one of the smart new government buildings that had been erected on the land which had housed the shanty towns and slums under President Liye Bandaâs kleptocratic regime. What had been a mess of shacks and tents constructed of clapboard, bamboo, timber pilfered from the wreckage of the nearest suburbs and ubiquitous plastic sheeting was now, under President Chaka, a carefully planned complex of manicured public gardens and municipal offices. The position of this particular office could hardly have been better from the new ministerâs point of view. The broad front of the building opened through a series of glass doors on to a convex curving veranda that seemed to command a view of everything for which she stood responsible.
To the left, the mouth of the River Gir opened, as wide as the Thames at Greenwich. Where the jungle used to cluster right up to the edge of the city as recently as ten years ago, now there stood river docks, bustling with river craft, some freighters, more dredgers and a pair of the neat little Fast River patrol boats. And a marina, filled with pleasure craft of all sorts, from pirogues to gin palaces, that could have been transported here directly from San Francisco or St Tropez.
Straight ahead, on the far bank, the jungle of the delta itself swept out across the bay. But where in the old days that had been an environmental disaster of oil-polluted mangroves peopled with restlessly dissatisfied freedom fighters, now it reflected order and care. The pipework looked new. Distant figures were working there, wearing a range of coloured overalls, clearly about legitimate business. Richard remembered that it had been part of ex-minister Bala Ngamaâs plan to repopulate the delta with a huge number of wild animals â most of them extremely dangerous. He had planned to set up a tourist park that would rival the Masai Mara and the Virunga Impenetrable Forest.
To the right, the bay itself stretched away to southern and western horizons, ringed with rigs â the farthest visible only as columns of smoke and flame. Vessels moved busily among them, and Richard found himself wishing for binoculars as he strained to see the tell-tale house colours of Heritage Mariner. Hard right, looking north-west along the cityâs coastline, there stood the new dock facilities. Richardâs most vivid memory of the place was as a blazing ruin after the late president Liye Bandaâs helicopter had caused a supertanker to explode with near nuclear force. Now it was all rebuilt.
The port frontage extended right down to the office complex itself; the minister of the outer deltaâs waterside office seeming to stand as the dividing point between seagoing and river-going vessels, between commercial craft and pleasure boats. Right at the hub of Granville Harbour, at the heart of Benin La Bas. But Richard, Robin and Felix were not here to admire the view, or to appreciate the bustling industry of the anchorages in front of them. They were here to dot a few âiâs and cross a few âtâs. Because, although they had Kebilaâs assurance that he would be supplying men and material, Heritage Mariner and Bashnev/Sevmash wanted to provide transport. For the first stages, at any rate.
âItâs the biggest hovercraft ever built,â said Richard easily to the new minister for the outer delta, Patience Aganga, as two of the Zubrs he was describing came into view cruising across the harbour. âItâs just under sixty metres long and twenty-five wide. It has a displacement of five hundred and fifty tons but when the cushion is up it has a draft of less than one and a half metres, though it sits just over twenty metres high. It can carry more than one hundred tons â three T80 main battle tanks, for instance, and it goes at nearly fifty knots â thatâs the better part of sixty miles per hour. Itâs bristling with rocket launchers, thirty-millimetre cannons and air
To the left, the mouth of the River Gir opened, as wide as the Thames at Greenwich. Where the jungle used to cluster right up to the edge of the city as recently as ten years ago, now there stood river docks, bustling with river craft, some freighters, more dredgers and a pair of the neat little Fast River patrol boats. And a marina, filled with pleasure craft of all sorts, from pirogues to gin palaces, that could have been transported here directly from San Francisco or St Tropez.
Straight ahead, on the far bank, the jungle of the delta itself swept out across the bay. But where in the old days that had been an environmental disaster of oil-polluted mangroves peopled with restlessly dissatisfied freedom fighters, now it reflected order and care. The pipework looked new. Distant figures were working there, wearing a range of coloured overalls, clearly about legitimate business. Richard remembered that it had been part of ex-minister Bala Ngamaâs plan to repopulate the delta with a huge number of wild animals â most of them extremely dangerous. He had planned to set up a tourist park that would rival the Masai Mara and the Virunga Impenetrable Forest.
To the right, the bay itself stretched away to southern and western horizons, ringed with rigs â the farthest visible only as columns of smoke and flame. Vessels moved busily among them, and Richard found himself wishing for binoculars as he strained to see the tell-tale house colours of Heritage Mariner. Hard right, looking north-west along the cityâs coastline, there stood the new dock facilities. Richardâs most vivid memory of the place was as a blazing ruin after the late president Liye Bandaâs helicopter had caused a supertanker to explode with near nuclear force. Now it was all rebuilt.
The port frontage extended right down to the office complex itself; the minister of the outer deltaâs waterside office seeming to stand as the dividing point between seagoing and river-going vessels, between commercial craft and pleasure boats. Right at the hub of Granville Harbour, at the heart of Benin La Bas. But Richard, Robin and Felix were not here to admire the view, or to appreciate the bustling industry of the anchorages in front of them. They were here to dot a few âiâs and cross a few âtâs. Because, although they had Kebilaâs assurance that he would be supplying men and material, Heritage Mariner and Bashnev/Sevmash wanted to provide transport. For the first stages, at any rate.
âItâs the biggest hovercraft ever built,â said Richard easily to the new minister for the outer delta, Patience Aganga, as two of the Zubrs he was describing came into view cruising across the harbour. âItâs just under sixty metres long and twenty-five wide. It has a displacement of five hundred and fifty tons but when the cushion is up it has a draft of less than one and a half metres, though it sits just over twenty metres high. It can carry more than one hundred tons â three T80 main battle tanks, for instance, and it goes at nearly fifty knots â thatâs the better part of sixty miles per hour. Itâs bristling with rocket launchers, thirty-millimetre cannons and air
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