Except God

By John Birnie

Major Roberts is looking forward to an exotic but relaxing holiday in West Africa, visiting a friend in the Ghana army. However, it is not only culture shocks that he has to worry about, as he is dragged into the commercial and political machinations of a multinational mining conglomerate. Ghana was formerly the well named Gold Coast and gold is still the prize. Most tourists in Ghana today worry only about being swept from the white beaches by the huge Atlantic rollers, or about being bitten by malarial mosquitoes in the tropical rain forests, but Roberts is implacably pursued around the country by a psychotic assassin.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Birnie
• Release date: Sep 22, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465796639

John Birnie

I started work as a bright and bushy tailed academic way back in the 60’s, teaching Linguistics and then English in universities in England and, for 8 years, in West Africa at the University of Ghana. When I came back to University College, London I was horrified to find how idle the undergraduates were and decided that I was too old and intolerant for them. So I jumped at the opportunity to run a charter airline with roots in my old stamping ground in West Africa. After many exciting years operating flights to exotic destinations - often, just as a war was about to erupt or to get really hot - I decided that I was too old to be woken in the middle of the night by whinging captains or Oliver Norths. So I became the Chairman of a global currency company in the City of London. Supervising the trading of billions of dollars turned out to be more stressful than landing in the middle of a coup or being bombed on the ground by the Iraqis in Tehran. So, as you can see from the picture I was glad to retire to my writing table with a nice glass of wine to hand.

Book preview

EXCEPT GOD

Published by J R Birnie at Smashwords

To Oti

Copyright J R Birnie 2011. All rights reserved.

Smashwords licence notes

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share the book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

CHAPTER ONE

Built at the turn of the 19th century, these offices are not the obvious headquarters of an international mining company. The building is set in a quiet Mayfair backwater and no plaque brassily announces that this is the HQ of the richest gold mine in Ghana and the third richest in the world. The red brick façade, stone portico and mahogany front door speak only of Edwardian London, betraying nothing of the West African connection.

This morning the commissionaire has been kept busy tugging his forelock as the Directors step from their sleek limousines. They are here for the end of year Board meeting of G.C.C. The company is a subsidiary of the multinational corporation, Grossmount PLC and G.C.C. derives its name from the colonial name for Ghana - the Gold Coast. Largely thanks to Gold Coast Consolidated, Ghana remains well up the world league table of gold producers. Because of this, G.C.C. is an important company in the group and today there are several representatives in attendance from the Grossmount Board of Directors - including the Chairman.

This aspiring knight of the world of commerce is currently having a hard time with his institutional shareholders. The problem is Africa; it has developed a bad habit called independence. All too often the Africans then grab his company assets. In the last two years a cobalt concession in Congo, a copper mine in Zambia and a cotton plantation in Benin have all been nationalised; pure theft in his opinion. Yes, of course, they are discussing compensation, but only in a desultory fashion. He and his City chums are well aware that compensation is only likely ever to figure as a concrete item on the balance sheet if the offending government falls. Only then can he exercise his talent for influencing the new leaders of the tin pot country concerned. In the mean time some of the fund managers have had the effrontery to suggest, albeit obliquely, that he might be losing his touch with the natives. Indeed he has an unpleasant feeling that they may even have inspired that scurrilous article in The Financial Times suggesting a management shake up in his companies.

As usual, while lounging in the back of the Rolls on the way in from the country, he had scanned the FT market reports. His gloom had been somewhat relieved by the latest gold fix. The world price had reached four hundred and fifty dollars an ounce and he had quickly calculated that the value of Ghana's official output was almost 150 million pounds per annum. The largest slice of these millions comes into this subsidiary of his conglomerate and he is well aware that the official figures are a substantial underestimate of the actual output. He is not about to admit it to the Board, but Gold Coast Consolidated has become quite crucial to the holding company's future.

The Board meeting has now been in progress for most of the morning and he stirs in the Founders Chair - a monstrosity carved from the choicest African mahogany and agonisingly uncomfortable. The gold Adinkra insignia bites into his back and he wonders yet again why he lets them keep the thing. It is of no practical value and nobody in the firm seems to know what the bloody sign means anyway. He rubs his back with a manicured hand and vows to himself that one of these days he will have upholstery put over it.

He is becoming impatient with the interminable discussion of the accounts. They show gloomy figures reflecting a decline in production as a result of lack of investment in new plant and machinery since independence. The Finance Director is droning on about the draft balance sheet and the Chairman stifles a yawn by pretending to sniff the flower in his buttonhole.

At a half a million fine ounces, the F.D. intones, Ghana's annual gold output is the fourth largest in the world and we are proud that G.C.C. is the main producer in Ghana. But the country has a much larger potential output that is severely compromised by the illegal panning operations that go on in the streams around our concession. This panned product is invariably smuggled out of the country. If only the authorities could control these criminal activities, the country and we ourselves at G.C.C. would be earning a lot more.

The Chairman allows himself a secret smile. He has mastered the appearance and diction of an old Etonian gentleman but he has been around the block and knows the score. His origins are actually middle European and he traded for years in various African countries in various commodities, first for others and then on his own account.

Now he notes that the meeting is growing increasingly sullen because those Directors who were not already in the know have begun to realise that, once again, there will be no big dividend and therefore little chance of a fat bonus for them. The Chairman clears his throat and the F.D. stops in mid flow. He glances in the Chairman’s direction and swallows hard as the Chairman makes a circular motion with his index finger. The F.D. concludes his remarks and sits down in a hurry. The Chairman thanks him briefly and then addresses the Managing Director of G.C.C.; In view of these depressing figures and the attitude since independence of the previous government towards expatriate entrepreneurs, I am sure we all welcome the recent turbulent events in Ghana. He pauses for the murmurs of Here! Here! around the table; But what is your assessment, Charles, of the effect on our mining operation of the recent political changes?

Sir Charles Gore Bradbury, the dyspeptic M.D. of GCC, has been dreading this part of the meeting. Ever since the family firm was taken over, instead of feeling sheltered and secure as part of a large protective organisation, he has felt vulnerable. He suspects that he has only been kept on because his great grandfather was the founder. That old rogue who now stares down from his portrait on the wall opposite was a mere camp follower, a young mule supplier, when in the 1870’s the British army sent a force out to the Gold Coast. The dominant tribe in the country was the warlike Ashanti. For centuries they had built a vibrant economy based on trading slaves and gold. Their territory was located in the virtually impenetrable rainforest, but to trade with the white men, they had to come down to the coast. From time to time they would emerge from the forest in force to assert their hegemony over the tribes of the coastal plane, who looked to the whites for protection. However, despite their castles and their cannon, the whites were rather ineffectual in providing protection. Indeed, in 1824, a marauding Ashanti army had wiped out a British force sent against it. Amongst the casualties was the local British Governor, who had led the troops and who was relieved of his head by the Ashanti. To this day, his skull is said to adorn the royal Ashanti war drum.

Fifty years after that disaster, tired of Ashanti incursions and horrified by stories of human sacrifice, Victorian public opinion stirred and a professional army was sent out from Britain under General Garnett Wolsely to teach the Ashanti a lesson. Great grandfather Gore Bradbury did not, of course, expose himself to the dangers of jungle warfare and did not accompany the army as it fought its way through the rainforest against dogged Ashanti resistance. Nor was he present when the British finally sacked Kumasi, the Ashanti capital. But, safe under the shadow of Cape Coast castle, he was astute enough to get to know the locals and to learn the language while the army slogged its way to Kumasi. So, after the war drums had finally been stilled and Wolsely had departed in triumph, he was able to make himself useful to the new Governor as a go-between with the Ashanti. As a result, he found out about the gold in the streams that ran through Ashanti territory and was able to grab a mining concession. This stroke of luck made the young ex muleteer a fortune and he set about buying up most of the rival gold concessions nearby. Thirty years later, he finally returned to England and became an MP. He insisted that his son followed in his footsteps and look after the mine in Africa. Then, just before he died, he became a baronet courtesy of Lloyd George’s auction of peerages to fund the First World War.

Gore Bradbury recalled that, like his own father before him, pater was really interested in the business and even liked Ghana. Indeed he actually became a mining engineer. On the other hand, his Harrow educated son was not interested and understood nothing of the mysteries of the industry. He held such technocrats as his father in awe and was devastated when he died in a mining accident in Ghana. But he had hated spending his holidays in the mosquito infested heat of Africa and had not enjoyed going out for the funeral. However, he had met a lot of local big wigs and politicians who obviously thought a great deal of his father and they had been very kind to him. Perhaps for their own purposes, many of these people had kept in touch and regularly updated him on the political scene in Ghana. Thank god the Chairman seemed to find this very useful, though it was irritating that he was now expected to make the odd trip out to that tropical hell hole in order to keep in touch and to line strategically located pockets in the government and administration.

The Chairman clears his throat meaningfully and Gore Bradbury drags himself reluctantly to his feet, shuffles his papers and tries to manoeuvre around the apparently friendly question that the Chairman has posed. Er, it's rather difficult to say at the moment because the new regime is still finding its feet. On the face of it, the military government is against the communist tendencies of the regime they have just overthrown. But there is also a strong anti corruption sentiment……….

Quite right! Here! Here! unwittingly enthuses an old Colonel, who has been dozing. Gore Bradbury is relieved, for the Chairman's basilisk gaze has been turned on the Colonel. The Chairman folds his pinstriped arms and murmurs; What on earth do you mean, Smithers? The Colonel wilts under the scorn in the question and subsides in puffing, red faced embarrassment.

Unfortunately, the Chairman now turns his oppressive attention back to Gore – full – of - anxiety - Bradbury. You were saying, Charles?

Yes, er, there is a strong anti corruption element led by a rather zealous soldier who was one of the main leaders of the coup. He's now in the M.I., that is, the Military Intelligence and he seems to be very interested in the mining sector. He seems to be behind talk of regular audits by outside inspectors and even of reactivating the plan for a government smelter to refine the product in Ghana.

Oh not that old potato again! interrupts a hooray henry from the main Board. They're as bad as the last lot. A waste of time having the bloody coup! He is silenced by the Chairman merely raising an eyebrow, followed by the question What effect, Charles, is this likely to have on profits?

Well, that too is rather difficult to assess because, as many of you know, we have been deliberately depressing the rate of extraction, until we saw how things were going politically, especially while there was talk of nationalisation by the old regime…

Figures, Gore Bradbury, the Chairman interrupts icily. The pale M.D looks hunted and replies in faltering tones; I am afraid there are no meaningful figures available. The Chairman's eyebrows rise and the M.D. hurries on with, Because we have held down production, we are once again in a non profit making situation. Of course we should really take windfall profits into account …….. But he is cut short by a bout of apoplectic coughing by the Chairman and he trails off lamely, Er, that is, we should have taken them into account, if there had been any. Swallowing with an effort and keeping a wary eye on the Chairman, he plunges manfully on; I'm afraid that we must also face up to the fact that we have a lot of obsolete equipment that will need replacing, so capital expenditure this year may well outpace extra profits from increased output.

Mr Chairman, interposes the smooth representative of one of the institutional shareholders, Do I understand that after three loss making years, or in any event years of stagnant profit, we are being asked to put more money into Consolidated? Gore Bradbury bleats weakly; Yes, but static profits were a political decision..

The Colonel, sniffing a chance to retrieve his earlier gaff, snorts loudly; Hmph! What guarantee have we got that the native jonnies won't pinch the lot, eh? What? Against a hostile rising murmur around the table, Gore Bradbury starts to say; We have firm assurances from the new government… But the Chairman, who prides himself on his high connections, cuts in; "I think Smithers' fears on nationalisation can be laid to rest. I had lunch with the junior minister at the Foreign Office the other day and he assured me that our interests have been well looked after. When they negotiated the aid package with the new government the Ghanaians were told in no uncertain terms that one of the strings attached to the aid was that there was to be no nationalisation of British firms - especially Consolidated

Gore Bradbury sits down thankfully as the murmurs turn to approval, but his complacency is short lived as the Chairman bores on remorselessly; On the other hand, this news of a zealot in the new regime is rather disturbing. How long is this new broom likely to sweep, Charles, and indeed, how important is the new broom? The hapless M.D. squirms again; Fairly important, I fear, Mr Chairman. He was largely instrumental in organising and executing the coup. In fact, he was in the forefront of the fighting according to our informants. Strangely, he has refused all political office, even though he is a sort of national hero.

Dear, dear, an altruist as well! the Chairman responds frozenly. But no doubt with your excellent contacts, Charles, you have engineered some political solution to this potential problem?

Gore Bradbury swallows hard while the whole Board waits expectantly. His palms feel clammy, his throat dry. He looks hopelessly at his foxy faced deputy, Roger White, who has been newly promoted to the Board. Miraculously, it seems as if White has been awaiting his cue and he rises. Smoothly, he comes out with an apparently prepared answer; Yes, that is correct. We have been working on this problem for some time and we have initiated two highly confidential gambits employing outside agencies - for obvious reasons.

Gore Bradbury, who has slumped gratefully back into his seat, is now finding it difficult to conceal his surprise as White continues; These expedients will, unfortunately, be rather expensive but one or the other is pretty sure of success and the expenditure will prove negligible in relation to our profits - windfall or otherwise. The glare the Chairman shoots at him at this remark stifles a muted chortle from Gore Bradbury. Choosing his words more carefully, White goes on; The operation should not cost more in the first instance than half a million to an offshore account, as against increased audited profits (he pauses to make sure the Chairman has taken in the distinction) of at least fifty million in the first year. Of course, my M.D. and I do not wish to go into the details of this op in open session, though I have here a complete costing and operational report for the Chairman's scrutiny. Secondly, if this more usual approach fails to silence our misguided crusader then we recommend a more, er, permanent solution."

Thank you Mr, er, White isn’t it? the Chairman quickly interrupts, anxious to forestall puzzled queries from the more straightforward directors. I don't think, as your deputy so rightly says, Charles, that it is necessary to discuss this proposal in detail in open session. I am relieved, however, and I am sure the rest of the Board shares my relief that you at Consolidated (Gore Bradbury shudders at the exclusive 'you') have contingency plans to meet this renewed threat to our profitability. Congratulations to you both.

Under cover of the sycophantic murmurs of Here! Here! the Chairman leans across behind Gore Bradbury, touches White’s sleeve and rolls his eyes in the direction of the door. Then he rises and says Would you excuse me for one moment, gentlemen? The call of nature, y’know. He heads for the door, but not without a meaningful glance at White.

White has got the message and swiftly tracks the Chairman to the Executive washroom. Straight away, the Chairman asks; What's the cost of alternative two?

The budget would be cut in half, sir, because the second solution involves only a one off payment. It would be activated by rejection of the more expensive and possibly recurrent payments……

Quite, quite, I see, the Chairman cuts in. But the same time scale?

Less than three months for option two, longer for option one because we'd have to ensure the subject is effectively compromised to avoid continuing demands.

Yes, I see that and how sure can we be that this plan of yours will effectively ki..,er, buy off this creature? At this choice of words White looks hard at the Chairman, before answering; The party involved in option two comes with the highest references sir. He’s ex South African Defence Force. I only discovered him after a lot of highly discreet research, starting with my old regiment. Before they can continue, the old Colonel comes bumbling in. The Chairman looks vexed but murmurs silkily to White I am sure we all appreciate your efforts, m’boy. You should go far in the company and then retreats to the Boardroom.

As he resumes his seat, one of the representatives of the institutions asks peevishly; Can the Chair please enlighten me further about this plan? Am I to understand that we may be discussing bribery?

Oh, come on Harry! replies the Chairman testily. Stop pretending to be so damned naïve! Call it consultancy, expediting fees, or what you will. We all know it goes on, even in the City. With the old Ghana lot, as you well know, one of the Ministers - Krobo I think - presented me with a scale of charges. He called it 'the dash list' with a different back hander for entrées to bureaucrats, MP's, ministers and right up to the President. Guffaws duly erupt around the table, and the Chairman turns to the minutes secretary; Miss Manning; kindly strike that last exchange with Sir Henry from the record. Then he addresses the whole Board; The solution, gentlemen, seems clear to me. I propose that Gore Bradbury lays before us his detailed expenditure plans for the mine and his estimates of income and profit for the coming year, which we will all study before our next meeting. In the mean time, we should vote an appropriation of, say, half a million that should probably be put under 'Local Training' or some such head. This sum can be used - be it understood, but not minuted, he says, glaring at the Miss Manning, for the purpose of implementing this er, hush hush plan. (He chuckles to himself at the double entendre.) Finally, I propose that we meet again in three months time. (At this point, White looks up keenly again, but the Chairman avoids his eyes.) At that meeting we will be in a position, presumably, to reconsider our investment strategy for Consolidated.

The motions are so put and approved and the Board gratefully adjourns for lunch.

White wishes to catch the Chairman's eye for more explicit instructions. But the Chairman is busy with the Minutes Secretary confirming the exact content of certain sections of the minutes. In any case, he is not anxious for any further discussion of the matter with White or any of the others who might dearly like clarification of his cryptic exchanges with White.

As everyone makes for the Directors' banqueting suite, Gore Bradbury grabs White's arm and hisses; What in God's name was all that about?

About keeping G.C.C. afloat and our feet under the table, old boy replies White smoothly.

But we have never discussed any plans for dealing with this chap protests Gore Bradbury, who bitterly regrets proposing his ambitious deputy for Board membership.

My dear Charles, it's the sort of thing we should have discussed, but which you're too much of a gentleman to contemplate. It is quite clear that this interfering black pongo has got to be shut up one way or another. Face facts, we've bribed people before.

Yes, I know a little monetary persuasion here and there does oil the works, but what was all that about option two? Surely you're not thinking of….

Charles. Charles, do you really want to know? You should be above these things, like the Chairman. You should leave them to your underlings. He holds the door open for the dazed Gore Bradbury. Mustn't keep the Chairman waiting, White says, then adds thoughtfully, Did you notice that he more or less said that he wanted the whole thing wrapped up in three months? We'll find it very difficult to gain the man's confidence sufficiently to bribe him in that time. The M.D. looks greenly back. Unheedingly, White goes on, And he went for the lower figure I gave him too when I was talking about the second, cheaper expedient.

Despite a growing sense of deep unease, Gore Bradbury feels obliged to interrupt White's musings to ask; What was all that stuff about research?

Ah yes, White says briskly, I really must get started on that in view of the tight time scale. His M.D. gapes and White gives him a superior smile; Come, come Charles. Would I have really gone so far down the road without consulting you? I knew the Chairman wouldn't want to delve at all deeply in public in case he got too obviously involved personally. After all, he has to guard his precious reputation with the niggers. Ignoring his boss’s pained look he goes on; But I could see he wasn't going to accept any more waffle and once he starts talking about 'you at Consolidated instead of 'we', then our necks are really on the block. Cheer up old boy - better a coon's than ours! Then he glides off along the corridor to the luncheon party, full of reassuring efficiency.

****

CHAPTER TWO

Two months later, Major James Roberts sat at his Aldershot desk morosely sorting through the mail. He glanced idly out of the window while tossing aside several official brown envelopes and an Army & Navy Stores catalogue. Scudding grey clouds seemed to touch the black parade ground. A miserable troop of squaddies stamped across his line of vision, harassed and reviled by a strutting sergeant major. He turned back to the mail and his face brightened at the sight of the arms of Ghana on the back of an envelope. Ah, they’ve finally got around to issuing my visa! he thought.

God it would be good to get away for a couple of weeks from this sodding weather and the tedium of this desk job. It would be intriguing too, to meet old Kofi Afrifa again - especially on his home ground. He remembered Kofi banging on at Sandhurst about what a terrific country it was, how friendly the people, how strong the beer, how warm the sun. Well, he'd settle for the sun right now, never mind the rest of it.

He leaned back in his chair, stretched his long body and yawned. He rose to go to the washroom down the corridor. He washed his face to wake himself up and pushed back his sandy hair, staring morosely at himself in the mirror. He thought he looked old and tired. Actually, he was only in his early thirties and although not dashing, he had a reasonably handsome face. It was rather lined with experience but was firm jawed and quite humorous. The lines around the eyes were laughter wrinkles.

He went back to his desk and the sight of the letter brought Kofi to mind again. Apart from the officers training course at Sandhurst, they had also mucked together in the Congo as UN peace keepers. But their friendship would probably have petered out if it had not been for the weapons evaluation test in the States last year. The British had been demonstrating their new tank gun in a so-called run off contest against the Germans. Roberts had been quite pleased with the performance of the British weapon. But he was uneasy about the reaction, or lack of much reaction from the Americans. Then, just when he thought he might be cutting some ice with his pitch on the superior quality of the British gun, Kofi popped up out of the blue. Nobody explained how he'd got in on these semi secret trials, but apparently he was a guest of the Americans. He certainly wasn't buying, because Ghana was broke and the Ghana army had nothing more potent than a fleet of armoured cars.

After the noisy initial greeting, Roberts was a bit miffed that Kofi wouldn't pipe down. He thought the little Ghanaian would finally put the lid on his pitch as he bounced around, chortling and back slapping all and sundry, then loudly demanding when they were going to hit the bars. But the Americans were mighty amused by his performance, partly because it was just how they would have greeted an old buddy and partly because the starchy Brit was showing his discomfort.

Eventually, he had manoeuvred Kofi into a corner and hissed at him to keep quiet and stop spoiling his sales patter. Kofi flashed him a surprised look, widening his intelligent eyes and whispered But don’t you know? It doesn't matter, Jamie. However often, far or much your gun outshoots the Germans - they've got it in the bag! Roberts gaped. Then he had taken him by the elbow and steered him outside the command post.What the hell are you talking about?

Well, it's obvious, isn't it? said Kofi, flashing him a toothy, disarming smile. The Yanks have got to unload their useless Star Fighter on somebody. The British have refused and the French have their Mirage, so that leaves the Germans, who need a new fighter. So, whether they like it or not, they're going to get the Star Fighter and to make sure they like it, there will be a trade off with tank guns. Doesn't your MOD tell you anything?

So the indifference of