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Kotto gazed across the man-made moat that encircled his majestic grounds and observed a team of workers as they pulled weeds from his impeccably maintained gardens. All of them were new employees, and he wanted to make sure that they were following his orders. Unfortunately, before he had an opportunity to evaluate their performance, his phone rang. “Damn,” he muttered. “There’s always something.”
     
Kotto reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out his cellular phone. “Kotto here.”
     
“Hannibal, my dear friend, how are things in Nigeria?”
     
For the first time that day, Kotto smiled. It had been a while since he’d spoken with his business partner, Edwin Drake, and that was unusual. They normally spoke a few times a week. “Things are fine. How about South Africa? Is Johannesburg still in one piece?”
     
“Yes, and I still own most of it.” Drake, an Englishman who made the majority of his money in African diamond mines, laughed. “However, with the civil unrest in this bloody city, my holdings are not as impressive as they used to be.”
     
“That is a shame, but a common drawback to life in Africa. Governments come, and governments go. The only thing that’s constant is conflict.”
     
“A more accurate statement has never been spoken.”
     
Kotto smiled. “Tell me, Edwin, where have you been hiding? I thought maybe you were getting cold feet about our recent operation.”
     
“Not at all. I couldn’t be happier with our partnership. The truth is I had some last-minute family business to attend to in London, and I honestly didn’t want to call you from there. I never trust those bloody hotels. You can never tell who’s listening.”
     
After a few minutes of small talk, Kotto steered the conversation to business. “I was wondering what you thought of the last shipment of snow you received. Was it to your liking?”
     
“ Snow ? Is that what we’re calling it now? I like the sound of that.”
     
“I’m glad. I felt we needed a code name for the merchandise, and I hate the term they use in South America.”
     
“You’re right. Snow is so much simpler to say than cargo blanco .”
     
“Exactly. And since both of us speak English, I figured an English word was appropriate.”
     
“Why not something Nigerian? Couldn’t you come up with something colorful from your native tongue?”
     
Kotto laughed loudly. He always got a kick out of the white man’s unfamiliarity with Africa. “Edwin, I did come up with a word from my native tongue. English is the official language of Nigeria.”
     
“Really? I didn’t know that. I’m sorry if I offended you.”
     
“It’s all right. I’m used to your ignorance by now,” Kotto teased. “But I hope you realize I don’t walk the streets of Lagos in a loincloth while carrying my favorite spear.”
     
Drake couldn’t tell if his friend was lecturing or joking until he heard Kotto laugh. “Hannibal, I must admit you had me going for a while. I thought I hit a nerve.”
     
“Not at all. I just thought a moment of levity was in order before we continued our business.”
     
“Yes, it was rather pleasant. Thank you.”
     
“So, what did you think of your last shipment of snow? Did it meet the expectations of your buyers?”
     
“In some ways yes, and in some ways no.”
     
Kotto frowned. It wasn’t the answer he was hoping for. “What do you think needs to be improved?”
     
“Honestly, the overall quality. I think my buyers were hoping for something better than the street product that I sold them. They wanted something purer. You know, upper-class snow.”
     
“Well,” he replied, “the last batch was just a trial run. From what I understand, the next shipment we receive will be the best yet.”
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER 7

     
WITH such a diverse group—an equal mix of young and old, male and female—there appeared to be no link between the prisoners of the Plantation. But Harris Jackson knew that