acting for, but they had denied nothing either. Nor had they bothered to hide their oh-so British accents. This was part of my new puzzle, but not all of it. There was some stray end that I had yet to put a name to. I could sense it, feel it in the atmosphere, as tangible now as the clock ticking its message on the wall. I said, “And what are these schedules, Mister Brown?”
He leant forward onto the desk, hands clasped together. “You will lead your men into the Isanga Valley, colonel, where Aaron Motanga’s personal guard will dispose of them, utterly and completely.”
I had heard it, but I could not believe it. “Pardon?”
Brown grunted. “You heard every word, colonel. And you understood well enough.”
This was incredible, staggering. “Dispose of them?”
Brown nodded. “Quite. And in full view, so to speak, of the Zaire population. You personally , of course, will have made your own arrangements.” He sat back in his seat now. He appeared smugly satisfied with something or other. “Your remuneration, payable the moment we have an agreement in principle, will be five hundred thousand pounds. Which figure does not take into account the sum you have already received from the Chinese. A small fortune, colonel, for only a small deviation from your original brief.”
It was several seconds before I could weigh it all up in my mind. “Are you saying that you are after total annihilation ?” The words sounded ridiculous even as I was saying them.
Brown’s nod was stony this time. “I couldn’t have put it better myself. A half a million pounds, plus what you have already been paid. For delivering your command into the hands of president Motanga.”
“Sweet Jesus Christ,” I breathed. These people did not want prisoners; men to pack some show-trial courtroom. They wanted bodies. By the ton ! “You want me to -” I began. Then I was filled with a throat constricting revulsion. Over the next few seconds this died away, to be replaced by anger. “You know what gets up my nose more than anything else,” I said icily.
Brown said nothing. He focused his eyes on a point midway between me and the wall behind me and just sat there.
I went on, “It’s that you think I’m your man.”
Brown spoke then. “Will you do it?”
My laugh was more a short bark of incredulity. “You’re giving me a choice? ”
Brown and Ian exchanged glances. What that meant I did not know. “Well, mister bloody British intelligence,” I spat, “you can stuff your schedule of times and targets! And you can wipe your arse on the small fortune. I’m a mercenary soldier, not a goddamned mass murderer!”
Ian addressed himself to me personally for the first time. “Is there really that much difference, colonel?”
Had I obeyed my first instinct I would have dived at his throat. Was there a difference! Jesus! I felt stale. Did they really believe that all mercenaries were like that?
The third man’s W/T crackled into life then and the air of tension was frozen.
“Position one,” stuttered the handset.
The man lifted it to his head. “Yes, one?”
“About a third through,” said the metallic voice. “You’ve got about twenty minutes. Questions are being asked here, but as yet no-one’s getting desperate.”
“Okay. Keep us posted.” The man allowed the handset to fall to his lap, his eyes fixed firmly on Brown.
To me, Brown said, “Twenty minutes, colonel. That is as long we have to reach agreement. If you are not with the other passengers when they finally enter the main concourse, where your Chinese friends are waiting, then the cat, as they say, will be out of its bag. And the one and only way you get to leave this room, minus handcuffs and the promise of a million years behind bars is for us to be agreed in principal. If this proves impossible, then your arrest will become official by Congolese standards.”
I laughed again, but this also was not a laugh. “On what charges, for Christ’s