There had been a minor backlash from that. The Cali cartel had been upset that their man had been singled out. Of course, they didn't know he had been working under the table for Mandobar. In the end, they had been mollified by a few extra tax breaks. Plums granted only the best clients of East Africa, Mandobar had promised.
A black smear indicated the spot where Russell Copefeld had been burned alive. The day after the necklacing, someone had suggested raking the dirt over to cover it up. Mandobar had gone wild. It was to stay until the sun bleached it away-a sign to the rest. And when it finally faded ...well, there were always more lawyers.
Copefeld's mortal mark baked in the afternoon sunlight. A washed-out streak of black fading to gray was all that remained to mark the passing of a life. For Mandobar, not the first such marker. Definitely not the last.
The smile broadened, threatening to spill off the sides of the world-famous face.
Ring, ring! Ring, ring!
The phone finally became an annoyance that demanded attention. A weary fat hand dropped down to the telephone, lifting the offending lump of plastic to an ebony ear.
"What is it?"
The voice of L. Vas Deferens was tight.
"There has been an incident at the presidential palace. An attack on the grounds. Many are dead."
Mandobar sat up straight. The wicker chair in the sitting room of the bungalow creaked in gentle protest.
"Do I need to be concerned?"
"I am afraid containment will be difficult," Deferens continued. "I had kept the spillover from our enterprise away from this part of Bachsburg. The international press isn't interested in anything that happens beyond these gates."
"Yes, yes," Mandobar said, already impatient. "Who was it?"
"Luzu, according to initial reports," Deferens replied. "Or at the very least, men in native garb. Somehow they penetrated our security using only spears and machetes. We suffered heavy casualties, but the attackers managed to escape unharmed-at least that is what I was told."
Mandobar leaned back in the chair. The wicker groaned.
"This is not good, Vas."
"No," the minister agreed. "And beyond what I have told you, there is no more information. I have men scouring the grounds as we speak. However, I thought you should know as soon as possible."
"Yes." Mandobar hummed pensively. "Spears and machetes? You are certain of this, Vas?"
"I saw the bodies myself," he insisted. "Assuming it isn't an enemy unknown to us attempting to distract us at this crucial time, there is only one real suspect."
Mandobar sighed deeply. A big, wheezing exhalation of air. "I have too much at stake to risk having this plan ruined by a backward fool." The well-known cheerful voice grew cold. "Go to Luzuland, Deferens, and kill Chief Batubizee." White teeth bit gleefully at the order.
The receiver fell back in the cradle, severing the connection. Mandobar pushed the offending phone far to the back of the table beside the big wicker chair.
Struggling to find a comfortable position in the chair, Mandobar's eyes once more found the window. This time there was a wistful glint in their dark depths.
Beyond the dusty pane, far down the scorched road and its cluster of bungalows, yellow sunlight gleamed brightly on the high mirrored walls of Mandobar's great meeting hall. The dawning sun two days hence would wash its warming rays across the ruins of that same magnificent auditorium. The birthplace of the new East Africa.
A ridge of low mountains-pocked with the shafts of played-out diamond mines-rose above the hall. And out beyond was Luzuland. Where that perpetual thorn in the side of East Africa, Chief Batubizee, ruled like a pathetic throwback over his dead empire.
And alone in the air-conditioned bungalow, the famous Mandobar eyes sagged into gloomy lines, sad that they would not be present to witness the murder of the last Luzu warrior chief.
Chapter 14
The closed door to the heavily soundproofed room cut off all sound from the office of L. Vas Deferens to the rest of the suite. Even Remo's supersensitive ears could only detect a low murmur of one voice. The person to whom the defense minister spoke proved impossible to hear.
The call didn't take long. In less than five minutes, the door swung open and Deferens came down the hall.
Remo was sitting in one of the waiting-room chairs.
"My office, please," Deferens said. It was clearly an order, not a request. He spun without another word.
Remo followed him to the open door. Deferens's office was large and tastefully furnished. Wainscotting rimmed the white wails. A big desk commanded a broad section of floor. Behind it, a massive curving window bracketed by tidy bookshelves looked out across the front entrance to the presidential palace.
Remo noted as he entered the room that the remains of the slain Citizen Force soldiers had already been removed from around the main gate.
"You people work fast," he commented as he took a seat before the desk.
As he was sitting down behind his desk, Deferens glanced out the window. "You would be wise to not mention to anyone what happened here today," he suggested, settling into his chair. "Now, what is your name?"
There was no sense in lying.
"Remo. I'd have to check my wallet to see what last name I'm using this week," he answered truthfully.
Deferens leaned back, steepling his slender fingers to his chin. "You know, Remo, I could still have you executed at any time." He studied his visitor's face for a reaction.
Remo shrugged. "We've all gotta go sometime."
Deferens lowered his hands. "You are either very confident or very, very stupid."
"Confident, not stupid," Remo assured him. "But for the record, some of the most confident people I've ever met were also the dumbest. You ever hear of Kim Basinger?"
Deferens wasn't really listening. He was studying Remo's face. He seemed particularly interested in his eyes. All at once, he dropped a hand to his desk. "You're hired," the minister announced.
Remo was surprised. "Just like that?"
Deferens nodded sharply. "In spite of all evidence to the contrary, you have come here at a fortunate time. I am in need of good men. Now, either you are boastful, in which case you will wind up very dead very soon, or you are as good as you think you are. If this is the case, I will consider myself lucky to have found you. Are you working for anyone right now?"
"No," Remo lied. He tried to exude the confidence of a suave hired gun. "But I like to keep my options open. In my line of work, you sometimes have to go with the flow, what with all the killing and guns and stuff." He looped a confident arm around the back of his chair.
For his part, Deferens was hoping he wasn't making a big mistake. This man sitting before him struck the minister to his core as someone who was exceedingly dangerous. Yet he acted like a complete ignoramus.
"Good," the defense minister ventured slowly. Tugging open a drawer, he took out a ledger. He flipped it open and, after Remo had supplied him with his cover surname, began writing on a yellow check.
"We will waive the regular government fees for you. You will be paid directly from this office, tax free, in the form of East African government checks. They can be cashed at any bank in Bachsburg."
Remo instantly thought of Chiun. Although this wasn't a real job, the Master of Sinanju would go ballistic if he ever found out Remo accepted anything less than cold hard cash.
"I get paid in gold," Remo insisted.