The Feast of Wolves

CHAPTER ONE

The Heart of the Southern Saharan Delta, West Africa, June 1991, 6.30 p.m.

L ike a massive army of locusts, the thick, dark, rain-laden clouds gathered rapidly in the late afternoon sky, shutting out the glare of sunlight as flashes of lightning zigzagged across the majestic spread. The calm serenity of the West African mangrove creek was intermittently shattered by an occasional loud roar of thunder. There were a few fishermen out on the river, busily working their fishing nets and fish traps, hurrying to reinforce their equipment to withstand the weather until retiring to their shanty huts to wait out the coming rain. Very soon, large drops of rain began to fall, accompanied by driving winds. In some other climes, this event would be considered a storm or torrential rain, but in the tropical climate of Sub-Saharan Africa, it was just rain.

Two speedboats rapidly made their way through the maze of creeks and rivulets typical of the Southern Saharan delta region, their pilots seemingly unconcerned by the brewing storm. Each boat carried eight men, all of whom appeared to be very focused on their business. The two boats were expertly manoeuvred towards their destination. The normally calm waters of the rivers that fed the Atlantic Ocean had picked up their pace, swelled by the waters from further inland, where rain had fallen already. The river flowed rapidly towards the ocean, its currents presenting a great challenge to any would-be swimmer.

The rivers and creeks of the very expansive delta snaked beautifully for hundreds of square kilometres and made their way through rich mangrove forests into larger rivers and, eventually, through three estuaries before emptying into the Atlantic Ocean. These normally calm-looking waters posed hidden dangers to persons unfamiliar with them. The surprisingly strong currents and abundance of marine life, including animals such as crocodiles, sea snakes and hippopotamuses, resulted in occasional casualties.

The boats cruised on past the fishermen who were lodged in several fishing camps along the riverbanks. These men eked out a living from subsistence fishing. The communities around these rivers had not changed their methods of shipping for several millennia and barely managed to get by on selling what they caught.

The men in the speedboats, after exchanging pleasantries with the people they encountered, went farther into the more desolate areas of the creeks. Darkness fell rapidly as the winds picked up speed. A few raindrops began to fall and then quickly became a torrent. The men needed to get as far along as possible before any further progress on the river became impossible.

Anthony Aja-Daniels, called Tony or T-Boy by his pals, sat among the other men in the second of the speedboats. Tall, dark, and good-looking, Tony was a man whose size usually got people’s attention and earned him respect wherever he went. His muscle-bound six-foot-four frame was hardly ever ignored. Today, Tony sat quietly in the speedboat as it sped through the creeks. He was impressed by the skills exhibited by the skippers, who skilfully steered the boats through the sometimes busy and winding creeks, despite the rapidly fading light. They knew the creeks like the back of their hands, which was evident as they sailed past several riverside communities and fishing camps that soon became mere silhouettes against the background of night. They went past thatch-roofed houses built on stilts and lit by yellowish mud-lamp fires; they passed several communities whose canoes lined the riverside. They sailed past marshlands and the tricky sand islands that trapped many a less skilful boatman. The sand islands, barely visible even in the brightest light, were formidable traps in low light. Many a sailor had run his boat aground on these deceptive islands, but these two skippers managed to avoid the sand islands without any noticeable reduction in speed.

These boys know these creeks like the back of their callused hands, Tony thought. I am sure they can safely navigate the waters blindfolded.

Although this was his second operation with the group, Tony still couldn’t shake off the strong sense of unease that hounded him whenever the group was on its mission. He truly hated the now familiar feeling of foreboding, and he honestly wished that he did not have to do this task. The money, however, was attractive. He could not think of a better way to earn so much in so little time.

The pay is very good, he thought, beginning to consider the things he must do with the cash at the end of the trip. He waved his hands, both to chase off the horde of mosquitoes and other river-borne insects that buzzed endlessly around his face and also to make a vain attempt to dismiss his ill-at-ease feeling. He gazed at the leader of the group, a thickset man in his late twenties called Eric, who sat beside the skipper in the same boat with Tony. Eric was staring straight ahead with a stony look on his face. Because Tony could not read Eric’s emotions, he could not help but wonder what was going on in that mind of his.

Soon, they approached the thick marshes where the flowing river thinned out and the flickering yellow flames of the oil lamps the villagers used to illuminate their deprived communities gradually disappeared into the distance. Once again, Tony could not help marvelling, in complete disbelief, at the poverty-ridden settlements and communities that dotted the wetlands they had sped past. How can citizens of such a resource-rich region, from where arguably over 80 per cent of the revenue of the oil-fattened region of Southern Sahara derives, be condemned to such life of deprivation? he wondered, anger brewing inside him.

The starkness of the poverty levels was more pronounced, in his mind, by the proximity of the settlements to the oil platforms, pipelines, and other installations of the multibillion-dollar oil industry that fed the entire nation. He had grown up aware of the abject poverty of the people of the delta, but he had never seen it so clearly. Silently, in his mind, he rained curses on the ruling class who fed themselves fat on his people’s resources but gave nothing back in return. They embezzled and corruptly amassed wealth while the people starved to death. He pondered the hopelessness of the situation. The only way a bright, young Southern Saharan, such as himself and his fellow travellers on this operation, could reasonably expect to make a decent living was to pursue a career in government or choose a life of crime.

The rich’s neglect of the underclasses, Tony remembered, was Eric’s main and most compelling argument made in support of these crude-oil theft operations. The government does not care about us or the other people from whose backyards this lucrative resource is exploited. All they care about is making money for themselves – while the main stakeholders die in poverty, Eric argued.

In the Federal Republic of Southern Sahara, government had become the biggest money-spinning business, particularly with the incursion of the military into the nation’s politics and its subsequent institutionalization of corruption and destruction of society’s moral fabric. Tony remembered how the creek dwellers warmly greeted Eric and the rest of the team as they passed. It was easy to see that the people had great love for the team in the two speedboats. As the men in Tony’s outfit went along, they met other speedboats commuting people from settlement to settlement. While his team rode on for miles, Tony could not see a single hospital in sight. Neither did he see any school. The people mainly lived in their wooden stilt houses, and they barely had clothes on – just enough to protect them from the mosquitoes and other tropical insects that infest the waters all around the tropical delta. He remembered the discussion he had with Eric earlier in the day.

I can’t believe this, Tony had said, pointing at the settlements as they sped past. There is absolutely no government presence in these parts. Some of these people will forever remain in the Stone Age, and some of these communities will never get developed.

You better do, Eric had responded. "These are people who have never experienced governance or benefited from the wealth pumped out from below their feet.

We are their messiahs. When we trade, we give them handouts. At times, we bring stuff from the city, like old clothes, loaves of bread, and so on – and they love us to death for it. They will die for us.

This is a vicious cycle; education is only for the few who can find their way into the towns. That means the majority will remain this way, ignorant and extremely poor, Tony had reasoned.

Eric had nodded his head. I agree entirely; however, you see that they’re mainly fishermen. The occasional oil spill and resulting devastation will ensure that the environment ceases to be self-sustaining. These people will yet experience more hardship than this wretchedness you are so worried about.

Those words now echoed in his ears as the boats slipped quietly through the mangroves, lit by their flashlights, towards a dredged right-of-way belonging to one of the oil majors. The right-of-way was a large strip of land the oil company had acquired for the laying of its pipelines. Navigation was easier in the right-of-way because the vegetation had been largely cleared away and because of the heavy rains. This area was made up more of water and less of mud and vegetation, as one encountered in the marshes.

The team soon came upon the network of pipelines which could be seen just above the water level. They slowly made their way along the pipelines. Once Eric chose a spot, the team would stop and get to work. In the distance, Tony could see the top of a gas flare site. He knew that the flow station was located close to the flare, at most a couple of miles away.

*   *   *

Twenty-four hours later, as the men slipped quietly into the water from their base – an abandoned construction camp previously used by an oil-servicing company that had carried out some projects in the area – Tony watched with keen eyes as the team moved in their speedboats. The base was located approximately seven miles from the targeted cluster of pipelines, and the team had returned to base after siphoning crude oil for a little over five hours. They had put the loaded drums of stolen crude oil aboard a barge that was previously hidden in the tall vegetation, just beyond the boundary of the oil company’s right-of-way, close to the pipelines. The crude was later transferred to some metal storage tanks at the base, pending shipment to the designated rendezvous point.

There were now three speedboats, one of them towing a barge laden with massive metal drums and a large tank, as the team moved away from base. The entire operation had been carried out so easily that Tony almost started believing that it was a legal act.

The scouts had identified a susceptible pipeline. They had simply cut the line and siphoned the oil with some crude old pumping hose and machine, and then they had returned to base. Three members of the gang had experience as pipeline welders for one of the major oil companies and had undergone a series of training in the course of their jobs. These men now made their skills and knowledge available to the gang – and they were handsomely rewarded for their contributions after each operation.

After the operation, the team’s next task was to sell the consignment and return to the city with their loot. Tony couldn’t help but marvel at how easy it was simply to go in and steal a nation’s main natural resource without any challenge. Time and time again, he had come to realize that there were vast areas of the country that were outside the influence of the government and that remained totally untouched by its laws and institutions.

In places such as this, there are no police and no armed forces, except for those securing the oil installations, Eric had once assured him. Tony now listened to Eric speaking with a potential buyer via satellite phone.

After cruising for about three hours, the team came across a small ship. Once the crews established each other’s identity, Eric climbed onboard with Tony and rapidly completed the bargaining process. The Eastern European crew shared their boxes of Cuban cigars with the boys as the deal was sealed. The ship flew a Ukrainian flag, but Tony knew better than to be swayed by the flag, as it was possible that the ship was flying a dummy in order to be less traceable. From what he could see, the crew were of mixed origin: Europeans, Filipinos, et al. He really could not be bothered. Like the first time he had negotiated a deal like this, he was more than a little nervous.

The ship had infiltrated the territorial waters of the Republic of Southern Sahara, just as several other vessels do on a daily basis. The captain had skilfully kept his vessel on the edge of Southern Saharan territorial waters and waited for his customers to bring him the illegally procured crude-oil supply. He was largely out of the reach of the Southern Saharan navy and could quite easily slip out of the territorial waters and drift farther into international waters, should the need arise. The vessel had been patrolling the waters for almost a week, and the crew felt very fortunate now that they had gotten the oil they had come for. As the dollars exchanged hands, both sides were happy about a deal successfully concluded. They made promises to continue to deal together in future.

Climbing back into their boats, some of the men in Tony’s team fired a few rounds of ammunition from their automatic weapons into the night sky to celebrate. They had just made more money than they could hope to make in a decade if they did honest work. As the boats made their way back into the maze of creeks, Eric reminded the lot of their duty to be generous to the dwellers of the communities they had come across on the first leg of the trip. Generosity opens doors that are well shut, he said.

After the transaction, as both parties sailed off, Tony pondered what had just happened. He thought, There were risks for both sides, but the type of folks who carried out this type of trade believe that the profit outweighs the risks by a mile. The oil being traded is not exactly the same quality as oil lifted from a proper terminal, as it usually contains larger quantities of impurities and water, but the captain and his crew would rather take that, at a price far below the international price for crude oil, and trade it at a massive profit than engage in the long bureaucratic process and whatnot to get a legal consignment. After all, this is the black market!

Tony simply lay back in the boat and watched the night sky pass him overhead. He was busy imagining what he would do with his share of the freshly made booty.

*   *   *

Tony watched the guests arriving and smiled. He looked in Eric’s direction and saw that Eric was already getting into the groove; he was holding a bottle of Champagne and talking to the divisional police officer, the most senior police officer in the locality. The latest pop music was blaring from the DJ’s turntable, and some of the guests were already swaying to the music. Drinks were being served, and he knew that the food would follow soon. Tony knew it was time to get the party started and decided just how to do it. He walked over to the disc jockey and collected the microphone.

Hello, everybody, he began, taking his cue from Eric. On behalf of the celebrant, Chief Eric Adams Maneba, I welcome you all to this occasion. He had to raise his voice so as to be heard above the noise of the revellers. The DJ had reduced the volume of his music, but this made no notable impact.

My good friend and benefactor, Chief Eric, has called all of us together to join him in celebration. In case you are wondering what is being celebrated, I assure you that this is not a birthday party. I will only tell you that the chief is celebrating the goodness of God in his life.

He paused and leaned over as Eric whispered to him, and then he smiled his approval. Let the party begin. Let the food and drinks flow, he thundered, which elicited loud applause from the crowd.

The party’s venue was a nightclub located inside a hotel owned by one of Eric’s friends. Some of the hotel rooms were reserved for some of the guests. Blinking red and blue disco lights spinning from a mechanism in the ceiling were the major sources of light in the dimly lit nightclub. The guests began to enjoy themselves.

Just as the loud music resumed, Tony looked on wide-eyed as a dozen half-dressed women entered. Eric winked at him as he stumped out the Cuban cigar he had been smoking and began to roll a wrap of Indian hemp. Make everybody have fun tonight, Eric shouted in broken English. I don pay [I have paid]. Tony smiled. He hadn’t know the details of the plan, but he could see that Eric had not lost any of his partying credentials.

Tony poured himself another glass of whisky just as a delectable, light-complexioned, busty woman approached him. He smiled as she sat down beside him. Hi, can I share your drink? she started.

From the corner of his eye, Tony saw Eric shuffle to the dance floor and begin to dance with two of the semi-nude women.

By all means, please, be my guest, Tony replied to the beauty before him. He watched two sexy women caress Eric. They moved their bodies in a slow rhythm all over his in an extremely seductive manner.

Looking away, Tony poured his new companion a large glass of whisky and watched as she added some ice cubes and sipped the drink delicately.

So, what do you do? he asked.

I am a student, she replied. And you?

Business. I am a partner of the chief.

Hmm, that is nice. But aren’t you bored sitting alone?

Am I bored? he repeated. No, not at all. I was only just getting started.

That’s nice. My name is Queen, she said.

They call me Tony. Would you let me be your king?

She laughed and whispered softly into his ear, I am all yours, sweetheart. I will fulfil all your fantasies, baby.

Tony took a long swig of his whisky and swallowed. He nodded knowingly and looked round the crowded nightclub. The party had obviously taken off. People were quickly becoming intoxicated on the generous supply of drugs and drinks. The munificently provided food was hardly touched.

He smiled again and pulled Queen to himself. He looked at her closely. She is a beautiful girl, Tony thought, smiling mischievously.

Let’s go to my room upstairs, he said. This place is getting crowded.

She shook her head slightly and put a finger to his lips. No, no, no. Not so fast, baby.

Observing the puzzled look on his face, she explained: I need a smoke; do you care to join me?

She hailed one of the men serving drinks and whispered into his ear. The man returned shortly with a supply of marijuana. Join me, please, she said softly as she rolled herself a joint. Although he had not smoked the drug for years, Tony found himself rolling a joint. The two of them smoked together.

Another joint each and some more whisky later, Tony and Queen staggered upstairs hand in hand and made for the hotel room. Locating the room key in his pocket was quite a challenge for Tony. Queen cheered jokingly when he finally got the door opened. Yippee! You opened the door, she said.

You can cheer all you want, he retorted, but you’ll scream when I am through with you tonight. He allowed the door to slam shut after they entered.

You wait and see what I’ll do to you, baby, she replied as she began to strip off her clothes.

CHAPTER TWO

T ony first saw what he thought was a flash of light in the distance, but, because it was very brief, he couldn’t ascertain its source. Eric had obviously also seen the light, as he immediately beckoned the convoy to slow down. They had just spent a successful four days’ run siphoning crude oil from deep in the creeks, totally unconcerned about the growing oil slick caused by the crude oil that had escaped from a pipeline they wilfully dam aged.

The oil company will repair it soon enough, was Eric’s consistent mantra as they went about their business. They had chosen an extremely remote location for the operation and had the assurance that only the brave-hearted would dare to venture close uninvited. They entertained no fear of interference from any quarters because they were always generous to the dwellers of the nearby settlements, so their loyalty was undivided. They would be alerted to any trouble well ahead of time. It was always an entirely different ballgame when the cargo was to be moved into the ocean and then sold. They always needed to be careful and avoid the few, but coordinated, navy patrols. Tony feared that the flash he saw was a flashlight from a patrol boat, although he had never encountered any patrol in his four months on the job with Eric’s team. Still, he had heard stories of less than pleasant encounters.

This morning, the team’s convoy was made up of three flat-top barges and three speedboats. One speedboat sailed about fifty metres ahead, functioning as the scout boat, while the two others pulled the barges. It was not a fast convoy, but they hoped to make it out to the open ocean before daylight. Eric beckoned to the skippers to keep to the banks of the river, where they could take advantage of the heavy mangrove canopy until they were able to ascertain the source of the disturbing light. They had often relied on the thick mangroves on the riverbanks to provide sufficient cover for the team in the poor light. Two out of the four occupants of the scout boat brought their guns into sight and held them at the ready. Tony immediately wondered what the hell they were doing.

Rat-a-tat-tat. The sudden bust of automatic gunfire interrupted Tony’s thoughts. One of the men who had raised his gun jackknifed and slumped forwards as the flashlight suddenly focused on the convoy. The men realized that the source of the light was nearer this time. Every member of the team immediately reached for his gun and returned fire, but the advantage was clearly with the navy patrol. Tony watched as two navy gunboats sped towards the convoy. He fired his rifle but knew it was a fruitless effort.

Damn it. This is very bad! he thought, just as Eric began rapidly shouting orders. Eric ordered the boats to sail into the creeks, but there were none near enough. The team members returned fire, but Tony was briefly stunned into immobility. He saw a couple more team members go down in the crossfire and watched Eric and the other team members firing away while the skippers frantically tried to manoeuvre the boats into a turn.

Tony heard a bullet whistle past his ears. The man beside him suddenly screamed, clutched his chest, and fell into the water. The bullet had evidently found its mark. Tony immediately ditched the boat and jumped into the water, just as Eric ordered that the lines towing the barges be cut so as to enable the speedboats to move at greater speed. He took over as pilot and immediately swung the boat around and sped off. The other two boats made off after him. Tony swam frantically to shore, but the navy gunboat had superior firepower. The team was quickly losing personnel.

Just as Tony ditched the boat, the skipper of the scout boat slumped under gunfire. Two of his crew members also fell overboard having been hit.

Eric took aim at the leading navy boat and fired. He hit two of the navy officers but also drew the ire of the machine gunner. Almost in slow motion, the navy gunboat’s turret turned until it appeared to focus directly on him; he had no choice but to give the order to ditch the boats.

He screamed the order to ditch as he jumped into the river. The other men quickly followed suit. They all swam rapidly towards the shore, keeping their heads under water all the way. Above them, gunfire combed the river as the naval officers continued firing. The aim of the navy patrol was obvious: take no prisoners. The surviving team members were determined not to fall victim.

*   *   *

Tony came ashore on a swampy beach a good distance from the firefight. As he lay down, exhausted, in the brush, he saw the rest of the team jump into the water and swim frantically for their lives. He hoped they would all make it to safety before the sun fully lit up the morning sky. He knew that the navy officers would be eager to finish off any of the fleeing gangsters. That would be the icing on the cake after they had intercepted a large consignment of stolen crude oil. For the officers, this was a major victory. They would take all the credit for it.

As he had dragged himself out of the water, Tony failed to notice the scratches on his legs made by the creeping plants. It was daylight already, but he was protected by the shade of the heavy canopy of mangrove plants as he ran blindly along. The darkness made overhead tracking of persons in these swamps all but impossible. The Government Security Forces made a few attempts at aerial surveillance, but those had been mostly unsuccessful.

Gradually, the other team members made it to safe locations along the banks of the river, each happy to be alive and to have escaped capture. The team had worked over this scenario dozens of times before; today, they had easily put the contingency plan to work. Each of the escapees made his way discreetly into the mangrove forest and