"He and two hundred Simbas," Martin Luther Nsagamdo said.

"Mister Swayer, Sir, I think you should gather the Americans and leave."

"You think this guy is serious about killing people?"

"Yes, Sir, he is serious."

"Just Americans or all white people?"

"Americans for sure, other Europeans, maybe. He is a little man, but he could do much harm before the Force Publique could come and help." I'll be damned, K. N. Swayer realized. He believes everything he's saying.

Five minutes later Swayer had Captain Jean-Philippe Portet on the telephone.

"Tell me about a character named Olenga, Philippe," Swayer said.

"Joseph Olenga?"

"Yeah. "

"Bad news. What about him?"

"Why bad news?"

"He's a Kitawala," Portet said.

"A what?"

"They mixed The Watchtower with jungle gods, if you follow me. Let me try this: They're anarchists, in the name of Jesus Christ, who is coming back tomorrow, and in the name of whatever pagan deity happens to fit the situation at the moment. And, of course, the white man is the biggest devil of them all."

"Jesus !"

"Why do you ask about him?"

"He's here in Albertville," Swayer said. "My number-one boy just told me he thinks I should get everybody out of here." Swayer had really expected Captain Portet to chuckle and say something about not believing everything you heard from your houseboy.

Instead there was a long silence before Portet replied.

"Have you got all your people where you can get your hands on them?" Portet asked, evenly, but deadly serious.

"You think there's something to this? Something dangerous?"

"I'll have an airplane there at first light," Jean-Philippe Portet said. "You have your people at the airport. They are not to pack any bags. Just what they're wearing."

"Holy Christ!"

"You heard what I said. . . no suggestion that there is mass evacuation?"

"Yeah. I heard you," K. N. Swayer said. "Where are we going?"

"Unless you want to come here, I'll call the Hotel du Lac in Bukavu and tell them to expect you," Portet said. "How many of you are there?"

"Thirty-two," Swayer said.

"First light, Ken," Portet said.

"What about the Belgians at Union Miniere?" Swayer asked.

"Should I tell them?"

"Absolutely not!" Portet said immediately and firmly. "Thirty two people will just about fill my Commando. And I don't want a mob scene at the airport."

"But aren't they also going to be in danger?"

"Probably not," Portet said. "Even les sauvages seem to understand that the mines produce money. Usually they leave the mines-and the breweries-alone."

"But we're working for the mines," Swayer said.

"You're Americans."

"Then you really think this is serious?"

"You want to take the chance it's not?"

"No," Swayer said.

When you get right down to it, he thought, this is what /' m being paid for, to take care of my people. Putting trucks together isn't that important. And if they don't like it when they get Portet's Air Simba bill in Tulsa, fuck 'em.

(Three) Jan Smuts International Airfield Johannesburg, South Africa 1730 Hours 14 June 1964 Arthur B. Cohen, Resident Director of Craig, Powell, Kenyon & Dawes, South Africa, Ltd., was on hand when South African Airways Flight 808, which had originated in Leopoldville and would terminate at Durban, landed. Just to be sure, he had arranged for an ambulance to be on hand, but it did not prove necessary.

Mrs. Geoffrey Craig, on the arm of her husband, made it down the stairs from the DC-8 on her own power.

"It's nice to see you again, Mr. Craig," Mr. Cohen said to Geoff, who was in civilian clothing.

"You, too," Geoff said, although he could not recall ever having seen the man before. "This is my wife, and Mrs. and Miss Portet."

"An honor, ladies," Mr. Cohen said. "Now is there anything that has to be done right now? Or can we get on to the hotel?"

"Honey?"

"I feel great," Ursula said.

"We've got you in the Intercontinental," Mr. Cohen said.

"Your father led me to believe you preferred a hotel. Mrs. Cohen and I would have been of course delighted to have you with us."

"We didn't want to intrude," Geoff said.

"It would be no intrusion at all, I assure you."

"The hotel's fine," Geoff said. "Thank you just the same.

Where's the car?" Cohen looked around and then gestured impatiently. An old but glistening Rolls-Royce moved majestically across the parking ramp.

"Unless Mrs. Craig would prefer to lie down?" Cohen asked.

"I feel fine," Ursula said. "I wish everybody would stop treating me like I'm made of glass." It was a fifteen-mile ride from the airport into Johannesburg.

Jeanine sat on one of the jump seats, her eyes solemn and wondering as she looked at Ursula.

"I can't hear the clock," Geoff announced.

"Excuse me?" Mr. Cohen said.

"I said, I can't hear the clock. Rolls-Royce advertises that the loudest thing at sixty miles an hour is the clock. I can't hear the clock."

"Quite," Mr. Cohen said.

"Did you know, Mr. Cohen," Geoff said, "that Rolls pays a royalty to Cadillac for the suspension on these things?"

"No, I can't actually say I'd heard that."

"Shut up, Geoff," Hanni said fondly. "You're more trouble than Ursula."

"It's going to be all right, honey," Ursula said. "I'm fine."

"Dr. Kloepp will come to the hotel just as soon as you're settled," Mr. Cohen said. "Spare you a trip to his office, you see."

"He doesn't have to do that," Ursula said. "I'm perfectly able to get around on my own two feet."

"You're as graceful as a cow on ice," Geoff said. "Let him come to the hotel."

"Geoff!" Hanni snapped.

Ursula and Jeanine giggled.

There were fresh flowers in each of the rooms of the suite on a high floor of the Intercontinental Hotel, and a large bowl of fresh fruit on the coffee table in the sitting room.

Geoff inspected each of the rooms before sitting on the couch in front of the bowl of fruit.

"No liquor?" Hanni asked.

"I'm sure there is somewhere," Mr. Cohen said, a little taken aback. He pulled on the door of a credenza and it came open, revealing a complete bar.

"What may I offer you, madam?" Mr. Cohen asked.

"Nothing for me, thank you," Hanni said. "But pour something strong into Daddy-to-Be before he drives us all crazy."

"Mr. Craig?"

"Geoff, for Christ's sake," Geoff said. "And yeah, a little nip would be just the thing. Bourbon if they have any."

"I'm going to lie down," Ursula said.

Geoff was instantly on his feet.

"You all right, honey?"

"I just want to lie down."

"You hungry or anything?" he persisted.

"I wish I could unplug him," Ursula said, then laughed and disappeared into the bedroom and closed the door.

Cohen handed Geoff a drink.

"Wild Turkey," he said. "I don't think I've ever had any before."

"Good stuff," Geoff said. He took a sip and then reached for the telephone on the coffee table. "Operator, I want to speak to a Mr. Karl-Heinz Wagner, at Hessische Schwere Konstruktion in Durban." The operator said she would call him back. He hung up and found Hanni's questioning eyes on him.

"Ursula's brother," he said. "But that was a confidential call. Understand?" She nodded.

"You, too, Mr. Cohen," Geoff said. "You are hearing none of this. And if he can come, you didn't see him. Do you understand?"

"Certainly. " It took ten minutes to get Karl-Heinz on the line.

"We're ready with your party, Mr. Craig," the operator said.

"Karl? Geoff."

"You are not supposed to call me," Karl-Heinz said.

"Ursula is about to have her baby," Geoff said. "Anytime, they say, within the next week or so. We're at the Intercontinental in Johannesburg, on the off chance that you could get up here." There was a long pause before Karl-Heinz called back.

"When it happens, call me. At the company. My home line may be tapped. I will find a way to get up there." The line went dead.

"Ursula didn't tell me her brother was in South Africa," Jeanine Portet said. "She didn't even tell me she had a brother."

"She must have forgot, honey," Geoff said. "But don't ever mention it to anybody, OK?" , "I'd love to know what the hell that's all about," Hanni said.

Geoff met her eyes but didn't say anything. .

Then he got up and walked to Ursula's bedroom door.

She was standing by the bed, her back to him.

"I just talked to Karl-Heinz," he said. "He says he'll come when you've had the baby." Ursula turned to face him.

"Then you better call him back," Ursula said. "I just broke my water."