Jackal's Dance (29 page)

Realisation of UNITA's strength came late to the Angolan government, but when it did, they vowed to wipe them out. Their problem was finance. Health, education and food supplies had to be sacrificed. People were forced to live off a land unable to keep pace with demands. UNITA, no longer recognised as a legitimate organisation, also found itself facing United Nations sanctions. South
Africa had long ago withdrawn support. Jonas Savimbi's forces began to suffer.

Cross-border forays into Namibia for food and supplies were on the increase. As a result, Namibia formally declared logistical support for the Angolan army in its attempt to annihilate UNITA. Predictably, the incursions took on a retaliatory flavour. Acts of sabotage accompanied raids for sustenance, and attacks on Namibian civilians became more frequent. The Namibian Defence Force responded by establishing military bases inside Angola. Botswana too, aware that their country's proximity to Angola meant they could very well be targeted as a source of supply, set up two Botswana Defence Force camps just inside their country's north-western border. UNITA threatened to retaliate.

Combining a need to demonstrate strength with an even more pressing requirement – cash – UNITA came up with a strategy that would prove to the world it was still a force to be reckoned with. If the tactics worked, headlines around the globe would be focused on them. And if all went according to plan, ransom money would contribute to the cost of maintaining UNITA's army.

Five months earlier, in a secret meeting between their leader, Jonas Savimbi, and officers of DEP – Departmento do Pessoal (Personnel Department), the branch of UNITA responsible for assigning soldiers to specific areas – the mood had been one of doom and gloom.

‘We hold the whole country,' one general blustered in an attempt to lift spirits.

‘But not the cities,' another countered. ‘What use is a country with no cities?'

‘Patience,' the first replied. ‘Already supplies are running short in Luanda. Since we have made the roads unsafe they have no option but to bring everything in by air.'

‘Are you blind?' someone else asked harshly. ‘There is no trading and no farming in the areas we control. Our soldiers have to steal what they can from the villages. It is true, we can starve those in the cities but what use is that when we ourselves cannot eat?'

‘If we could pay our soldiers many government troops would desert and join us. The police too, they do not get paid either.' Jonas Savimbi had the attention of every other man in the room. Their leader was undoubtedly an intellectual and, as such, enjoyed enormous respect in a country where the large majority were peasants. Who else had command of French, English, Portuguese and German, as well as the old tribal languages? Who else could recite Marx on one hand, Machiavelli, Churchill and Clausewitz on the other? Who else had sat with President Reagan at a cosy chat session in the White House, something usually bestowed only on heads of state? Who else carried a walking stick tipped with silver? On the upside, Jonas Savimbi was impressive.

The downside was a somewhat different story. This man, so loved by western countries because of
his denouncement of communism, admired for his elegance, lauded for his dedication to free Angola, this charismatic, educated hero, UNITA knew a different Savimbi.

It was he who ruled a broken and terrified population with the threat of even greater depredation, even worse atrocities than they had been suffering for forty years. And he who was lightning quick and totally remorseless in punishing dissenters, irrespective of their rank. A tribal leader in every sense of the word, demanding respect, obedience and loyalty. Despite paying lip-service to religious leaders as a means of gaining approval and support, he detested Christianity. Irrespective of a benign facade, women who refused to sleep with him were, more often than not, executed. Jonas Savimbi was a man aching for power, his rhetoric a cover-up for this one all-consuming passion.

And so the generals listened while he outlined a new and desperate plan. When he fell silent, despite their many misgivings, the only question asked was, ‘You have a man in mind to lead this mission?'

Ace Ntesa was thirty-six years old. A member of and active soldier with UNITA since he was thirteen, addicted to marijuana from the age of fifteen, a murderer by the time he was nineteen, HIV positive at twenty-three and wounded in action three times, Ace had nothing to lose. No home, no family, no hope. He lived for the soft oblivion of a joint or the harsh adrenalin rush of violence.

When UNITA troops raided his village and killed his mother, father, brothers and sisters as MPLA supporters – they had been supporters but only because to do otherwise would have resulted in an even earlier demise – young Ace escaped a similar fate because he had fallen asleep in his favourite hideout some distance from the village. He'd disappeared to avoid the task of rounding up those few goats remaining in his father's herd, the majority of which had been slaughtered and eaten by MPLA soldiers.

When he woke, the sweetish smell of burning human flesh had warned him, way before his eyes and ears, that there had been trouble in the village. Ace knew what to expect. It had happened before. MPLA soldiers looting, raping, burning those considered to be traitors. Whether they were or not didn't seem to matter. As he made his way cautiously through the bush, the possibility that it might be his own family was one calmly and fatalistically considered. That it turned out to be so was accepted with a sense of stoic inevitability. In a land where life expectancy was only forty-six years, every day became a bonus and violent death a way of life.

The family hut had been reduced to smouldering rubble. Ace was more upset by a loss of possessions than the brutal murders. His own miraculous escape from the same fate left him untouched. Destiny had dished out a hit-or-miss hand that could have gone one way or the other. Someone told him that the village was now under
UNITA control. It made no difference to Ace, one soldier was as bad as the next. Nevertheless, he decided the time had come to join either a Marxist MPLA or the democratic UNITA. Despite the fact they were directly responsible for his current predicament, two things had him leaning towards the latter. He was of the Ovimbundu people and it was they who accounted for most UNITA members – the MPLA consisted mainly of northerners, Kimbundus and Bakongos. The other reason was more practical. With his village now controlled by UNITA he'd probably live longer if he joined them. Political ideology had nothing to do with the decision.

Owning nothing more than the clothes he stood up in, and herding five goats to offer in exchange for his life, Ace easily located a group of soldiers. There was nothing to differentiate them from the MPLA but Ace took a chance, boldly announcing that as he was now thirteen it was time to do his duty. He never saw the goats again. Taken by truck to a training camp, Ace was shown a bed in a
pousada
, or guesthouse, advised when lunch would be ready and told someone would come for him after that. They forgot to tell him how long after. Ace was left to his own devices for three days before training began.

Camp life wasn't too bad. Everyone was treated equally, as men, and Ace was no exception, despite his tender years. He didn't mind the four-thirty whistle that woke them every morning. Ace found the physical exercises of running, jumping,
crawling and climbing easy and picked up quickly on the basics of throwing grenades, planting mines and weapons instruction. What he didn't like were lessons in map-reading, the theory of war or endless lectures on politics. Never having been to school, and speaking only his own tribal language, many of the lessons were carried out in Portuguese and went straight over Ace's head. The instructors soon tired of his blank stare. He was marked down as suitable for active duty and sent into action three weeks after his fourteenth birthday. Expectations that he would last more than a few months before being killed, maimed or captured were nil.

Ace surprised everyone. Not only did he survive, he showed every sign of possessing an inventive, conscience-clear sadism. After six years with UNITA, he no longer tried to hide the fact that in the absence of an enemy, civilians would do just as well. He was promoted and led a number of successful sorties on MPLA strongholds. When Jonas Savimbi and the officers of DEP were choosing someone to lead a raid deep into Namibia, Ace was their unanimous choice.

The men under his command were seasoned soldiers. A few of them had served with Ace in the past. Those who hadn't knew of his reputation. Not one of them thought twice about taking a life. Threat of death or injury had long since lost its ability to turn them around, any spark of human kindness was snuffed out many years ago. Cynicism, hatred, corruption and cruelty rode with practised ease on the shoulders of these men.

Considering the difficulties attached to their assignment, Ace's briefing had been ridiculously short and rudimentary. Illegally enter Namibia on foot, remain undetected, cross Owamboland between the border and Etosha National Park then make your way to Logans Island Lodge – a total distance of one hundred and fifty kilometres. Once at the target, take prisoner anyone considered to be rich or important, kill everyone else, and return with the hostages to Angola.

Pre-raid intelligence had been surprisingly good. UNITA had the lodge's coordinates, its visitor capacity, seasonal close-down dates and the number of staff likely to be present. DEP even told Ace that a university professor and some students would be camped in the vicinity. They knew the cost of staying at the lodge would exclude those on limited budgets, that guests came from all over the world and that by targeting governments as well as anxious families, UNITA could extort enough money to pay its soldiers long enough to attract defectors from the Angolan army and police force.

And now twelve UNITA soldiers walked through the Namibian night in absolute silence. Not one of them gave any thought to the forthcoming action, other than to be relieved that the days of waiting were over. Ace was actually thinking of what he'd like to do to that mulatto bitch he'd lain with ten days ago on his way out of Angola. She had given him a dose of clap. He was experiencing all the symptoms of gonorrhoea – a yellow discharge from his penis and pain when he
urinated. He'd had it before. Most times it cleared up after a few days of discomfort. Occasionally a doctor had to be consulted. He hoped that this would not be one of those times – he was a long way from medical assistance.

T
he short distance between Sean's room and the Abbotts' cottage was covered with no words spoken. Thea had tried to help Billy but he'd pulled his arm away. Although his mind was in turmoil, one thing was clear. Thea had provided the perfect solution to his problem. She'd given him a lever which, if manipulated correctly, would work to his benefit. Guilt was the key. Thea would be feeling guilty as hell. If he could manage to cry . . . but no, Billy didn't think it would be believable. She'd expect hurt and anger from him. Well, the bitch was going to get it. And then, when he had her so ashamed that she'd do anything to please him, he'd dictate the terms on which he'd be prepared to take her back.

How did he feel about Thea's infidelity? Shocked, he supposed. Not through any hurt over her betrayal. Thea's actions rocked him because he would never have thought her capable of such a thing. The one aspect of their marriage that Billy felt would always remain a constant was Thea's loyalty. Just shows how wrong he'd been. As for Hudson, it shouldn't be too difficult to get rid of
him. Assaulting the lodge manager would do nicely.

Billy glanced at Thea as they went inside. She didn't look embarrassed, ashamed, sorry or guilty. In fact, the expression on his wife's face could best be described as composed.

He headed straight for the bathroom and examined his jaw. A bit puffy and it hurt like hell. Looking past his reflection Billy saw Thea leaning against the doorway. ‘What are you staring at? The result of your adultery? I hope you're proud of yourself.'

‘Not particularly.'

He turned to face her. ‘You've got one hell of a nerve. Not so much as an apology.'

Thea spun around and walked back into the lounge. Billy followed, grabbing an arm and forcing her to face him. ‘You cheap little bitch.'

‘If it makes you feel better.' Thea jerked her arm away. ‘But it doesn't solve our problem.'

‘Let me tell you something, sweetie. I don't know that our problem is solvable.'

Pain crossed her eyes briefly. He'd got through. But he didn't expect her next words. ‘You're as much to blame for what happened as I am.'

Billy's grunt of disbelief was involuntary. ‘I don't believe you said that.'

‘Think about it, Billy. You'd just told me to get out of your life.'

‘I was upset. I didn't mean it. I wanted to apologise. Instead of that . . .' He broke off, shaking his head.

‘You did mean it. Every word. No-one would make up things like that.'

‘I'm not taking the blame for this,' Billy shouted. ‘I don't care what was said. You can try till you're blue in the face but there's no wriggling out of it. This was . . . what I saw back there . . . It's completely down to you.'

‘Billy, please try to listen.'

‘To what? More lies?'

‘We must discuss this. It's our only hope.'

He noticed that her voice was calm. ‘Hope! You talk about hope. After what I've just seen I'd say you're hardly in a position to hope for anything.'

Thea crossed to an armchair and sat down. Billy paced in front of her, rubbing his jaw. Neither spoke for some time. It was Billy who broke the silence.

‘I cannot believe that you would do this to me.'

She placed both hands over her knees to stop them trembling. But her eyes were steady, her voice still quiet. ‘For what it's worth, neither can I. It was not even on my mind when I left the office. It's never happened before, I promise. I went to Sean as a friend. I was very upset. Things simply got out of control.'