Decisive by David Hickson

Author:David Hickson [Hickson, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

The grandmother made us herbal tea, which was surprisingly refreshing.

“In this heat,” said Bibata, “a hot drink is the best thing.”

The three of us sat on rustic wooden chairs in the kitchen to discuss our options. A sluggish movement of air came in through the open door from the vegetable patch. The grandmother stood at the gas stove where she was chopping and boiling vegetables.

“Don’t worry about her,” said Bibata, noticing my hesitation. “She speaks no French.”

“I need you to tell me,” I said, looking at Alassane, “who else knows about this operation. Who is behind it? How many people are involved?”

“We should abort,” said Alassane, as if he had not heard my question.

“Let me explain, Alassane,” I said. “I am not a man who aborts. I have a task to complete, and there is nothing that will stop me. Not even a bunch of bandits with AK-47s.”

Alassane closed his mouth, and his jaw muscles bulged with silent anger.

“Who else knows about this operation?” I asked again.

“Nobody else knows. It’s the three of us, that is all.”

“There must be someone in the presidential office,” I said. “Or was it you personally who discovered the general’s plans to overthrow the government?”

Alassane shook his head.

“Was it you who contacted the South Africans? Asked for their intervention?”

Alassane shook his head again, then said reluctantly, “My boss. No one else.”

“Your boss?” I repeated and watched his reaction. The jaw muscles bulged again. “Your boss discovered the general’s plans?” I asked. “Your boss put this operation together? Or was it your idea?”

Alassane hesitated. He looked to Bibata then back to me. “She insisted we keep it quiet,” he said. “Only my boss and I know about it. And this morning I briefed Bibata.”

“Your boss is a woman?” I asked.

Another nod, a dishonest shift of his eyes, and a bulge of the jaw muscles.

“How many women are there in the presidential office?” I asked.

Alassane shrugged. “Several women,” he said.

“Is your boss the vice president?”

Alassane gave me a blank stare. The three of us sat in silence for a moment. Bibata’s grandmother chopped a carrot noisily.

“Do you think it is possible that your boss has changed her mind about the operation?” I asked. “And sent those men to stop us?”

“No,” said Alassane. “It is not possible.”

He fell silent, and his eyes twitched with anxiety. The heat pressed down upon us. The grandmother chopped another carrot.

“How late are we going to be for my meeting with the general?” I asked.

“Not too late, if we leave now,” said Bibata.

“Then let’s leave now.”

Alassane and Bibata both looked at me as if I had not used the language we had in common. Neither of them wanted to get back into that car.

“There is glass all over the back seat,” complained Alassane.

“Why don’t we clear that up?” I suggested. “The car is still operational. It will get us there.”

Alassane looked at Bibata as if it was his opinion that clearing glass off the back seat of the car was something she should be doing.

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