CHAPTER 14
Craig Donovan knew the Mandarin Oriental set standards so he put on his best suit, straightened his tie and checked his hair. It was longer and greyer than it had ever been and he'd wondered if he should get it cut before meeting Commander Fernandez. But then he'd thought about Zoe. She'd never liked the crew cut. "Makes you look like a retired US marine, my dear."
He'd barely finished reporting at the hotel's reception when McAllister emerged through a lift door. "Craig. Your hair's longer. How're you doing? Come. I got a room upstairs and half an hour before I move again. You well? Retired, huh? Missing the action?"
McAllister's meeting room was on the third floor, an early evening view of lights reflecting off the water of the Tidal Basin. "What'll it be, Craig? We got everything here." But he didn't wait for an answer before pouring two Jack Daniels.
"I watched you on TV last night, Senator. Very entertaining," said Donovan."It made sense."
McAllister handed him a glass. "Good. Because I'll never forget something you said in Abuja. It's why I agreed to see you."
"Remind me."
"We were talking about Boko Haram - what is now the COK. 'Fine words will never succeed,' you said. There was more like that, but it sounded like an attack on US foreign policy."
"Frustration I suppose."
"You'd seen action, right? Before the CIA?"
"Sure - Afghanistan, Kuwait, Cairo, Beirut....."
"So why phone me?"
"US military strategy bothers me. So, does NATO, the EU. My wife's English for Christ's sake. They almost need a referendum before they deploy a few SAS troops and.........."
"Call me Jim, go on."
"I agree with most everything you said last night but let's not beat about the bush, as the Brits say. If a different strategy is needed and someone has one, has tried it and it works, why the hell isn't the Government listening?"
McAllister wandered around with his glass. "OK, Craig," he said, pointing a finger and nearly slopping the whisky on the Mandarin Oriental's Chinese carpet. "I'll answer in a minute. Let me ask a few questions first. You been speaking to Daniel Bakare?"
"Yes, I first met him in Abuja too."
"You know Frank Jameson - California?"
"No."
"But you know Gabriel Joshua."
"Yes."
"I often meet Gabe when he's in the States. Great guy. Great passion. Great energy. But I don't mention him to many folks around here. You know why?"
"Tell me."
"I'll answer that by answering your first question. Why isn't the US Government listening? It's because defence policy, military strategy, call it what you like, comes from Secretaries of Defence. The current incumbent inherited some policy but instead of building on it he ditched it. He listens to advice or, in his case, reads reports at bedtime, but then he mostly ignores it. He thinks he knows what's best, you see." McAllister paused, very briefly. "You ever check that creep's fucking website, Craig?"
Craig shook his head.
"Take my advice. Don't. Dougie Martin's fucking website makes me want to throw up. Dougie Martin's been floating around Washington for so long, he no longer relies on advice from others but on the fragile assumption that he rose to power because he knows every God damned thing there is to know about defence and the military and every other God damned thing besides.
"And yes, he's darned good on finance and budgets and he remembers the names of every fucking soldier, navy rating or trainee fighter pilot in the academies right through to the Commanders of our front-line operations He's fucking brilliant at remembering names - Charlie this, Steve that. And if you ask him about memorandums of understanding and the detail in paragraph six clause 37 or human rights or employment law or US policy towards supplying arms or equipment to places he's never been to - like Nigeria - he's a fucking walking, talking encyclopaedia.
"And what's more he seems to think that people are, at heart, kind, forgiving and tolerant and want nothing more than to live a long life of love, peace and goodwill with their neighbours. And that, for Christ's sake, includes every jihadist that's hiding in a cave between Kabul and the Sahara. He's like a fucking hippie. Make love not war. I could fucking kill him - that's a joke by the way.
"But, yeh, he sits and counts beans, reads his reports and listens to the President and the Secretary of State, but stifles discussion with anyone with experience who tries to engage on policy or says Western military operations have shortcomings.
"If someone says we need feet on the ground he'll turn around and say the US citizens don't like watching coffins draped with flags getting offloaded. If someone says we need to supply arms to poor but friendly countries, he'll say we can't because of their human rights record and, anyway, there's no need because the US is developing super high technology that'll do the job from a laptop and so save American lives.
"You heard what I said on TV, Craig. We need a new strategy, a total rethink and we need to ditch what I call the oh-so-careful, mustn't-upset-anyone approach."
McAllister had finished both his whisky and his stroll about and sank into a chair. "There's your answer. Part of it, anyway,"
Donovan wasn't entirely shocked. It was just the way McAllister explained it. He was just like Gabriel. No wonder they got on well.
McAllister waved his empty glass at him. "You met Gabriel." It wasn't a question.
Craig raised an eyebrow. "Yes."
"Starbucks."
"You know, huh?"
"Gabriel's tracked. Mostly he's ignored but there are enough concerns floating around that bring out the men in black."
"There's also an arrest warrant." Donovan added.
McAllister nodded. "The FBI are ignoring it. They suspect it's a forgery."
"So, he's allowed to come and go?"
"You'd need to ask the FBI or Homelands Security but I guess so. But everyone knows Gabriel is pushing boundaries and pushing his luck. It'll run out sooner or later."
McAllister glanced at his watch.
"So, why did you agree to see me?" Donovan asked. "I can't believe it's a catch up with a vague acquaintance."
McAllister nodded. "Listen. I spoke to Gabriel a few weeks back. There are a few of us - like Daniel Bakare - who listen to him and think he has ideas worth listening to. Gabriel was losing patience. Fuck's sake. I understand that. But then he told me he'd already made some moves. Gabriel wouldn't say that without reason. Then I hear we spotted something on surveillance. A British flag on a roof top for Christ's sake - on the border near Niger or somewhere. I asked Gabriel but he laughed. The Brits knew nothing but they do now. Bakare knows something, maybe more than me, but he and I are a party apart. He keeps things close. Where is Gabriel now?"
"Probably on his way to London."
"I know he's fund raising from anyone he can find but what's he got going?"
Craig wondered if the Senator's show of ignorance was feigned. Was he fishing?
"Ask Daniel Bakare," Craig replied, unsure how reluctance to divulge things might go down. Undeterred, he went on: "But Gabriel's creating something else out there - some kind of new community based on new economics. education, healthcare, small businesses. "
"I heard. Can't see it working myself."
"Whatever, it's getting forgotten amongst the hoo-ha over the defence side, but that's Gabriel's real, long term baby. And it needs far better understanding. It's a massive undertaking and could take years. But given what's going on in the area, it needs defending otherwise it'll never get going."
"Yeh," McAllister said as if he'd heard nothing really new.
"He's losing patience," Donovan added. "Now he's talking about a Plan B."
McAllister sat forward. "Plan B? I don't even understand Plan A. I've always liked the idea of helping people to defend themselves but what the hell is Plan B?"
"He's probably just looking for more willing partners."
McAllister's expression changed. "Like who for Christ's sake?"
&nb
sp; "One might hazard a guess."
"And your guess?"
Donovan shrugged. His guess was too hazardous to mention.
"Mmm," McAllister pondered. "What's your next move, Craig? What exactly is he paying you for?"
Donovan had expected that question at the beginning, not the end. "I'm working with a UK colleague on the corruption and fraud charges. That's what he's paying for, but one thing leads to another."
"Yeh. One thing always leads to another." McAllister was definitely fishing.
Donovan paused, gathering his thoughts. "Gabriel's no fool, you know. He knows his ideas cost money. He admits he's being distracted by the defence need. But he won't stop looking for support - financial or otherwise. But he needs government help, government understanding. US, UK or EU support would drive everything forward. Whether his Project would work remains to be seen but surely there's no harm in understanding it better, giving it a try. But if he's finally lost patience then...."
Donovan left the sentence hanging there knowing Jim McAllister would finish it.
"He'll move to Plan B. Is that what you're saying?"
Craig Donovan nodded. "What would you do?"
Mark Dobson had returned to the Airport Hotel and was struggling with the chef's chicken and rice 'dish of the day' when Vigo phoned.
"Civic and I had dialogue," he said breathlessly as if he'd been running.
"Go on."
"Civic's been looking for Festus Fulani for long time about our ten percent. Anyway, I tell Civic about Pastor Gabriel and his problems and I mention a few names like you told me, and Civic says he knows Gabriel and goes to his sermons when he's in town and Civic says Gabriel should be President and gets mad like crazy when I tell him some more. You still there, Mercedes, 'cus I got a funny sound on my phone? And there's no power....black here like Whitney Houston and I just learn something so, so big I nearly shit myself. Festus is big eye, big trouble now. He done run from London on murder charge."
"I heard," Dobson said, throwing down his spoon and fork.
"But Civic say he knows where he lives. Someone give info and Civic track him tonight. I never see fella like Civic when mad. He get so fucking crazy he look to slap one on Festus. Tonight, Civic go to smart house in Utako. Knock on door. You want more, Mercedes?"
"Go on."
"OK, right now, Civic inside house with two big size fren. One have gun, maybe not to shoot but to put shit up Festus. Festus all talk. You still hear me, Mercedes?"
"Carry on."
Dobson stood up from the table, took a last look at what he'd been told was chicken and made his way to his room. Half way there he began to think this thing with Festus was too quick, too easy, too.........too something.
"Civic says, any questions you want to ask Festus?"
Dobson was halfway down the corridor when the lights went off. There was total darkness except for the weak light from his phone. He stopped walking, searching for his room key and some questions. "Ask him who issued the arrest warrant for Pastor Gabriel."
"Hold on, Mercedes, I got two phones running here and they are the only lights left on in Lagos. You got power where you are, Mercedes?"
"No, total power out. Black like Whitney Houston."
Dobson heard Vigo repeating his question as he groped along the wall trying to find number 28 with his phone. Directing the light on the key hole he let himself in.
"OK, Mercedes, let's see what Festus says. His nerves are frayed big time. There's a Hausa woman there as well but Civic said she's in the bathroom. But we already got a promise he'll sort out our any problems like our ten percent. You there?........ OK, Festus says.... ah, wait......you there Merc? This fucking guy now says he's not Festus."
"Jesus," Dobson said aloud. He'd sensed something was wrong. He waited, his phone charge low. Would it last? Would his patience last? If this wasn't Festus Fulani then who the hell was it?
"OK we're getting something......Civic says the guy works for Festus but not Festus. Festus away some place. This guy say his name Kenneth."
"Kenneth what?"
"I'll ask."
"Balogun. This guy's on your list and Civic say this good enough. Fuck Festus. We'll get Festus later. Wait...........This guy now start to shake, sweat drip like tap. He pleading not to get shot. Is like top TV comedy show, Mercedes. You should listen.....wait...... OK, he says they borrowed official looking stamps........ someone signed warrant........ someone in the Ministry sent it out. It's a scam, Mercedes. We Nigerians fucking good at scams."
"Get him to write it all down like an admission - names, anything = you know what I mean?"
"OK. This guy no strong head. His hand shaking like a leaf in the wind. You still there, Mercedes?"
"Still here."
"Wait........Things happening again, mon..........You using up credit big time like one of them big limo taxis where you see clock tick tick ......here's Civic again.......OK, you getting what you want - names, big names including.......including a fucking High Court Judge. Fuck me.......And I really need a shit, Mercedes. I needed one for hours but too dark. And now you got.....wait....you got a signature on paper.......Kenneth Balogun trembling hand but pen it work......Civic ask what his job and shit piece of jelly say work for FAA.........That good, Mercedes. We got proof."
"Another request, Vigo," Dobson interrupted. "Take his photo or video him. I really need to see this bastard as he signs it. But no guns or other weapons showing, OK? Nothing to show he's signing under duress, OK?"
"Wait......wait.....it's done, Mercedes. Civic make short video, send on phone. Anything else?"
"That'll do, Vigo. But what about the ten percent they owe you?"
"Civic starting work on him now. He's got help, Mercedes. Another guy called Danny. Your job took top priority."
"Danny? Danny of Red Lips?"
"Danny tell where Festus live."
"But it isn't Festus, Vigo. Never mind. Go and have a shit before it's too late."
Dobson's phone battery then went dead. In total darkness, he lay back on the bed.
Five minutes later the room lights flickered and came on again. What's more the WiFi was working as if the power break had reset something. It was a weak signal but enough to send Colin Asher a short update.
Half an hour later came the reply.
"G & S are flying to London. Craig is also booked to return. I suggest you also come back. Let's meet and decide where we take all this. Colin."
Mark Dobson slept but woke a few hours later to another call from Vigo
"Civic still not see sun, Mercedes. He and Danny put slap on Balogun until just now. Maybe we get our ten percent today. He one shit scared man. He even more shit scared when Civic asked about the FAA deal. Danny slap some more and find Mr Putin's friend got the job."
"Russians?" Dobson checked.
"Yah. Mr Putin. Big fella, no shirt, rides a horse."
"It's all show, Vigo. He's not as big as he looks."
"But look real strong and cool, Mercedes. Big man, big politics, big deal."
"But did you get the name of Putin's friend?"
"You want me to check?"
While Vigo checked Mark Dobson phoned Chelsea to tell him he was going to London. "I'll be back soon. Say thanks to Pops, OK?"
Then, as Dobson checked out of the hotel, Vigo called with the answer. "Putin's Russian friend is Protek, Mercedes. They won the FAA contract."