Father Confessor - For the Motherland

Chapter 20

The target was in a bedroom on the third floor of the white four storey house along Gogozha Drive. Atop the roof was Mi Hind helicopter on the helipad, its sleek camouflage painted body visible in the glare of security lights strung across the whole rooftop. Four security post were set up in the corners, each manned by three heavily armed and kitted soldiers: One had a Dragunov sniper rifle with a powerful scope; another handled a Browning M2 .50 caliber machine gun, while the corporal had a pair of binoculars slung on his neck. Every now and then the corporal would lift the Zeiss glasses to his eyes and scan his allotted quadrant. At ground level, the building was protected by a two-metre high wall topped by an electric fence. The main entrance on the west side was guarded by two guardhouses, one on the outside and another on the inside. The grounds were crawling with armed soldiers from Zimbabwe's elite National Reaction Force, who were tasked with perimeter security for the country's most important building, while the Presidential Security Agency guarded the man himself.

From three blocks away, the man watched all this on a laptop screen, the images crystal clear from a stealth drone hovering over the State House. He was in the back of nondescript white van parked just out of view of the perimeter sweepers. Four men and two women were with him. Their names for tonight were: Digital, an early thirties woman whose specialty was computers; Moody, a morose and tall man; Bait, mid-forties, sexy; Nailer, a sniper, short in build; Kong, big and hairy; and TNT, a man who loved his explosives. They hardly spoke, but their actions were synchronised from years spent together in some of the world's  toughest spots. They were mean operators. They were killers. They were survivors. Their faces were inscrutable, but the man knew what they were thinking and feeling. He was one with them. Always. And their mission for today was important. It would accomplish a lot. Hell, even if it didn't, it would be worth it just to see the fear in the eyes of the President of Zimbabwe.

The man nodded to his team and Bait, Nailer, Kong and Moody filed out of the van, heading in different directions, leaving Digital to work on her computer while Moody piloted the drone. The man himself got into a black Mercedes Benz C200 that was parked directly behind the van. He manoeuvred the sedan out of the parallel parking spot and drove at a sedate 30 kilometres per hour in the direction of the State House. They were all confident that the plan was going to work, but if it didn't, the team was in position to create chaos so that the man would get out. Leaving no one behind was the policy, and it was not going to change now.

At the first security checkpoint, the man showed the sentries his ID card. While one soldier made a call, another held a mirror on a stick under his car, looking for explosives, while another checked the trunk and the backseats. His credentials were returned to him and he put the car into gear and headed into the premises. He had a smile on his face. The forger had done a  damn good job on his ID.

He drove on, and stopped at the gate. Now comes the tricky part, he thought. Let's hope Digital is not sleeping on the job.

He was ordered out of the car and he was thoroughly strip searched while they put his car through the wringer. His ID card was taken into the guardhouse. The man knew the card was being inserted into a card reader which was connected to the State House's mainframe. Digital's job was to hack into this mainframe and manipulate some of its data so it would confirm his ID as authentic.

He went through a fingerprint scanner and face analyser and waited for his credentials to be processed. The ID identified him as Russell Dore, a senior official in the ministry of health. His presence at the State House at nine in evening was not only permissible, it was urgently required. Mr Dore was needed to brief the president on the potential cholera pandemic that had already struck one of Harare's suburbs. Apparently, Digital was firmly on the job. The sentries waved him in and he parked a few metres from the House's main doorway. An aide was waiting for him and escorted him to the lift.

The fake Russell Dore remained silent as they rode to the third floor. In an expansive hallway lined with paintings from all over Africa, the aide handed him over to a dark suited PSA agent who led him to a door. The agent knocked once and pushed the door open.

President Kudzai Musiki was in his shirt sleeves, sitting back in a leather sofa, an ornate coffee table in front of him. The room was medium sized, with a bookcase on one side, a well-stocked mini bar on the other and a fireplace with unlit logs. Four sofas faced the fireplace and, beside the president, a sixtish bespectacled man sat on one of them, a crystal glass with amber liquid in his hands.

The agent introduced him, "Mr Russell Dore, sir."

"Thank you, major. Leave us alone," Musiki said in his booming voice.

There was a muffled thud as the door was closed and the man faced his target. He smiled and offered his hand. "It's an honour to be here, Your Excellency."

Musiki shook the hand and nodded to the other man. "That's my chief of staff, Comrade Chanza. So what's your assessment of the situation?"

The man smiled, turned to face Chanza and offered his hand. When the other man made to shake it, 'Dore' swung his hand quickly and hit Chanza hard behind the ear. The older man collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. But the man did not stop to admire. Before Chanza even started to fall, the fake Dore lunged for the president. The commander in chief may have once been a soldier, but he was no match for the coiled strength of the man.

Musiki's right hand reached for the panic button on his necklace, but the man stepped on the coffee table and propelled a brutal kick to the president's throat. The latter fell back into the sofa and lay still.

Barely out of breath, the man removed the shoe-laces from Chanza's feet and used them to tie up the old man. He used one of the two tablecloths to gag him. Then he bound the president the same way, and arranged him comfortably on the sofa.

That done, the man contemplated his handiwork and grinned. He went to the small bar and poured himself a drink. He took a seat opposite the innate president and sipped delicately on the Jameson. Aaah, life is good.

Cde Musiki came to a few minutes later and mumbled incoherently through the gag.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" the man asked with a grin.

"Mhmnnnnnnnnnnn!" Musiki said, his eyes two balls of fury.

"Ah," the man's eyes twinkled in return as he said, "you figured it out. I'm not Russell Dore. I thought it would take you long but no, you're not as dumb as they say."

"Mhnnnnnmmh..."

"Chill out, Your Excellency, I will tell you my name shortly. But first you must listen. Now, you must've heard about the NISA's North Korea debacle of last year. Yes?"

The president nodded.

"They told you that the station leader turned traitor and sold out his entire team. Six agents were killed, right?"

Musiki nodded again.

"Well, Cde President, don't believe everything you hear. Some of the people close to you are conspiring against you. In a few days their nefarious plans are coming to completion. And they spell doom for our nation."

The president mumbled again.

"What's the purpose?" the man said. "Well, power, of course. And money, lots of it. Well, my visit was to give you this information. To warn you."

The man paused and sighed. "Events have been set in motion to try and arrest the conspiracy before it blooms."

He drained his glass and stood up. "It's been nice chatting with you. Have a good night. I'm sure Mr Dore will be joining you in the morning."

"Mhnnnnnmmh mhnnnn...." the president mumbled angrily.

"I'm sorry, Your Excellency, I have to love you and leave you. By the way, my name is Rukope, Jeremiah Rukope."