Read Online The Secret Chamber by Patrick Woodhead - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Patrick Woodhead
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here for the mining …’
‘Enough of this,’ the man opposite began, but Fabrice continued, wagging his finger as if chiding him.
‘But, of course, your government didn’t want you all getting infected, did they? All our girls are dirty, dirty. Not like you lovely clean Orientals. But as a gesture of goodwill, condoms were given to every tribe; the Lendo, Hema, Bantu, everybody got them. There was going to be no more AIDS thanks to our new Chinese friends. We were saved! But, you know, there was just one problem …’
Fabrice stood up and, widening his stance, pushed his hips forward and unzipped his fly. He reached inside to his crotch, casually pulling out his penis and letting it fall down one leg of his white trousers. The man in front flinched, pulling away from him with rare speed and losing his balance on the stool. As he half crouched on the floor, he stared up at Fabrice from waist-height, eyes wide with surprise and disgust.
‘But the condoms were too small!’ Fabrice exclaimed. ‘We couldn’t fit into your little Asian condoms!’
He pumped his hips, swinging his penis in time with the motion. The Chinese stared in mute fury, their faces already reddening. Without waiting for an order, the man closest to Fabrice pulled out the snub nose of a Glock 17 pistol from his shoulder holster, but before he could level it at him, there was the sound of shattering glass and chairs being overturned. Men sprang out from behind two of the nearby speakers and surged towards the table, AK-47 rifles held high.
The Chinese swivelled in surprise, the first still going for his pistol. Just as he brought his arm round to fire, one of Fabrice’s men whipped the barrel of an AK across his jaw, sending him crashing down on to the low plastic table and spilling ice from the vodka bucket across the floor. After a few seconds, the man managed to pull himself back on to his knees. His right hand was clamped to his face, blood seeping out between his fingers.
There were shrieks at the sudden commotion, but Fabrice raised his hands for quiet and then signalled to the DJ to continue playing. As people warily returned to the dance floor, he zipped himself up, eyes still fixed on the thin Chinese man at his feet.
‘You think you can scare us with your guns and threats,’ Fabrice said, crouching down so that his head was only a few inches away from the man’s. ‘Scare us? I saw my parents murdered when I was twelve years old. The Mai-Mai took their pangas and … chop-chop! They killed them. And what was their crime? They were from the Hema tribe, that is all. Then they took the rest of us into the long house and set it alight. They burned the whole village.’ He raised his hands to his lips and blew softly through his finger. ‘And just like that, everyone was gone.’
A bitter smile passed across his face as he pulled the Chinese man to his feet. Fabrice gently slapped his cheeks, as if he were an old friend.
‘This is Africa, my friend. AFRICA.’ He drew out the word, stretching each syllable. ‘And out here, you got to remember one thing – you ain’t the guys with the biggest dicks.’
Chapter 8
THE DULL GLOW from a computer screen flickered across Bear Makuru’s face. She yawned, stretching her back, and stared into the bottom of the cold cup of coffee wondering if she dared take a sip. An insipid brown film clung to the surface of the liquid and she swirled it around for a moment, before carefully balancing the cup back on the pile of food wrappers stacked at the corner of her desk.
Eight padded folders lay on top of one other in a crooked heap, with sheaves of paper poking out at different angles. Each was emblazoned with a heavy stamp reading ‘Accident Report’ and contained confidential information drawn from their mining archives. Bear had been steadily working through them all day, noting down details until the A4 pad perched on her thighs was a mass of scrawls and underlined words.
The files
‘Enough of this,’ the man opposite began, but Fabrice continued, wagging his finger as if chiding him.
‘But, of course, your government didn’t want you all getting infected, did they? All our girls are dirty, dirty. Not like you lovely clean Orientals. But as a gesture of goodwill, condoms were given to every tribe; the Lendo, Hema, Bantu, everybody got them. There was going to be no more AIDS thanks to our new Chinese friends. We were saved! But, you know, there was just one problem …’
Fabrice stood up and, widening his stance, pushed his hips forward and unzipped his fly. He reached inside to his crotch, casually pulling out his penis and letting it fall down one leg of his white trousers. The man in front flinched, pulling away from him with rare speed and losing his balance on the stool. As he half crouched on the floor, he stared up at Fabrice from waist-height, eyes wide with surprise and disgust.
‘But the condoms were too small!’ Fabrice exclaimed. ‘We couldn’t fit into your little Asian condoms!’
He pumped his hips, swinging his penis in time with the motion. The Chinese stared in mute fury, their faces already reddening. Without waiting for an order, the man closest to Fabrice pulled out the snub nose of a Glock 17 pistol from his shoulder holster, but before he could level it at him, there was the sound of shattering glass and chairs being overturned. Men sprang out from behind two of the nearby speakers and surged towards the table, AK-47 rifles held high.
The Chinese swivelled in surprise, the first still going for his pistol. Just as he brought his arm round to fire, one of Fabrice’s men whipped the barrel of an AK across his jaw, sending him crashing down on to the low plastic table and spilling ice from the vodka bucket across the floor. After a few seconds, the man managed to pull himself back on to his knees. His right hand was clamped to his face, blood seeping out between his fingers.
There were shrieks at the sudden commotion, but Fabrice raised his hands for quiet and then signalled to the DJ to continue playing. As people warily returned to the dance floor, he zipped himself up, eyes still fixed on the thin Chinese man at his feet.
‘You think you can scare us with your guns and threats,’ Fabrice said, crouching down so that his head was only a few inches away from the man’s. ‘Scare us? I saw my parents murdered when I was twelve years old. The Mai-Mai took their pangas and … chop-chop! They killed them. And what was their crime? They were from the Hema tribe, that is all. Then they took the rest of us into the long house and set it alight. They burned the whole village.’ He raised his hands to his lips and blew softly through his finger. ‘And just like that, everyone was gone.’
A bitter smile passed across his face as he pulled the Chinese man to his feet. Fabrice gently slapped his cheeks, as if he were an old friend.
‘This is Africa, my friend. AFRICA.’ He drew out the word, stretching each syllable. ‘And out here, you got to remember one thing – you ain’t the guys with the biggest dicks.’
Chapter 8
THE DULL GLOW from a computer screen flickered across Bear Makuru’s face. She yawned, stretching her back, and stared into the bottom of the cold cup of coffee wondering if she dared take a sip. An insipid brown film clung to the surface of the liquid and she swirled it around for a moment, before carefully balancing the cup back on the pile of food wrappers stacked at the corner of her desk.
Eight padded folders lay on top of one other in a crooked heap, with sheaves of paper poking out at different angles. Each was emblazoned with a heavy stamp reading ‘Accident Report’ and contained confidential information drawn from their mining archives. Bear had been steadily working through them all day, noting down details until the A4 pad perched on her thighs was a mass of scrawls and underlined words.
The files
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