Leopard Hunts in Darkness - Smith Wilbur (книга бесплатный формат .TXT) 📗

The camp servants had set a table under the spread branches of a mhoba-hobo tree, on the edge of an open vlei of short lush green grass, out of sight and earshot of the main camp. On the table was a bottle of Chivas Regal whisky and another of vodka, a bucket of ice and two crystal glasses.

Colonel Nikolai Bukharin sat opposite Peter. His long loose cotton shirt hung outside his baggy Cossack pant's and was belted at the waist. His feet were thrust into boots of soft glove-leather. He leaned forward and filled the glasses, and then passed one to Peter.

This time there was no flamboyant tossing back of liquor. They drank slowly, watching the African sky turn mauve and smouldering gold.

The silence was the companionable accord of two men who have risked their lives together and have each found the other worthy, a comrade to die with, or an adversary to fight to the death.

At last Colonel Bukharin placed his glass back on the table with a click.

"And so, my friend, tell me what you want, "he invited.

"I want this land," said Peter Fungabera simply.

"All of it? "the colonel asked.

"All of it "Not just Zimbabwe?"

"Not just Zimbabwe."

"And we are to help you take it?"

"Yes."

"In exchange?"

"My friendship."

"Your friendship unto death?" the colonel suggested drily. "Or until you have what you want and find a new friend?" Peter smiled. They spoke the same language, they understood each other.

"What tangible signs of this eternal friendship will you give us?" the Russian insisted.

"A poor little country like mine," Peter shrugged, "a few strategic minerals nickel, chrome, titanium, beryllium a few ounces of gold." The Russian nodded sagely. "They will be useful to us." "Then, once I am the Monomatapa of Zimbabwe, my eyes will become restless, naturally-, "Naturally." The Russian watched his eyes. He did not like black men, this racist bigotry was a common Russian trait, he did not like their colour nor their smell but this one!

"My eyes might turn southwards," Peter Fungabera said softly. Ha!

Colonel Bukharin hid his glee behind a doleful expression. This one is different!

"The direction in which your own eyes have been focused all along," Peter went on, and the Russian could have chortled.

"What will you see in the south, Comrade General?"

"I will see a people enslaved and ripe for emancipation."

"And what else?" w ill see the gold of the Witwatersrand and the Free State fields, I will see the diamonds of Kimberley, the uranium, the platinum, the silver, the copper in short, I will see one of the great treasure houses of this earth."

"Yes?" the Russian probed with delight. This one is quick, this one has brains, and this one has the courage that it would take.

"I will see a base that' divides the western world, a base that controls both the south Atlantic and the Indian oceans, that sits upon the oil lines between the Gulf and Europe, between the Gulf and the Americas." The Russian held up a hand. "Where will these thoughts lead you?"

"It will be my duty4 to see this land to the south elevated to its true place i the community of nations, in the in tutelage of and under the protection of that greatest of all lovers of freedom, the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics." ed, still watching his eyes. Yes, this The Russian nodd black man had seen the design behind it all. The south was the grand prize, but to win it they needed to take it in the strangler's grasp. To the east they already had Mozambique, to the west Angola was theirs and Namibia would soon be also. They needed only the north to isolate the prize. The north was Zimbabwe, like the strangler's thumb on the windpipe, and this man could deliver it to them.

Colonel Bukharin sat forward in his canvas camp-chair and became businesslike and brisk.

"OpportunityP "Economic chaos, and intertribal warfare, the breakdown of central government." Peter Fungabera counted them off on his fingers.

"The present government is meeting you more than halfway in creating its own economic breakdown," the Russian observed, "and you are already doing fine work in fanning tribal hatreds."

"Thank you, comrade."

"However, the peasants must begin to starve a little before they become manageable-"

"I am pushing in the Cabinet for the nationalization of the white-owned farms and ranches. Without the white farmers I can produce you a goodly measure of starvation," Peter Fungabera smiled.

"I hear you have already made a start. I congratulate you on the recent acquisition of your own estate, King's Lynn?

That is the name is it not?"

"You are well informed, Colonel."

"I

take pains to ensure that I am. But when the moment comes to seize the reins of state, what kind of man will the people look to?"

"A strong man," Peter answered without hesitation. "One whose ruthlessness has been demonstrated."