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At ten, Semmler and Langarotti joined Sha
“So what now?” asked Semmler when Sha
“So now we wait,” said Sha
“Wait for what?”
Sha
“We wait for the new government,” said Sha
The American-built 1-ton truck carrying Simon Endean arrived just after one in the afternoon. There was another European at the wheel, and Endean sat beside him, clutching a large-bore hunting rifle. Sha
He watched from an upper window as Endean climbed suspiciously down, looked at the carpet and the other pockmarks on the front of the building, and examined the eight black guards at attention before the gate.
Endean’s trip had not been completely without incident. After the Toscana’s radio call that morning, it had taken him two hours to persuade Colonel Bobi that he was actually going back into his own country within hours of the coup. The man had evidently not won his colonelcy by personal courage.
They had set off from the neighboring capital by road at nine-thirty on the hundred-mile drive to Clarence. In Europe that distance may take two hours; in Africa it takes more. They arrived at the border in midmorning and began the haggle to bribe their way past the Vindu guards, who had still not heard of the night’s coup in the capital. Colonel Bobi, hiding behind a pair of large and very dark glasses and dressed in a white flowing robe like a nightshirt, posed as their car-boy, a personal servant who, in Africa, never requires papers to cross a border. Endean’s papers were in order, like those of the man he brought with him, a hulking strong-arm from London’s East End, who had been recommended to Endean as one of the most feared protectors in Whitechapel and a former enforcer for the Kray Gang. Ernie Locke was being paid a very handsome fee to keep Endean alive and well and was carrying a gun under his shut, acquired locally through the offices of ManCon’s mining enterprise in the republic. Tempted by the money offered, he had already made the mistake of thinking, like En-dean, that a good hatchet man in the East End will automatically make a good hatchet man in Africa.
After crossing the frontier, the truck had made good time until it blew a tire ten miles short of Clarence. With Endean mounting guard with his rifle, Locke had changed the tire while Bobi cowered under the canvas in the back. That was when the trouble started. A handful of Vindu troops, fleeing from Clarence, had spotted them and loosed off half a dozen shots. They all went wide except one, which hit the tire Locke had just replaced. The journey was finished in first gear on a flat tire.
Sha
The latter looked up. “Everything okay?” he called.
“Sure,” said Sha
Endean led Colonel Bobi and Locke through the curtain, and they mounted to the second floor, where Sha
“Kimba’s palace guard?” asked Endean.
For answer Sha
Endean looked out and drew back. “The lot?” he asked.
“The lot,” said Sha
“And the army?”
“Twenty dead, the rest scattered. All left their arms behind except perhaps a couple of dozen bolt-action Mausers. No problem. The arms have been gathered up and brought inside.”
“The presidential armory?”
“In the cellar, under our control.”
“And the national radio transmitter?”
“Downstairs on the ground floor. Intact. We haven’t tried the electricity circuits yet, but the radio seems to have a separate Diesel-powered generator.” “ Endean nodded, satisfied. ”Then there’s nothing for it but for the new President to a
“What about security?” asked Sha
Endean gri
“Do you?” asked Sha
Endean shrugged. “No,” he said, “but it doesn’t matter. By the way, let me introduce the new President of Zangaro.”
He gestured toward the Zangaran colonel, who had been surveying the room he already knew well, a broad grin on his face.
“Former commander of the Zangaran army, successful operator of a coup d’etat as far as the world knows, and new president of Zangaro. Colonel An toine Bobi.”
Sha
Sha
Bobi nodded and lumbered across the tiled floor and through the door, followed by Sha
After Sha
“A shot,” said Sha
Endean was on his feet, across the room, and standing in the open doorway to the study. He turned around, ashen-faced, hardly able to speak.
“You shot him,” he whispered. “All this bloody way, and you shot him. You’re mad, Sha
His voice rose with his rage and bafflement. “You don’t know what you’ve done, you stupid, blundering maniac, you bloody mercenary idiot.”
Sha
The second crash seemed louder to Endean, for it was nearer. Ernie Locke went back out of his chair in a complete somersault and sprawled across the tiles, varying the pattern of the old colonial marquetry with a thin filament of blood that came from his midriff. He was quite dead, for the soft bullet had gone through to shatter his spine.
Sha