Assignment- Silver Scorpion Read online

  He crossed the room with a quick stride and slapped her, not sparing his strength. She rocked sidewise and backward, almost fell off the bed and came up scrambling for her feminine dignity, holding her cheek, her brown eyes filled with golden sparks of shock and anger.

  "What was that for?"

  "It's your job to level with me. Tom Adams, up in Chad, said you'd brief me. So no more fun and games. Before I see Inurate Motuku, I want to know everything you know. I mean everything. First of all, I want to know who runs the FKP. Who is Yutigaffa's boss? Is it General Watsube who keeps lobbing all those mortar shells into Getoba?"

  "That's what they say," Finch murmured. "You had no right to sock me like that, Durell-"

  "You're lucky I don't kill you. I think I'd be safer without you in the picture. What do you mean, that's what they say? Does Watsube run the intelligence and security apparatus here, or doesn't he?"

  "I don't think so."

  "Who else then? The President himself?"

  "I don't think that either. I think it's his wife. The white gal from Liverpool, you know? Mary Magdalene herself, so to speak, in love with black Jesus."

  "Is she the Silver Scorpion?"

  "Oh, hell," Finch said.

  "What does the term mean?"

  "Is that how you got away from Yutigaffa?"

  "I used the words. Tom Adams mentioned it as one of our problems here, but he had nothing except the name. So I just tossed it out to see what would happen. Yutigaffa reacted fast. He was scared. He couldn't have let go of me faster if I'd turned radioactive before his eyes. So explain it, Finch. There isn't much time." He looked at his watch and took off his coat and stripped off his necktie and shirt and rummaged among his fresh clothes in the dresser. "And who fanned my room, Finch? Was it you?"

  "The FKP, I guess."

  He let it go. "All right. Tell me all."

  "I'm not supposed to but-"

  "Go ahead."

  She said, "You're a bastard, you know that? My face is going to be swollen."

  "You're lucky. I'm not going to ask you again."

  "I don't know anything about the Silver Scorpion. I don't know what the term means or who or what it might represent."

  "It's your job to know," he said.

  "Well, I don't. You saw what happened to Yutigaffa when you said those words? And he's a tough bozo. Everybody reacts the same way. It's my guess it's a kind of native society, a sub government, a shadow group that rules by terror. But nobody seems to know."

  She reached in her bag, and Durell watched her until she took out one of her cigarettes and lit it. Her hands did not shake. She said, inhaling deeply, "I was recruited two years ago when I was a starry-eyed do-gooder in Uranda Boganda, teaching the kids the ABCs. It didn't seem harmful. Tom said I was just to watch, listen, and report the way the political winds were shifting. The Chinese and Russians were both dangling aid bait for Motuku to nibble at. The Egyptians were here and so were the Israelis; the Cairo people wanted to stir up trouble against the Portuguese to the south-God knows why it concerned them and the Israelis just wanted neutrality and taught some of the Natanga outlanders in the savannah and jungle how to set up kibbutz type agricultural stations. It was all fascinating. The real world, not Haight-Ashbury. Everybody after something, and the US too, we're not snow-white angels either, are we?"

  "Get to the point. I haven't much time."

  "Inurate Motuku is our fair-haired boy, right? The Raga himself. He's truly neutral, truly dedicated to making a viable nation out of this conglomerate of tribes and clans who've killed and eaten each other for centuries. So far we've poured well over four hundred million into Boganda. They've built two miles of new boulevard with it, two schools, a top-heavy bureaucracy stuffed with clerks who can't read or write. Say they've spent one hundred out of the four hundred million. Say they've built a few factories and mills and some experimental farms. Where is the rest? Three hundred million dollars have vanished."

  "It can't vanish. It's extended in credit lines, not gold bars or silver Maria Theresa dollars or dollar bills," Durell said. "It's all done by paper work."

  "Not in Boganda," she said. She blew smoke at him from pursed lips. She even had put on lipstick. "How do you like the transformation? My dress and all the garbage?"

  "What did you major in at UCLA?"

  "How did you know I went to UCLA?"

  "I know," he said. "What was it?"

  "Economics. Daddy was a banker before he became a Senator and a buddy of your boss, General McFee. Daddy wanted me to be a boy. I mashed him properly, I did, turned out to be feminine. He sends me money now to stay away from him."

  "You majored in economics?"

  Finch said, "And I have an IQ of 165. Is that a sin?"

  "You're still an idiot. Go on about the three hundred million dollars of missing American taxpayer money."

  "Well, it's gone," she said.

  "How can it be gone?"

  "Hard cash, man. The locals want cash when they swing a pick and shovel. That was the pretext for drawing on the credit line. It happened so fast that it slipped by the accountants, and presto-three hundred millions in Swiss francs, West German marks, American dollars, a big chunk of British pounds-all here in Boganda, in dear old Unity country. And vanished."

  "I don't buy it," Durell said.

  "You have to. It's a hard fact. Nobody talks about it. Washington is too afraid of international embarrassment and political smears back home, if the facts come out. Somebody swiped all the boodle. And you know where it is? Where I think it is? Where General Watsube and maybe the Raga himself thinks it is?"

  Durell sighed. "Don't tell me. In Getoba District."

  "So right. And you're going in to get it."

  Chapter 5

  THE GIRL watched as he checked the MK-5 transceiver, his gun, a handful of fresh cartridges. He picked a dark blue necktie from his suitcase, unfolded it, and pressed the fine buckram stiffening flat. From this he carefully and delicately withdrew several thin sheets of flimsy about four inches long by five inches wide, folded several times. There seemed to be nothing on the tissue until he took the little fan of paper over to a lamp and held it over the heat of the bulb. In a very few moments the warmth brought out the special ink that had been impressed on the onionskin.

  "That's nifty," Georgette said. "What is it?"

  "Data on Motuku and his favorite, General Watsube. Also a mention of the Silver Scorpion organization. And an analysis of your capabilities. It's surprisingly high, Finch. I don't believe it. Why was the FKP man, that Captain Yutigaffa, so switched on when I mentioned the Silver Scorpion? I want to know, Finch."

  "Nobody talks about it. Like it's taboo or something. An old tribal legend, going way back, about a monster in the forest that will eat up all the tribes. Typical tribal folklore. Can I read those dossiers, Sam?"

  "Who really runs the FKP?"

  "Can I read the one on me? Just that one? I'm curious." She paused. "I told you, General Watsube runs the FKP."

  "That's not true. Now either we work together, or you're going home to Daddy. At least, you'd better stay as far away and as clear of me as you can get."

  "We're together," she conceded.

  "Then tell me how I'm supposed to get into Getoba? It's under siege. If General Watsube isn't letting anyone out, he's not likely to allow anyone in either, for fear of letting food and ammo in too."

  Georgette said, "But that's your end of the job. Figuring it out, I mean."

  "What do you know about Getoba?"

  She frowned. For a big girl she carried her size gracefully. "The District is two miles long, maybe three wide, with a wall all around it, built long ago. Maybe eight thousand people are still left in it, out of the Indians and Chinese merchants who used to be there. And the Teleks, of course. It was the original Portuguese colony here on the river. Lots of the District burned down the day before you arrived."

  "How many Telek rebels are in there?"

  "That's a
nybody's guess. Maybe two thousand."

  "What kind of equipment do they have?"

  "Not much. Russian machineguns, Kalashnikov rifles, some mortars. They must be running low on ammunition and food by now. I have a packet of food and some fresh water for you at my place, by the way. The cottage down by the river, behind the hotel, that's where I live."

  "Who leads the Teleks?" Durell asked.

  "Well, it started with a revolutionary council, and some mercenaries. Maybe a dozen. A Belgian named Colonel LeFevre, four Germans, a Swede, two Frenchmen from the old OAS, and two American mercenaries who came down from Nigeria."

  "Americans?"

  "So I hear. I don't know their names. Or anything else about them." She looked down and sidewise, and he wondered if she were lying. There was a faint flush on her cheeks. He wondered if he should push it and decided not to. Georgette went on, "The Getoba District was pretty scenic and spectacular before General Watsube began pounding it to rubble. It had its own bank, a couple of hotels, a lovely old Portuguese fort. The money is in the bank -in the vaults-the East Natanga Exchange, Limited. You can't see any of the buildings because of the old wall, of course."

  "Have you ever been in this bank?"

  "Oh, yes, I know where the vault is."

  "How do you know the money is there?"

  "I know, all right."

  "How?" he demanded.

  She hesitated, looked sidewise again. "Daddy helped. Or rather, his manager back in California, Mr. Napier-Carl Alvin Napier-used to be a Swiss in Geneva, with the Suisse National de Geneve. Pop is in Washington, of course, having fun being a senator. Carl put some tracers through, using the family name-old Finch can really make the canaries sing, especially when you have some schlock in Switzerland, where all the international funds were funneled. There was a sudden demand to convert the credit line of three hundred million into cash-"

  "How sudden?"

  "A month ago. Just before the attempted coup. It was bloody here, Sam, for a week. Then Watsube got his troops shaped up and bottled them all into Getoba."

  "With the money?"

  "That's right."

  "And Watsube wants in; the Teleks-or the mercenaries sitting on all that cash-want out. Right?"

  "I don't know if anyone but me-and now you and the Raga-knows that the cash is actually there." She paused. "Now can I look at those dossiers?"

  He let her read them. As she finished each one, he took a match and burned it in the big stoneware ashtray atop the bedside table. The lamp on the table was a mass-produced mahogany carving of a Telek goddess with long ears, an open mouth, and scaled brow and cheeks like a snake. It was mostly the Telek people-who had the misfortune of subscribing to Islam in a country suddenly gone anti-Moslem-who were dying in the Getoba District after an abortive army coup that left them helpless.

  The first dossier was on Inurate Motuku:

  TOP SECRET CLASSIFICATION AB/2

  For Dept. J-12 Only/ File GP 22/Delta/77

  Subject: MOTUKU, Inurate, President, People's Republic of Boganda, East Africa. See File Delta 77A, 77B, Kappa 12.

  The present leader, and the only popularly elected President of the PRB since Independence Day on 11 September 1958, is believed to be about 62 years of age, in, somewhat failing health today, although of enormous physical and psychic reserves. A fighter for independence through two colonial regimes and UN trusteeship and three aborted rebellions, Motuku was early apprehended by British colonial authorities for sabotage of the Uranda-Boganda copper mines and extradited from the port of San Gerosa in Portuguese Mozambique. Subject was then 18, was deported to London for penal service, and the sentence was commuted. He later received scholarship to attend London University, majoring in political science, economics, and language and social studies.

  Inurate Motuku was born of pagan tribal chieftain who was murdered by Moslem Teleks in his youth. Spent unknown time in jungle as a hunted man. Refused aid and sanctuary from then colonial authorities, he turned to rebellion during years of WWII and became known as the Raga to the Natanga tribesmen, a term of high respect and awe. Motuku may be called the grand old man of African independence.

  His urbanity is reflected in his frequent trips abroad, to Moscow in February, 1965, and again in September, 1968; to Peking in 1953, 1962, and in 1971. His single visit to Washington was in April, 1969, where he was invited to address the US Congress and held several highly confidential conferences with State Department and Presidential aides and Sugar Cube himself for an unprecedented two hours. Referred to in the New York press as the "Abraham Lincoln of African independence." Was voted a special draft of aid for mining equipment, roads, and educational assistance.

  It should be noted that Inurate Motuku has, by tribal law and clan custom, something like thirty-four wives and concubines. However, his number-one spouse is Irene Maitland, aged 24, born Liverpool, England. A model for various inexpensive fashion houses, she was displaying some British versions of Bogandan lady's wear for Motuku's inspection for purchases for his many wives when he was obviously attracted to her, ordered her to join him for dinner, and married her two days later (Church of England) in time for his flight back to Boganda. The Ragihi, as she is called, has proven to be a clever aide to administering executive powers; she is blunt and possessed of a challenging outspoken manner. "What's good for the Raga is good for Boganda," she is quoted as saying. "That's the same as General Motors for the US of A, lovey. What's good for the Raga is also good for his number-one wife."

  Finch returned the paper to Durell and said, "That's a lot of beeswax, Sam. They left out a lot about Irene, that bitch. But it doesn't matter. Poor Motuku is so dazzled by all the platinum she rinses in her hair, you can't say a word about the Ragihi without risking your head being cut off. Literally. As far as Irene is concerned, it's just Jim dandy being the queen bee of Bogandaland. What else have you got?"

  Durell said, "Items on General Watsube. And you."

  "Give me mine."

  "Read about Watsube first. You have a lot in common. He may be a general here, but he majored in finance at the University of Pennsylvania's Wharton School in Philadelphia. Graduated with high honors too."

  IPOL TPX to KAPPA SIGMA/5 US via STATDEP Subject: WATSUBE, Iraki, Major-General, Boganda

  Interpol Memo 55708/AA/Wa-8254 70

  References: IPOL file 6466-71-Wa8254 70.

  Subject Watsube, Iraki Mendopu Kurfagga, a Telek tribesman, aged approx. 48, height 5'10", weight last known on UK driver's license as 198, gray-grizzle hair, slight cast left eye, scar right cheek, subject expelled from the then-named Uranda-Boganda Protectorate by British authorities for subversive, terrorist, and revolutionary agitation and activities. Deported from Lourenco Marques by Portuguese, 1961. Believed to have visited Peking, 1962, Moscow, 1967. Earlier the beneficiary of Amity Union Church AP missionaries to Boganda, brilliant scholastic achievements Wharton School, U. of P., prior to return to Boganda and subsequent deportation again by colonial authorities.

  Attention is directed to IPOL of 16 March 1970, charged with smuggling arms and munitions to Jokuran (pagan) tribesmen in Southern Sudan and inciting terrorism against the Khartoum government of the Sudan, complaint 4459XB, Benghazi, Libya. Although a Moslem Telek, subject is never known to have harbored traditional enmity toward Natangas who share the countryside. Subject returned early date, 1970, named to post of inspector general, finance minister, education minister, by the Raga.

  There are rumors that Watsube and the Raga are in some intertribal bond, due to some event going back to their early boyhood, although Watsube is some decade younger than the Raga and much more vigorous physically. The high military post granted the subject is believed to have been payment of a debt, social or political, of unknown origin.

  Subject is noted for firm discipline, a zealot's purpose in stamping out all guerrilla resistance to present regime, whether from his own tribal (Moslem Telek) peoples or incited by outside sources (Peking, Moscow, Cairo), and it i
s thought that his unfortunate racial experiences in Communist capitals as well as in the US and the Sudan have led to Iraki Watsube's fierce and often cruel determination to "pacify" dissidents within the Raga's government.

  From September 1971 to present date, subject also holds posts of minister of interior defense, chief magistrate, and chief councilor to the Raga of Boganda.

  "More bees? wax," said Finch. "It isn't true."

  "What's wrong with the data."

  "Errors of omission. Data incomplete. Holy cow, it's incomplete."

  Durell said, "What do you know that Interpol and MI 6 doesn't know?"

  "Your subject is married. Major-General Iraki Mendopu Kurfagga Watsube, the great killer, has a tender bride. Pretty new addition too. She's the Raga's sister-in-law."