In fact this show of military prowess was making me a little uneasy, but it would never do for me to let Kemp see that. He was jittery enough as it was. He gave orders as the tanks swept past, commanders standing up in the turrets, and we swung in behind the last of the army vehicles and just in front of the rig, now massively coupled to all its tractors. Ben Hammond waved down to us from his driving cab and the rig started rolling behind us. Kemp concentrated on its progress, leaving the other Wyvern vehicles to come along in the rear, the very last car being the second Land Rover with John Sutherland on board.
Kemp was watching the rig, checking back regularly and trying to ignore the shouting, waving crowds who were gathering as we went along, travelling so slowly that agile small boys could dodge back and forward across the road in between the various components of the parade. There was much blowing of police whistles to add to the general noise. We heard louder cheering as we came out onto the coastal boulevard leading to the town centre. The scattering of people thickened as we approached.
Kemp paid particular attention as the rig turned behind us into Victory Avenue; turning a 240-foot vehicle is no easy job and he would rather have done it without the extra towing tractors. But the rig itself was steerable from both ends and a crew member was spinning a ship-sized steering wheel right at the rear, synchronizing with Ben Hammond in the front cab. Motorcycle escorts took up flanking positions as the rig straightened out into the broad avenue and the crowd was going crazy.
Kemp said, ‘Someone must have declared a holiday.’
‘Rent-a-crowd,’ I grinned. Kemp sat a little straighter and seemed to relax slightly. I thought that he was beginning to enjoy his moment of glory, after all. The Land Rover bumped over a roughly cobbled area and I realized with a start that we were driving over the place where Ofanwe’s plinth had been only a few days before.
We entered the Square to a sea of black faces and colourful robes, gesticulating arms and waves of sound that surged and echoed from the big buildings all around. The flags hung limply in the still air but all the rest was movement under the hard tropical sun.
‘Jesus!’ Kemp said in awe. ‘It’s like a Roman triumph. I feel I ought to have a slave behind me whispering sweet nothings in my ear.’ He quoted, ‘Memento mori – remember thou must die.’
I grunted. I was used to the British habit of flinging off quotations at odd moments but I hadn’t expected it of Kemp. He went on, ‘Just look at that lot.’
The balcony of the Palace of Justice was full of figures. The President, the Prime Minister, members of the Government, Army staff, some in modern dress or in uniforms but some, like Daondo, changed into local costume: a flowing colourful robe and a tasselled hat. It was barbaric and, in spite of my professed cynicism, a touch magnificent.
The tanks and guns had passed and it was our turn. Kemp said to me, ‘Do we bow or anything?’
‘Just sit tight. Pay attention to your rig. Show them it’s still business first.’ Off to one side of the parade, Sadiq’s staff car was drawn up with the Captain standing rigidly at the salute in the back seat. ‘Sadiq is doing the necessary for all of us.’
The vast bulk of the rig crept slowly across Independence Square and the troops and police fought valiantly to keep the good-humoured crowd back. As soon as our car was through the Square we stopped and waited too for the rig to come up behind us, and then set off again following Sadiq, who had regained his place in the lead. The tanks and guns rumbled off in a different direction, and the convoy with its escort of soldiers crept on through narrower streets and among fewer and fewer people.
The town began to thin out until we were clear of all but a few shanties and into the beginning of the croplands, and here the procession came to a halt, with only an audience of goats and herd boys to watch us.
Sadiq’s car came back. He got out and spoke to Kemp, who had the grace to thank him and to congratulate him on the efficiency of his arrangements. Clearly both were relieved that all had gone so well, and equally anxious to get on with the job in hand. Within minutes Kemp had his men removing the bunting and flags; he was driving them hard while the euphoria of the parade was still with them.
‘This is all arsey-versey,’ I heard him saying. ‘You’ve had your celebration – now do something to earn it.’
‘I suppose they’ll do their celebrating tonight,’ I remarked to him.
Kemp shook his head.
‘We have a company rule. There’s no hard liquor on the journeys: just beer, and I control that. And they’ve got a hell of a few days ahead of them.’
‘I guess they have,’ I said.
‘A lot of trips,’ Kemp said. ‘Months of work. Right now it’s a pretty daunting prospect.’
‘You only have this one rig?’
I still felt I didn’t know as much about Wyvern as I ought to. Having seen a tiny slice of their job out here, I was in a fever to talk to Geddes back at home, and to get together with Wingstead too. Reminded of him, I asked Kemp when he was due to come out.
‘Next week, I believe,’ Kemp said.,’He’ll fly up and join us during the mid-section of the first trip. As for the rig, there’s a second one in the making and it should be ready towards the end of the job. It’ll help, but not enough. And the rains start in a couple of months too: we’ve a lot of planning to do yet.’
‘Can you keep going through the wet season?’
‘If the road holds out we can. And I must say it’s fairly good most of the way. If it hadn’t existed we’d never have tendered for the job.’
I said, ‘I’m frankly surprised in a way that you did tender. It’s a hell of a job for a new firm – wouldn’t the standard European runs have suited you better to begin with?’
‘We decided on the big gamble. Nothing like a whacking big success to start off with.’
I thought that it was Wingstead, rather than the innately conservative Kemp, who had decided on that gamble, and wondered how he had managed to convince my own masters that he was the man for the job.
‘Right, Basil, this is where I leave you,’ I said, climbing down from the Land Rover to stand on the hard heat-baked tarmac. ‘I’ll stay in touch, and I’ll be out to see how you’re getting on. Meanwhile I’ve got a few irons of my own in the fire – back there in the Frying Pan.’
We shook hands and I hopped into John Sutherland’s car for the drive back to Port Luard, leaving Kemp to organize the beginning of the rig’s first expedition.
We got back to the office hot, sweaty and tired. The streets were still seething and we had to fight our way through. Sutherland was fast on the draw with a couple of gin and tonics, and within four minutes of our arrival I was sitting back over a drink in which the ice clinked pleasantly. I washed the dust out of my mouth and watched the bubbles rise.
‘Well, they got away all right,’ Sutherland said after his own first swallow. ‘They should be completely clear by nightfall.’
I took another mouthful and let it fizz before swallowing. ‘Just as well you brought up the business of the plinth,’ I said. ‘Otherwise the rig would never have got into the Square.’
He laughed. ‘Do you know, I forgot all about it in the excitement.’
‘Sadiq damn nearly removed Independence Square. He blew the goddamn thing up at midnight. He may have broken every window in the hotel: I woke up picking bits of plate glass out of my bed. I don’t know who his explosives experts are but I reckon they used a mite too