from her, and another clout. I felt a trickle of blood run down my temple.
Muende shouted, ‘Where is it, then?’
‘What?’
‘The diamond!’
At that moment the lights went out. Instantly there was a stir all round us. Guards moved in and gripped us by arms and shoulders, as if we might try to do a runner in the darkness. Outside the hut distant shouting started up. Inside, the woman barked out an order. I heard one man detach himself from our group, hurry to the door, feel for the handle and let himself out. Under cover of the commotion, I whispered to Gen, ‘The guy’s pissed, and getting worse.’
‘Don’t wind him up any more,’ he answered. ‘He’s right on the edge. Highly dangerous.’
Once again, Whinger muttered, ‘Tell him he’s a cunt.’
Luckily his words were muffled by the general hubbub, but out of the darkness, the woman shouted, ‘No speech without questions!’
So, Muende as well as Joss now — both having a seizure because neither knew the whereabouts of the diamond the old Belgian had told us about in his coded note. It had obviously been somewhere on the crashed plane, otherwise why was the general — and Ingeborg Braun, for that matter — so manically concerned about it?
For the moment I kept quiet, thinking furiously. Then the outer door opened again, and a man came in carrying an oil lamp, which he stood on the corner of the table. Knock it off, I thought. Set the place on fire. Make them all scatter. I measured the distance. The lamp was about eight feet from me. Tethered as I was, I’d never make it. But at least, with the generator down, they couldn’t start giving us electric shocks.
In the faint lamplight beads of sweat were shining as they trickled down Muende’s plump jowls.
‘General,’ I said. ‘Now I know what you’re talking about. The big diamond found in the mine at Gutu.’
‘So!’ Inge gave a yell of triumph. ‘I told you! This man knows. He is all the time lying. He knows absolutely.’