heaved itself up towards the sky, climbing the hills which edged the central plateau. Then it crossed the sea of grass and bush to the dry region of the desert and came to Bir Oassa where the towers of oil rigs made a newer, metal forest.
I spent two days in Bir Oassa talking to the men and the bosses, scouting about the workings, and cocking an ear for any sort of unrest or uneasiness. I found very little worthy of note and nothing untoward. I did have a complaint from Dick Slater, the chief steam engineer, who had been sent word of the change of schedule and didn’t like it.
‘I’ll have thirty steam fitters playing pontoon when they should be working,’ he said abrasively to me. ‘Why the bloody hell do they have to send the transformers first?’
It had all been explained to him but he was being wilful. I said, ‘Take it easy. It’s all been authorized by Geddes from London.’
‘London! What do they know about it? This Geddes doesn’t understand the first damn thing about it,’ he said. Slater wasn’t the man to be mealy-mouthed. I calmed him down – well, maybe halfway down – and went in search of other problems. It worried me when I couldn’t find any.
On the second day I had a phone call from Sutherland. On a crackling line full of static and clashing crossed wires his voice said faintly, ‘… Having a meeting with Ousemane and Daondo. Do you want …?’
‘Yes, I do want to sit in on it. You and who else?’ I was shouting.
‘… Kemp from Wyvern. Tomorrow morning …’
‘Has the rig come?’
‘… Unloading … came yesterday …’
‘I’ll be there.’
The meeting was held in a cool room in the Palace of Justice. The most important government man there was the Minister of the Interior, Hamah Ousemane, who presided over the meeting with a bland smile. He did not say much but left the talking to a short, slim man who was introduced as Zinsou Daondo. I couldn’t figure whether Ousemane didn’t understand what was going on, or understood and didn’t care: he displayed a splendid indifference.
Very surprising for a meeting of this kind was the presence of Major General Abram Kigonde, the army boss. Although he was not a member of the government he was a living reminder of Mao’s dictum that power grows out of the muzzle of a gun. No Nyalan government could survive without his nod of approval. At first I couldn’t see where he fitted in to this discussion on the moving of a big piece of power plant.
On our side there were myself, Sutherland, and Basil Kemp, who was a lean Englishman with a thin brown face stamped with tiredness and worry marks. He greeted me pleasantly enough, remembering our last encounter some few years before and appearing unperturbed by my presence. He probably had too much else on his plate already. I let Sutherland make the running and he addressed his remarks to the Minister while Daondo did the answering. It looked remarkably like a ventriloquist’s act but I found it hard to figure out who was the dummy. Kigonde kept a stiff silence.
After some amiable chitchat (not the weather, thank God) we got down to business and Sutherland outlined some routine matters before drawing Kemp into the discussion. ‘Could we have a map, please, Mister Kemp?’
Kemp placed a map on the big table and pointed out his bottlenecks.
‘We have to get out of Port Luard and through Lasulu. Both are big towns and to take a load like this through presents difficulties. It has been my experience in Europe that operations like this draw the crowds and I can’t see that it will be different here. We should appreciate a police escort.’
Daondo nodded. ‘It will certainly draw the crowds.’ He seemed pleased.
Kemp said, ‘In Europe we usually arrange to take these things through at extreme off-peak times. The small hours of the night are often best.’
This remark drew a frown from Daondo and I thought I detected the slightest of headshakes from the Minister. I became more alert.
Kigonde stirred and spoke for the first time, in a deep and beautifully modulated voice. ‘You will certainly have an escort, Mister Kemp – but not the police. I am putting an army detachment at your service.’ He leaned forward and pressed a button, the door of the room opened, and a smartly dressed officer strode towards the table. ‘This is Captain Ismail Sadiq who will command the escort.’
Captain Sadiq clicked to attention, bowing curtly, and then at a nod from Kigonde stood at ease at the foot of the table.
Daondo said, The army will accompany you all the way.’
‘The whole journey?’ Sutherland asked.
‘On all journeys.’
I sensed that Sutherland was about to say something wrong, and forestalled him. ‘We are more than honoured, Major General. This is extremely thoughtful of you and we appreciate it. It is more of an honour than such work as this usually entails.’
‘Our police force is not large, and already has too much work. We regard the safekeeping of such expeditions as these of the greatest importance, Mister Mannix. The army stands ready to be of any service.’ He was very smooth, and I reckoned that we’d come out of that little encounter about equal. I prepared to enjoy myself.
‘Please explain the size of your command, Captain,’ Daondo said.
Sadiq had a soft voice at odds with his appearance. ‘For work on the road I have four infantry troop carriers with six men to each carrier, two trucks for logistics purposes, and my own command car, plus outriders. Eight vehicles, six motorcycles and thirty-six men including myself. In the towns I am empowered to call on local army units for crowd control.’
This was bringing up the big guns with a vengeance. I had never heard of a rig which needed that kind of escort, whether for crowd control or for any other form of safety regulations, except in conditions of war. My curiosity was aroused by now, but I said nothing and let Sutherland carry on. Taking his cue from me he expressed only his gratitude and none of his perturbation. He’d expected a grudging handful of ill-trained local coppers at best.
Kigonde was saying, ‘In the Nyalan army the rank of captain is relatively high, gentlemen. You need not fear being held up in any way.’
‘I am sure not,’ said Kemp politely. ‘It will be a pleasure having your help, Captain. But now there are other matters as well. I am sorry to tell you that the road has deteriorated slightly in some places, and my loads may be too heavy for them.’
That was an understatement, but Kemp was working hard at diplomacy. Obviously he was wondering if Sadiq had any idea of the demands made by heavy transport, and if army escort duty also meant army assistance. Daondo picked him up and said easily, ‘Captain Sadiq will be authorized to negotiate with the civil bodies in each area in which you may find difficulty. I am certain that an adequate labour force will be found for you. And, of course, the necessary materials.’
It all seemed too good to be true. Kemp went on to the next problem.
‘Crowd control in towns is only one aspect, of course, gentlemen. There is the sheer difficulty of pushing a big vehicle through a town. Here on the map I have outlined a proposed route through Port Luard, from the docks to the outskirts. I estimate that it will take eight or nine hours to get through. The red line marks the easiest, in fact the only route, and the figures
