Defence Ministry?'
'Someone highly placed,' answered Machita. 'Costs us a pretty penny. but his information is thoroughly reliable. Odd sort, though; he never appears in the same place twice under the same guise.'
'You make him sound like some kind of mystic.' said Jumana.
'Perhaps he is,' conceded Machita. 'Emma materializes when we least expect him.'
'Emma?'
'His code name.'
'Either the man has a warped sense of humor or he's a transvestite,' said Lusana.
'I cannot say. General.'
'How do you contact him?'
'We don't. He reaches us only when he has useful information to sell.'
Jumana's face clouded. 'What guarantee have we that he isn't feeding us falsified documents?'
'To date, everything he passed us from the Ministry has checked out one hundred percent.'
Lusana looked at Machita. 'You'll see to it, then?'
Machita nodded. 'I'll fly to Pretoria myself and await Emma's next appearance. If anyone can clear up the mystery, it will be him.'
20
The African Army of Revolution's camp was not really a camp at all; rather, it was a headquarters in what was once a small university for the Portuguese when they ruled Mozambique. A new university for the nation's black citizens had since risen from the heart of a new city torn from the northern interior, on Lake Malawi.
The converted campus made an ideal base for Lusana's army: dormitories for the troops, cafeterias turned mess halls, sporting facilities now utilized for combat instruction, comfortable quarters for the officers, a newly decorated ballroom for social events.
Democratic congressman Frederick Daggat, one of New jersey's three black congressmen, was impressed. He'd half expected a typical revolutionary movement run by tribesmen armed with Soviet rockets, dressed in drab Chinese uniforms, and spouting inane, overused Marxist cliches. Instead he was pleased to discover an organization run on the lines of an American oil corporation.
Lusana and his officers came off more like business executives than guerrillas.
Everything at the cocktail party went strictly according to New York protocol. Even the hostess, Felicia Collins, would have done a midtown Manhattan party proud.
Daggat caught her eyes and she excused herself from an admiring group of Somalian legislators. She came over and laid her hand on his arm.
'Enjoying yourself, Congressman?'
Very much.'
'Hiram and I had hoped you could stay over until the weekend.'
'Regrettably, I must be in Nairobi for a meeting with the Kenya Educational Council tomorrow afternoon.'
'I hope your quarters are satisfactory. We're a little off the beaten track for a Hilton Hotel franchise.'
'I must admit, Mr. Lusana's hospitality is far more than I bargained for.'
Daggat looked down at her. Tonight was the first time he had actually seen Felicia Collins up close. Celebrity, singer with three gold records, actress with two Emmys and an Oscar for a difficult role as a black suffragette in the motion picture Road of Poppies. She was every bit as ravishing as she appeared on screen.
Felicia stood cool and poised in green crepe de chine evening pajamas. The small strapless top tied at the waist and the matching pants gave a diaphanous hint of her shapely legs. She wore her hair in a chic short African cut.
'Hiram is on the threshold of greatness, you know.'
He smiled at her high-toned statement. 'I imagine the same might have been said once of Attila the Hun.'
'I can easily see why Washington correspondents crowd your press conferences, Congressman.' Her hand remained on his arm. 'Your tongue stabs.'
'I believe they refer to it as 'Daggat's shaft.' '
'The better to screw the white establishment with, perhaps?'
He took her hand and exerted an increasing pressure until there was a tiny widening of her huge mahogany eyes. 'Tell me, Ms. Collins ' what brings a beautiful and renowned black entertainer to the jungle?'
'The same thing that brings the black enfant terrible of the United Status Congress,' she countered. 'To help a man who is fighting to advance our race.'
'I'm more inclined to believe Hiram Lusana is fighting to advance his private bank account.'
Felicia smiled derisively. 'You disappoint me Congressman. If you'd bothered to do your homework, you'd know that is simply not true.'
Daggat stiffened. The gauntlet had been thrown.
He released her head and moved until his face was only a few inches from hers. 'With half the world watching the African nations, waiting and wondering when they are going to get their circus act together and remove the last bastion of white supremacy, who should appear like a messiah from the wilderness, offering a proverb for every occasion, but none other than your friendly international drug smuggler Hiram Lusana. Like a revelation in the night, he unloads his thriving operation and takes up the cause of the poor foul-smelling black rabble of South Africa.
'Reinforced now by gullible black opinion and touted by a world press hungry for a personality, any personality, handsome Hiram suddenly finds his smiling face on the covers of no fewer than fourteen magazines with a combined circulation of over sixty million. Thus the sun shines down from heaven and Hiram Lusana is adored by Bible beaters everywhere for his devout piety; foreign state departments vie for his presence at parties; he demands and receives fabulous fees on the lecture circuit; and suckers like you, Ms. Collins. from the entertainment world, kiss his ass and scratch for a percentage of the box office limelight.'
Anger flared in Felicia's lovely features. 'You're being deliberately offensive.'
'Nakedly honest, perhaps.' Daggat paused and enjoyed Felicia's uneasiness for a moment. 'And what do you think will happen if Lusana should win his war and the white racist government in South Africa surrenders? Will he, like Cincinnatus, renounce his generalship and return to the plow? Not likely. There is little doubt in my mind that he'll proclaim himself president and launch a virtual dictatorship. Then, with the enormous resources of Africa's most advanced country in his pocket, he'll shift the grand crusade into reverse and either by force or by subterfuge gobble up the weaker black nations.'
'You're blind,' she said harshly. 'Hiram guides his life by high morals. I find it unthinkable that he would ever consider selling out his ideals for personal gain.'
Felicia did not see the caution in Daggat's eyes. 'I can prove it, Ms. Collins, and all it will cost you — financially, that is — if you lose is one Yankee dollar.'
'You're fishing in a barren lake, Congressman. You obviously do not know the general.'
'Bet me.'
She thought a moment and then looked up. 'You're on.'
Daggat bowed gallantly and escorted her to where Lusana was talking tactics with an officer of the Mozambique Army. Lusana broke off his conversation at their approach and greeted them. 'Ah, my two fellow Americans. I see you've met.'
'May I talk with you and Ms. Collins alone for a moment, General?' asked Daggat.
'Why, yes, of course.'
Lusana excused himself from the Army officer and led the way into a small study comfortably furnished in an Afro-modern motif.
'Very nice,' said Daggat.
'My favorite style of decor.' Lusana motioned them to sit down. 'And why not? Is it not based on our ancestral native designs?'
