The Wonga Coup (17 page)

Another footsoldier, who has asked not to be identified, was hired early in 2004. ‘My cousin was involved, that is how I was recruited. If he had known about any coup plot he would never have got me involved … In February my cousin said they were recruiting for DRC, to work at a mine. We were to meet at a McDonald's in Pretoria. Then we were taken to the 224 hotel, where we met the first white guys: Loutjkie Horn [another plot leader] and Carlse. They said, “We need security guards in Congo and will pay $6,000 a month.” The wage seemed high. ‘But it was a bit risky in eastern Congo. I asked around, so it all made sense to me. Companies they pay a lot, so you do not steal the money, or the diamonds. They rather not recruit natives [Congolese] because they steal so much, but then pay more for foreigners.' He claims nobody mentioned Equatorial Guinea or a coup.

Another veteran says he was asked to take part as an
officer, but chose instead to fight in Iraq. ‘I had heard about and was approached for the EG plot a few months before it was planned to go down. I know two of the people involved very well, but the presence of some other individuals made me decide not to get involved in this fiasco … I have a high regard for two of the individuals I know very well and think that they should never have involved themselves in this coup, but I do not know the stakes involved that made them continue nevertheless. Like they say, “money talks”. I guess the fact that this was supposed to be a quick buck in an area that all these individuals know well, was one of the reasons they opted for this option, rather than work in Iraq. The whole Iraq operation was also not as streamlined as it is today.' Johann Smith also saw the attraction: ‘You can see why this is tempting. It's fun, it could work, you trust the leaders. Some of the guys did it for the kicks, because life is boring.'

The most pitiful stories of recruitment are to be heard in Pomfret, the asbestos-ridden ex-military base that was home to many 32 Battalion soldiers. Families told of husbands and fathers who scrabbled at the chance of well-paid work, no questions asked. At one house a wooden carving on the wall shows a lion eating a man with a gun. Cecilia Tchimuishi says her father, Eduardo, fought as a Buffalo Soldier for the South Africans for nearly two decades. He received a small army pension and took a job as a security guard in Pretoria, leaving his family behind. ‘Because there's no jobs in Pomfret. Pomfret is only full of humans, there's no jobs.'

‘He was working in Pretoria, his contract had finished and he came home for Christmas and New Year. When he returned to Pretoria he met a guy at an association for people who were in Battalion 32, a hostel. If you have no family in Pretoria, you stay there. Then he phoned us and told us he was going to
Congo.' Like many, he was recruited at the small house where former mercenaries and veteran soldiers always stay. ‘He said he was going to Congo to work on a mine as a security guard. He gave us a cell phone contact number to call if there was a problem. It was the first time he had gone abroad to work.' Viviana, Eduardo's Portuguese-speaking wife, interrupts, ‘He was happy, he had a job.'

A neighbour tells a similar tale. At the home of Augusto Fernando a black banner of 32 Battalion, showing a buffalo head, hangs on the sitting-room wall. Christina Fernando says her husband worked at a game reserve near Pretoria in January 2004. ‘He phoned home and said somebody had offered him a job that paid better, as it requires going to Congo and working as a guard for a diamond mine. He didn't know the pay and didn't say how long he would be away. He had never been there before. He said a friend working for another company was going, too.' Similar accounts, repeated throughout Pomfret and in Pretoria, tell of relatively poor men hungry for better-paid and more satisfying work. Many lived at the same hostel in Pretoria, and kept in close touch with other veterans. Friends recruited each other. Cousins urged relatives to join, hoping to bring more wages into the family.

The signs of misery in Pomfret – broken windows, sandy streets strewn with litter – all help explain the readiness of men to board a plane for an ill-defined military job. Many of the footsoldiers, and their families, later claimed ignorance of the coup plot. Perhaps they were not told, at least not early on. But if they were ordered to fight in a coup, at short notice, the footsoldiers would surely have complied. They were well used to taking orders to fight from white bosses.

‘The Spanish PM has met Severo Moto three times. He has, I am told, informed SM that as soon as he is established in EG he will send 3000 Guardia Civil.'

Simon Mann, confession

While recruiting was underway in South Africa, others took on different tasks. Greg Wales arranged for a lobbyist to promote Moto in Washington DC. Mann shuttled back and forth to London, meeting Ely Calil and others. He also signed new contracts, again helping create a false paper trail. One deal said Logo, Mann's firm, would provide logistical support and security services to a company called YKA Mining, supposedly registered in Kinshasa, Congo.

Mann also signed a deal for Crause Steyl's aviation company to provide air services for ‘projects' in west Africa. This apparently assured Steyl a lucrativebusiness after the coup. Steyl grew busier. At a dinner in Johannesburg – once more at the Butcher Shop and Grill –a group of men gathered to discuss a ‘dry run' for the coup. Mann, Kershaw, Steyl and another pilot called Linde were present. At a neighbouring table sat Henry van der Westhuizen and du Toit. The popular restaurant had become an open office for coup plotters –and an ideal place for anyone who cared to listen in on their plans. Nobody was discreet. Excited
plotters puffed on cigars and boasted to anyone who would listen of being ‘on the inside of a very big game'.

It was agreed that a practice run from the Canary Islands to Equatorial Guinea would be useful, to judge the time needed, to identify refuelling stops and the likely reception at Malabo airport. Steyl took a King Air plane to the Canary Islands. Then, on 15 January, he flew to Malabo before returning to South Africa. Steyl would later fly back up to Malabo, to bring du Toit and another member of the forward team back into position.

By late January some practical tasks were done and a new date in mid February was chosen for the attack. But there were worrying developments. It was clear that the secrecy of the operation was laughable. Few could keep their mouths shut. Mann himself had chattered to neighbours and friends in Cape Town about a fabulous opportunity in Equatorial Guinea. Morgan gathered documents and information from his friends, then produced intelligence reports every few days. These were read by South Africa's authorities. In January he said Calil planned to send Karim Fallaha, his Lebanese associate, with Moto to Equatorial Guinea. He described how Calil ‘boasts privately that he has Moto in his pocket' and called the businessman a ‘prime mover' behind the planned coup. ‘When will it happen? The answer is – soon or it will be too late. Obiang has got wind that there is trouble brewing and is tightening his personal security …'

Smith's warnings also continued. The writer and film-maker James Brabazon says he was invited by du Toit to accompany him on a coup plot. Like many mercenaries, they evidently wanted someone to record their deeds. Many others learned of the pending coup. Heavy-drinking recruits talked in Pretoria's bars. The leaders held forth in Johannesburg's hotel
lobbies and restaurants as if the coup was already complete. Men who were approached to join, but who turned down the offer, also chatted. The forward team in Malabo drew attention to itself. And Wales talked to oil companies, canvassing their views on regime change, helping spread rumours, too. Oil men starting gossiping that Equatorial Guinea was ‘about to change dramatically' and several journalists picked up on the rumour.

Even the clumsy government in Equatorial Guinea might have suspected something by now. Smith's reports were doing the rounds and the president's brother and intelligence chief, Armengol, could have gathered information on his business partner du Toit. By the last days of January, the British Foreign Office had intelligence of the plot, too, passed on by another government. The foreign secretary, Jack Straw, asked his officials to discuss matters with someone in a British private military company. The latter was probably Tim Spicer, formerly of Executive Outcomes and a friend of Mann. But Straw saw no reason to warn the dictatorship in Malabo.

Most remarkable, the plot was debated at a semi-public meeting in London. Early in February, academics, businessmen, journalists and Africaphiles met at Chatham House – home of the Royal Institute of International Affairs – to discuss the future of Equatorial Guinea. A foreign policy adviser to South Africa's government interrupted the meeting. She asked why they debated internal splits in the ruling family when many knew mercenaries planned to invade. Some in the audience thought she was talking nonsense. But her warning, based on Smith's intelligence reports, was accurate enough.

Mann's whole operation was riddled with informers. Other coup plots show that is almost impossible to avoid. Even if recruits are not already working for an intelligence
service, some will trade information about the plot for money or government protection. One investigator in South Africa admits ‘a lot of people have been asking for the
impimpi
, the informer. Everyone is looking for them. But I've always been amazed what people believe. Simon Mann and Nick du Toit were aware that the South African intelligence knew what was going on. Henry van der Westhuizen had given them a report, Johann Smith's report, while they were meeting in George [in December]. So why did they proceed? Perhaps because of the Sao Tome thing. Or they had the perception it had been given the OK. You should ask Simon Mann why they went ahead. Maybe he was conceited.'

Mann, a respected soldier and member of the SAS, allowed wide indiscretion. Worse, once he was aware of the lack of secrecy, he pushed ahead. He had let military standards slip partly out of arrogance: he believed a tinpot republic like Equatorial Guinea could not stop his invaders. Crause Steyl concluded that even if Obiang knew of the plot they might still succeed. ‘They can't guard themselves twenty-four hours from air, sea and land. Intelligence always leaks. If you're on the offence you can still determine when to hit.'

But, more important, Mann and others believed the plot had outside support. He and other leaders told the footsoldiers and junior officers that the project was cleared by the South African authorities. Niel Steyl, a pilot who became involved, later said: ‘The problem is when the [South African] intelligence department didn't know what they were doing. We were cleared by some, but the others were not informed.' He continued: ‘There was ill-feeling from the military guys [recruits], mostly against Simon Mann. They felt he had given an assurance that all this was cleared with the South African government and there was nothing to worry about. I don't
blame Simon for anything at all. Maybe he was lied to. He really thought things were OK. I felt comfortable doing this knowing he was coming …'

Mann thought he had support, or at least tacit backing, from lower-level sources in South Africa's government. Morgan's reports were being read by South African officials throughout the first months of 2004, yet no effort was made to discourage the plotters from going ahead. Mann might have believed that by talking so closely with Morgan the African response was squared. However, Morgan now denies ever giving – or even being in a position to give – the impression that South Africa approved of the scheme. But the plotters had some contacts with the authorities in Pretoria. Alwyn Griebenow, a lawyer in South Africa, says many of the plotters believed a senior South African official had ‘okayed the whole mission. They were told that Thabo Mbeki was looking forward to meeting the new president. They were told this by Simon Mann and Harry Carlse. The whole story had been okayed, the operation was given the green light … The number one in National Intelligence had talks with Simon Mann. These men were told that Spain, America, Britain and South Africa knew of all this from Simon Mann and Harry Carlse … The bottom line is that these guys were brought in under the impression it was legal.' A South African prosecutor did not deny that a senior official had met at least one of those involved in the coup, but suggested the purpose of the meeting was ‘only [for] seeking more information on what the plotters intended'.

There were also leaks back from South African intelligence suggesting a blind eye would be turned. Du Toit's colleague, van der Westhuizen, thought he had been given some sort of permission for the plotters to proceed. And the South African
government is rumoured to have sent a diplomat – perhaps a man who used the name Holmes – from Lisbon to meet Moto in Madrid. ‘In the South African government you had some on Simon's side and some on Obiang's side,' concludes a plotter. Some old hands still in the government bureaucracy, veterans of the days when whites ran things, perhaps reassured Mann that the coup would be acceptable. But as more senior South African officials learned what was happening, sympathy for the plotters presumably evaporated. The result: South Africa's canny government conducted its intelligence operation, read Morgan's reports and let the plotters proceed, for now.

The plotters were also confident of some level of support from Britain and America, the latter because of Wales's assiduous lobbying, notably with oil companies. And then there was Spain. The old colonial power was ready to offer more than a blind eye. At the end of January there was public discussion of a pending coup in Equatorial Guinea in Madrid. Newspapers
El Pais
and
El Mundo
, as well as Spanish radio, talked openly of it. Spanish naval vessels set sail to the Gulf of Guinea. It was widely known that ‘Moto was very friendly with the Spanish government', says an oil executive who spent a great deal of time in Equatorial Guinea. An unverified intelligence document suggests Moto met senior representatives of the Spanish government in January and February. If various plotters are to be believed, he also spent time with an official from Spain's ruling party. The plotters expected the Spanish prime minister, Jose Maria Aznar, who was due to leave office in March, to deliver a speech in support of Moto (and offering recognition) once he was installed. Moto may have met Aznar at this time. More important, the plotters believed several hundred Spanish paramilitary police on board ships would, when requested by the newly installed Moto, arrive in
Equatorial Guinea to ‘keep order'. Which would help prevent military intervention from Nigeria or others.