Monsieur, it is not a question of deserving.’
Jean-Luc squeezed his shoulder playfully. ‘But all the business I bring you. For an old friend, that’s got to be worth something?’
Louis gently shook his head, turning his gaze towards the ground.
‘Monsieur, it is the same for every person landing here. Even MONUC pay the same contract rates.’
Jean-Luc jerked his chin closer.
‘Do I look like fucking MONUC?’ he spat, sending tiny flecks of saliva into Louis’s face. His eyes were glazed, the right one moving slightly out of sync with the left.
‘Well, do I?’
Louis stayed motionless, surprised even now by the hostility in Jean-Luc’s voice. In everything he said, there was a seething undercurrent that could boil over at any moment.
‘I will see what I can do, sir.’
Jean-Luc patted his shoulder as if the deal had already been done. Then, without another word, he swung his arm around Louis until they were standing side by side like old comrades-in-arms. They watched while the Chinese soldiers fanned out from the back of the plane and on to the tarmac, taking up position silently with their rifles held at the ready. Then the handlers came into the cargo hold in single file, working quickly to unpack the wooden crates and run them over to the helicopters.
The whole process was completed in silence. Men passed crates to each other, keeping their eyes lowered and avoiding eye contact with the soldiers. Every few minutes the downdraft of the circling Rooivalk washed over them, its rotors deafeningly loud at such close range.
Once the crates of AK-47s had been packed on to the helicopters, the handlers carefully took the toughened plastic sacks and piled them in the centre of the cargo hold. Louis stared at each of the team as they passed him, desperately searching for his man, but the dull red lighting made their faces a blur. Then he suddenly saw him, almost directly in front of where they were standing. He was helping to straighten the crooked stack of cargo. Their eyes met, but there was not a flicker of recognition from the man. He simply stared ahead, while his hand surreptitiously dug into one of the plastic sacks and filled his right pocket with its contents.
Louis continued staring, mesmerised by how casually the man had done it, when suddenly he felt Jean-Luc turn towards him.
‘Trust,’ he said, breathing the words directly into his ear. ‘That’s what they say is the most important thing in life.’
Jean-Luc paused, letting the words hang between them, while Louis stayed absolutely rigid, his smile fading imperceptibly.
Swallowing several times, Louis tried to force some moisture back into his mouth, but he could feel the panic rising up inside him. It made him feel physically sick and he had to stop himself from reaching down to clutch his stomach. He could feel Jean-Luc’s muscular arm resting across his shoulder and suddenly had a premonition that the Frenchman was simply going to curl it around his neck like some kind of snake and throttle him there and then.
‘But these slitty-eyed bastards,’ Jean-Luc continued, jerking his head towards the Chinese soldiers. ‘They don’t give a shit about loyalty or trust. They take as much as they can get from anyone who is selling. No questions asked.
‘You know,’ he continued, ‘after all these years, it’s not the guns, the dead civilians or even the pointlessness that gets to me. It’s the hypocrisy. The West offers aid with one hand, then rapes the shit out of the country with the other. At least with the Chinese there is no pretence. They want minerals and will buy them from anyone who’s selling. There’s a beauty in that – a simplicity.’
Louis gave an enthusiastic nod.
‘Yes, Monsieur Étienne. A simplicity.’
Louis felt his mind struggling to keep up. Was this another of the Frenchman’s games or a genuine moment of reflection? He nodded again for good measure, wondering whether he was expected to add anything to
Jean-Luc squeezed his shoulder playfully. ‘But all the business I bring you. For an old friend, that’s got to be worth something?’
Louis gently shook his head, turning his gaze towards the ground.
‘Monsieur, it is the same for every person landing here. Even MONUC pay the same contract rates.’
Jean-Luc jerked his chin closer.
‘Do I look like fucking MONUC?’ he spat, sending tiny flecks of saliva into Louis’s face. His eyes were glazed, the right one moving slightly out of sync with the left.
‘Well, do I?’
Louis stayed motionless, surprised even now by the hostility in Jean-Luc’s voice. In everything he said, there was a seething undercurrent that could boil over at any moment.
‘I will see what I can do, sir.’
Jean-Luc patted his shoulder as if the deal had already been done. Then, without another word, he swung his arm around Louis until they were standing side by side like old comrades-in-arms. They watched while the Chinese soldiers fanned out from the back of the plane and on to the tarmac, taking up position silently with their rifles held at the ready. Then the handlers came into the cargo hold in single file, working quickly to unpack the wooden crates and run them over to the helicopters.
The whole process was completed in silence. Men passed crates to each other, keeping their eyes lowered and avoiding eye contact with the soldiers. Every few minutes the downdraft of the circling Rooivalk washed over them, its rotors deafeningly loud at such close range.
Once the crates of AK-47s had been packed on to the helicopters, the handlers carefully took the toughened plastic sacks and piled them in the centre of the cargo hold. Louis stared at each of the team as they passed him, desperately searching for his man, but the dull red lighting made their faces a blur. Then he suddenly saw him, almost directly in front of where they were standing. He was helping to straighten the crooked stack of cargo. Their eyes met, but there was not a flicker of recognition from the man. He simply stared ahead, while his hand surreptitiously dug into one of the plastic sacks and filled his right pocket with its contents.
Louis continued staring, mesmerised by how casually the man had done it, when suddenly he felt Jean-Luc turn towards him.
‘Trust,’ he said, breathing the words directly into his ear. ‘That’s what they say is the most important thing in life.’
Jean-Luc paused, letting the words hang between them, while Louis stayed absolutely rigid, his smile fading imperceptibly.
Swallowing several times, Louis tried to force some moisture back into his mouth, but he could feel the panic rising up inside him. It made him feel physically sick and he had to stop himself from reaching down to clutch his stomach. He could feel Jean-Luc’s muscular arm resting across his shoulder and suddenly had a premonition that the Frenchman was simply going to curl it around his neck like some kind of snake and throttle him there and then.
‘But these slitty-eyed bastards,’ Jean-Luc continued, jerking his head towards the Chinese soldiers. ‘They don’t give a shit about loyalty or trust. They take as much as they can get from anyone who is selling. No questions asked.
‘You know,’ he continued, ‘after all these years, it’s not the guns, the dead civilians or even the pointlessness that gets to me. It’s the hypocrisy. The West offers aid with one hand, then rapes the shit out of the country with the other. At least with the Chinese there is no pretence. They want minerals and will buy them from anyone who’s selling. There’s a beauty in that – a simplicity.’
Louis gave an enthusiastic nod.
‘Yes, Monsieur Étienne. A simplicity.’
Louis felt his mind struggling to keep up. Was this another of the Frenchman’s games or a genuine moment of reflection? He nodded again for good measure, wondering whether he was expected to add anything to
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