He looked around suspiciously then sucked in his stomach, not so bad, he was not growing fat, he was a healthy man, not like the budget and appropriations committe chair Pete Ongeri across the hall, with his pot belly, teary eyes and sweaty forehead. He was also not like his deputy Chuck Musau the ugly fuck with an appetite for young university women that was legendary, even today of all days he had brought along some dumb college skank instead of his wife, or mistress like other self-respecting men of the suit. He looked around, his twenty or so colleagues were all somewhere between plump and extremely obese, it was like a convention of the nation's fattest and ugliest. Only Jack was the skinniest, he was jacked to be honest, and Paul loathed and loved him for that.
Jack Mwangi, MP, was the member of parliament for Thika town, a thriving extension of the greater Nairobi metropolis, famous for international and local companies' headquarters. He was the youngest MP, fresh off his first election almost five years to the day ago. Paul had up until then been the youngest MP, the hot stuff in an aging and stuffy parliament. Jack had replaced him. He had become a media darling, corporate lobbyists darling, the president's darling and even the house speaker and majority leader's golden boy. He now served in all the juicy committees and travelled abroad with the president or deputy president whenever they left town. He was a rising star with many friends and enemies alike.
Paul Sunkuli was not a common sight in the conference rooms of five star hotels like the one he was in, hanging out with parliamentary committee chairpersons, their friends, harlots and wives. The last time he had been invited was seven years ago, back then he had been a deputy in the all-important budget and appropriations committee. His attendance now was only down to the kindness of Jack Mwangi, he had extended an invitation to him and his wife in exchange for nothing. Paul was not naive however, in parliament nothing was for free, an ask was coming. One day Jack would cash in on that favor.
Jack was speaking, he was before a projector, laying out great plans for his constituency before his audience, an audience thay could give a hoot about his grand plans. They were there for the food, whoring in five star suites and allowances that paid MPs for any out of town expenses. Jack also did give a hoot about the MPs, in the front tables were five VIPs, investors from China who greedily ate up his pitch and wrote down notes religiously. Jack was hoping to get funding to start the largest small arms manufacturing plant in Thika. He was promising profits to the Chinamen, jobs to the locals and future investment opportunities for local auxiliary service companies. The main beneficiaries' representatives were there; a Kenya Power and Lighting Company (KPLC) lobbyist and a Kenya Workers Union (KWU) bigwig. Both had the best seats in the house too, along with a white-haired army general, the Kiambu county deputy governor and a state house budget staffer.
The state house budget staffer was a busty, youngish woman with a well-cut designer dress and white blouse. She wore a shimmering diamond necklace and had a long black wig that brought out her amazing figure. She was unaccompanied. That had most MPs chomping at the bit, hoping for a recess so they could go up to her and try their luck. Paul however could see she had eyes for Jack and Jack alone. Jack had shared a table with him, so Jack and Paul's wives were on either side of the table, a coveted place not far from the nodding Chinese. His wife had gone from the envy of parliament to a matronly woman with puffy feet and hands, a sweet but condescending voice and a hatred of all things fun.
Jack's wife was beautiful, wise with her words and shy. She was girlish in a way that stirred Paul until he thought he would reach out and caress her fresh face. She was probably in her late twenties, the last time they had met she had been a devoted newly wed, four years ago if Paul could still recall. Now she was just another frustrated wife, a third wheel to her husband's political ambitions and his mission to sleep with everything in a skirt from every corner of the nation. Something caught his leg, he was about to reach down his left calf when he saw the look on Jack's wife. She winked ever so slightly, he thought he was dreaming. His wife was in a world of her own, downing the complimentary wine and pastries like her life depended on it, complaining about everything.
"Parliamentary retreats are not like they used to, " she lamented. Jack's wife used this opportunity to reach up his thigh beneath the table cloth. Paul just managed to prevent himself from jumping.
"Back in our day Joyce, " she stressed 'our day, ' "we used to go for a week's safari with the best safari companies then get a three day tour of our hotels, after our conference we would get an allowance the likes of which you wouldn't believe.
"It's a shame Paul spent all the allowances on his toy."
"His toy?" Joyce asked a bit too loudly. On the dais Jack went on, beneath the table cloth the smooth hand had stopped caressing his plumpish thigh.
"Yes dear, Paul has a toy, a red classic car, I forget the name."
"It's a 70s Alfa Romeo spider honey, come on, I remind you everyday."
"Spider, that's what I call It, " his wife interrupted without even looking at him, "Paul loves that car, more than even his dog or son for that matter."
"Oh Stop It Sara, Jack also has an obsession with cars, loves them dearly. Pretty sure he loves his family even more, just like Paul does."
"You don't know him like I do, " she went quiet for a second, creating an impression she had darker things to reveal about Paul.
Paul felt the hand beneath the table inch higher just as Jack finished his presentation. There were claps and a few cheers as Jack gathered up his laptop and left the stage, making sure to wink at the state house staffer as he headed for his table. By the time he sat down Jack's wife had gently rubbed Paul's genitalia and praised his wives giant earrings, both were eating out of her hand. Jack's arrival made things suddenly chilly, the mood seemed to have frozen in seconds. The only person still chatting away was Sara, good old Sara.
"What did you think of my presentation Paul?"
They were all looking at him. He saw a certain menace on Jack's spotless face, it was like he knew his wife had touched him inappropriately. Was it something she did often? He almost threw up at the thought.
"You were great Jack, they all loved you."
"You were great dear, " Joyce smiled thinly and placed a hand on her husband's-the same hand she had placed in his crotch. Jack almost recoiled but kept himself under control. Why did they hate each other so much. Most men would kill to have her-most women would kill to have him.
"No one was listening though, they
were busy eyeing the state house staffer over there, " Sara sneered just as the MC welcomed onstage the said staffer.
She had red eyeshadow and long synthetic lashes, she parted her wig seductively and pushed one half off her midriff. The hall almost sighed with pleasure, half her cleavage had just been revealed. One MP even swallowed greedily. Jack took a huge gulp of his wine, his eyes the size of eggs, beneath the table the hand came out to play, this time Paul replied with a hand of his own.
"Good evening honourable members, distinguished guests and captains of industry."
There were murmurs of good evening and even a few 'fuck mes' in the hall. Someone said something even more vulgar but it was all in good fun, the staffer didn't mind. Everyone was mellowing in the wine, three smartly dressed attendants were filling glasses without even asking, complimentary you see-no one refuses complimentary-anything.
"I came here at the request of the president and his deputy. They send their greetings…..yesterday night, think It was the night before actually, me and most of you met at state house for a luncheon to discuss the upcoming budget and debt ceiling votes. We came to an agreement, a compromise of sorts. In these budget we allocate billions to men like Jack both local and international, people with dreams for a better Kenya. People who help our country grow and thrive.... "
Paul was not listening, he was almost there, she had parted her legs and he was pawing his way to the hallowed lands beyond thighville. He looked around, his wife was chatting with Jack, Jack was nodding slowly, pretending to listen as he kept his eyes on the stage. Joyce has stopped trying to grope him, she was grabbing her wine glass with one hand and the table cloth with another-she was so close to moaning Paul almost stopped. He however kept going, he found her undies, he slowly reached there and then he stopped cold.
"What's wrong honey? Are you o.k?" Jack had a concerned look on his face.
"I am fine, " Joyce with a voice that sounded like a wet croak. Paul did a swift retreat and to his disgust he picked his wine glass with the same hand and tipped the contents into his parched throat.
"You don't sound o.k, shall we go?"
"It's fine, I am fine Jack, " she snapped suddenly, making Jack recoil.
They left after a small speech from one of the Chinamen. Everything was set for a night of eating and further drinking, Paul on the other hand felt stuck with his wife, everywhere he looked as they retreated to their suites was a beautiful college girl and an old MP. He led or rather, he was led by his wife into their suite and that's when he was able to calm down after a high of exciting a woman for the first time in a decade.
They approached the beach in single file, too tired to care about being ambushed. It was a good two hours after their dive onto the outskirts of Mogadishu, they had trekked over dry river beds, fields of dates and scattered stone buildings long abandoned by their owners. The whole platoon was in local wear, their fatigues buried along with any military gear that would look suspicious. Each man had a foot long Uzi rifle in their shirts and Beretta handguns in the small of their backs. They needed to reach Jazeera town-two kilometers away, a local asset was waiting for them with a vehicle, a place to lie low and intelligence on their intended target.
At the head of the column was lieutenant Derrick Masaku, he was in light khaki pants, long sleeved shirt, keffiyeh around his throat and a white wallahi hat. This style was replicated in different variations, shapes and colors by his platoon. If anyone asked, they were a bunch of Al Shabaab bounty hunters, preparing for a long incursion into the southern heartland. Sergeant Kulet was bringing the rear, harshly pushing the platoon to increase their pace, they wanted to be in the safe house by dawn.
Lieutenant Derrick glanced at his watch; 0130 hours, what a jump it had been, shocking they had even made it. Only regret was the camel herder who had seen them descend from the sky-the herder had sworn not to tell a soul, promised he loved Kenyan forces and begged for his life.
"We are not animals, relax old man, " Derrick had smiled. A second later he had tapped sergeant Leonard Kulet on the shoulder. A microsecond later the giant NCO had sunk his knife into the old man's throat, gently laid him on the ground and deftly put the mean knife into its scabbard.
Derrick covered his face with the black and white Keffiyeh, a cold wind was blowing sand into their faces, howling like ghosts trying to stop their advance. They had three Somalis in their platoon, translation was not going to be an issue. Each man carried an Israeli mini-Uzi, a Beretta pistol, a bag of provisions and even one had a drone in his pack, this they would need for their surveillance of the target. They saw the town of Jazeera ahead, beyond was the Indian ocean; beautiful and majestic in the night, reflecting the half moon off its surface. The platoon halted, transfixed by the sight before them, closer was the town, its lights, palm trees, howling dogs and the occasional honking of a rare car driving up towards Mogodishu.
Suddenly they heard the sound of an approaching motor vehicle, climbing up the sand dune they were on. They all ducked and waited. A giant mounted light was shone metres from where Derrick lay, his hand on his knife-close quarter combat was his specialty, very few knew this. He heard shouted martial orders, they were in Swahili, Kenyan or Rwandan soldiers! Neither an opponent they wanted to face. The vehicle moved further down after a momentary pause, heading for the thin bitumen road ahead, they were a night patrol. The humvee was soon far enough for them to rise to their feet and start heading down.
"Halt!" Someone shouted, a flashlight shone on Derrick's face. Three heavily armed men rushed in their direction. As soon as they were within reach Derrick tossed his knife and stopped the first soldier in his tracks. The flashlight danced in the air and buried its head in the sand. The soldier then fell face down beside the torch. The other two dropped on their knees, ready to fire at Derrick, Derrick with speed and dexterity he never knew had pulled out his Uzi, extended the stock, kicked back the safety and hosed the two men with four hundred metre per second nine millimeter bullets. They ate the men up and extinguished their zeal for action, one had half his face ripped apart and the other was stunned but fine, most of the bullets had only hit his armor. A private from the platoon shot him in the face while Derrick turned over one soldier and ripped his knife from the depth of the man's face, shocked at how deep his knife had sunk. The luminous emblem on the helmet was the unmistakable green, blue and yellow of Rwandan people's army.
On the tarmac down the dune the humvee had turned round and a burst of fire raked the dune ten metres below them, rat-tat-tat! The humvee lit up as the gun mounted on the vehicle burst to life. Tracers flew towards them eating up the sand angrily, they made themselves scarce, they had just compromised their mission, they were doomed. A Kenya army chopper would be called and they would be done, Derrick almost felt like throwing up, they were done. They were over the dune heading back whence they came. An explosion that shook the earth and made them duck halted their escape. The sky lit up in orange for a brief second then a ghostly quiet fell over the whole land, like an evil had just bypassed the realm's defences.
They rushed back to the top of the dune to see the remnant of the Humvee burning in the night, probably an IED, no one was in sight. A chopper was rushing from Mogadishu, flashing red lights in the distance, there would be roadblocks, the militias would swarm the area, soldiers too. They were finished. Retreat was however not an option, if they were going to die they might as well die carrying out their misssion.
They used a different route, this one going through east Mogadishu slums, a place they had hoped to avoid, now it was the only place they could use to hide from the reckoning that was to come. The race was on.
The prop plane landed inside the AU airbase in western Mogadishu, watching from the tarmac was the head of the National Intelligence Agency in Mogadishu. Officially he was a logistics officer, the kind every armed force in the world require but no one ever really knew what they did. He had a crisis on his hands but had to meet the arriving guest in person, John Kerich was a seasoned bureaucrat and knew small things mattered a lot. The man he was going to meet would soon be his boss, of that he was sure. Many in the know were already whispering about him, as soon as the new administration got in, he would be made deputy NIA director.
The plane screeched onto the runway and raced towards him, the speed reduced gradually until it was taxing at a snail's pace near where his Benz was parked. John walked up to the plane and lowered the door, shrugging away his driver. Chris Ngure walked out accompanied by two men in dark suits and dark sunglasses. They had a vicious self-importance to them that pissed him off. Chris shook his hand warmly and left John smiling, ready to do anything for the man. He worshipped heroes like Chris, loved them to death. He had risen up the NIA ranks without ever facing real action. He had always been the desk officer, the logistics man.
He sat in the front with the driver but spent his time facing the rear seats, chatting with Chris.
"I hear there was incident last night, " Chris observed gently.
"Early morning, around two a.m. Ghastly business I'm afraid. Six Rwandan soldiers killed, including a major, the whole eastern quarter is buzzing with activity."
"Are we involved?"
"Not at all, the army has sent a killer egg to help but it's mostly the Rwandan's game."
"Al Shabaab?"
"No...."
"What is it Jack?"
He waited as they entered the Kenyan embassy annex. A ten foot gate was opened by a special forces soldier and they pulled into a paved compound with a dozen or so cars parked upfront.
"ISIS have claimed responsibility, " John said in what was almost a whisper as they came to a halt beside a waiting man and woman.
The Kenyan ambassador to Somalia was a plump man, his wife was half his age and as slim as a reed. They shook their guest's hands and whisked him away from John and his driver. John walked into the main building and straight to his deputy's office. His deputy was on her satellite phone, talking gently, nodding her head slowly as she drank coffee from an ugly brown mug. She turned to see him walk in and she smiled in acknowledgment. John's heart stirred whenever Jackie looked him in the eye, she knew this and had her boss on a leash. He loved her and desired her but felt himself way below her league-this Jackie also knew.
"That was my source out of Jazeera, no sign of the ISIS terrorists, we are shaking the usual trees, nothing so far."
"If you find anything, you know where to find me."