Juggernaut

'I think you've put your finger on it, Basil,' I said. They really need us and they are going all out to show it. And they're pretty used to riding roughshod over the needs and wishes of their populace, assuming it has any. They're going to shove us right down the middle in broad daylight, and the hell with any little obstacles.'

'Such as the plinth,' said Sutherland and we both laughed.

Kemp said, 'I think I missed something there. A definite undercurrent. I must say I haven't looked at this thing too closely myself – what is it anyway – some local bigwig?'

Sutherland chuckled. 'I thought old Ousemane would split his breeches. There's a statue of Maro Ofanwe still on that plinth: thirty feet high in bronze, very heroic. Up to now they've been busy ignoring it, as it was a little too hefty to blow up or knock down, but now they've got just the excuse they want. It'll help to serve notice that they don't want any more strong men about, in a none too subtle sort of way. Ofanwe was an unmitigated disaster and not to be repeated.'

CHAPTER 3

During the next few days I got on with my job, which mainly consisted of trying to find out what my job was. I talked with various members of the Government and had a special meeting with the Minister of Finance which left us both happy. I also talked to journalists in the bars, one or two businessmen and several other expatriates from Britain who were still clinging on to their old positions, most of them only too ready to bewail the lost days of glory. I gleaned a lot, mostly of misinformation, but slowly I was able to put together a picture which didn't precisely coincide with that painted by Shelford back in London.

I was also made an honorary member of the Luard Club which, in colonial days, had strictly white membership but in these times had become multi-racial. There were still a number of old Africa hands there as well, and from a couple of them I got another whiff of what might be going bad in Nyala.

In the meantime Kemp and Sutherland were getting on with their business, to more immediate ends. On the morning the first big load was to roll I was up bright and early, if not bushy tailed. The sun had just risen and the temperature already in the eighties when I drove to the docks to see the loaded rig. I hadn't had much chance to talk to Kemp and while I doubted that this was the moment, I had to pin him down to some time and place.

I found him and Sutherland in the middle of a small slice of chaos, both looking harassed as dozens of men milled around shouting questions and orders. They'd been at it for a long time already and things were almost ready to go into action. I stared in fascination at what I saw.

The huge rig wasn't unfamiliar to me but it was still a breathtaking sight. The massive towing trucks, really tractors with full cab bodies, stood at each end of the flat-bed trailer onto which the transformer had been lowered, inch by painful inch, over the previous few hours. Around it scurried small dockside vehicles, fork-lift trucks and scooters, like worker ants scrambling about their huge motionless queen. But what fascinated and amused me was the sight of a small platoon of Nyalan dock hands clambering about the actual rig itself, as agile and noisy as a troop of monkeys, busy stringing yards of festive bunting between any two protruding places to which they could be tied. The green and yellow colours of the Nyalan flag predominated, and one of them was being hauled up a jackstaff which was bound to the front tractor bumpers. No wonder that Kemp looked thunderstruck and more than a little grim.

I hurried over to him, and my arrival coincided with that of Mr Daondo, who was just getting out of a black limousine. Daondo stood with hands on hips and gazed the length of the enormous rig with great satisfaction, then turned to us and said in a hearty voice, 'Well, good morning, gentlemen. I see everything is going very well indeed.'

Kemp said, 'Good morning, Mister Daondo – Neil. May I ask what -'

'Hello, Basil. Great day for it, haven't we? Mister Daondo, would you excuse us for just one moment? I've got your figures here, Basil

…'

Talking fast, waving a notebook, and giving him no time to speak, I managed to draw Kemp away from Daondo's side, leaving the politician to be entertained for a moment by John Sutherland.

'Just what the hell do they think they're doing?' Kemp was outraged.

'Ease off. Calm down. Can't you see? They're going to put on a show for the people – that's what this daylight procession has been about all along. The power plant is one of the biggest things that's ever happened to Nyala and the Government wants to do a bit of bragging. And I don't see why not.'

'But how?' Kemp, normally a man of broad enough intelligence, was on a very narrow wave length where his precious rig was concerned.