The Song of Mawu. Jeff Edwards
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front gate securely locked.
Acting upon instructions from Brian Reynolds, Teddy Strang had taken steps to make sure that no one was present to observe the arrival of the Rolls Royce. He had ordered the entire security staff to take the night off, explaining that he would be carrying out an automated security check on the property in their absence.
Brian pulled up to the gate and produced a key, allowing the convoy to enter before relocking the gate once they were all inside.
The convoy wound its way up the hill and past Ali and Nori’s new house, before dropping down the far side to where Toby and Suzie’s house lay in the glen beyond.
Here, Toby’s new barn had been constructed with its rear wall abutting the excavated side of the hillock.
Lana reversed the Rolls Royce into the empty barn and switched off the motor.
‘From under the foor of one barn and into another,’ said Nori, ‘the poor thing hasn’t seen the light of day in years. What will become of it when we’re finished?’
Brian smiled, ‘I think she’s done enough to earn a quiet retirement. What if we clean her up and place her on display as a reminder of Jade Green?’
‘Where?’ asked Nori.
‘How about in the front foyer of our new headquarters?’
‘Wonderful!’ said Nori, ‘But I don’t know about clean and polished. She’s been gallant and deserves to display her battle scars.’
‘You’re right. The scars should remain but the dirt goes.’
‘Having her suddenly reappear will certainly put the cat among the pigeons in certain quarters,’ laughed Toby.
‘Yes it will. Won’t it,’ agreed Brian with a wicked grin.
‘You’re doing it on purpose, aren’t you?’ said Lana.
‘Of course I am. Now let’s get to work.’
***
Once again the wheelbarrows were unloaded from Toby’s truck and lined up at the back of the Rolls Royce.
First, the contents of the passenger compartment were unloaded and then the boot was cleared.
With their wheelbarrows now fully laden, Toby stepped toward the shelving that covered the rear wall of the garage. Pushing aside a rusty paint tin, he placed his security card over the pad on the wall behind. With a slight click, the shelf moved and Toby was able to push the entire set of shelves and a portion of the barn’s rear wall into the hillside beyond.
Reaching into the darkness, Toby found a switch and turned it on, revealing a long tunnel that disappeared into the hillside and ran below Brian and Lana’a house..
Brian picked up the handles of the first wheelbarrow in line and pushed into the tunnel while the others followed suit. Toby was the last in line and he made sure the shelving was closed over the entrance again. He then picked up his wheelbarrow and hurried to catch up to his companions.
He grinned as, from the front of the column, came Brian’s voice echoing off the walls singing ‘Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It’s off to work we go.’
***
Eliza was on hand at the far end of the tunnel when her fellow directors emerged from a door secreted on the second lowest level of the hidden basements.
She led them down a corridor to a room where she was still in the process of setting up her computer equipment. ‘Stack them against the wall over there,’ she pointed. ‘I’ll start work on them as soon as I’m set up. The sooner I start the sooner I can finish and get back out to Namola.’
‘No need to rush Eliza. We still have a lot of things to do,’ said Brian.
Eliza fixed him with a withering glare, ‘Out in Namola people are dying because I’m not there to help. Of course I have to rush.’
8
In the heat of the midday sun, four men sat in folding chairs beneath a canvas awning, sipping imported German beer from an ice filled cooler while surveying the scene below and discussing the future.
The helicopter they had arrived in sat at the end of the airstrip beside the village. It was one of the few aircraft operated by the Grand Army of Namola that was still airworthy. Lack of a routine maintenance programme caused by a lack of funds was causing Lattua’s men to cannibalise other aircraft in order to keep a small number of their helicopters in service.
President Joseph Lattua stretched out his left arm, waving it slowly from right to left over the valley to emphasise his point. ‘With what the English army engineers created and the charity added to, we have the making of a very productive oasis in the midst of this barren landscape.’
‘Ashloko was well-named,’ agreed ex-President Francis Bollan, as he surveyed the stark landscape of the valley below. ‘I can almost see Lisa using his power to destroy Loko.’
‘You actually believe that old tale!’ laughed General Thamas Lattua.
‘Of course not!’ snorted Bollan, ‘An old woman’s tale.’
The four men snickered and sipped at their beers. Of course they didn’t believe in the old tales. They were educated men after all.
Bollan took in a breath of the hot, dusty air and considered the plan that had been placed before him.
Since his escape from Sonateria mere minutes ahead of the rampaging Hansa tribes, he and his entourage had been forced to take over a floor of the Lobacra International Hotel in Namola’s capital, where now he spent his days attempting to organise a triumphal return to his homeland and resumption of power.
Due to the inhumane treatment of his fellow countrymen over many years, particularly the members of the Hansa tribes, the United Nations had denied Bollan any assistance, declaring him a ‘persona non grata’, and refusing him permission to travel abroad on a diplomatic passport. Luckily for Bollan, Joseph Lattua was not a man who was inclined to heed the directives of United Nations and other international organisations, particularly after the World Bank had refused to lend Namola any further developmental monies. So ex-President Bollan was welcome to remain in Namola just as long as he continued to spend the money he had secreted in his overseas accounts.
Bollan’s gaze lingered on the distant horizon, where, at the mouth of the valley, smoke from cooking fires rose into the air from the refugee camp. The refugee camp contained Sontarian survivors of the genocide in his former homeland. However Bollan refused to acknowledge the fact that as a Sontar himself it was his actions toward the Hansa which had caused them to rise up in bloody revolt.
Now the Hansa were in control of Sonateria and his fellow tribesmen were either dead or struggling to survive in the refugee camp with no immediate sign of ever being allowed to return to their homes and farms. Those farms had quickly been annexed by their former Hansa servants.
‘I think this will be an ideal place for me to establish a base,’ nodded Francis Bollan, ‘My loyal fellow citizens are nearby and I’ll be able to organise them into an Army of Liberation.’
‘That’s if there are enough able bodied men left standing to form an army,’ said General Lattua.
‘It’s that bad in the camp?’ asked Bollan.
‘You haven’t been there?’
Bollan shrugged his shoulders and sipped at his cold beer. ‘There isn’t anything that I can do for them that the charities aren’t already doing. I’d only be placing myself at risk of catching something deadly by going down there.’
‘Risk from disease, or are you afraid your fellow tribesmen would try to murder you?’ asked General Lattua sarcastically.
‘My people love me. They would follow me to hell and back if I asked them.’
Joseph Lattua nodded at the man’s words and let