Vicious Circle (45 page)

On 23 July there was an explosion in the laundry of Holloway prison. Two inmates were killed and all the washing and drying machinery was destroyed or severely damaged. This was critical to the smooth functioning of the entire unit. Emergency measures had to be taken by the prison administration. One of the commercial laundries that serviced some of the major hotels in the city was located only fifteen miles from the Holloway prison.

Polar White Laundry was chosen from a shortlist, and the selection was endorsed by the prison warden, Marco Merkowski, on the suggestion of Johnny Congo and a motivational consideration from Carl. Thirty per cent of the employees of Polar White were members of the Maalik Angels.

On the early morning of 29 July a five-ton white International truck pulled up at the main service gate of Holloway. On each side of the truck body was emblazoned the name of the laundry, and images of a smiling female polar bear with her three frolicking cubs wearing spotless white napkins. Over the past week, since the destruction of the prison laundry, the guards at the main prison gates had become accustomed to the daily traffic of these vehicles.

Today there were five men on board. All of them were dressed in white overalls with the company’s name and logo embroidered on their backs.

Carl Bannock was the driver of the truck, and Aleutian Brown was his mate. The other three riding in the body of the truck were all Maaliks. Carl was a cautious person and much concerned by his personal safety. He had evaluated the risk factor of being one of the rescue party, and decided it was minimal. Nevertheless he was nervous and jumpy as he drove up to the main gates of Holloway.

He sweated lightly across his forehead as his forged ID was carefully checked by the prison guards on the gate. As last they waved the truck through.

After his long residence in Holloway Carl knew the layout of the unit intimately. He drove to the service entrance of the prison’s utility block. There he reversed the truck up to the loading bank of the laundry. Once the double doors at the rear were opened, the trolleys were trundled out of the truck. In the laundry they were loaded with canvas sacks of dirty washing which were then pushed back to the waiting Polar White truck.

The three switches and substitutions that ensued were as neat and smooth as a magician’s illusions.

In one of the last laundry sacks to be loaded into the truck Johnny Congo was concealed. The sack had been marked and was manhandled with great care into the cargo body. Aleutian, who was overseeing the loading, made certain that it was placed in a position where it was screened by the other laundry bags, but where Johnny Congo would not be in any danger of suffocation.

The last trolley that was pushed from the truck into the laundry already had a single sack on board. It also contained a human body, but this one was very much deceased.

The previous week Aleutian had visited the suburb of Gulfton, one of the poorest areas of Houston populated mostly by Hispanics and immigrants. In a cheap bar he had picked out somebody with a passing resemblance to Johnny in that he was big, black and formidable-looking. Aleutian had bought him a drink and offered him a well-paid job. The man had accepted enthusiastically. Aleutian had given him $200 as an earnest of good faith, and arranged to meet in the same bar on the evening of 28 July.

They had met again as arranged. Johnny had plied him with liquor until he was jovial and unsteady on his feet, then he had strangled him in the parking lot behind the bar and had packed his body into the laundry sack in the trunk of his rental car. This sack was the last to be unloaded from the Polar White truck.

The corpse in the sack was taken down to Death Row. It was swiftly placed in Johnny Congo’s bunk with its face to the wall and covered with a blanket, leaving only the back of its head exposed. To a casual observer it would seem that Johnny Congo was still securely tucked up in his bunk.

Lucas Heller climbed into the empty sack and was trolleyed back to the Polar White truck, and placed alongside Johnny Congo.

Now that the Polar White truck was fully loaded the rear doors were slammed shut. Carl Bannock climbed into the cab and started the engine. Aleutian was already in the passenger seat, and Carl drove sedately back through the inner checkpoints and finally out onto the Interstate.

Ten miles down the highway they pulled off into a service area and Carl parked among the other large vehicles in the truck stop. He and Aleutian opened the rear doors. The three laundry employees jumped down and immediately set off to where they had left a small Toyota sedan the previous evening. They drove away without looking back. None of them ever showed up again at the Polar White Laundry.

Carl and Aleutian climbed into the back of the laundry truck and closed the doors behind them. They released Johnny Congo and Lucas from their canvas bags.

Johnny and Carl embraced ardently while Aleutian and Lucas Heller looked on with amusement. Then Johnny turned to Aleutian and lifted him off his feet in a bear hug.

‘Aleutian Brown, you are one hectic dude. I told Carl we could rely on you, man.’

Lucas Heller went to Carl and held out his hand. Carl took it and squeezed. Lucas squirmed at the pressure.

‘Okay, Carl,’ he said uncomfortably. ‘If you’ll just give me what you owe me now I will leave you and your pals to celebrate and I’ll be on my way.’

Still holding his hand Carl told him seriously, ‘Thank you, Lucas. It’s been a real pleasure knowing you, it really has.’ Then, still holding Lucas’s hand firmly, he nodded at Aleutian. ‘Okay, Aleutian. Give him what we owe him.’

From the inside pocket of his overalls Aleutian slipped out a small-calibre pistol fitted with a silencer. He fired a single bullet into the back of Lucas Heller’s skull.

Carl released his hand and Lucas’s body dropped to the floor. His legs kicked and his body juddered. Aleutian stooped over the corpse and fired two more spaced shots into Lucas’s right temple. His legs stopped kicking.

‘What the hell?’ said Johnny Congo. ‘What the hell did you do that for?’

‘I never liked the bastard,’ Carl explained reasonably. ‘And I just saved us two hundred grand.’

‘I love you, Carl Bannock.’ Johnny clutched his belly and guffawed.

Aleutian had brought a change of clothing for each of them packed into one of the laundry bags. They discarded their uniforms and dressed quickly in street clothes. Then they jumped down from the back of the truck. Carl locked all the doors and they left the International and walked unhurriedly to the far side of the car park where the previous afternoon Aleutian had left a Ford rental car.

They climbed into it and drove north on Route 45 for forty miles and then they turned onto a secondary road and headed west towards Waco. In the late afternoon they reached a crop-spraying airstrip in the centre of a wide area of cultivated sorghum. There was a twin-engine Baron G58 prop-driven aircraft waiting for them on the strip. The aircraft was owned by one of Aleutian’s drug contacts and its short take-off and landing capabilities were ideal for their needs.

The pilot already had the engines ticking over, and the nose lined up with the runway. Carl and Aleutian shook hands with Johnny Congo. Then Johnny scrambled up on the wing root and stooped to cram his bulk through the open cabin door.

The co-pilot locked the door behind him, and the pilot gunned the engines and roared away down the strip, outward bound for La Ceiba in Honduras where Señor Alonso Almanza was looking forward to the pleasure of Johnny’s company.

*

Johnny and Carl met again fourteen days later in a suite on the top floor of the Hotel La Lasjitas in the Argentine capital, Buenos Aires. Carl had a Gold Rewards Card issued by Four Seasons. He always enjoyed the ambiance and the service that the company provided.

After they had sex, they showered together, and then took a cab down to the Puerto Madero and ate huge juicy steaks at Cabaña las Lilas. They washed them down with a bottle of Catena Alta Malbec. Afterwards they returned to the hotel suite.

The concierge had been forewarned and as soon as they arrived he sent two young people up to their room.

Carl checked the ID of the two visitors carefully. The girl looked to be about twelve years old, but her papers proved that she was sixteen years and two months. Carl kissed her and squeezed her skinny little buttocks. ‘You are very beautiful, my angel,’ he told her.

The boy was four months older than the girl. He was also very comely, if overly effeminate. When Johnny smiled at him from the sofa, he minced across the room and sat down on Johnny’s lap.

The following evening Carl and Johnny settled into the first-class cabin of the Air Malaysia flight to Cape Town on the southern tip of Africa. From the Presidential Suite of the One and Only Hotel at the Cape Town waterfront Carl phoned an unlisted number and spoke with General Horatio Mukambera in Harare, the capital city of Zimbabwe.

The general informed Carl that President Mugabe had been fully briefed on their proposal and had ordered the cooperation of the military. He confirmed that the funds had been received in the bank in Singapore, and that he would meet them in person when they arrived at Harare airport on board South African Airways.

Carl then passed the call on to Johnny Congo. Johnny had served two full tours of duty with the US Marine Corps in Vietnam, so his combat experience was extensive. He had reached the rank of sergeant major, and had been in the thick of the action on numerous occasions.

Within minutes he had established his credentials, and General Mukambera was aware that he was speaking to a man who knew the business. Their conversation became more relaxed and cordial as they discussed the logistics of the operation.

‘I am able to put at your disposal up to two companies of first-line assault paratroopers,’ the general told him.

‘How many men in one of your companies, General?’

‘One hundred and twenty.’

‘We do not want to be under-gunned. We will need both your companies,’ Johnny told him. ‘You have a secure location where I will be able to meet the men and work with them before we head north?’ Johnny switched into Swahili, leaving Carl unable to follow the conversation. But the general warmed to him even further as he replied in the same language.

‘Yes, we have an operations area that I can put at your disposal. But tell me how you speak one of our languages so well? I thought you were an American.’

‘I was born in East Africa. I am a member of the Inhutu tribe.’

‘Ah, I see! That explains a great deal. Welcome back to your homeland, Mr Kikuu Tembo.’

‘Thank you, General Mukambera.’ Johnny reverted to English. ‘I understand you have been informed that we also need air transport.’

‘I am able to put at your disposal a Douglas Dakota C-47 Skytrain.’

‘That type is a veteran of World War II,’ Johnny protested.

‘I assure you that it has been meticulously maintained, Mr Kikuu Tembo.’ Johnny glanced at Carl for guidance.

‘What is its range, General?’ Carl asked.

‘Its range is fifteen hundred nautical miles, fully loaded, but this machine has long-range fuel tanks that give it an additional five-hundred miles. I personally have flown from Harare to Nairobi in this same plane on a number of occasions.’

‘What is the load capacity?’

‘The Skytrain will carry seventy fully battle-equipped men.’

‘So we will need to make four flights,’ Johnny mused. ‘What do you estimate the turnaround time, General?’

‘We can operate from Kariba on our northern border. Turnaround Kariba to Kazundu will be under seven hours.’

‘The transport doesn’t have to land at Kazundu. The men will jump. This means that on Day One we will be able to put a hundred and forty men on the ground. The second wave can come in early on Day Two.’

‘I have had a report on the present strength of Kazundian forces. They will not be able to put up much of a fight against those numbers. I think that after your first strike the survivors will almost certainly be very happy to change sides.’

*

Four days later Carl and Johnny parted company at Harare airport. Johnny was picked up by a Zimbabwean army transport truck and driven two hundred miles down into the Zambezi valley to a military training camp in the remote bush.

Lieutenant Samuel Ngewenyama was waiting there to greet him and escort him to his quarters in one of the camp’s prefabricated huts. There Johnny changed into the camouflage fatigues and paratrooper boots that had been laid out on his bunk. Then Sam Ngewenyama paraded the men for his inspection.

Johnny Congo was satisfied with the turn-out. He had expected something much worse. These were certainly not US Marines, but he judged they were spirited fighting men. With a little brushing up they would be good enough for the job ahead.

He was especially pleased with Sam Ngewenyama. He was a veteran of the dirty little bush war against the Rhodesian forces of Ian Smith. He was a hard man with the cold eyes of a man-eater. Sam soon recognized the same qualities in Johnny Congo.

Over the following days Sam and his men struggled to keep pace with Johnny’s powers of endurance. They were unable to match his skill with knife, pistol and rifle, nor his expertise in unarmed combat and bush-craft. It did not take long for Sam Ngewenyama to give Johnny his unconditional respect and loyalty.

Johnny drove the men hard and at the end of three weeks he had transformed them, almost but not entirely, into marines.

*

In the meantime Carl flew north to Kinshasa, the capital of the Democratic Republic of Congo. Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness was one of the largest countries in Africa, ravaged by decades of internecine warfare in which an estimated 5.4 million people perished. It also had the world’s highest incidence of HIV.

Congolese governments rose and fell. Corruption was routine. Warfare, mass rape and pillage were the way of life. Marauding gangs of thugs without affiliations to any recognized authority roamed the back-country.

Back in the mists of time when the Great Rift Valley split the crust of the earth it exposed a vast treasury of natural resources. These included columbite-tantalite, locally known as coltan. This mineral is the ore of tantalum, a metal essential to the manufacture of capacitors, cellular phones, pacemakers, GPS, laptop computers, ignition systems, anti-lock braking systems, video and digital cameras and the whole array of modern super-gadgetry. Pound for pound, tantalum is worth half as much again as pure gold.