At a festival to divert attention, Government blames the gods for global warming

At a festival to divert attention, Government blames the gods for global warming

Theodora watched, anxious, as her husband packed. “I don’t want you to leave right now, Idi.”

Camp turned to her and smiled. “I know, my love. But I can’t let these phoney charges stop me from doing my job. I need to be in Limi more than ever now. I will be seen working with the people, fighting for them to get water, and that will help counter these charges more than anything.”

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Theodora hugged her husband. She shuddered against him, her fear palpable. “I have such a bad feeling. These people are capable of anything.”

Camp kissed her tenderly on the forehead. “They have made a grave error. I will no longer be their mouthpiece on this global warming charade. I will go to Limi and talk about my fears that the money I am accused of stealing was in fact the work of other government officials. I will call for a complete and open investigation.”

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“But you know they have altered their books.”

“I have faith that the truth will come out. How else can I fight them?”

“You could resign. We could return to the UN.”

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“You never wanted that for me.” Camp knew Theodora was feeling desperate and afraid.

“I just want us together and safe.”

“I do as well. But you have to think, my dear. If I were to resign without clearing my name, what future would there be for any of us?” With that, he closed his suitcase and turned to her. “I will be back by the weekend. We’ll take the children for some fun outing.”

“Then if you must go, take my car,” she said, her tone implying she would not accept his refusal. “The windows are tinted dark. No one can see inside. It could throw off anyone wishing to do you harm while you are on the road alone.”

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They exchanged keys. He kissed her and left. As he closed the door behind him, Theodora worried at it might be the last time she ever saw her beloved husband alive.

 

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“You sonofabitch!” Rika yelled at the top of her lungs. Huud held up his hands, hoping to quiet her before she continued her rant. He knew other people in the building could hear his wife’s tirade and it was, frankly, embarrassing.

“Please, Rika, you have to understand. I pushed through your position and a budget, but it cost me a lot of political capital. If people see you out and about, doing good work, things will simmer down.”

“Limi? It’s dry and arid and filled with dying people.”

“That’s why your appearance there will carry such weight. And I need you to look into Camp’s activities. He’s going to be there for three days. You are our eyes and ears. Now that these accusations have been made, he’ll be wary of us. Tiko and I are worried he might even be going there to stir up trouble for us, renege on what he said about global warming. Or even accuse us of taking the missing funds.”

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Rika knew that in going, she was there to protect her own self-interests, under the guise of doing the work of the First Lady. A perfect cover. Rika could always spot where her self-interest lay, and she knew Huud was right, so she acquiesced.

“Alright. I’ll go and keep an eye on Camp. I might even try to get close to him, gain his confidence.”

Huud shook his head. “Don’t overreach. He’ll be on guard.” But Huud knew damned well that if Rika could seduce Camp, she would. Not just to get information, but to satisfy her endless needs.

 

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Commissioner Camp waded through the crowd of onlookers, poor men and women who had already heard rumours of corruption in the government. They had heard Camp’s name connected to these rumours, and he knew he would be the target of hostile stares and perhaps even be in danger of bodily harm. But he wanted to make an appearance here, in his home state, in Limi, his hometown.

Camp climbed up on a crate, which had been provided by a local merchant, and waved his hands for quiet. The crowd grew still. At the rear, Abel and Billings watched, fascinated. Abel elbowed his bodyguard gently to get his attention. “The man has guts, my friend. Takes nerve to do what he’s doing.” Billings nodded. Then they listened as Camp addressed the crowd.

“Good evening, fellow Tinnakans.” He spoke throatily, picking his words and swallowing occasionally, as if to hold back tears.

“It gives me much pain to intrude into your homes at this time when most of us are still uncertain about our dinner. It gives me pain because some people have hardly had anything to eat all day. It is painful because we are not in the Lenten period of the Christians among us, the Ramadan of the Moslems, or the festival of sacrifices for the gods. There is no good reason for your hunger.

“It is sad because, even though some of our former leaders treated the agriculture of our country with great neglect, in our new manifesto we had promised you we would revitalize farming, not only to restore the vibrancy in the smiles of our people for whom agriculture is a way of life, but also to ensure our self-sufficiency.

“This objective we have pursued with relentless vigour. The forty per cent of our annual budget that is allocated to agriculture, and the high calibre of personnel to whose care we have entrusted this backbone of our society, are clear testimonies of our concern.

“But, try as we may, the present state of things and the realities of the day show that we face imminent famine. As recently as a decade ago, we had so much to eat we could afford to run to the aid of our famished neighbours. We were the food basket of the country. Today we go cap in hand begging for food, even for the varieties of food our fathers found degrading to eat.

”This misfortune has not befallen us because our farmers have suddenly become lazy or because they have suddenly decided to live the life of the grasshopper. No, we are still the hardworking Tinnakans who work like industrious ants.

“But all the crops that we grow wither away in the blazing sun. The rains have refused to fall, and even when they do, they do so only briefly, or they do so with such fury that they damage our farms and property in their wake. It gets so bad at times that we are tempted to wonder whether we derive any benefits from the rains at all. But who are we to question God?

“Fellow Tinnakans, it is becoming increasingly obvious that something is wrong. But not with you and not with our gods. To paraphrase a great writer, ‘The fault lies not in the stars but in ourselves.’ But who is at fault?

“I know you have heard rumours that I am behind missing funds, money which was to be used to drill water wells. And that is a lie. I have been trying to find out where that money has gone. I have been discouraged from looking and encouraged to go along with the government’s call to pray and their attempt to blame this on global warming, and therefore on the industrialized world.”

Camp stopped and waited to see if he had the audience’s attention. He did. Not a soul stirred.

Off to the side, the First Lady, Rika Huud watched from a porch where she stood in the shade. She had various assistants with her, holding umbrellas and water bottles. One in particular, a young man she called “Bronze” because of his physique and colouring stood close to her. Rika had plans for him later that night, and she’d chosen him to be her bodyguard over more qualified but less impressive physical samples.

Rika fumed as she listed to Camp, and would report this not to her husband, but to Tiko.

Camp continued. “We cannot blame others for our problems. If we wait for help from the outside, we will all die. But I promise you, money was given to help you all and that money has been stolen. My pledge to you is to find the criminals, whether they be inside the government or out, and bring them to justice, to recover your money and drill those wells. You will have the water you deserve and need!”

Some in the crowd cheered and clapped, mostly the younger generation. Many just stood mute, those who still blamed the gods for this plight and others who suspected Camp was trying to shift blame to somebody else.

In the back, Abel, who also kept a tab on Camp’s movements, scribbled madly in his notebook, taking down Camp’s words so he could write a story that night. He glanced over and spotted Rika standing on the porch, looking sour. Abel nodded toward the woman. “Billings, my friend, we need to interview that lady, the First Lady of Tinnaka State.”

“When, boss?”

“She’s here to throw some party for the village, a good-will party to show how concerned the governor is. She will have a receiving line. We get in line, shake her hand and arrange an interview. I know this woman’s character. If I promise to write about her good deeds, she won’t be able to resist.”

“She don’t know you on the other side, boss?”

“She knows. But people like her can be cajoled into acting against their better judgment. You want to be a reporter someday? Watch and learn, my friend. Learn from the master.” Abel smiled, only half kidding about his powers of persuasion. Abel had talked more recalcitrant figures into speaking to him than the egocentric Rika.

 

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That evening, Gorem Huud, dressed in a cream coloured jacket he hoped would show off his beautiful skin and cut to accentuate his broad shoulders, greeted Comfort Deree at the front door of his secret guest house in the outskirts of town. With Rika away, he had given his staff the night off. He wanted this to be his evening, and Comfort’s.

Comfort was dressed as if she had the same kind of evening in mind. The neckline on her dress plunged and parted so that the swell of her beautiful breasts was clearly visible. The dress was made of fine silk material, which clung to her shapely body, slit up the side to mid-thigh.

They ate on the veranda looking into the humid night and talked about their lives and their dreams for the future. Huud spoke of the weight of being governor and of how he missed the days when he ran a smaller outfit. He had known such great success and been so well regarded. Now, he was caught up in messy politics.

Comfort sympathized, but said that she knew Huud ultimately would find his way out of these distressing circumstances. She startled him, though, when she asked him about the charges against Camp.

“I don’t believe they are true, Gorem. Do you?”

Huud was careful. He picked his words wisely, so as to walk a fine line. “I am surprised myself. But I saw the documents and in the interest of full disclosure felt they had to be released. I was under pressure from various quarters, as you can imagine.”

Huud wanted to tell Comfort that he had saved Camp’s life, releasing those charges, that the man would probably be dead already if he hadn’t intervened. But he couldn’t. “Anyway, if they are unfounded, then Camp will come out just fine. Now, please, do we have to discuss business on such a pleasant evening?”

Comfort nodded; indeed, business needed to give way to pleasure. They retired to the living room where Huud put on music and they talked by candlelight over another cocktail. Then they moved to the sofa.

As she made to sit, Comfort’s eyes fell on several sheets of stapled paper on the coffee table. She picked them up and started to read. Huud took them from her, rather abruptly.

“We agreed, no more business,” Huud said, using his best disarming smile.

When they sat close to one another on the couch, Huud was overcome with desire. Comfort seemed ready herself. Huud reached out and took the glass from her hand and placed it gently on the coffee table. He leaned toward her and kissed her. And she responded.

The rest of the evening would be a dream for both of them, as they engaged in that long-awaited and long-desired meeting of mind and body. For Huud, making love to this giving, loving, warm woman was like being shown the light after years of imprisonment in a windowless cellar. The give and take of each moment was a reprieve from his hellish slave status with Rika. In a moment, Huud determined never to return to Rika’s cellar. He would remain in the light, the illumination provided by Comfort’s kindness and caring. Somehow, he had to make this all permanent, no matter what the cost. An ironic thought flashed through his mind, but he dismissed it as a fleeting whim. He should hire Tiko’s paid assassins to do one more job before they departed. He realized a man in love, as he was now, was capable of terrible deeds. Anything was possible. Anything at all.

 

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At Limi, Rika had a full, hectic day. Abel ensured he covered all the activities. The governor had made a State broadcast on the festival “to give the people hope.” They would soon get water, he promised. The broadcast raised the festival’s profile and brought it into the attention of the media. Abel felt rather safe in the stream of reporters in the devastated village. He also had Billings, a trusted radar, by his side.

The festival had always been celebrated with pomp and pageantry. It usually brought all the natives of the village together in a week of merrymaking and thanksgiving to their gods of fertility. But this year there were be no produce from the farms to thank the gods for. Despite the series of sacrifices the people had made to the gods, they had not been blessed with rains for two years. The magnitude of the loss brought the village elders together in Chief Jibi Minta’s palace. The walled compound about three square hectares offered enough room for the nearly fifty elders and some visitors and reporters, who, Chief Minta had been convinced, would attract global attention and assistance for his people.

Many of the elders were there to ensure the postponement of the festival from October to December and to find a better way of appeasing the gods. The village was in mourning. For twenty minutes the elders, all dressed in white flowing gowns, sat on goatskins in the courtyard waiting for Chief Minta’s arrival. About fifteen journalists stood in rapt attention by the gate some twenty meters away. Among them was Abel. He wore a long brown gown and a large embroidered cap of the same colour to complete his camouflage. He remained on high alert, refusing to chitchat with his younger colleagues. He remembered the palace well as the point from where he had veered off the road toward the market square on his first visit. The horror scene at Soto’s shrine also ran through his mind, dissolving in memories of his many close shaves with death.

A heavy silence fell on the gathering when a young man emerged from the building onto the court to make a request. “Please, welcome the people’s king!”

Soon Chief Minta appeared, wearing a thick white cloth tied at the chest, where the assorted beads that dangled from his neck rested. All the hair from his head seemed to have been transplanted onto his broad chest. He was a giant, seven feet tall, dark, with broad shoulders. In spite of his build, he walked slowly and gracefully in sandals made of leopard skin. Leopard skin also covered both wrists.

The elders rose to receive him, chorusing, “Okokroko!” The grim-looking chief responded “Yekrom,” with a wave of his massive left hand. All eyes fell on him as he sat in silence on a straight chair also decorated in leopard skin, then he rose almost immediately to address the elders, who had again seated themselves on their goatskins.

“My people, we are in crisis,” Chief Minta said bluntly, and paused to swallow some masticated kola. “In the days of our fathers, when we were children, we only heard about moving sands in fairy tales. We heard that it had happened several miles north of this great village, but today we share our boundaries with moving sand.”

“Hmmm!” the elders chorused in pain.

“Thank you.” He used the pause to chew the kola nut in his mouth while adjusting the cloth around his chest.

“Today our yam mounds have become sand dunes. Houses on the outskirts of the village, like those of Mallam Tunu and Yefaji, are surrounded by sand dunes higher than the houses themselves. All these people and, in fact, the whole village, may have to move further south before the angry sand overruns them.

“We are supposed to be in the rainy season now, a period during which the whole district is green with thick bushes. Back then, we cultivated maize, rice, sugar cane, millet, guinea corn, cassava, and yam, but today we can barely grow any of these. Farmlands have turned into dry, shifting sands. Our livestock has shrunk drastically because we have turned meat into staple food. The decimation of kilometres of vegetation, the declining water table, and the dry river beds have left over two hundred thousand heads of livestock dead.”

“Hmmm!” the people responded again, some of them drying tears from their flooded eyes. Chief Minta could not join the emotional outpourings of his people, because it was a taboo for him to show strong emotions in public. He took a deep breath and shoved more pieces of kola into his mouth, continuing, “Our animals are dying. Today, no family can boast of four cows, but what can we do when we human beings have no water to drink? How can we explain to our children that we have to dig wells in river valleys that only ten years ago had enough water for us to swim in?

“Our gods of water have become as unfriendly as our gods of sunshine. Today the sun rises as early as cockcrow, and by six A.M., it is already scorching everything in the way of its rays. Temperatures are so high that, out of the fear of setting ourselves ablaze, we have reduced our working hours deplorably.

“You all know that if the rains had fallen we wouldn’t be huddled here this August morning to postpone our very important festival. But here we are, famished.”

The elders responded with another chorus of heavy sighs. Chief Minta threw some more kola into his mouth and chewed noisily.

“Here we are. Here we are, my people. And if what I’m hearing from our son, Idi, who says he is now called Camp, is true, the desert which is travelling south at about six kilometres a year toward us, will dispossess us of our land.”

“Eeeooo!” The elders wailed

Chief Minta watched the emotional outpouring of his people and paused to recompose himself.

“Here we are, my people. Yet it is not because we have not tried on our own. We have. We have sacrificed nearly all that is left of our livestock and even our dogs, but here we are. My people, what can we do next? Shall we flee from our village to escape the marching sands?”

He stopped there and buried his face in his hands to say some prayers in the local Limima dialect. In the audience of restive elders, tears were dried and the sighing stopped, giving way to noisy throat clearing by prospective speakers. Since the general belief was that the problem had assumed spiritual dimensions, Abel felt nobody would compete with Soto to speak next. Abel had learned that for years Soto had lived in the persona of an almighty being, feared by all, especially during yam festivals when he danced on rooftops and ate live chickens. He was thought to have the solution to all the natural and spiritual problems of the town and, although he never cursed anyone, it was widely believed that his curse meant death.

In recent years, all his promises of more rain had gone unfulfilled. He had made boastful promises after many consultations with the god of fertility, whose name, Sototo, he shared, but the rains had refused to come. For every occasion though, Soto had a ready-made answer: “Our people are committing too much sin these days”

Abel was right. From a front seat, the dishevelled head of Soto rose into view. He limped forward and turned to face the rest of the elders. “Soto chioo, Chief Minta chioo,” he greeted the Chief with a bow.

“When things turn out this way, when there is so much trouble in the land and yet our gods are unconcerned, there is one and only one reason. My people, the gods are not to blame. It is our people, our people who have refused to turn away from sin. Every day we desecrate the gods. People tell lies, they steal and they sleep with other people’s wives. For all these sins, what can we expect beside the anger of the gods?” He paused to cough.

“Our revered chief, I reiterate that we are only reaping what we have sown, and until we cleanse our society, I don’t think there is much we can do beyond lamenting our grief. Sototo chioo, Chief Minta chioo,” he concluded

He made another round of bowing and paused to read his audience’s reaction. In the process, his bloodshot eyes looked into the prying eyes of Abel.

Abel saw Soto’s eyes dilate, not in anger but in fright. He seemed to be struggling to breathe, but, in the glare of the crowd, he held his ground. As he put his hands to his ears to listen to the gods, they shook, but he diverted close scrutiny by stamping his right foot.

Remembering that he needed the entire proceedings of the meeting for a feature story, Abel feigned exhaustion and went to the back of the pack of journalists to take a seat.

As soon as Soto saw Abel leave, he shouted again, “Sototo chioo, Chief Minta chioo,” his voice weak and quaky.

Chief Minta engaged him. “Chief Priest, I am sorry, but you have not told us what we can do to further appease the gods.”

“Revered One, I will come to that,” Soto said, still trying to restore his balance, but it was obvious that he was under strain.

A tall, thin man, about fifty years old, shot up to his feet. “While we try to find a solution to the problem, we should not be unmindful of the fact that the problem is not restricted to Limi. We are about five hundred kilometres from the country’s northern border, and, if I am right, all the towns and villages between the border and here have similar or worse problems.

“It is possible that the whole country or even the whole universe has sinned against God to warrant this punishment, but I think it is equally necessary to try to find out our particular sins, granting that we in Limi alone are the sinners.”

These words seemed to ignite Soto’s temper. “You have turned away from our gods and will not believe anything until you are swept into your graves. Even if the problem exists elsewhere, should we sit down and fold our arms to wait for others to solve it for us?”

Soto turned. “Revered Chief, for the forty years I have been serving the great Sototo, there has been no way to appease her apart from sacrifices and unconditional repentance of our sins.”

At that, a balding old man raised his shaking right hand and stood up to speak without approval from the official who had announced Chief Minta’s arrival. For over a minute, the seventy-something-year-old stood clearing his throat, until he finally found words. “Honourable Chief, I think there are two pressing things our chief priest may have to do for us. First, there might be a few individuals who are causing the whole lot of us this despair. I wouldn’t be surprised of some of our disrespectful youths have had sexual intercourse in the bush, even near the shrine.”

“Prrrr! Sototo forbid,” the chief priest shouted.

The speaker ignored him and continued. “We may have to find out who the sinners are and what their sins are in order to find suitable solutions or the right sacrifices.”

“Yeaa!” the elders chorused and broke into whispers.

For the first time Chief Minta nodded slowly and indicated his wish to speak with a wave of his left hand. A dense quiet fell on the crowd.

“My people, this gathering is not held so we can argue. All the speakers have spoken well. Now, before we go in to pray, we have to agree. How do we celebrate a new yam festival when we have no new yams? I therefore think we should postpone the festival. Do we all agree?”

“Yeaa,” the people concurred, but Abel knew the vote was superfluous. In Limi, the leader was never challenged.

Chief Minta nodded and proceeded to rest the matter. “Now we shall go in to pray, and after that the linguist will proclaim our decision to the people. As Governor Huud announced, we will continue to fast and to offer sacrifices through our chief priest, and all who have sinned shall be punished. Luckily, the government has started to send relief donations to our neighbours and to us.

“Be reminded that, after the prayers, we will receive gifts from the governor’s wife. My people, I pronounce this the end of the meeting.”

“Yeaa, Okokroko,” the people cheered.

“The Revered One rises,” the official promptly announced. Stepping regally, Chief Minta led the elders in for prayers.

The announcement of the visit of the governor’s wife thrilled Abel. As the other journalists streamed out to have a break and to see how devastated the town was, Abel stayed back, contemplating what to do about Soto. He knew that Soto had a mandate to kill again, but if he revealed him, then Abel would blow his own cover. He wanted to send a message to Soto, so he decided to loiter outside the palace.

After some ten minutes of waiting, he went to his car, parked across from the palace. As he did so, he saw Muni ride his bike slowly into the compound with a lady on the passenger seat. He wore a faded green French suit.

The loafer came here because of the governor’s wife’s visit, Abel thought. The number plate had been changed; but he ignored the young man. He felt rather joyful that the youth had attacked him for the motorbike and not because of his assignment. He was not sure Muni saw him, and he was not going to attract him. Muni was too poignant a symbol of the many poor unemployed youths in Tinnaka.

Abel had learned since their last encounter that, Muni, a secondary school certificate holder from a family of nine siblings, lived off the crumbs of the table of rich Tinnaka politicians. He was hired as a thug during the elections, but ever since, he has lost relevance. In Limi, where many youths had been driven from the farms by drought, Muni’s only advantage was his little education, which made him occasionally useful to the politicians. An interesting figure, Abel thought, but he had no need of him today.

Luckily for Abel, Soto led a group of three elders out of the palace moments later, a white cock in his hand. Abel stuck his head out the window and shouted, “Loro, Loro. Remember Loro?”

He saw the fear in Soto’s craggy face. The priest put his hands to his ears pretending to listen to the gods, his head bent.

“The gods are talking to you already,” Abel heard an elderly man say scornfully as he walked past Soto. Soto ordered the three elders to return to the palace by repeatedly waving of his short thumb. Amused, Abel broke into suppressed laughter.

Soon after, Muni tore out of the palace ground and stomped towards the car, waving his hands in a sign language Abel could not understand. The possibility of a scene that would deprive him from seeing the governor’s wife in action worried him, and he became watchful, ready to move. Muni marched up to where he sat in the car.

“Please leave this space for the entourage of the governor’s wife,” Muni said gently. His eyes were bloodshot and there was alcohol in his breath. Abel found it hard to place Muni now. Muni did not recognize him, so he drove the car down the road to find another parking space. He joined his colleagues at the palace where the elders now sat on blue plastic chairs. A new, large but stuffed chair now stood to the left of Chief Minta’s seat.

Blaring sirens and the squeals from big cars pulling to a stop outside the palace drowned the linguist’s announcement of the arrival of Chief Minta. Abel wondered why the reception was not open to the public.

The entrance of the palace was bustling with activity. Six male security operatives in dark, roomy suits arrived and spread out. They had barely positioned themselves when four trim women, wearing gowns made from the distinctive cloth of the ruling party walked in. Abel recognized that they too were security officers. The amazement of the elders was obvious.

A minute after the entrance of the women, a tall, fair-skinned lady garbed in a long, lime green embroidered gown and gold ornaments walked painstakingly slowly towards Chief Minta, who had become sandwiched between two equally tall ladies. She bowed and spoke. “Your Royal Highness and our elders, I am privileged to announce the arrival of the First Lady.” She paused, looked around and bowed again.

Mrs. Rika Huud soon entered amid shouts of “The first lady, the first lady,” by a small, motley crowd of cheerleaders who had obviously come with her from Bammak City. She was as tall as the lady who announced her arrival and wore the same colours and style of gown. The embroidery was however thicker in her gown, while her neck and wrists were bedecked with gold and diamonds. Abel thought her pretty face added to her charm.

She walked gracefully to Chief Minta, bowed in greeting and took her seat beside him. The broad smile she wore made her face glow. Abel looked on intently as Chief Minta welcomed her. After a prolonged applause acknowledging her, she stood up to speak:

“Your Royal Highness, elders of Limi, God Almighty knows that you have suffered,” she began.

“Mmmm,” the elders expressed their pain.

After an appropriate pause, she continued, “Your great party, The People’s Party, knows your situation too; so on behalf of the party leaders, I donate to you one hundred bags of rice and five hundred gallons of cooking oil. May God help you. Thank you.”

The applause that greeted the donation was short, and Abel was shocked. The presentation was as poor as the offering, which was grossly disproportionate to the lavishness of the entourage. To make matters worse, when the donations were formally given to Chief Minta outside his palace, the governor’s wife drove up in a convoy of twenty luxurious Predo Jeeps!

Soon after they had left, Abel sauntered to his car and drove off. He could not rationalise why the governor’s wife would make the donation on behalf of the party, and why so much opulence and vanity in the face of famish.

He reached with his left hand for the satellite phone beside him and called her. “Mrs. Tiko, I’m a reporter who has just covered the donation of relief materials to the people of Limi. Some of us wonder if you were here as a representative of Chairman Tiko.” He spoke fast.

“That’s a dumb question and, if you thought so, it would have been more polite to ask for an interview.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Tiko,” Abel chuckled. He counted himself lucky not to have identified himself. The woman was in a rage.

 

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As Huud met with Comfort in the evening, Rika’s party in Limi was in full swing. She met guests in a long receiving line, smiling and making empty promises and displaying a kind of empathy that she was psychologically incapable of feeling. But she could act, and she did it exceedingly well. She loved the adoration, and she thought of what would happen later that night when she retired to her room and required the attendance of “Bronze.” She hoped he was up to the task and that the goods were as good as advertised.

At that moment, Abel arrived in front of her, Billings at his side.

“Mrs. Huud. Peter Abel of The Zodiac.”

Abel saw something pass through Rika’s eyes, concern and then disdain, but she smiled at him and shook his hand warmly. “Ah, yes. You write such nasty things about my husband.”

“But never about his beautiful wife. I’ve often speculated that you are the true power behind the throne.”

Rika nodded, approvingly. “You are quite correct. My husband would never have run without my encouragement. I continue to advise him.”

“And do him good everywhere. This party is a wonderful idea, winning the hearts and minds of the people.” Abel turned to Billings. “This is my associate, Billings Nigara.”

Billings and Rika shook hands. “And what do you do at the paper?”

“Me? Oh, nothing. I’m here to keep Mr. Abel safe.”

Abel cut him off from saying more. “I’ve received some threats since I’ve been investigating irregularities in the government. Billings is good company.”

Rika turned back to Abel and regarded him. Abel, who didn’t know the woman or her proclivities, assumed she was sizing up the opposition. Little could he imagine that she was sizing him up as a sexual meal. She finally smiled her brightest smile at him. “We should talk sometime, Mr. Abel. I will give you the true inside story on our government and what we’re really doing for the people.”

“I’ll call your office to set up an interview if that’s all right. When will you be returning to Bammak City?”

“Let’s try for next week. Shall we? Perhaps over dinner. Things are so much more sociable that way.”

Abel bowed, and he and Billings moved on. Abel turned to Billings once they were out of earshot. “Now that, my boy, is how to get an interview with the enemy.”

Little did Abel realize it was he who had been reeled in or that this night would set in motion a string of events that would lead him to the brink of death.

 

 

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