Sam Westwood
Sam Westwood
The first time I met Sam Westwood, he wore a golden crown, made of cardboard. The October sun, streamed through the window opposite him and caught the red and green, plastic jewels, glued to its surface. As he moved his head, from side to side, which he did frequently as he spoke, they glinted. The rest of his attire was not unusual, a green corduroy jacket, a white shirt, brown cord trousers and brown, brogue shoes.
At first, my greeting, disguised my surprise. After years of practice, my facial expressions could remain bland, except for a hint of a smile, as I now shook his hand. Initial interviews were my speciality. I had a reassuring tone and manner that instantly put people at ease and Sam Westwood was now relaxed and talkative.
This was a man, who had changed the world. As an inventor and scientist, he was one of the pioneers of chemical osmosis, that had broken through the barriers of restriction in the human scientific world and his creations had changed the world forever. His first breakthrough had been Nar 01, the 'race pill'. On the 21st February 2006, Sam had swallowed a chemical concoction of nano-osmo-cells, that could lighten or darken the skin. In this case, he had chosen the darkening formula, and being at the early stage of experiment, the effect had been to turn his skin to deep ebony, black.
"It was very exciting, exhilarating, you know…."
He uncrossed his legs and leaning forward, rested his elbows onto his knees, clasping both hands tightly together.
"It took me six weeks to get the right formula, to change back to white, but oh, the experience of being black was fantastic!"
I asked him if it had been a good experience. He threw his hands into the air and flashed his brilliant white smile.
"Oh yes! Even with some of the negative responses that I received from people, it was fantastic! I walked through towns and cities, experiencing the different responses from both black and white culture and it spurred me on in my work"
He had achieved a perfect recipe. A pill to change black to white, white to any shade of brown or black, and he sold it on the open market, over the internet initially, then direct world wide. He had manufacture in Africa and Asia and became a multi-millionaire within the first year. The global effect of the race pill was phenomenal. The white skinned became permanently tanned and the black African and American became white.
The worlds press claimed the pill as a possible end to inequality in the world, and some dubbed it as the herald of a balanced global society.
Within two years, the race pill (officially named by Sam as Narcissus 1, abbreviated NAR01) was dirt cheap and freely consumed globally, as the yearly 'must take' commodity. After the first few years of NAR01, the troubles began. African, American and other religious and cultural leaders, afraid of the migration, integration and cultural changes that occurred following NAR01, began to complain loudly. This took a nasty turn.
There were riots and then wars in Africa, America and China, resulting in the massacres of thousands of people, in towns and cities across the globe. Frightened religious leaders and dangerous, political factions, feeling loss of control, took no pity and began to execute anyone who had lightened their skin. These events brought about its global ban, and the manufacturing companies closed, except for the one in America, who was already one of the largest pharmaceutical manufacturers in the world, and who remained so, without NAR01 as a product.
He seemed tired now. His crown had slipped sideways over one brow and his blue eyes were hidden under half lids. The long lashes blinking frequently. I knew he would be saying goodbye soon. I stood and reached for his hand.
"I'll see you tomorrow then Sam, mmm?"
He blinked from his thoughts and flashed a boyish smile.
"Oh yes… I'll see you tomorrow."
2
Hotel Olympia was magnificent. A white gleaming palace, set back from the sea, the only building on this the isolated Greek island of Karos. Owned by George Pouppilos, a chemical-manufacturing giant, the hotel was the playground for the cream of the elite.
Peter Elliot watched the guests relaxing on the silver sands, as he prepared the tables for dinner.
'How blue the sea is today' he thought. But he had thought this many times during the last six months. Achieving this job, had been a major turning point in his life, and it had been through sheer luck.
He had always been a loner. His elderly parents, who had left him alone, in a suicide pact they had made together some twenty years before, left him no siblings or relatives. He was alone at thirty six and living in a council flat in Glasgow.
One day, he had been in the park, feeding the birds and watching the world go by, when a black man had approached and sat on the bench next to him. At first he had been wary, in case it was another of those sexual tentative advances that happened from time to time. Having no job, he visited the park nearly every day, for the sake of actually having somewhere to go to. It was amazing how the time flew by whilst he was lost in thought, or just watching the birds, or the people. But after a while, he was reassured by the man's manner, that it wasn’t one of those occasions.
There was something about this man that wasn’t ordinary. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was exactly, but there was something. He had said his name was Abraham and he was not from Glasgow, but from London, and was just visiting in the hope of finding a job. Peter felt angry at first. There were enough foreigners in Glasgow already. All the jobs, casual, low paid, were already taken by the massive influx of migrants.
But when Abraham offered to buy him lunch and flashed a whiter than white smile, Peter agreed and took him across the road to the fast food take away. They took their food back to Peter's flat and spent the next few hours talking. That is, Peter was talking and Abraham was listening. Abraham had a way of asking questions without them seeming like questions and although Peter was normally a private person, he had found himself relating his meagre life story. Abraham had leaned back in the chair and put his hands behind his head,
"If I could give you a magic wand, what would you conjure up Peter?"
He remembered his exact answer.
"I would conjure up the best job you could have, like, a waiter at a top hotel. No, not a waiter, one of those who are in charge of the hotel, what are they called?"
"Maitre'd"
"Yes, that’s it, one of those! Yeh, Id be one of those in a big posh hotel, somewhere where it’s hot and sunny, with a posh clientele, and bloody good wages."
They had laughed and joked and enjoyed the game of creating the fantasy job, the guests and the women he would meet, until it began to grow dark and Abraham suddenly looked at his watch and declared he had to get to the train station to get back to London.
Peter accompanied him and waved a sad goodbye. He had enjoyed this strangers company. He was different than most of the foreigners he had spoken to, he was even different than the Glaswegians! There had been an aura of overwhelming optimism about Abraham and for those short hours with him, Peter had felt good, almost rich. On his return to the flat, he had cried, hard, before falling asleep.
The letter arrived a year later. A position had been offered to him as Maitre'd at the Hotel Olympia. His name had been given for the position by a 'respected client'. His air fares and expenses were paid and the salary was more than Peter could have dreamed of. It took him an hour to pack, book the flight and get to the airport. He had never believed in the supernatural, god, religion and that kind of stuff, but from that moment on, he was convinced he had met a spirit, an angel, a something, that had changed his life. And now, he was somebody, a respected manager of one of the most select hotels in the world, on a beautiful island, with the beautiful people.
He didn’t need money. The island had no inhabitants. No shops, nothing to spend it on. The guests were generous with tips and gifts. He had a diamond ring, and a gold necklace and other expensive trinkets that the guests gave him, usually when they were leaving. The only thing he had missed was company. The other staff were all male and did not include him in their social gatherings in the hours of the evening. Nor did he want them to, the superior feeling his position gave him, was the best feeling. But now that the euphoria was receding, he felt lonely at times, and that is why, now, as he laid the table before him, he was watching Candy Parker, tanned and dripping, naked and lovely, as she walked out of the sea.
3
The two tall palm trees held the slightly swaying hammock that George Poupillos was now relaxing in. His straw panama hat, tipped over his face. Peter coughed slightly. He turned his head and lifted his hat, the bright blue eyes crinkling.
"Hello Peter, how are you?"
His striking smile put Peter at ease immediately. This was the first time he had met his employer. He had been told that, a visitor to the island had recommended him to George Poupillos, and on that basis he had been offered his job. He had been interviewed and 'shown the ropes' by the manager of the hotel. All he knew about George was that he was a rich chemical giant and the Hotel Olympia was his 'fancy'.
He wasn’t what Peter had expected. Instead of a suited gentleman, with an air of authority, George Poupillos was tall, olive skinned, wearing a creased pair of beige cotton trousers and a white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. His smile seemed genuine and his air and his handshake was friendly, the sort of handshake of an old friend. He had been given the message that Mr Poupillos wished to see him, and he was to be found, relaxing in his private side of the island. He waited as George swung his body out of the hammock and motioned for him to sit with him at the nearby wooden beach table.
"And so Peter, how are you liking it here, it is good? You are happy?"
His English was good, with a touch of broken English from 'anywhere'.
"Yes sir, it is very good. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this job, it's my wildest dream and I hope you are happy with me..?"
George waved his hand in the air.
"Oh don’t worry, you're doing fine. This is a lovely place, yes?"
Peter nodded and his eyes swept to the ocean ahead.
"It’s beautiful."
George smiled again. A waiter appeared with a glass of water, a large teapot, two cups, milk, sugar and a plate of cakes. He set them down on the table and Peter watched as he made his way back over the slight rise to his left, from where he had appeared.
"Ah yes." George poured the tea and pushed the sugar bowl towards him.
" Tea. For the Englishman."
"Thankyou"
George sat back in his chair and looked at Peter, the smile still remaining. He felt a little uncomfortable in his gaze. There was something about George Poupillos that seemed familiar. Maybe it was his eyes. There weren't many Greeks with such blue eyes. The kind of blue, that you see in a young child.
"But there is a sigh Peter, no? I can hear a sigh from within you. It can be lonely here I know. Sometimes even in Eden one can become bored or lonely. But your leave is coming, yes? What will you do with the twelve weeks? Go home to England?"
Peter grinned, "I'm a Scot."
George grinned back with a feigned look of horror.
“Of course, of course. Forgive my mistake."
"No sir, I don’t ever want to go back to Scotland. There is a saying in Britain, 'Home is where the heart is' and I have no heart there. I have no one in Scotland."
George leaned forward to pour more tea.
"No? Then where is your heart Peter?"
This was it. Did he come clean and talk about Candy, and risk the sack, or lie to this man who had given him the best chance in life he had ever had.
He had been a fool to think that his relationship with Candy had gone unnoticed. From the first time he had kissed her, he had known that he couldn’t live without her. The way her blonde, silken hair caught the sun, how her long tanned legs wrapped around him, her kiss deep and urgent as they made love, everything about her had caught his heart and his mind, for Candy was no bimbo. She had a mind as lithesome and beautiful as her body. They had fallen deeply in love, yet at the moment of that mutual acknowledgement, their first doubts had begun.
Candy Parker was the daughter of one of the world's richest pharmaceutical giants. She had the best of social and educational backgrounds. She also had a father who wanted the best for his daughter. Suddenly, a Maitre d' in an elite hotel was, Peter had realised, on a par with being a jobless nobody in Glasgow. She had begged him, when his leave came, to accompany her, to New York, to attend the forthcoming socialite gathering which was to celebrate her parents twenty fifth wedding anniversary, when, her father then being in a happy state, she would tell him they were in love and wanted to marry. Peter had tried to tell her that her father would probably see him as a gold digger, and a chancer, but Candy begged him to at least try. The thought of going through that parental scrutiny filled him with dread. He had pictured it a thousand times in his head.
"Oh yes, that’s right Mr Parker, I'm going to marry your daughter. My parents only committed suicide because one had early Alzheimer's and they decided to go together. I had a council flat in Glasgow though. That’s right, no job, no skills, no money, no prospects, nothing. Oh, but I love your daughter!"
He'd have him run out of town and he'd probably lose this job and be back in Glasgow before the week was out.
As if he could read his thoughts, George Poupillos gave him a gentle, reassuring slap on his shoulder.
"You love Miss Candy Parker, yes?"
Peter met his eyes.
"Like I've never loved anything, and you see Mr Poupillos, I have never loved anything! "
George nodded, never taking his eyes off Peter's face.
"Sometimes Peter, there are moments, hours, times, in our lives when the wonderful happens. There are no reasons why, nor should there be, all we have to do is recognise them."
His eyes never left Peters face, as he reached into his right shirt pocket and then revealed his palm.
"This is one of those moments Peter. The effects of this pill will last for only a year. But in that year you will experience wonderful things."
He rolled the small white pill onto the table in front of Peter and with his right hand he drew the glass of water to meet it.
"Do you believe in angels peter?"
He switched his gaze from the pill back to those wide, startling blue eyes.
"Angels?"
"Yes, Angels," he smiled, his pure white teeth gleaming. "Not the kind that have wings, and fly around in the invisible aura of this world, or the next, but human angels who we chance to meet now and then in this life."
His eyes creased and joined the humour in his wry smile.
"Or is it chance? Individuals, who change our lives, without rhyme or reason as to who they are, or why they should?"
Peter felt a warm rush fill his body. A sensation of tingling at the back of the neck began, until the hairs on his arms stood up. A distant and familiar memory of Abraham and Glasgow. He couldn’t answer. He didn’t need to. George Poupillos recognised the nostalgia and he carried on, his voice now softer and slower,
"Did you know Peter that we humans only use one tenth of our brains? The other nine are just waiting to be used, and will be, when nature decides the time is right in our evolution. And those other nine parts are incredible! Telepathy, Telekinesis, Astral Travel, Energy Shields, Healing, Time Travel, the ability to see into the Future and the Skill of language, all language, to be able to understand and communicate in any language! What if we could use one or all of them, right now!"
He stood and walked behind Peter's chair, placing both hands on his shoulders.
"Have a good vacation Peter. Let wonderful things happen."
He walked back to his hammock and placed the panama over his face.
4
The hall was filled with tables and people, over two hundred at this event. The long tables were lined on the outside, then an inner u shape, and then another, with a stage at the front with a backdrop of diamond lights on black, and the place was alive with colour. Some of the world's top fashion designers had clothed the guests and the jewellery flashed every hue. He was seated at the inner table with Candy opposite. She looked magnificent in silk, long emerald green, off the shoulder dress, diamonds dripping from her neck and ears; her long blonde hair caught up in a twist. Her mother and father sat next to her, left and right respectively. They had been told some weeks before the party, that she was bringing the man she loved and wished to marry, so although they had greeted him reservedly, he knew at some point, John Parker would be taking him away to talk privately. He had had enough time to investigate who Peter was and where he came from, but now at this moment they were still both full of smiles and attempting to converse with him now and then, but Peter knew his hours were numbered. It was during a moment, when Candy and her parents were deep in conversation, that he heard 'the scam'.
Ever since taking George Poupillos' pill, he had been shocked to find that he could 'hear' other people's thoughts, and even the smallest whisper, he could hear clearly. He was now listening to a man on a table behind him. The man was thinking of the enjoyment he would have, when John Parker discovered, in a few weeks, that two billion dollars had been wiped off his company shares. He and some of his friends, who worked for a rival company, had been working for the last three years on a slow but steady infiltration of Parkers Pharmaceutical computer banking systems. His hackers had hit home and bypassing all security codes, had given him the news that morning that the corruption was in place. A small unassuming part of the company would be wiped out first, then another, then another until the crash would occur four weeks from this evening.
Suddenly, a voice filled the hall and everyone looked to the stage. The Master of Ceremonies was introducing a speaker to make a speech for and about John and Mary Parkers anniversary.
"And so, ladies and gentlemen, I ask Mr Conrad Tyler to take the microphone."
The chair to the rear of him slid back and nudged his chair. And the man whose mind, he had just been listening to, rose from his chair. Peter turned slightly to watch the large, tall man with the red face and eyes, move toward the stage.
Conrad Tyler was a self-made man, rising quickly in the world of commerce to be a leading advisor of large manufacture and industry. He had met John Parker some three years previously and had quickly gained his confidence, becoming a valued financial advisor. But Conrad Tyler had a vice. He loved to gamble, and everything he had, he had been in jeopardy of losing when his gambling took him to the edge. He had taken large loans out from underworld connections and it was payback time. John Parker had been the golden goose who would eventually ensure that his debts were paid in full and he could then lead the lifestyle he had become accustomed to, without stopping the one thing in life he loved, gambling! It had taken a year's stake in time, effort, and money to work his way into Parkers business and a further two years to get to this point and now only four weeks away from the biggest gambling pay off in his life!
Peter was stunned at how the happy and friendly words of congratulations were sliding from Conrad's mouth, and at the same time his thoughts spoke otherwise. He felt his heart thudding in his chest. He had to let Candy's father know. But who would believe him!
It was two hours later that Peter found himself in a second floor private room with John Parker. He was given a drink and asked to sit down. Parker sat opposite and lit a large cigar.
"I won't beat around the bush with you Elliot. I think you know what this is about. You want to marry my daughter." His lips pressed tight. Then he laughed and sputtered his next line.
"Ive had investigations carried out on you Elliot. Ive got to hand it to you; you've some front. What the hell made you think I would let you marry my daughter! My god man, you're broke, you're a waiter!" He laughed and then rolled the cigar around in his mouth.
Peter spoke quietly,
"I love her and she loves me."
"Love ! Ha! She can love anybody! She can have anybody she wants! And I'm not going to let her marry a damn waiter!"
Peter rose and placed his glass on Parkers sidetable. Standing directly in front of him he held his gaze.
"Mr Parker, what I am going to tell you in the next few minutes, will save you over two billion dollars. It will save your home, your company, your lifestyle and everything you love. I may not have any money, and you may not believe me, but if you do believe me, if you find I am right, then the two billion dollars that I have just saved you, we can count as my 'dowry'."
He went on to relate Conrad Tylers scam. When he had finished, he left an open mouthed John Parker in his chair and he returned to the first floor. Candy was waiting at the entrance of the main room.
"Where have you been darling", her lips brushed his in greeting. She saw his frown.
"Oh no, father?"
He nodded and then took her hand and squeezed it.
"We'll know in twenty four hours"
Later that evening John Parker had to leave, on urgent business, his wife didn’t mind so much, the evening was quite late and she was used to that kind of thing happening. She kissed Peter lightly on the cheek as she made her own goodbyes and insisted Candy accompany her home. Candy telephoned him an hour later and they spoke lovingly and hopefully for two hours before they both gave in to sleep.
At nine thirty the following morning, Peter heard the knock on the door.
A chauffeur in a dark suit and glasses stood waiting.
"Mr Parker would like to see you Mr Elliot. I'll be downstairs waiting."
Peter shut the door and leaned against it. This was it, the final showdown. He was either on his way back to Glasgow or he was on his way to Candy. He showered and dressed hurriedly, and as he walked out of the lift to the waiting limousine, he squeezed his eyes tight and whispered a non-prayer, to a non-person.
John Parker was sitting behind his large oak desk. He looked tired. Cups of coffee sat stale on a tray to his right. To his left, a large glass ashtray held the remnants of cigarettes and cigars. It had been a long night. His shirt was creased, sweat marks under the arms and the room smelled stale. His face was stern with tight lines around his mouth and he frowned hard at Peter as he walked in. He arose from his chair and walked to meet him. As he approached he held out his hand and said,
"Welcome to the family Elliot."
George Poupillos lazed in his hammock, his panama over his face. The waiter gently woke him.
"Your papers Sir"
He sat upright in the middle and said,
"Just the New York times today Martin"
The waiter took a newspaper from a large selection of international news sheet and handed it to him. He then poured a cup of tea, placed it on the table and left.
The front page headline report was of a foiled billion dollar fraud, of a large American company, Parkers Pharmaceuticals . The company was saved by the investigations of Mr.Peter Elliot, a shareholder of the company,and fiance to Candy Parker, who were 'happy that the fraud had been discovered’ and who were happy to announce that ‘they were to be married in six months.’ He folded the paper and smiled, then swung his legs back into the hammock and placed his panama over his face and went to sleep.
5
The Mugu
The stench was unbearable in the African sun. He had walked for less than ten minutes and even with his cotton mask covering his nose and mouth, Rick Sharpe felt nauseous with every breath he drew in. The scene all around him was shocking. One million and a half refugees, adults and children, huddled together. Here were the poorest and most desperate human beings on the planet, with little food or water and without shelter or hope. Zawandra was a living hell on earth.
These were his thoughts as he watched the eyes close of another starving child. He had arrived the previous day, sent by his editor to report on the human catastrophe now before him. He had travelled to other war torn areas, in his five years with the London Post, but never had he witnessed human death and destruction on this scale before.
Zawandra had been ripped apart by two warring armed factions for over ten years and the result had been a mass migration to this the only refugee area within. Terrified people, having suffered years of raids on their towns and villages, suffering rape, torture and murder, by armed guerrillas, had now fled in their thousands to the only place they could, only to find that the small number of international aid workers, could offer little help. Food and medicines could not get through to the camp. As soon as it arrived in the state, the warring armies seized it. What little did get through was a raindrop in the sea of starvation. And the world watched.
He could stomach no more and headed back to the camp, his long legs striding carefully over the dead and the dying. Once back in the cool of the tent, he lay down on the canvas metal framed bed and closed his eyes. He could not face anymore.
"Are you ok"
It was Langes one of the African aid workers, bringing him bottled water. He sat up to take it from him.
"Yeh, I'm ok, it’s such a shock, I can’t take it in."
Langes pressed his lips together tightly and shook his head.
"I know," he said softly, "I know it’s hard for you, but we need you to be here. For if many of you tell the world enough times, then maybe, someone will do something."
He looked at Rick with an exasperated frown.
"The Tsandi attacked the north side during the night. We have just had word. Many were killed"
"I don’t understand Langes. There are Tsandi in the camp, why are they killing their own people?"
Langes shook his head,
"We Africans have no answer. Power is a terrible thing. These criminals belong to a criminal army; they will kill anyone, even their own tribe. The others, the Awani, my tribe, are more peaceful yet there are also amongst their army, the same savage men."
"I heard that the Awani are losing this war, is this true?"
Langes hung his head,
"I fear it is true Mr Sharpe, I do not know how long it will be before the end comes, but there have been talks recently ,about it being too dangerous for the foreign aid people to stay here"
Rick reached for the water again and gulped the last.
"What will happen then Langes, if the aid workers leave?"
"We will be slaughtered Mr Sharpe, it is a simple truth"
He clutched his necklace and murmured. As he let it go from his hand, Rick could see it was a beaded necklace with a black disc, with what looked like hair stuck to it. Ever the reporter, he could not help his curiosity
"What is that, what are you doing? Is that a religious prayer Langes?"
."It is a charm of protection. My people the Awani, believe that the God Mugu, who has the animal spirit, watches over us and that he will send us help. It is all we have left to cling to Mr Sharpe. A religious man wearing the skin of the leopard arrived in the village of Kanda last night, and so I went to visit him in the early hours. He said that Mugu is to send a leopard in the form of a man, to help us very soon and he gave me this charm."
He smiled wryly,
"Do not worry Mr Sharpe, I know it is only superstition, but you never know…."
Then he grinned and raised his eyebrows,
"Maybe it is you Mr Sharpe, perhaps you are the leopard!"
Rick laughed and then just as quickly it died on his lips. How could he laugh in a place such as this? He stood up and looked away, ashamed.
"Where is this village Langes, can you take me?"
Langes shook his head.
"I do not think that is a good idea Mr Sharpe. It is very dangerous; the rebels are all around. If they catch us you are a white foreigner, you would certainly be kidnapped, perhaps tortured and most certainly killed."
Rick nodded his understanding.
"I will see you later Mr Sharpe. I am going to the North side to help burn the bodies. Do you want to come?"
He should go, he knew. To report the horror and the sadness, but he couldn’t face it.
"No thanks. See you later Langes, and thanks for the water."
It was early the next morning when he saw Langes again. He had spent the rest of the previous day and night listening to the noises all around him. A loud drone of voices, cries, screams, shouts that went on day and night. He couldn’t take anymore, he had to get out, go back, but the airlift wasn’t due for two days. It was while he was in one of the food tents that he saw Langes. He was eating a plate of rice.
"Good morning Langes"
He looked up.
"Ah, good morning Mr Sharpe."
"Please, call me Rick"
He sat on the floor opposite.
"Langes, I've been thinking about what you told me, about the holy man in Kanda. I would like very much to meet him before I go. I'm leaving when the next airlift comes."
The soft brown eyes stared for a moment and then with a recognition and understanding they smiled. Rick began to think of excuses, but realised none were necessary, Langes had probably seen many reporters and sympathisers come and go.
"I'm thinking there might be another story here Langes, one that might provoke interest in the horrors of Zawandra from another angle. The world already knows about this place but stands by and watches. People are charity fatigued, however the story of the hope and faith of the people in the God Mugu and the mysterious leopard man to come, might be another angle to make people still read about the area and give money to the food and aid charities. "
Langes stared at him for a long time before answering.
"I don’t know why you want to go Rick, and I must be crazy for taking you, but something is making me say yes, so I will take you, yes."
6
The night's drive to Kanda was tense. They made no sound and spoke only in whispers until they arrived. They left their vehicle in the cover of the bush and walked in torchlight for an hour, until they came to a single mud hut, hidden amongst the thick forest. As they entered they could see it was empty.
"What now?" Rick turned to Langes.
"We wait."
He sat cross-legged on the floor and motioned to Rick to do the same.
After a few short minutes, a man entered. He was tall and slender, his face black with fine chiselled features. He wore a long black cotton kafti gown to the ankles and a black waterproof jacket zipped to his knees. On his head was a black wool hat with the hide of a leopard stuck to it that hung over the back of his neck, the tail touching his lower back.
He held his hand out to Langes, speaking Awangali in a low voice. Langes replied and nodded toward Rick. The holy man frowned and hesitantly reached out his hand.
"Don't get up, sit down, sit down. I thought you were an aid worker, you're not are you?"
Rick was surprised that he spoke very good English with just a trace of African accent.
"No, I'm a journalist with a British Newspaper"
The Holy man closed his eyes for a second or two and then on opening them he stared into Rick's eyes.
"Ah yes, that would be the London Post."
It was a statement, requiring no answer. Rick stared back at those brilliant blue eyes and every journalist nerve in his body began to tingle, as his thoughts raced, 'Whoever saw an African with such brilliant blue eyes?'
A shuffling noise was heard from outside the hut. They exchanged looks and became silent. Langes motioned to them that he would go outside to see all was safe. Within minute's two soldiers in combat uniform and automatic rifles walked in. The holy man gently touched Rick's arm and whispered for him not to move. He remained seated as he spoke to them. Although Rick could not understand the language, he could understand their actions. They dragged them both to their feet and searched them for weapons. Satisfied there were none, they took Rick's cigarette packet and lighter and kicked him to the floor. Groaning in agony, his stomach felt it had just hit his throat. He heard the holy mans gentle voice and Rick opened his eyes to see that one soldier held the holy man's arms from behind as the other raised his rifle to hit him in the face. The holy man continued his gentle words and his brilliant blue eyes stared at the soldier in front of him. The soldier lowered his rifle and spoke to the other one, who released him. He returned to sitting on the floor cross-legged, never breaking his stare. After a few seconds, one of the soldiers spat on the floor, talked to the holy man in an angry voice and then they left.
He turned to Rick. 'Lie straight, come on, you have to straighten your body out, I can help you.'
The pain was so bad, Rick could barely move, but slowly he straightened out. The holy mans hands lay gently on his stomach and after a while the pain began to subside and with it the retching feeling, until his stomach felt like it was where it should be. The blue eyes met his and he smiled,
"Better?"
Rick nodded
"Ok, No time to explain. They are outside waiting for their leader who is to arrive anytime. We are to be killed, no doubt of that. Perhaps a little torture first…."
He saw Rick's eyes widen in fear.
"You must do everything I tell you - without question. If you do, you will walk out of here alive. If you do not you know the consequences."
He leaned forward and from in between his big toe he pulled out two small white pills.
"Take this now. When they enter the hut they will order us to walk in front of them, the moment you are outside this hut, run. Run as fast as you can to the right. Do not stop or hide, just keep running. Do not worry about their gunfire, it cannot harm you. The effect of this particular pill will last until morning. Remember - you now have a shield and their bullets cannot harm you, nor can they touch you in anyway."
Rick swallowed the pill, using what saliva he had left, the fear having taken most of it already. His mouth opened to speak,
"Who are you?"
The holy man shook his head.
"No questions, the leader is here."
Within seconds the soldiers entered the hut with a third man. He was tall and very fat, dressed in combat uniform, with an air of intimidation around him. His great frame shook as he shouted at them to stand up and he struck
out at Rick's face. He did not feel the blow. The fat leader looked shocked, alarmed and held his fist in his hand. He stepped back to look at them both and then ordered them outside. As they followed the soldier out the holy man whispered,
"Now!"
Rick ran and although his legs were shaking with fear, he ran until his throat burned, until his chest burned, until he could not run at all and he collapsed under a bush, his heart pounding in his chest. He had heard their guns behind him, for what seemed an eternity but then, all he heard was his heart, drumming in his brain.
He woke to the sound of the African day. The hot sun burned his face through the leaves of his cover. With an aching body, he managed to roll from under the bush, looking at the trees and bushes in every direction. His heart began to pound again in his chest and his mouth felt dry. He started to walk. After a while he came to a clearing. He needed water desperately. He carried on until the heat forced him down and he collapsed under a sparse flat - topped tree. As he lay, he felt his body weak, and he knew within a short time, he would be close to death. Fatigue and thirst closed his eyes.
Consciousness. He looked at his watch, he had been asleep for over an hour. His lips were cracked and dry as he moved his swollen tongue over them. He closed his eyes again and waited for death to come. Instead, he heard the sound of a vehicle, then voices. When he opened them again, he was in the shade of a tent, on his old bed, with Langes sitting beside him.
A wide grin crept over his face and exposed his ivory teeth as he laughed with relief and joy.
"Mr. Sharpe, you are ok now. You made it! You're safe, back at the camp."
Rick looked around him,
"How?"
Langes squeezed his hand,
"I saw the soldiers. I didn’t have time to warn you. I came back to camp and the armed aid guards have been looking for you. We found you half an hour away from here. You are a very lucky man Mr. Sharpe."
Rick nodded, he wished he hadn't, his head felt like it was about to explode. Langes gently pushed his head back down onto the pillows.
"Don’t try to move yet Mr. Sharpe, you are suffering from exhaustion and the heat."
He then lowered his tone,
"What happened to the Holy man Mr. Sharpe? Did they kill him?"
Rick's eyes flashed open, his memory of the words 'now' being whispered and the shouts of the soldiers behind him.
"I don’t know Langes, I don’t think so somehow, I can’t explain it, he was….. He did something……I can’t explain."
His voice raised and he became agitated. Langes stood up quickly and placed a wet cloth on his brow.
"Not now Mister Sharpe, I am sorry I asked you. Don’t talk now. The airlift is due in two days time; you will be going back to London then. But for now, just rest. Someone will be bringing food soon."
He squeezed Rick's hand once more,
"I'll be back tomorrow."
Two days later, news came to the camp, of a massive victory for the Awani army. They now controlled the state. Langes was the bearer of this news, rushing into Rick's tent to tell him of the amazing victory. He told him that it was said amongst the people that the Holy Leopard God had brought strength and luck to the Awani army and that they had massacred the opposing army in a rapid series of surprise and vigorous attacks that had taken place over only forty-eight hours. Years of death and destruction were ended in such a short period. It was a miracle, magic. He went on to say that peace would now reign and that food and medicine would now be able to pour in, hope was here at last.
Rick had remained silent, except for asking where the Holy man was. Langes did not know, he could only tell him that it was said that the Awani leader Musuto, had proclaimed that he had disappeared in front of his eyes. At this point Langes clutched his necklace,
"He was sent to us Mr. Sharpe. We should not question such a gift."
Rick Sharpe returned to London and wrote his story ' THE MIRACLES OF ZAWANDRA', with the subtitle, 'Slaughter brings relief to Africa'
His editor was delighted and so was his bank manager. But in moments of quiet, and at night in his flat, as he listened to London outside, the nagging, prodding, questions began, and with them his plans to search for the Holy Leopard man, the Mugu.
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