Solo

tail fins, the four radial engines, the unusually high undercarriage and the curved slim aerodynamics of the fuselage all gave it a particular degree of beauty for an aeroplane. This one was elderly, its paint finish patched and blistered and there was no airline logo in evidence, no trace of where, or from whom, Linck might have chartered it. Arc lights were switched on and the soldiers and the lorries rushed forward to unload its cargo.
    Bond watched, his mind busy, as the plane was unloaded in minutes, the four propellers still turning. He saw boxes of ammunition, mortars, bazookas, heavy machine guns, food, powdered milk, crates of Scotch whisky and gin, drugs, spare tyres and what looked like household goods – air conditioners, stainless-steel sinks, a couple of coffee tables – all passed down the chain of soldiers’ hands from the cargo doors to the waiting lorries and trucks that, once loaded, sped off into the night. Bond looked on, amazed. Then, just as the doors seemed about to close, he saw Kobus Breed run from a building and climb the steps to the plane, handing over a small package to someone inside. The doors were shut, Breed descended and the steps were wheeled away. It wasn’t entirely one-way traffic, then, Bond thought to himself. Breed was now talking to Linck – like two familiars, Bond noticed. Linck clapped him on the shoulder and Breed headed off into the darkness.
    ‘The planes come two, three, four times a night,’ Sunday said.
    ‘Where from?’ Bond asked, turning back to Sunday.
    ‘Dahomey, Ivory Coast, Mali – we don’t know for sure.’
    Bond looked at the tall figure of Linck, as the Super Constellation revved its engines and turned to taxi back to the runway. It hadn’t been on the ground for more than fifteen minutes, Bond thought, watching Linck waving enthusiastically at the taxiing plane as if he were bidding farewell to parting relatives.
    ‘Mr Linck, he control everything,’ Sunday said.
    With an accelerating roar of its Wright radial engines the now empty Super Constellation barrelled down the Janjaville runway in a blue-tinged cloud of dust and took off into the night sky. The landing lights were extinguished and all that could be heard was the diminishing drone of the engines as the plane climbed to cruising height. Bond walked back to Sunday’s Peugeot, impressed: this rearguard action had real potential, he could see.

·13·
     

GHOST WARRIORS
     
    Bond spent many hours the next day sitting in an anteroom outside Abigail Kross’s office hoping for an appointment. When she eventually saw him she seemed distant and preoccupied and her apology was perfunctory. Bond asked if she could use her authority to arrange an interview with Brigadier Adeka. She said that would be impossible. The brigadier had a lifelong distrust of the press and never spoke to journalists. Bond played the French card – ‘Agence Presse Libre would see it as an honour to be able to speak to the brigadier exclusively’ – but in vain.
    ‘Perhaps you could talk to Jakobus Breed,’ Madame Kross then suggested. ‘He supervises the foreign military advisers.’
    ‘I’m already familiar with Mr Breed,’ Bond said, savouring the euphemism. Then he added, ‘I met the brigadier’s brother in London,’ hoping that this claim would give him a little more credence. ‘He wanted to pass on a message to his brother.’
    ‘Gabriel Adeka is no friend of Dahum,’ Abigail Kross said, her smile fading permanently. ‘His name will open no doors here, Mr Bond. Especially not with his brother.’
    Bond left her, thinking hard. Madame Kross was a woman of intelligence and integrity, Bond recognised, but her absolute intransigence seemed almost perverse to him. Why wouldn’t the brigadier speak to the foreign press? Propaganda was a highly effective weapon when it was well deployed. Something strange was going on here. Perhaps Hulbert Linck was the man to approach next – maybe he could apply some pressure.
    Back at the Press Centre, Bond sent a telex to the fake APL address he had been given and that went straight to Transworld Consortium in Regent’s Park. He wrote bland stuff about plucky little Dahum defying the odds, soldiering on gallantly, but Bond knew that the subtext would let M know he was ‘in country’. He added a postscript that he was making every effort to interview Brigadier Adeka but ‘operational difficulties’ made it seem unlikely that it would be granted. He also