A Game for Assassins (The Redaction Chronicles Book 1) by James Quinn Page A
Authors: James Quinn
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at all costs, even if that means rescuing it from itself. Since the summer, Washington has been in a tailspin about how to go about securing this country. The main threat for the USA and the West comes from Lumumba. He seems to have communist backing and the theory is that if he continues to hold high office, it will pave the way for a Communist takeover. The Agency cannot allow that to happen.”
“Which is where I come in,” prompted Marquez.
“That's right. We want you to see if it's possible to penetrate Lumumba's entourage. We've tried to deal with him over the past few months; negotiation, bribes, political concessions, but it seems he's either very much his own man or is in the back pocket of Moscow. We have our sights on the Chief of the Army, Mobutu. Washington thinks he is a man we can work with. Lumumba needs to be removed, to give Mobutu a clear run.”
“So, the rapier rather than the Claymore for this operation?” asked Marquez.
“Yes, a subtle approach is always preferable. We want you to get under his skin, gain his trust and then we can see about removing him.”
“And this is sanctioned by Washington?” Marquez didn't want to be left out in the cold if the operation went sour.
“The best I can tell you is that this operation is officially unofficial. Don't worry about it yet; just get close to the target first.”
Marquez noted Deakin's pause and his non-committal reply. Was the CIA man not giving him the whole picture, perhaps retaining some operational piece of information? Spies! Who knew how their little minds worked? “Alright, where do I start?”
“There is a man who works for Lumumba, name of Patrick Kivwa, a political fixer and lawyer here in Leopoldville; he transcends the Congolese players and the Europeans. He handles the money and arranges meetings. We have heard that they are in need of financial support, after all counter-coups don't come cheap. They certainly wouldn't entertain an approach from an American businessman looking to bring wealth into the country. We rather screwed up our pitch there.”
“But a French citizen looking to trade with a new government… yes, I see. Very good, I like it,” said Marquez.
“Exactly,” said Deakin. “Langley says we can have up $100,000 to get them interested and get an asset inside. So that's your start point.”
“And once either I or a sub-agent can gain access to Lumumba, then what?”
“Kill him. No fucking about. Langley and Washington may dress it up with all kinds of euphemisms, but the short version is we want him dead.”
“Silenced pistol. Explosion, what?” asked Marquez, eager to work out
how
he would be able to do it.
“Again, something subtler is in order. We have at our disposal a chemical agent that we would like you, or your nominee, to administer. The toxin is designed to be administered to Lumumba orally through food, perhaps at a dinner party.”
Ah,
thought Marquez,
poison.
The oldest of the assassin tricks.
* * *
Marquez had to wait three days before he could hold his initial meeting with Lumumba's man. Deakin had given him a contact number and told him to call at a certain time of day. The man who answered the phone spoke in a high pitched, excitable whine. Marquez introduced himself by his cover name of LeClerc and gave an outline of his proposal.
“Mmm, come to my office later today. We can talk in more detail face-to-face,” said Kivwa.
Kivwa's office was on the second floor of a commercial block in the business district. The office looked out onto a street filled with cafes and taxi cabs; the canopy of the building was shielding them from the worst of the sun. The man himself was a giant, whose physical dimensions were only just being held in check by a tailored, three-piece suit. He was greying and weary.
“So, you French want to take over our country, is that it? You have more colonial aspirations, Monsieur LeClerc. Agricultural machinery! Do you expect me to believe
“Which is where I come in,” prompted Marquez.
“That's right. We want you to see if it's possible to penetrate Lumumba's entourage. We've tried to deal with him over the past few months; negotiation, bribes, political concessions, but it seems he's either very much his own man or is in the back pocket of Moscow. We have our sights on the Chief of the Army, Mobutu. Washington thinks he is a man we can work with. Lumumba needs to be removed, to give Mobutu a clear run.”
“So, the rapier rather than the Claymore for this operation?” asked Marquez.
“Yes, a subtle approach is always preferable. We want you to get under his skin, gain his trust and then we can see about removing him.”
“And this is sanctioned by Washington?” Marquez didn't want to be left out in the cold if the operation went sour.
“The best I can tell you is that this operation is officially unofficial. Don't worry about it yet; just get close to the target first.”
Marquez noted Deakin's pause and his non-committal reply. Was the CIA man not giving him the whole picture, perhaps retaining some operational piece of information? Spies! Who knew how their little minds worked? “Alright, where do I start?”
“There is a man who works for Lumumba, name of Patrick Kivwa, a political fixer and lawyer here in Leopoldville; he transcends the Congolese players and the Europeans. He handles the money and arranges meetings. We have heard that they are in need of financial support, after all counter-coups don't come cheap. They certainly wouldn't entertain an approach from an American businessman looking to bring wealth into the country. We rather screwed up our pitch there.”
“But a French citizen looking to trade with a new government… yes, I see. Very good, I like it,” said Marquez.
“Exactly,” said Deakin. “Langley says we can have up $100,000 to get them interested and get an asset inside. So that's your start point.”
“And once either I or a sub-agent can gain access to Lumumba, then what?”
“Kill him. No fucking about. Langley and Washington may dress it up with all kinds of euphemisms, but the short version is we want him dead.”
“Silenced pistol. Explosion, what?” asked Marquez, eager to work out
how
he would be able to do it.
“Again, something subtler is in order. We have at our disposal a chemical agent that we would like you, or your nominee, to administer. The toxin is designed to be administered to Lumumba orally through food, perhaps at a dinner party.”
Ah,
thought Marquez,
poison.
The oldest of the assassin tricks.
* * *
Marquez had to wait three days before he could hold his initial meeting with Lumumba's man. Deakin had given him a contact number and told him to call at a certain time of day. The man who answered the phone spoke in a high pitched, excitable whine. Marquez introduced himself by his cover name of LeClerc and gave an outline of his proposal.
“Mmm, come to my office later today. We can talk in more detail face-to-face,” said Kivwa.
Kivwa's office was on the second floor of a commercial block in the business district. The office looked out onto a street filled with cafes and taxi cabs; the canopy of the building was shielding them from the worst of the sun. The man himself was a giant, whose physical dimensions were only just being held in check by a tailored, three-piece suit. He was greying and weary.
“So, you French want to take over our country, is that it? You have more colonial aspirations, Monsieur LeClerc. Agricultural machinery! Do you expect me to believe
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