'Much less than the figures I gave you. Maybe a million, two hundred thousand, if we can get a three-month charter. Four or five million if we have to go for a year. I haven't asked for a quote yet but we are talking a small fraction, and we can always sublease any time we haven't used.'
Wahab turned his facer to Stauer. 'Lease one, Wes. We're already getting over fifty million in known, planned costs, and those are only so far. Sixty million for a ship will send my chief over the edge.'
Stauer grimaced. 'One advantage to buying, as opposed to leasing, is that you can get the money back on a purchase, but the lease is just lost. Still . . . you're the boss.'
'Just his representative,' Wahab corrected. Though I appreciate the honorific.
'What about the sub and the patrol boat?' Stauer asked.
'We've got a couple of issues there,' Gordo said. 'The patrol boat's no problem; I've already contracted with the Finnish company that owns it for Biggus Dickus to take delivery next week.'
Gordon was no fool. Stauer said ‘you're the boss' because he is the paymaster, and we'd better keep him happy. To Wahab he said, 'The purchase price on the boat was so low I figured I'd better jump on it. Hope that's okay.'
'Sure, Mr. Gordon,' Wahab agreed. He only said that because Stauer dropped the hint.
'It's unarmed, of course,' Gordo continued, 'but we can fix that later, after Terry springs Victor from durance vile. And Biggus doesn't need an armed boat anyway.
'The sub, however . . . well, I narrowed it down to two that would do, one of which is perfect and not particularly expensive. That one's in Croatia.'
'Problem is, Wes, that the Croatian one is still military. Well . . . naval. It's one of those Yugoslav-built commando carriers. Plastic, don't you know. But because it's military, buying it would raise questions and attract attention. Neither of which we want.'
'Right' Gordo sighed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Unfolding it, he handed it over to Stauer.
'A minisub painted up in killer whale motif?' Stauer asked, passing the sheet over to Wahab, who looked and shrugged.
'Mmmm . . . yeah. It used to be military, Swedish, but has been sold and resold enough to drop off the screens. Sea Shepherd owned it for a while, hence the paint scheme. Less than half a million bucks and capable of getting a couple of Biggus's boys to the harbor where they can mine the other side's boats.'
'Right,' Stauer said. 'Orca the friendly killer sub it is. Now what about the assembly and training area?' That question was directed to Wahab.
'My chief will pay for the smaller one in Brazil,' Wahab said, 'but he insists on retaining ownership.' He looked embarrassed when he added, 'Yes, I know he agreed that the assets purchased would be part of your fee, but this is land and the land's a lot of money. A ruler in Africa never knows when he's going to need five thousand square kilometers of jungle on another continent to hide in.'
Stauer kept his face blank, even as he thought, Go ahead and break your agreement with me, Khalid. Don't be too surprised if I don't keep to all the fine points concerning my agreement with you.
While Stauer was thinking that, Boxer reminded himself, Brief Wes that Khalid has probably stolen and stashed away something between two and three billion dollars. Might help his-our-bargaining position.
'Keeping supplied up there?' Stauer asked Gordo, changing the subject.
'The same landing craft you're planning to use for the assault. Or . . . '
'Or?'
Gordo reached into another pocket and pulled out another sheet of paper. This he also handed to Stauer. 'Or we can buy a hovercraft. Frankly, if you really need the landing craft, and you do, we'd wear them out making constant runs up and down the Amazon. Might lose one, too. This'-his finger indicated the sheet of paper-'can deliver a couple of tons every three days. That's enough, if we bring the heavy shit in initially by landing craft, and purify our own water, to supply us in the middle of nowhere, Amazonia.'
Stauer thought about that. No . . . no. A hovercraft operating on the Amazon daily is going to attract attention from the Brazilian authorities . . . and they're borderline paranoid. Besides, I don't know where to get a hovercraft crew we could trust. They're just not that common.
'No hovercraft,' he told Gordo. 'Think of something else.'
'Oh, well, just a thought,' Gordo said. 'If no hovercraft then we can use the mix of the landing craft, the Hips, and maybe some fixed wing, since we're buying a couple of Pilatus PC-6's, anyway. And I can charter some Brazilian river craft. The engineers can hack out a strip and I can order some extra PSP from the Philippines. Hell, maybe that will work better.' Gordo frowned momentarily. 'No, I'd better order the extra PSP from Calumet in the States. More expensive but we'll get it sooner.'
CHAPTER EIGHT
Development aid is one of the reasons for
Africa's problems. If the West were to cancel
these payments, normal Africans wouldn't even
notice. Only the functionaries would be hard hit.
Which is why they maintain that the world
would stop turning without this development aid.
-James Shikwati, Kenyan economist
D-149, N'Djamena-Abeche 'Highway,' Chad
'Oh, God,' moaned Adam, seated between Abdi and Gheddi, 'what is this?' The boy covered his mouth and nose with his hands and began to cough and sneeze from the thick dust that swirled around the bus. His kidneys were in agony from the pounding they'd taken from the combination of bad shocks and worse road.
'I believe this is called ‘foreign aid,'' Labaan answered.
The captive looked confused, and from more than the aftereffects of the drugs he'd been given.
'Foreign aid,' Labaan repeated, with a sneer. 'You know: When guilty-feeling Euros and Americans shell out money, ostensibly to help the people, but the money all ends up in the hands of sundry corrupt rulers and their relatives?'
'I don't . . . '
'Understand?' Labaan stood up and, using the bus seats to hold himself erect against the bouncing, walked to the rear where Adam sat. Abdi moved over to open a space for Labaan to sit.
