Magestic 2, page 33
Jimmy faced Abdi, tipping his head. ‘Not everything that happens in Vegas … stays in Vegas. She may write a book.’
‘And I may stay here,’ Abdi said. ‘This time is more agreeable; no reporters.’
‘I still appreciate you,’ Jimmy offered. ‘And after the war you’ll be a national hero, and president.’
‘Ah, political office again,’ Abdi lamented. ‘What a burden it is to be the chosen one.’
After the meal we sat in the garden, Mary inspecting ponds and fountains, Jimmy and Abdi plotting and scheming. I joined them when Susan took Mary to bed.
‘What you plotting?’ I asked.
‘War,’ Abdi responded. ‘But not for a few years, I’m afraid. But I look forward to these Germans, they are a most disagreeable people. I aim to meet the German soldiers and cut out their hearts.’
‘How many soldiers do you have now?’ I asked.
‘Less than two thousand now, as Mister Jimmy asks. But after 1935 we make ready for many years of fighting.’
‘The problem with soldiers,’ Jimmy began. ‘Especially of Rifles quality, is that they are hard to turn back into good citizens afterwards.’
‘Yes, yes, they like their fighting,’ Abdi agreed. ‘So we keep numbers to a small group of well-trained men, and after … to be the policemen as before.’
‘Sounds like you learnt a thing or two,’ I noted.
‘Second time is easier,’ Abdi agreed.
The next day we reclaimed the Goose and flew down the coast to Mombasa; the navigation was easy enough. Big Paul spent an hour at the controls and brushed up, one of our three rotating pilots landing us smoothly at a dirt strip that would someday become Mombasa Airfield. It was a far cry from Hong Kong airport.
Cosy met us, now driving one of our cars, and drove us to a nearby beach hotel that Rudd had built. And it was a beauty. The aircrew were in the same hotel, and yes – it even had a rooftop bar with a great view of the ocean. The land around the hotel had been landscaped, mown grass and tall coconut trees, the beach backed by a handful of coconut trees bending lazily down towards the inviting ocean, the sand clean and white. This could have been our era.
Susan took Mary to the beach, our daughter stripping to her pants and plunging in with a scream as I accepted a cold beer, a very cold beer. Steffan turned up ten minutes later, joining us as we sat drinking.
‘Hello stranger,’ I offered. ‘Been a while.’
‘Been a long while,’ he agreed. ‘I’ve … taken a wife, second kid due.’
Jimmy was surprised. ‘A local?’
‘A half-caste local.’
‘Nice house?’ I asked.
‘I designed one: eight bedrooms, on the coast, with gardens.’
‘When in Rome,’ Cosy commented.
Steffan made a face, and commented, ‘I figured I’d be here till we open up the Congo.’
‘You can travel if you like,’ Jimmy offered his brother.
‘I like it here,’ Steffan replied.
‘How’s the track?’ I asked.
‘Were not far off the coast in Angola,’ he reported. ‘Now laying extra track around here and in the Congo, and down towards South Africa. But I work on roads mostly, and bridges, even started a dam in Uganda.’
‘It all helps,’ Jimmy said.
‘And the war?’ Steffan asked.
‘Will hardly touch this place,’ Jimmy emphasised. ‘But develop Mombasa field to a concrete runway; taxiways, hangars. During the war we’ll house heavy bombers here. And underground bunkers for munitions storage. But while you’re doing that, keep in mind that as soon as the war is over we’ll want it operating as Mombasa International Airport.’
‘Rudd is developing Nairobi Airport,’ Steffan mentioned. ‘Concrete runway.’
Jimmy nodded. ‘And put a concrete runway at Mawlini for emergency landings during the war. No hurry. Although, with the combined base there now, we could use it for re-supply.’
Steffan showed us his house the next day, Susan and I jealous. As well as jealous of the weather here.
When Jimmy noticed our looks, he said, ‘You can spend the winters here if you like, a second home like this.’
‘It’s a long flight, and a dangerous flight,’ I said. ‘If we had a second home … then maybe in San Diego, or Hawaii.’
‘It’s your call, we’re not short of cash.’
The drive to Ebede was in one of our own cars, powering along the roads that Steffan had helped to improve. And what an orphanage it was now. We clambered up to the roof of the main admin building, finding a small bar and a few seats. And east of us stretched out forty buildings, the farm sat on the distant horizon.
‘How many kids now?’ I asked Anna, her daughter entertaining Mary in the yard below.
‘Now we top four thousand, but there are some boarding school students as well.’
Jimmy asked, ‘Between now and 1936, how many eighteen year old boys?’
‘I think we have a hundred sixteen-year-olds next year, and around a hundred and fifty become sixteen every year, a few more in Nairobi. I think we can only produce maybe a thousand soldiers.’
‘Offer boarding school for twelve-year-old boys, a separation from the others, and in two years time start a cadetship, a small wage paid. Get the numbers up. How about nurses?’
‘There are more girls, so a good number of nurses,’ Anna reported.
‘Again, in two years start a nursing education programme; we may deploy them as early 1937. Sit down and do the numbers, make some plans. War … is coming.’
The kids chanted at us and sang as we toured the orphanage, greeting many of the teachers. Back at the hotel we hit the beach, and it had been a while since I had been swimming here. The waiters brought out cold drinks, and the day was just great, sat with a beer under a coconut tree in the sun, the sound of the waves, Mary playing in the sand.
We delayed our trip up to Nairobi by a day and enjoyed the hotel, Anna and Cosy joining us, their own kids soon playing in the sand. We eventually took our own train to Nairobi, First Class, and Jimmy recalled the story of when he first arrived on this world, and of the pompous English Army officer he met. Now we chugged along in comfort, enjoying the scenery in regal splendour.
Nairobi station had grown considerably, many new buildings to be found around it, a few tall towers visible in the distance. They weren’t tall by modern standards, but tall for this era in Africa. Rudd met us off the train, a line of police officers with him, cars waiting. He whisked us around to his hotel, our hotel, and I was soon fiddling with his air conditioning. It worked, cold air seeping out.
Up in the roof bar we ordered cold beers, mingling with guests, Big Paul and his mate armed with pistols under jackets. This all seemed familiar. But where was Judy in a bikini? And where was the damn pool?
‘Come,’ Rudd requested, and we walked to the wall. He pointed. ‘That tall tower is another hotel, but with offices on the first three floors. That building is apartments, so it that one, and down there is the fridge company headquarters. That tower is just all offices, and that’s the hospital. Over there you can see the airport, now a long concrete runway and hangars, your aircraft there. They fly to many places, the small ones and the bigger ones. And now some private owners.’
‘Progress,’ I said.
‘And many new roads,’ Rudd enthused.
Back at the tables, we reclaimed our beers and sat.
‘How’s money?’ Jimmy asked.
‘The businesses make good money, but profits go to the orphanage or the Rifles.’
‘What’s the balance?’ I asked.
‘There is some money left over, and we own the buildings and land. That does not include CAR, which sells the oil. That makes good money, but the British Navy takes a lot of oil.’
‘That’s OK,’ Jimmy said. ‘Keep fuelling the Navy, and keep building up around here. But we’ll want the diamonds sold before 1938, as many as we can.’
‘I’ll dig some up and send them to America,’ Rudd offered. ‘Oh, the fridges make good money, I did not include that.’
‘Show me the figures in the morning,’ Jimmy suggested.
A man approached. ‘Mister Silo?’ he asked with an accent.
Jimmy stood and shook the man’s hand. ‘Yes.’
‘I am the Belgian Ambassador to East Africa. Am I … disturbing you?’
‘No, not at all, have a seat.’
Big Paul and his mate moved away after a nod from Jimmy, the Ambassador sitting.
‘How can I help you?’ Jimmy asked.
‘Your manager here, Rudd, asked about land for sale in Eastern Congo.’
‘He did?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ Rudd answered. ‘For new mines.’
‘Do you wish to sell land?’ Jimmy asked our guest.
‘It is not very valuable land, and is plagued by rebels. You would need an army to defend your mines, which I understand you do now.’
‘There may be more ore under the ground,’ Jimmy said. ‘We won’t know till we look.’
‘True. And in answer to your manager’s question, we would consider selling land.’
Jimmy took out a piece of paper and a pencil, drawing a crude map of Eastern Congo. ‘What area would you sell?’
The Ambassador circled a few areas.
Jimmy drew a line straight down, a swath of land about two hundred miles deep. ‘How about that area?’
‘That … is a large area, sir.’
‘That … is swamp and jungle and hostile natives.’
‘And what would you offer for it?’
‘Twenty million English pounds, paid over ten years.’
The Ambassador’s eyes widened. ‘You would need a hundred profitable mines operating … to recover that.’
‘I would need twenty years to recover that,’ Jimmy admitted.
‘I would guess longer, but it is your money.’
‘Convey my offer, please. There’s no hurry.’
‘Do you believe there to be valuable mines in the area?’
‘The mine in Zambia has gold, and it’s close to the border, so yes.’
‘A costly gamble, but I think one that you can afford; I fly on your aircraft all the time. Bravo, Monsieur, Bravo.’
Jimmy bowed his head. ‘Enjoy my hotel, and cable me of an answer.’
With the Ambassador gone, Rudd cautioned, ‘That is a lot of money.’
‘It’s over ten years, and we’ve already nicked more than that. Beside, it’s worth it for the long term. In 2020 people will pay that for a house there. And within the next five years we’ll make treble that in the US stock markets.’
‘We could take it by force,’ I suggested. ‘A revolt here and there.’
‘When we start to profit from the region the League of Nations would kick up a fuss,’ Jimmy suggested.
Big Paul jumped up, pistol out, a kick to a man’s groin. His buddy jumped up, and we all closed in. ‘Frisk him,’ Big Paul calmly stated, his buddy removing a pistol from inside the man’s jacket.
Jimmy stepped closer, the other guests now nervous. ‘Who are you?’
‘Henri Duchain, a businessman,’ was squeezed out, the man’s balls sore, his face contorted.
‘Why do you have a pistol in your armpit?’ Jimmy asked.
‘It’s ... Africa, it’s ... a dangerous place.’
‘Nairobi has armed police officers on every street corner, and the local by-laws prevent the unlicensed wearing of a firearm,’ Jimmy pointed out. ‘So … you are under arrest.’
They lifted him and took him out, Rudd calling down to reception for the police officers that always stood outside the hotel.
Sitting, I said, ‘Belgians?’
‘No, probably Herr Hitler,’ Jimmy said, none too fussed. ‘But we’ll find out.’
The man was shown out of the back of the police station and taken to the Rifles barracks, the police all in Rudd’s pocket these days. By time we had finished our evening meal the man had confessed, an agent of The Reich, still pissed at Jimmy trying to bust out communists. If only they’d come and sit down for a nice cup of tea and a chat.
Dr Astor stepped in as we sat drinking, striding over. We stood for her, fetching a seat, but Jimmy led her away from us for a quiet chat.
‘Why doesn’t Jimmy just marry her, for fucks sake?’ Big Paul asked. ‘Good looking girl.’
‘She’s from this era,’ I sighed. ‘But, you never know with Jimmy.’
We left them to it, and the two of them sat there for hours. She spent the night with him - I saw her leave in the morning, but I didn’t ask; he could be a moody bugger when it came to balancing women and the cause.
That day we inspected the hospital, Doc Graham still off enjoying Nepal, and I spoke to Dr Astor at length. She had created several small clinics, and now trained nurses to go off and work in remote villages, our first aid packs carried. She even had a flying doctor service running, a few of our Cessnas ferrying doctors to outlying regions when necessary, the odd breach birth or appendix. I asked her to ask Rudd to expand the service. ‘Call them … flying doctors,’ I told her. ‘Paint the planes white, put red crosses on them, and have a team of doctors and nurses fly around visiting villages.’
She liked the idea, but delicately asked about life in Canada, Jimmy’s life in Canada, surprised that Jimmy was not married yet.
‘He’s dedicated to the work,’ I told her. ‘All work, all day, always trying to invent something new.’
‘I had a lover, a doctor,’ she admitted. ‘But I did not respect him … as much as I should have.’
‘And you were engaged once, I hear.’
‘Yes,’ she sighed. ‘A nice enough man, but grounded in his ways and old fashioned. He lamented the old times, whilst I embrace anything new – such as your cars. I tear around in them, and the police try in vain to tell me off.’
I smiled. ‘Women drivers.’
‘What?’
‘Nothing,’ I quickly got out. ‘Do you fly?’
‘Yes, I’ve had lessons. I aim to try this parachuting next, that looks like great fun – floating down to earth.’
‘You are adventurous,’ I admitted. ‘You’re more like a woman from our time period. We have women soldiers and pilots, and prime ministers and presidents. One of my daughters became Prime Minister of Britain.’
‘Sounds like things change a great deal,’ she noted.
‘Well, it takes another eighty years, but pioneers like yourself help the cause for women.’
‘Pioneers … like me?’
‘Lady doctors running clinics.’
‘Well, yes, I suppose.’
‘What ... are your long-term plans?’ I broached.
‘I had fully believed that I would be married with children by now. I am rapidly becoming an old spinster.’
‘You’ve been injected, and you’ll live to be a hundred a fifty, so you have plenty of time. First time around I didn’t get married till I was forty.’
‘Forty? That does sound old, but I shall not age, as you do not.’
‘So never say never, doc; you’ll be around a long time.’
The gang had a nose at a few offices, inspected a few fridges, and glanced at the airport buildings. Jimmy and Rudd studied figures, Jimmy making a few changes to Rudd’s master plan. Ore would now be mined from Tanzania, a big push for the next two years, and the bauxite mine would be expanded, even if it meant that we stockpiled the aluminium bars in Canada. Rudd had built a large plant in Guinea, the chemical process of extracting Aluminium a complex one.
Jimmy took Dr Astor out to dinner that evening so the rest of us kicked back and relaxed, a pleasant warm evening in the rooftop bar, old acquaintances greeted. I hadn’t noticed them on the first night, but the bar had fly traps, sticky paper that would not let go of a curious fly attracted to it. It was another invention of the scientists at Ebede, and was selling well. Fly Paper had arrived in Africa.
The next day we drove our own jeeps up to the Rifles base, Major Ngomo and his men greeted, hours spent in Ngomo’s sumptuous house, drinking and chatting, his kids running around in the garden. In the evening we enjoyed a meal in the officers’ mess, chatting to the British officers, some of who had only just signed up – the young men looking for a bit of adventure.
We stayed the night in the officers’ mess after drinking till late, inspecting the men in the morning. The base was now huge, well laid out and organised, and with signs everywhere: British Liaison, Medical Bay, Motor Pool, HQ Company, Education Wing, Canadian Liaison, Parachute School, Armoury, 1st Brigade, 2nd Brigade, Support Brigade, Airfield, Bar, Canteen. It had changed a great deal.
Big Paul greeted the Canadian Rifles permanent liaison officer and the man’s admin team, the men all having trained under Big Paul. There were now always four hundred British NCOs here being trained, usually a few hundred Canadian Rifles. And the base now supported a combined bar, where anyone of any rank or any nationality could drink and swap stories, they even allowed the Kenyan soldiers in.
The gang fired off RPGs, 105mm, and we fired AK47s at targets, greeting the various men and NCOs, taking the time to talk with many of them. There now seemed to be a hundred of our half-tracks housed here – many covered in sheets, something of a stockpile. At sundown we drove back in convoy, police at the front, a short drive back down to Nairobi.
Packed up, we grabbed a quick bite to eat, used the toilets, and took off at 11pm, aiming to hit UK airspace in the daylight, whilst avoiding Italian airspace. Everyone believed that we would fly to South Africa, but that was a rouse, and we turned north after flying south for ten minutes.
The dawn came up over the Mediterranean, southern France ahead of us. Our Goose cruised over France at fifteen thousand feet, the other aircraft of the day not being able to intercept us if they had wanted to, and the aircraft’s high vapour trail must have been a puzzle to many on the ground. The Goose landed at this new place west of London called Heathrow, a strip of land we had recently purchased.
There weren’t any of our cars to be seen in England yet, so we bumped along in old bangers, winding roads leading towards London, no motorways yet. It took almost an hour. Thinking about it, I realised that when they did install fast motorways – it would take just the same amount of bleeding time. We booked into the Dorchester, Sykes, Jack and Timkins coming around that evening, not having expected us.
