architects and landscape gardeners. The grass was razed, thegarden clear, so that the windows looked out onto a magnificent view of the compound’s concrete walls.
The car parked next to an eggshell white Cadillac SUV with tinted windows—the ambassador’s official car—and a van carrying water from Nevada Springs.
Treated like a market trader, Kolo negotiated passage through a series of security stations before gaining entry to the ambassador’s office, a vast monstrosity of rectilinear rigour sporting three giant American flags.
“Your Excellency,” Kolo adopted his deepest Nigerian accent, “thank you so much for seeing me, sir.”
The ambassador put down his dumbbells. “Mr. Cole. C’mon in! Have a seat. Can I get you a drink?”
“Thank you, Your Excellency. Some whiskey, perhaps.”
The ambassador poured himself and Kolo a glass, then drained his in one gulp. Kolo’s sip looked prim in comparison.
The ambassador stood up to get another shot. “We’ve been worried about the oil supply. Is there any way to get it pumping again?” He wandered over to stand underneath a large painting of a rodeo.
“We will be producing again by Thursday. However, I thought you would like to know,” Kolo took a larger sip of whiskey, “it appears there might be a change in leadership. Had you heard?”
“I’ve had no intelligence of that nature.” The ambassador looked like a child who had not been invited to a party.
“There has been an uprising in the army.”
“A military coup?”
“Almost, sir, almost. But I have managed to persuade General Abucha to maintain civilian rule.” Kolo thought he could detect some disappointment in the ambassador’s eyes. “It appears the president is planning to adopt protectionistmeasures during the period of reconstruction.” Kolo deliberately reverted to his British accent.
“What?” The ambassador sounded alarmed. “He’s never mentioned that!”
“It came up behind closed doors.”
“Closed doors? What closed doors?” There was the childhood look again.
“Of government, I’m afraid,” replied Kolo, bemused by the ease at which he was able to deploy quite rudimentary tactics to accomplish his goals. “The British have approached me to assume leadership during this interim period.”
“The British have backed this?” The tips of His Excellency’s ears went pink. “So they’re allowed behind closed doors, right? Goddam colonial rulers. Haven’t let go of the reins, I see.”
“Please don’t misunderstand me,” Kolo added, enjoying every moment of the interchange. “They have very specifically insisted that I gain the sanction of the US government in the first instance. They simply could not make any decision without it.”
“Ah, sanction—yes, I see.”
“It may cause some embarrassment for them if you mention it. A bit humiliating for a former colonial power. You know how it is.”
“Yes, yes, of course. Well,” the ambassador finally grunted, “thanks for keeping me updated.” He patted Kolo on the back, happy that he had now been invited to the party.
Having laid the groundwork for a change of government, Kolo dropped in at the glittering offices that housed his numerous business enterprises, built in the shape of four droplets of water—an unfortunate choice, as these contours could only be seen in aerial view. Otherwise, the building looked like so many others in Abuja: large and mirrored.
Kolo visualized how the financial jigsaw would fit together, but kept each transaction separate, his commercial interests managed in discrete entities independent of each other.
“Sir! This is a great privilege.” The vice-president of Northwest Water came to attention immediately, knocking over his coffee in his haste to rise from his chair.
Kolo puffed with fatigue and collapsed into a leather couch. “I need you to acquire rights to the northern Benue River in case it is needed for fresh water. It is of prime national interest. We
The car parked next to an eggshell white Cadillac SUV with tinted windows—the ambassador’s official car—and a van carrying water from Nevada Springs.
Treated like a market trader, Kolo negotiated passage through a series of security stations before gaining entry to the ambassador’s office, a vast monstrosity of rectilinear rigour sporting three giant American flags.
“Your Excellency,” Kolo adopted his deepest Nigerian accent, “thank you so much for seeing me, sir.”
The ambassador put down his dumbbells. “Mr. Cole. C’mon in! Have a seat. Can I get you a drink?”
“Thank you, Your Excellency. Some whiskey, perhaps.”
The ambassador poured himself and Kolo a glass, then drained his in one gulp. Kolo’s sip looked prim in comparison.
The ambassador stood up to get another shot. “We’ve been worried about the oil supply. Is there any way to get it pumping again?” He wandered over to stand underneath a large painting of a rodeo.
“We will be producing again by Thursday. However, I thought you would like to know,” Kolo took a larger sip of whiskey, “it appears there might be a change in leadership. Had you heard?”
“I’ve had no intelligence of that nature.” The ambassador looked like a child who had not been invited to a party.
“There has been an uprising in the army.”
“A military coup?”
“Almost, sir, almost. But I have managed to persuade General Abucha to maintain civilian rule.” Kolo thought he could detect some disappointment in the ambassador’s eyes. “It appears the president is planning to adopt protectionistmeasures during the period of reconstruction.” Kolo deliberately reverted to his British accent.
“What?” The ambassador sounded alarmed. “He’s never mentioned that!”
“It came up behind closed doors.”
“Closed doors? What closed doors?” There was the childhood look again.
“Of government, I’m afraid,” replied Kolo, bemused by the ease at which he was able to deploy quite rudimentary tactics to accomplish his goals. “The British have approached me to assume leadership during this interim period.”
“The British have backed this?” The tips of His Excellency’s ears went pink. “So they’re allowed behind closed doors, right? Goddam colonial rulers. Haven’t let go of the reins, I see.”
“Please don’t misunderstand me,” Kolo added, enjoying every moment of the interchange. “They have very specifically insisted that I gain the sanction of the US government in the first instance. They simply could not make any decision without it.”
“Ah, sanction—yes, I see.”
“It may cause some embarrassment for them if you mention it. A bit humiliating for a former colonial power. You know how it is.”
“Yes, yes, of course. Well,” the ambassador finally grunted, “thanks for keeping me updated.” He patted Kolo on the back, happy that he had now been invited to the party.
Having laid the groundwork for a change of government, Kolo dropped in at the glittering offices that housed his numerous business enterprises, built in the shape of four droplets of water—an unfortunate choice, as these contours could only be seen in aerial view. Otherwise, the building looked like so many others in Abuja: large and mirrored.
Kolo visualized how the financial jigsaw would fit together, but kept each transaction separate, his commercial interests managed in discrete entities independent of each other.
“Sir! This is a great privilege.” The vice-president of Northwest Water came to attention immediately, knocking over his coffee in his haste to rise from his chair.
Kolo puffed with fatigue and collapsed into a leather couch. “I need you to acquire rights to the northern Benue River in case it is needed for fresh water. It is of prime national interest. We
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