half smile broadened, and Penaka continued without any embarrassment. ‘That can be a complicated question. This morning, for instance, I was reviewing my property holdings. I hold . . . quite a few assets in bricks and mortar.’
‘I’d say that makes you a landlord,’ said Tanko.
‘And you’d be wrong,’ replied Penaka. He selected a glass of champagne, turned, and headed for the room at the end of the lounge. The men took their drinks and followed, Belinja bringing up the rear. They entered a larger room, furnished like a gallery. A visually overpowering skyscape filled one wall. It was an oil painting, but it didn’t seem that way at all—it seemed more like they had stepped into a room cut into a mountainside and now looked out onto a sky of incredible intensity and vividness. Penaka chuckled as he heard the intakes of breath behind him. He turned and was not disappointed by what he observed. For several seconds there was no sound in the room as the soldiers drank in the spectacle. The first dimension of its wonder was the size: the canvas was stretched over the entire wall. Then there was the sheer detail of it: one could stand close enough to inspect the feathers of the soaring kites, or stand as far back as possible, to experience the breadth of such a limitless horizon in what was, after all, a room. And then there was the magic of the colours, jumping the gap from beauty into masterpiece.
‘I see you like Open Heavens,’ said Penaka. ‘If I told you I owned a couple of paintings in Nigeria it would have been just a statistic, but if I showed you one such as this, you’d feel it through your pores, won’t you? It would no longer be a matter of a number on an inventory. It becomes a matter of superlatives, of scale.’ He sipped delicately. ‘My friends, I am a collector.’
‘You collect paintings?’ asked Ofo, stroking the rough finish of the oil on the canvas, giving the other man another cause for laughter.
‘Paintings!’ snorted Penaka. ‘These are toys—houses, boats, aircraft—these are all hobbies. We—the club I lead—collect countries; that’s my real profession.’
There was polite silence in the room. ‘Countries?’ said Tanko eventually. ‘Are we talking South Pacific island countries here? Hundred miles by hundred? Ten thousand population?’
Penaka managed to look insulted without letting his smile slip. ‘This is not a joke, please; this is business. I’m not talking about holiday islands. I’m talking about real countries here. Argentina-Nigeria-size countries.’
‘Oh,’ said Lamikan with the dawning of understanding. ‘You mean the old CIA style of getting some Idi Amin–type sergeant to bump off his bosses and take over government? Is that why we’re here?’
Penaka laughed heartily and congratulated Belinja: ‘Your friend is funny!’ Then he said, stressing his point with firm jabs on Lamikan’s chest. ‘We are businessmen; we never do anything illegal. What we do is done at primitive levels all over the world. In Washington, lobbyists make careers of trying to influence lawmakers one way or the other.’ He cranked up his grin. ‘We make a success of it.’
‘So you are a lobbyist?’
‘In the sense that Open Heavens is a painting, yes. Listen, a lobbyist can deliver a senator’s vote on a particular bill. I can take a particular bill—or policy, or appointment—and deliver it. In a dozen countries at the same time. It is a matter of the level of influence my club can deliver. We take the long view. Sometimes all we do is identify people with leadership potential in a country and build with them, sometimes over a decade. And I don’t like to boast, but considering the state of our collection right now, I must say we have developed a knack for backing the right horses.’
‘Or mules,’ muttered Lamikan into his glass. A chill fell on the room. ‘During the Orkar coup, there was a rumour of a foreign coup plotter who escaped Nigeria in the boot of a car.’
Penaka’s champagne hand trembled. ‘Rumours, stories, the revenge of the powerless against the powerful.’
Tanko cleared his throat. ‘What you are talking about is like . . . developing connections.’
‘Not connections,’ insisted Penaka quietly. ‘Collections.’
‘So,’ said Ofo, gesturing at a political map of the world on the wall opposite the skyscape. ‘How many countries are in your collection right now?’
‘If you’re talking connections like Tanko, there’s nowhere in the world where we have none. But if you’re talking collections—’ He grinned coyly. ‘Well, like my friend Lamikan suggested, there are some things that are better not said in public.’
‘I see . . .’ Lamikan took a deep breath and glanced pointedly at his watch.
‘What’s your nationality?’ asked Tanko.
‘Patriotism is an outdated concept. I hold a couple of passports of convenience, speak eight languages, and pay some tax in nine jurisdictions.’
‘If patriotism is outdated, what have you replaced it with?’
‘Capitalism is inconsistent with patriotism; otherwise there’d be no such thing as a tax haven. Business transcends borders. If countries can own people, why not the other way round?’ He thumbed off a ringing phone. ‘The most patriotic thing you can do for your country is to be very rich! Taxes win wars!’
They talked a while longer. Lamikan had fallen silent, glancing at his watch every now and then. Finally, Belinja took the hint and made their apologies. Penaka’s invitation, when it came, was almost too casual: ‘Some of my club members are in town for the week, and I’m giving them a dinner soon.’ He waved a derisory hand to indicate his pièce de résistance: ‘This painting is nothing. If they like you, you might get an invitation into the most select club in the world.’
Tanko took Penaka’s hand in a farewell handshake and retained it once again. ‘Let me ask you a straight question, Mister Penaka: are you planning a coup?’
‘I’ll give you a straight answer, my friend: I’m not crazy.’
‘That’s not a straight answer.’
‘Touché.’ He nodded. ‘Look, imagine a hundred power brokers from all over the world with a hundred unique contacts each, all in one club. That gives every single power broker access to a hundred thousand quality contacts worldwide. That’s my idea of a coup. Only it’s no longer an idea. You can call up your president on the phone. Imagine that with me as a telephone exchange you have that kind of access to one hundred presidents. That’s my coup, friends. Totally legit.’
* * *
SOON AFTER, Penaka was on the patio, seeing off his guests. The soldiers were almost at the car, but Penaka hung back with Belinja until the rest were out of earshot. His smile was still intact as he said, ‘That Lamikan, I don’t want him back.’
‘He’s Obu’s security adviser,’ Belinja argued. ‘He’s critical—’
‘He’s out.’ Penaka pushed his finger into Belinja’s shoulder and repeated, ‘Out.’ He looked past Belinja to the soldiers talking by the car. ‘Ofo is an interesting character, though. You do take risks, don’t you? M.A. to the head of state. What more can he want?’
‘He thinks his boss is sleeping with his wife.
