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[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
"And you'd nationalize the Station." Adams shook a Camel from a battered pack.
"Suppose we gave you the keys this afternoon and pulled out? What would you
do? You can't finish Otjiwar, or even operate it,"
"We have friends," Ifnoka said. "Good friends."
"The Chinese. I doubt they could finish this place, or would. But suppose they
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do, what does that do for 'the people'? Besides put them under your thumb.
Your 'guided democracy' does a lot of
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ce.txt guiding."
"And yours does not? You hold up America as a model for the world?"
Adams shrugged. "I'm holding up nothing. Your point, now it's my turn. First,
that lifeblood you see out there. Where did it come from? This Station is in
the most desolate spot on earth. Sure, there'll be iron production in a few
years, but for now all we use is sunlight, sea water, and power from our
reactors. There's not a blasted thing of African origin on those ships and you
know it."
Ifnoka shrugged. Courtney stared at Bill Adams. This wasn't like him, he never
argued with people.
But she saw that Premier Tsandi looked interested. If the whites could make
all that wealth from nothing, what might they do with the resources of
Rondidi? But he wavered, looked at Adams, then back to Ifnoka, shook his head
as if to say that promises were nothing. And Otjiwar was here, here for the
taking. . . .
"Let us get to the point," Ifnoka said. "That is the purpose of this
conference, to halt the strikes and infiltration, is it not? Well, I can do
that for you. My price is a share in the management of the Station. My
officers to take control of security here. African People's Union trainees in
all supervisory positions. And foodstuffs for disposal as I see fit. In
return, you will be permitted to complete this plant and take out enough goods
to pay for your investment. But no profits! Nothing for greed!"
Adams smiled thinly. When he spoke it was directly to Ifnoka, but he kept a
wary eye on Premier
Tsandi. I see, Courtney thought . . . but could he do it?
"Let me make you a solemn promise," Adams said. "Before anyone-anyone at
all-takes control of this
Station away from us, there's going to be a regrettable nuclear accident. The
only thing left of
Otjiwar will be a pile of radioactive slag even less useful than the Namib was
before we got here."
"Ja" Von Alten nodded vigorously. "So, Mr. Prime Minister Tsandi, you think on
that for a while.
With no Station, you got all those people came here, others coming through
your country to get here, and they got nothing to eat, ja? You think maybe
they come looking for you with blood in their eye for sending them here?"
"Whereas, if you'll close your borders and stop this infiltration, Rondidi can
benefit quite a lot," Adams finished smoothly. "You've got iron ore in your
hills, more than here in Namibia.
It'll take a while to develop, but we can get a railroad in there to bring it
here."
"Why would you do that?" Tsandi asked. He saw Ifhoka's scowl and winced, but
continued to look expectantly at Adams and von Alten.
"For profits, of course," von Alten said. "His Lordship the Bishop got other
motives, but us, we want profits. We make you a pretty good deal to get them,
too."
Tsandi nodded. This he could understand. But there was Ifhoka's Union group
and the coup he was undoubtedly planning in the army. . . .
"Another thing," von Alten snorted. "Seems I got me forty, fifty thousand
submachine guns. Some good rifles, too. I wonder, Mr. Prime Minister of
Rondidi, if you want some of those guns for your own party people, for your
police too, ja?"
"What?" The monosyllable was jerked from Tsandi's lips. He looked fearfully at
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Ifhoka.
"Ja, we got the guns," von Alten said. "Already in Rondidi we got them. When
Mr. Adams says smuggle in guns to Rondidi, me, I do it. I think maybe we
organize a coup, only now I see what he really wants, ja?"
Adams smiled tightly. "They can be distributed before either of you gentlemen
get back to your capital. By the way, I'm sorry but the airfield's got some
problems. Undermined by an aquifer, I
understand. Unusable ..."
"An aquifer?" Father Percy said carefully. He looked out at the barren desert.
"I see." He suppressed a chuckle, but it was very loud in the still room.
"All you have to do is name the Cabinet people you want to distribute the
guns," Adams said.
"We'll see that they get them."
Ifhoka roared and charged out of the room. The door slammed behind him but
didn't catch. Courtney went over to close it.
"Well, Mr. Prime Minister?" Adams said. "Of course we'd like your Minister of
Trade to have a say in who gets those guns. Good man, that."
"What do you want?" Tsandi demanded. His tone was listless, flat, "For the
guns?" von Alten asked.
"You can't arm Rondidi!" Bloomfort exploded. "What's to keep Tsandi from
taking the guns and still getting together with Ifhoka? Using them against
Namibia?"
"Oh, he wouldn't do that," Adams said carefully. "Invasion of Namibia's a
dream anyway. The
Republic of South Africa wouldn't care to see an actual armed invasion of
their showpiece
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ce.txt descendant. Infiltration's one thing, open war's quite another."
"And who'd develop the iron ore?" Joe Bentley asked.
"Yeah. It does Rondidi no good." Adams stood at the head of the table. His
smile was cordial and he spoke warmly to Tsandi, but Courtney saw his pale
blue eyes were as cold as ice, "The Station was deliberately put a long way
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