Читать книгу Piranha - Rudie van Rensburg - Страница 12

Plumes of smoke hung around Montgomery Smith’s head like a thick bank of mist over the city on a Cape Town morning. He waved his hand to get the worst of the smoke away and looked at the two men across the enormous oak desk in his study.

‘Theodore is worried about the number of horns he’s having to hold in Musina,’ Montgomery said. ‘But I think it’s too much of a risk storing them here until Phan Can Dung eventually leaves for Vietnam.’

Graeme West nodded. ‘I agree one hundred percent.’

Wolf Breede stared into the middle distance.

Agree one hundred percent … like a stuck record, Montgomery thought. God, the quality of his brains trust was low. One had an IQ of ten and the other was a pain in the ass. West had never had his own opinion on anything. It was important to have loyal people, but it would be great if they actually added some value. How had he managed to surround himself with such wimps?

He sighed. ‘Problem is, Phan Can Dung doesn’t yet have a date for when he’s going back.’

‘Are we absolutely sure his diplomatic immunity is going to protect him from being searched at the harbour?’

‘Goddammit, Graeme, weren’t you listening the other day?’ Montgomery was sick and tired of having to repeat everything. ‘Yes! He’s safe. His move is going to be packed into crates, and customs isn’t allowed to touch it.’

‘Sorry, Montgomery, I … I was busy on the phone when you talked about it,’ West stuttered.

‘What happens when Phan Can Dung is gone for good?’ Wolf asked.

Montgomery was momentarily thrown to have an intelligent question from Breede. The bearded ape was wearing funny little glasses.

‘New glasses?’ he asked him.

Wolf shook his head. ‘No. This is an old pair. I don’t know where the new ones are.’

‘I’m not surprised. That house on the plot is a pigsty. You should clean it up, you know.’

Wolf looked away, grumbling unintelligibly.

Montgomery leaned forward in his chair and drew deeply on his cigar. ‘To answer your question: Phan Can Dung reassures me his successor will be easy to bribe. He’ll start priming him in Hanoi. It’s just as important to him as it is to us that we have cooperation from inside the consulate. He earns a shithouse in commissions. He’s not going to want to strangle the goose that lays the golden egg.’

‘And do we have a replacement in mind for Barnie Wolhuter?’ West asked.

Montgomery smiled. ‘No, but I thought you could probably just take over that little job for us.’

‘Me?’ West’s Adam’s apple jumped up and down as he swallowed.

‘Yes, you, Graeme,’ said Montgomery. ‘I’m not going to risk bringing in another outsider. I never, ever want to be blackmailed by an ex-employee again.’

Wolf shook his head. ‘Still can’t work out how Barnie found out about the horns.’

‘We slacked off. That’s how,’ said Montgomery, looking at West, who dropped his gaze. ‘He must have seen the horns in the crates. Because it’s just so much bloody effort to keep the lids on them, right? What was he doing wandering around there anyway? Ah, yes, Graeme forgot to lock the store.’

‘I’m sorry, Montgomery … I …’

‘What’s done is done,’ Montgomery snapped. He wasn’t in the mood to listen to West’s pathetic apologies again.

He inhaled deeply and blew the smoke out. ‘Theodore tells me he has a shit-ton of masks, some shields, pots and hundreds of strings of beads. Nichols is fetching all of it today. Graeme, you need to make sure that thirty percent of the stuff is distributed equally between the Waterfront and Cavendish shops. Canal Walk still has enough stock. The rest is for export. The curio shop in Taipei ordered twenty masks.’

West nodded. ‘Will do, Montgomery,’ he said, clearly relieved not to be in the line of fire any more.

‘Do we have a new sales assistant for the Waterfront shop yet?’

‘I’m doing interviews tomorrow with the four people on the shortlist.’

‘You need to get your ass in gear, Graeme. Old Tallie’s complaining that he can’t run the shop on his own.’

‘I’m doing my best. I …’

Montgomery cut him short. ‘Go.’ He waved his fingers at the door to shoo them out.

As Wolf was about to leave, Montgomery called him back. Breede turned around in slow motion, his arms dangling by his sides like a monkey’s. The ridiculous little glasses rendered him even more moronic than usual. Way too small for his big face.

‘Make sure the water’s the right temperature for the fish. And for God’s sake, remember to switch the circulation pump on every four hours.’ Montgomery smiled. ‘Hope you’ve replenished their food stocks. Eighty kilos of meat’s not going to last forever.’

Wolf nodded without expression and then slowly grinned as Montgomery’s allusion dawned on him.

* * *

Obote’s government was ousted during a coup d’état on 25 January 1971. Idi Amin became the new leader of Uganda.

And with that, our plans were laid waste. Uganda’s nightmare began. In spite of his suspicion that the British government had supported the coup in order to get rid of the communist-inclined Obote, Smiley’s father had enough vision to realise that life in Uganda was about to change radically, for whites as well. Amin was, according to him, a nutcase.

Smiley and I once met him at the Kampala rugby club. Apart from having been a formidable player in his youth, he’d also been Uganda’s light heavyweight boxing champion for a few years. Amin was there that night as head of the army to hand over the league cup to Kampala’s first team. He was most entertaining with his performance of British songs and his accordion playing, but this jolly front was a smokescreen for a twisted psyche.

The executions began soon after he came into power and he’d bedecked himself, to the scorn of the world, with every possible hero’s medal and newly invented rank one could imagine. In the final tally, there were more murders and political executions in Uganda than in the rest of Africa altogether during the same period.

Some sources guess that up to half a million people died under Amin’s rule.

Smiley’s father would soon be one of them. He smelled the smoke long before we saw the fires and quickly put a plan in place for his son to have a bright future in South Africa, in spite of Smiley’s hefty protest. I was part of the plan. Smiley’s father treated me like a son, knowing my mother wouldn’t be able to provide for me in England.

He was sending both of us to study in South Africa and he was paying my way too.

A friend of his from Cape Town recommended the University of Stellenbosch. ‘They’re going to struggle with the Afrikaans, but you don’t want to send your kid to one of these liberal English universities where they’re going to get indoctrinated with lefty communist crap,’ he’d said.

We were sent off to South Africa forthwith, and just in time to enrol as first-year students. The environment, the language and the culture were a shock to both of us. Smiley soon fitted in. It was much harder for me.