PRIMAL Vengeance

Chapter 3



Khartoum, Sudan



"Those motherless whores!" Omar threw his mobile phone across the room. It smashed into the wall breaking into pieces. "The entire shipment is gone! All of it! The tanks, the rocket launchers, all of it!"

The Sudanese politician paced in front of his desk. His cheap shirt was stained with sweat, the buttons struggling to contain his girth.

A voice emitted from the video conferencing system. "Do you know who is responsible?"

"Those infidel Dinka dogs." Omar slumped into his chair, reaching for the bowl of candy on his desk. "Who else would it be?"

"Whilst it is wise not to underestimate your enemies, it is also foolish to assume that poorly trained rebels could conduct such a sophisticated attack."

The man who lectured Omar spoke excellent English with only the slightest of Chinese accents. His name was Han Zhu and he was the Chief Executive Officer of the Chinese Petroleum and Energy Conglomerate, PETROCON. A ruthless businessman, Zhu had almost limitless resources at his disposal to secure resources for China's energy guzzling economy.

"What about the Americans then. Perhaps they had help?" Omar stuffed another fist full of candy into his mouth.

"This is unlikely." Zhu stroked his short beard as he weighed up the situation. The sinking of the cargo ship was a significant loss for his company, but unlike Omar he viewed it dispassionately, a business setback, a problem to be solved. "American interests in Africa are orientated mainly towards Al Qaeda and Somalia. They have their hands full with their own wars in the Middle East."

"What about the British then, or the French?" asked Omar. "They had men in Libya. Maybe they have sent them south? Or the South Africans? They are always meddling in our affairs."

"You chase shadows, Omar. Leave the investigation to my people. We will find those responsible."

"Bah! Your people. It was your people who failed us in the—"

Zhu cut him short. "Do not snap at the hand that feeds you, Omar. Without me you would still be squabbling in the mud with the rest of your pitiful nation. Look out the windows of your palace and remind yourself who makes it so."

The Oil Minister gritted his teeth as the Chinese businessman continued. "The shipment is no longer your concern. I will find who is responsible and they will be dealt with. Now YOU must find new ways to push back the rebels and claim the oil fields."

"Without tanks it will be difficult," said Omar.

"Difficult but not impossible."

"No, not impossible. We will need more equipment, and better weapons to exterminate the vermin." He looked up eagerly at the camera. "If you could supply gas shells for our mortars my men would soon kill them all."

Zhu stroked his beard as he contemplated the request. "No, we cannot afford to bring the world's attention to their plight. Gassing them would condemn us."

"No one would know."

"Don't be a fool, Omar. If the UN thinks that you are using chemical weapons their observers will descend upon you like locusts. The Western world will occupy your country with their armies and China will lose our influence. No, we must use conventional means to crush our enemies."

"Without the additional equipment the President will never approve the use of the army. That was the deal!" Omar was becoming animated again.

"What about your own fighters, the horsemen?" asked Zhu.

"The Janjaweed already raid the border tribes to the west. They spread fear but they do not have the weapons or the vehicles to push the southern militias from the area."

"China will provide all you need. Our Abyei refinery will be the logistics base and we will support your horsemen against the southerners. I have an agent I will send. He will organize your rabble into an army and they will defeat our enemies."

Omar shook his head. "The Janjaweed will not accept an outsider. Send guns and ammunition but do not send men."

Zhu stared into the camera at Omar. "Believe me when I say, they will accept this man."



***



Over ten thousand kilometers away, in the skies above Mongolia, Zhu terminated the conference call with Khartoum.

Omar irritated him. A small time thug in a position of great influence and responsibility. A man whose stupidity he was forced to entertain, for now. He nodded towards the pretty flight attendant who responded with a warm hand towel and a glass of Maotai. Relaxing into his chair, he sipped the traditional Chinese liquor and stared out the business jet's window at the bleak landscape below.

Zhu's thoughts were interrupted by the stewardess. She handed him the aircraft's satellite phone. "It's him, sir."

Zhu handed her his glass and took the phone.

"Yang, what have you learned?" he asked in Mandarin.

"Not as much as I would like. No one on the coastline saw the aircraft. It must have stayed out to sea."

"Perhaps another vessel? One of the counter-piracy task force?" asked Zhu.

"No. I have already checked with my contacts there. None of their helicopters were in the area."

"This man you described to me, could he have been South African?"

"A mercenary? It is possible. I cannot place his accent. His equipment was modern, definitely trained by a Western nation. Perhaps one of our competitors has hired outside help."

"It would seem so. I want you to hand your investigation over to MSS. Your skills are needed in Sudan."

Yang did not respond immediately. The humiliation of the 'Tian Hai' being sunk was still sharp and handing over the investigation would be a further embarrassment.

Zhu continued. "I promise you, Yang, if the investigation reveals anything, you'll be the first to know. Right now the action is in Sudan."

"I can be at the refinery within twelve hours."

"Contact me when you arrive."

"Yes, sir."

Zhu ended the call and handed the phone to the waiting stewardess who replaced it with a re-filled glass. He sipped it and studied the Mongolian steppes through the window. Why is it that oil is always found in the most miserable of places, he thought.