I said, 'I'm frankly surprised in a way that you did tender. It's a hell of a job for a new firm – wouldn't the standard European runs have suited you better to begin with?'

'We decided on the big gamble. Nothing like a whacking big success to start off with.'

I thought that it was Wingstead, rather than the innately conservative Kemp, who had decided on that gamble, and wondered how he had managed to convince my own masters that he was the man for the job.

'Right, Basil, this is where I leave you,' I said, climbing down from the Land Rover to stand on the hard heat-baked tarmac. 'I'll stay in touch, and I'll be out to see how you're getting on. Meanwhile I've got a few irons of my own in the fire – back there in the Frying Pan.'

We shook hands and I hopped into John Sutherland's car for the drive back to Port Luard, leaving Kemp to organize the beginning of the rig's first expedition.

We got back to the office hot, sweaty and tired. The streets were still seething and we had to fight our way through. Sutherland was fast on the draw with a couple of gin and tonics, and within four minutes of our arrival I was sitting back over a drink in which the ice clinked pleasantly. I washed the dust out of my mouth and watched the bubbles rise.

'Well, they got away all right,' Sutherland said after his own fast swallow. 'They should be completely clear by nightfall.'

I took another mouthful and let it fizz before swallowing. 'Just as well you brought up the business of the plinth,' I said. 'Otherwise the rig would never have got into the Square.'

He laughed. 'Do you know, I forgot all about it in the excitement.'

'Sadiq damn nearly removed Independence Square. He blew the goddamn thing up at midnight. He may have broken every window in the hotel: I woke up picking bits of plate glass out of my bed. I don't know who his explosives experts are but I reckon they used a mite too much. You said it wouldn't be too subtle a hint – well, it was about as subtle as a kick in the balls.'

Sutherland replenished our glasses. 'What's next on the programme?'

'I'm going back to London on the first possible flight. See to it, will you? And keep my hotel room on for me – I'll be back.'

'What's it all about? What problems do you see?'

I said flatly, 'If you haven't already seen them then you aren't doing your job.' The chill in my voice got through to him and he visibly remembered that I was the troubleshooter. I went on, 'I want to see your contingency plans for pulling out in case the shit hits the fan.'

He winced, and I could clearly interpret the expressions that chased over his face. I wasn't at all the cheery, easy-to-get-along-with guy he had first thought: I was just another ill-bred, crude American, after all, and he was both hurt and shocked. Well, I wasn't there to eater to his finer sensibilities, but to administer shock treatment where necessary.

I put a snap in my voice. 'Well, have you got any?'

He said tautly, 'It's not my policy to go into a job thinking I might have to pull out. That's defeatism.'

'John, you're a damned fool. The word I used was contingency. Your job is to have plans ready for any eventuality, come what may. Didn't they teach you that from the start?'

I stood up. 'When I get back I want to see those plans laid out, covering a quick evacuation of all personnel and as much valuable equipment as possible. It may never happen, but the plans must be there. Get some guidance from Barry Meredith in the Zambian offices. He's had the experience. Do I make myself clear?'

'You do,' he said, clipped and defensive, hating my guts.

I finished my drink. 'Thanks for the life-saver. Send the air tickets to the hotel, and expect me when you see me. And keep your ears open, John.'

He couldn't quite bring himself to ask me what he was supposed to listen for, and I wasn't yet ready to tell him. I left him a sadder and a none the wiser man.

I got back to London, spent a night in my own apartment, which God knows saw little enough of me, and was in to see Geddes the next morning. It was as though time had stood still; he sat behind his desk, wearing the same suit, and the same rain pattered against the windows. Even the conversation was predictable. 'You're looking very brown,' he said. 'Good weather out there?'

'No, I've picked up a new suntan lamp. You ought to try it some time. How's your prickly feeling?'

'It's still there. I hope you've brought some embrocation.'

'I haven't.' I crossed the room, opened the discreet executive bar and poured out a neat Scotch.

'You've picked up some bad habits,' Geddes said. 'Early morning drinking wasn't your line.'

'It's almost noon, and this isn't for me, it's for you – you'll need it. But since you invite me I'll join you.' I poured another, took the drinks to the desk and sat down.

Geddes looked from the glass to me. 'Bad news?'

'Not good. At the same time, not certain. It's one of those iffy situations. I've looked over the Nyala operation, and there's nothing wrong with our end of it. It's running like a well-oiled machine, and I'm mildly impressed by Wyvern, with reservations. But I put my ear to the ground, talked some and listened more, and I didn't like what I was hearing. Do you want it now or should I save it for a board meeting?'

'I'll have it now, please. I like to be ahead of any committee.'

'OK. A few years ago, after Ofanwe, there was military rule and Abram Kigonde was top dog. When he pulled out and allowed elections there were two basic parties formed, one rather grandly called the Peoples' Agrarian Party and one with the more prosaic name of the Nationalist Peoples' Party. The Agrarians won the first election and set out to reform everything in sight, but in a rather middle-of-the-road fashion; they were not particularly revolutionary in their thinking.'

I sipped some whisky. Times change. Because of the political stability, quite a lot of investment money came in, and then with the oil strikes there was still more. After a while the moderates were squeezed out and the Nationalists took over at the next elections. They are a lot more industry orientated. And of course by now Nyala had become self-financing and there were a lot of pickings to be had. And that's the nub -had by whom?'

'We know a lot of pockets have been lined, Neil. That's fairly common. Damn it, we've done it ourselves.'

'As common as breathing. But I think too much of it has gone into the wrong pockets – or wrong from one point of view anyway.'

'Whose point of view?'

'Major General Abram Kigonde.'

Geddes pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully. 'What's he got to do with all this?'

'Everything. He's having trouble keeping the army in line. When he handed over power to the civil authority there were grumbles from some of his officers. A few senior types thought the army should hang on; they'd had a taste of power and liked it. But then nothing much happened, because there wasn't much power, or much loot, to divide. Then came industrialization and finally, to top it all, the oil strikes. Now there's a hell of a lot of loot and the army is split down the middle. They know the Government lads are creaming it off the top and some of those senior officers are licking their lips. Of course what they're saying is that the country which they saved from the evils of Maro Ofanwe is now being sold down the river by other equally evil politicians, but that's just for public consumption.'

'Yes, it sounds highly likely. Who's the main troublemaker?'

'A Colonel Sagundisi is at the bottom of it, the word says. He hasn't put a foot wrong, his popularity with the younger officers is increasing, and he's preaching redemption. If Kigonde lets him he'll go right out on a limb and call for army reforms again. '