The Wonga Coup (5 page)

Foreign Office Cypher, marked ‘Secret', 1973

‘Knocking off a bank or an armoured truck is merely crude. Knocking off an entire republic has, I feel, a certain style.'

Character in
The Dogs of War
(1974)

On the third day of the new year a man called Llambias slid a piece of paper into his typewriter and started punching the keys. He had a story to tell, one he hardly believed himself. Doing so, he helped save the dictatorship of Equatorial Guinea. The year was 1973. Llambias worked for Special Branch, an investigative part of the British police, in a small patch of territory on the southern tip of Spain. Gibraltar, a tiny corner of sovereign Britain, offered little: a large rock, some famous monkeys and a harbour. But it was a meeting point for gunrunners, smugglers, mercenaries, terrorists and other shady characters who passed through the Mediterranean. Llambias's job was to keep an eye on them. He typed a four-page report for his bosses.

Llambias wrote that the Polish-born British owner of a boat
in the harbour had approached him that day. George Allan owned the
Albatross
, an ‘ex-Admiralty MFV' (Motorised Fishing Vessel), a British naval attack and transport ship that he had bought in Britain two years earlier for £11,000. He had made a confession. In October 1972 he was in a nearby Spanish harbour, Fuengirola, when a man called Peter Dean had offered £5,500 plus all expenses to hire the boat and crew for six weeks. It was a good price and a deal was struck. Another man with a Scottish accent then turned up. He used the name Harry Greaves – but was better known as Alexander Ramsay Gay – and was evidently in charge. He ordered the boat to sail for Gibraltar, where it would be fitted for a long voyage – 4000 kilometres (2500 miles) – to the Gulf of Guinea.

In Gibraltar they loaded curious equipment. Gay ordered three 18-foot Seacraft rubber landing boats – also known as rigid inflatable boats (RIBs) – each with a 50-horsepower outboard engine, from Britain. They arrived and were packed into the
Albatross
on 4 November. Provisions and fuel were stored: 2500 litres (550 gallons) of fuel in two large tanks, plus 32 drums of 200 litres (45 gallons) each. That gave the
Albatross
a range of 4800 kilometres (3000 miles). By mid December a small gang of men had gathered, some British and four French. The men soon let slip they were soldiers-of-fortune. Most had fought in the Nigerian civil war, and they had battle anecdotes to share. Gay fought for the Biafran rebels in Nigeria; a Briton called Scott Sanderson plus the four French soldiers had been on the victorious Nigerian government side. Soon more equipment arrived from Tangier, across the Mediterranean in Morocco: 50 jackets, 100 pairs of trousers and sets of military webbing.

By Christmas the boat owner, Allan, had grown suspicious. Gay told him to prepare for the delivery of 106 boxes,
each weighing 60 kilos (130 lbs) and containing arms and ammunition of different sorts. The weapons were ordered, said Gay, by ‘a German agent', an arms dealer from Hamburg who dealt with the Spanish government. It was done with the ‘knowledge of the Spanish foreign minister, Senor Lopez Bravo' and various officials. The Spaniards were first told the arms were destined for Iran, but then a real Iranian delegation appeared in Madrid to buy weapons. So they changed stories: the German said he was really buying guns for a terrorist group, the Black September organisation. When a senior Spanish civil servant questioned the sale, a bribe of $9,000 satisfied him. The arms and ammunition in boxes, it was agreed, would be marked as containing machinery. They would first go to the Spanish port of Malaga, then be put on to a Corsican coaster. The coaster would rendezvous with the
Albatross
, at an unspecified spot, for transhipment.

Llambias's report was dated early January 1973. At that time, said Allan, he had been ordered by Gay to sail on to Olhao, in Portugal, where he expected seven more hired guns to arrive: two more Britons, four more Frenchmen and a Canadian. Then the
Albatross
would sail for the Canary Islands,
en route
to the Gulf of Guinea, where a time and place would be arranged for the weapons to be transhipped. From there the
Albatross
would sail on to Cape Verde, refuel and pick up more provisions. Then, at an unknown point, the boat would collect ‘50 Negro mercenaries'. Llambias concluded: ‘Their final destination will be three miles off Fernando Po where, in conjunction with arrangements already made ashore, they will attempt to take over the island's administration.'

How was Allan sure? ‘Under very lengthy interrogation' the boat owner admitted he had carried out a ‘clandestine search' of Gay's cabin in the
Albatross
. He found a ‘map of
the town and port of Fernando Po marked with code names (mainly names of European capitals) showing strategic points'. And why did Allan continue to work for the hired guns? Llambias explained: ‘He had no alternative but to carry on with the operation because he knew that if he did not, his life and that of his son and of his wife, would be short ones. He had already been threatened to this effect', by Gay. ‘He was therefore carrying on with the operation come what may and if he did survive, would report back.'

Llambias's report is a startling document. Obtained in 2005 from Britain's National Archives it is published here for the first time. It reveals the details of a carefully planned, Britishled coup attempt against Equatorial Guinea by a group of hardened soldiers of fortune in 1973. These men had spent the preceding years fighting as mercenaries in a fierce civil war in Nigeria, a neighbour of Equatorial Guinea. In those early days there were many puzzles to answer: the British authorities did not know who financed and organised the plot, nor the reason for it. It was not clear if Spain backed it, and nor was it obvious that anyone should intervene to stop it. Some of these puzzles would eventually be answered, in spectacular fashion.

Allan, his crew and the band of mercenaries sailed from Portugal on the
Albatross
loaded with fuel, military clothing and other material, heading for the Canary Islands. They planned to rendezvous with the Corsican ship loaded with arms before picking up fifty black African soldiers, probably veterans of the civil war in Nigeria, and sailing to Fernando Po. But Llambias's report triggered a diplomatic response. Soon cyphers and telegrams were whizzing between British diplomats, who could not help seeing the funny side of the
caper. They swapped notes about the dictatorship in west Africa, with one diplomat giggling his heartfelt ‘fangs' for a message from a colleague. Another signed off an earnest letter marked ‘Confidential' with a quotation from Coleridge's
Rime of the Ancient Mariner
: ‘Why look'st thou so? – With my crossbow I shot the Albatross.' The episode was a distraction from the daily tedium of diplomatic life.

A cypher on 4 January, the day after Llambias sent his report, warned extravagantly:

INFORMATION HAS BEEN VOLUNTEERED TO SPECIAL BRANCH HERE OF BRITISH REGISTERED QUOTE ALBATROSS UNQUOTE, A CONVERTED EX/NAVY MFV, TO THE EFFECT THAT BRITISH, CANADIAN AND FRENCH MERCENARIES AND UNSPECIFIED AFRICANS EQUIPPED (AT THE EXPENSE OF A QUOTE AFRICAN FINANCIER UNQUOTE BUT IN THE FULL KNOWLEDGE OF THE SPANISH AUTHORITIES) WITH SPANISH ARMY MAY ATTEMPT TO ASSUME CONTROL OVER FERNANDO PO SOMETIME AFTER
20
JAN

The British Foreign Office finally concluded that Spain did not know of the planned coup. So the British warned Madrid, though made no effort to tell the awful government of Macias in Equatorial Guinea. British consuls in the Canary Islands, Cape Verde and elsewhere were told to look out for the
Albatross
. Late in January the 64-foot ex-naval craft finally arrived in Arrecife de Lanzarote in the Canary Islands. Spanish police (the islands remain a part of Spain) arrested the mercenaries on 23 January. Under interrogation they admitted the coup plot and the plan to ‘do away' with Macias. They were deported. Allan and his crew were told to sail away: a Spanish naval craft escorted them to Casablanca in Morocco; a Moroccan naval ship escorted the
Albatross
out of its territorial waters; Spain refused it permission to return to its territory.

The news eventually reached Equatorial Guinea. Another cypher, an internal Foreign Office document marked ‘Restricted' and dated 30 January 1973, reported: ‘Radio Santa Isabel is announcing at regular intervals that the government has been informed that a ship carrying mercenaries and colonialists is on its way to invade Equatoral Guinea.' Macias called a council of ministers and summoned diplomats. Barricades were thrown up in Malabo, especially around the presidential palace. Soldiers were out in force. By the end of the month demonstrations erupted outside embassies.

The plot had been comprehensively foiled. But there remained one big question: who was behind it? Talk of an African financier led to nothing substantial. Alexander Ramsay Gay, who evidently organised much of the groundwork, was sent back to Britain, where he was again arrested and interrogated by British police. There, according to a writer on Equatorial Guinea, Randall Fegley, the police only released him after another Briton intervened on his behalf. This man, according to allegations in the
Sunday Times
, was both the brain and the main financier of the plot. His name: Frederick Forsyth, the well-known novelist.

Frederick Forsyth, by 1973, was reasonably famous. He had reported for the BBC from Nigeria during that country's civil war, then campaigned for the Biafran separatists. He had also made close contacts with mercenaries in that war. Subsequently he wrote a series of very popular novels, including
The Day of the Jackal
, about a plot to kill a French president, and
The Odessa File
. By the early 1970s he was passionate in his support of the deposed Biafran leader, Odumegwu Emeka Ojukwu, wealthy and well-connected in the mercenary world.
After he spoke to the police and helped organise the release of Alexander Gay, Frederick Forsyth sat down and quickly wrote another bestselling novel,
The Dogs of War
. It was published a little more than a year later, in 1974, and proved a great success. It was soon made into a popular film starring Christopher Walken.

Everybody assumed the book was a work of fiction. But, considering the documents obtained from the British National Archives, there is now every reason to believe it was based upon real life.
The Dogs of War
relates many true details of the real life coup attempt the year before, those described in Llambias's report. It describes a plot against a country – ‘Zangaro' – all but identical to Equatorial Guinea. A character much like Alexander Gay – ‘Cat Shannon' – sets the whole thing up. Guns are bought from Spain through a German agent in Hamburg, then loaded on to a boat. Forsyth even describes a boat – a 74-ton ex-military craft called the
Albatross
, registered in Milford Haven (as was the real
Albatross
), hired in Spain and captained by a ‘Mr Allen'. Fuel is loaded in large barrels and RIBs are stored, along with webbing and various military clothing. Some goods are shipped from Britain, some transferred from Tangier in Morocco. A Spanish official approves the arms deal after bribes are paid; front companies transfer money. The boat sails with a group of white mercenaries who have recently fought in an African war. It then picks up some fifty black African veterans, and sails on for the coup. In the book, of course, there is one crucial difference: the coup succeeds.

The official documents in the National Archives for the first time show that Forsyth's bestselling story is based on fact. It is so detailed that one might reasonably assume that Forsyth had been involved. In 1978 a British newspaper, the
Sunday Times
, alleged just that. It claimed that the novelist, rich with his
earnings from
The Day of the Jackal
, had financed and plotted a real coup attempt with Gay. The two men apparently planned the coup from Forsyth's Camden flat, using maps, colour slides and a balsa wood model of the landing sites. Forsyth and Gay reportedly even composed a speech to be broadcast after the coup. The newspaper alleged he provided £50,000 for forty former soldiers from Nigeria to overthrow Macias. Another author suggests it was nearer £100,000. The newspaper said that Forsyth – who adopted the name ‘Mr Van Cleef' – hoped to replace Macias with his close friend, the regional Biafran leader, Odumegwu Emeka Ojukwu. That made some sense as Equatorial Guinea, in 1973, was still home to thousands of Nigerian Igbo people from Biafra, skilled labourers who worked in the cocoa plantations. They would have backed Ojukwu as the new president. (Forsyth also used Ojukwu as a model for the leader to be imposed in Equatorial Guinea in his fictional tale). They hated Macias for his repressive rule, and for supporting Nigeria's rulers during that country's civil war. Eventually the Igbos were attacked and expelled from Equatorial Guinea, perhaps as an act of punishment, or to prevent others plotting a similar scheme.

Ojukwu flatly denied being part of any coup attempt. Forsyth has long stayed quiet on the subject, but he agreed to be interviewed for this book. He admits he did careful research on how to do a coup in Equatorial Guinea in 1973, but only for the purposes of writing an authentic novel. He suggests Macias was an awful and paranoid dictator, ‘so evil, he reduced the place to a hellhole'. Asked if he plotted a coup for real, he first laughs and responds, ‘I am certain there was no coup attempt in 1973. But wild rumours circulate in this mercenary world.' His research he admits, was unusually thorough. Over five months, just as the real coup plot was
being prepared, he even masqueraded as a South African arms dealer and a coup plotter. He says he travelled to eastern Europe to a secret conference of crooks and arms dealers, where he talked of overthrowing a west African government. ‘It could be that the plan of the novel was presumed to be reality,' he says coolly. At one point in Hamburg he believes his cover was blown and a hit man was sent to kill him. He escaped the town, by train.