An Entertainment in several parts by James Anderton

© 2002

This story results from suggestions from correspondents that I add more chapters to my earlier story "The Ambassador's Wife". As the idea grew, I decided to incorporate characters from "Vengeance" another of my previous works.

I decided to use a long established literary device used by thriller writers for centuries?, pioneered (on the internet, at least) by Parker and others in their "Bankok Slaver" Stories, by writing a series of linked stories, rather than a lengthy novel. "A Crude Business" can be considered the scene setter for the series, to be known as the "POWER BROKER" stories.

A Crude Business - A Power Broker Story

Prologue: Autumn 1987 - England

Smoke drifted lazily into the air from the end of Gerald Knebworthy's huge Cigar. Before him, a select group of his brightest students, all mellowed by several glasses of good brandy, eager to share with him the conclusions of their private project. It had started as a post-grad joke, three years ago- "Write a business plan to create an organisation which will be the most powerful organisation in the world within 30 years".

Paul Hegarty rose to his feet.

"As Managing Director Designate", he started with a big grin, "I will introduce you to The GODS Corporation,

Global Organisation for the Destruction of Society, bringer of pestilence to the world's major powers".

His audience chuckled, as he launched into his presentation.

"First, what sort of enterprise? Political?, Industrial?, Financial?...".

Knebworthy sat forward in his seat. The guys had delivered...

"... only criminal certain enough,...need a real business plan..."

Knebworthy's mouth fell open. The plan being proposed was exactly the proposition he had come up with, but in a level of detail he had only dreamed about.

"...need seed capital, Rashchid's father could... operating cash from drugs? prostitution?..."

Knebworthy smiled to himself. This was going to work if they all bought into it.

"...all-pervasive power is essential... political... financial... violence... coercion..."

"What about the competition? You don't think people like the Mafia will just let you take over their path do you?" Knebworthy smiled to himself. Typical of Dan Hegarty to put his brother on the spot.

"No, of course not bro. We need new suppliers, new customers, niches, like these..."

Two hours later, Knebworthy, the newly elected CEO of GODS inc. dismissed his board and set them loose on the world.

Cape Town - South Africa 1988

The sun was going down. As it settled slowly against the horizon, two of the three girls sitting on the veranda got up to go. All three of them had been invited to the party, but Mathilde Steenburg didn't want to go. Sharp as a tack, Mathilde had excelled at her studies, graduating in chemistry at the top of her year, but she was still deeply unhappy. She looked across at her friends, blonde, lithe, good looking, laughing joyously about life and inwardly cringed. Mathilde knew she was plain. Not ugly, but always last to be asked to dance, avoided by the good looking young men to whom she was attracted. No, she did not want to sit by herself through another party. Her friend Judy came back to her and pulled at her arm.

"You have to come, Mattie, you need to be seen if you are want that grant for next year."

Mattie knew she was right. Jobs were impossible to come by, even for someone as talented as her. Growing strain within the government, and terror attacks from a few of the black majority were rapidly eroding the White economy. However dissilusioned she might be, she needed the research grant to keep her going until things improved, and good networking was essential. She got up and headed off to get dressed for the occasion.

Professor Wyatt always threw a good party, and as soon as they arrived it became clear that this would be no exception. Unusually, he was a defier of conventions. Black faces mingled with the white. Not many, it was true, but it was still illegal to mix in the wrong areas, and only brave blacks were prepared to run the risk in their search for a multicultural social life. The lights were low, and a disco unit created swirling patterns of colour against a background of throbbing music.

Within minutes Judy and Alice had been whisked off to join the throng of dancers, and as usual Mathilde found herself leaning against a wall, glass in hand, people watching. Time was hanging heavy as people got on with their socialising. If Mathilde had been on her own, she would just have left, but that wasn't an option. Suddenly, things took on a different complexion. Professor Wyatt sauntered across the room with the most stunning man Mathilde had ever seen. He was gorgeous. Tall, slim, but with a body rippling beneath his smartly casual shirt, and with a skin deep coffee coloured giving him the air of a well-to-do, confident businessman.

"Mattie, may I introduce you to Patrick." "He's an English writer, doing a book on our scientific education establishments."

"Pleased to meet you, Mattie." The voice was soft, deep, and welcoming. Mattie responded warmly, as the conversation flowed freely. His questions about her life at university slowly changed focus, becoming more personal as the evening wore on. Time seemed to stand still as their relationship deepened unbelievably quickly. Mattie knew she was falling for him. She wrestled with her feelings. Relationships with blacks was forbidden, but she was having difficulty recognising his colour. All she could perceive was the interest in his eyes and the soft seductive tones of his voice. At the critical point in her deliberations he made his move. He raised his hand, and with the lightest touch, stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles. She nearly fainted at the unexpected delicacy of his touch.

"Please," he murmured "follow me."

As if in a trance, she simply followed, up the stairs, and into a small bedroom at the end of a short corridor. He held her gently in his arms and explained that the next day he had to return to London. The surge of disappointment she felt was quelled by the simple expedient of a kiss. She melted. She yielded her mouth to his, as his tongue probed gently, but insistently around her lips. As he lay her gently back on the bed, he stealthily undid the middle of her button-front dress. She felt the cool press of his hand on the flesh of her waist as his lips moved slowly across her cheek, and down into the crook of her neck.

His hand moved slowly upward, initially cupping her breast through her underwear, then sliding her straps off her shoulder to free her soft skin to his touch. She was losing control now, this was a new experience for her, and the feelings she experienced as his lips gently sucked on her nipple were almost too pleasureable to bear. She had always had her defences planned - don't let him get his hand between your knees, keep his groping to the outside of the thigh - but nothing had prepared her for this.

She felt his lips move down over her stomach, sending little tickling feelings scattering all over her midriff. She didn't even notice his hand slide under the waistband of her knickers, but as his hand continued it's exploration there was no escape from the intense pleasure triggered by the touch of his finger on her clitoris.

Responding to his encouragement, she lifted her hips to allow him to remove her knickers. As he did so,

his lips dropped to her groin and he began to slowly lap at her pussy. Her head back, rocking gently

side-to-side, she struggled for breath. Her whole body seemed to be twitching with desires she had never felt before. Her cunt flushed with the juices of passion, as her legs fell open, inviting him to move on. He moved off her. She clutched deperately trying to pull his head back to her fanny, but he had other things in mind. Sliding his trousers down below his knees, he freed up his dick. Long and thick, he was inordinately proud of it, silently thankful that Mattie would feel it before she saw it. As his lips returned to her neck, he thrust. Gently, but in one smooth stroke, his dick swept into her well lubricated cunt, taking her breath away.

It filled her, she gasped with the shock at it's size, but immediately began to grind her hips against his groin, making every effort to maintain contact between his dick and the centre of her pleasure. Rapidly the heat built, she began to chew on her bottom lip as her head now thrashed from side to side. Her cry of wonder, when it came, must have been heard in Bulawayo. She screamed with pleasure, right into Patrick's ear, as her legs tightened around his waist and her feet drummed uncontrollably on his buttocks. Mathilde had discovered sex.

Norfolk - England 1994

Samantha Roberts was pretty pleased with herself. As owner and chief pilot of Roberts Air Cargo, she was about to cast off the burden of VAT forms and Company returns and get back to flying. Leasing a long distance cargo plane had seemed like a good idea at the time, but it had stood idle for weeks. Then, out of the blue, a saviour had turned up. Mark Harrison, a tall, good looking man would be welcome any time, but bearing a contract for a weekly delivery of machinery spare parts to Africa made him doubly so. Her only problem, a suitable available co-pilot, was solved by the customer himself. The following day, Captain George Dickens turned up, presented his credentials,and volunteered to "get stuck in" straight away by supervising the loading of the first batch of cargo. Dickens was a scruffy, unkempt individual, but had impeccable references, so despite her misgivings, Sam climbed aboard, went through the full gamut of pre-flight checks and set off into the sun.

Two hours out, however, Dickens went AWOL. Sam, concerned about the safety of her flight, found her worst fears confirmed when he returned an hour later, clearly the worse for wear. The smell of alcohol made her turn her head away, and his aggressive response made her decision to leave him alone and get on with flying, a good one. Another hour and almost a full bottle of vodka later, he collapsed in a drunken stupor, leaving Sam alone with her thoughts as she flew onwards.

Earlier that morning, Mark Harrison pushed his way through the double doors of the Stardust club, took the stairs two at a time and bounced into his boss's office. Steve Washington, Six foot four of mean, looked up in anticipation.

"Whats up man?

"Nothing, boss. Just thought you would like to know that the bird is on her way."

"Fully loaded? Dickens on board? Excellent!"

In the outer office, Jane Harrison (nee Janey Jeavons) sat staring at the wall. Her life was a mess. Hooked on coke by her now husband Mark, she had been raped, made to perform with animals, used as a whore, and finally forced into a marriage of convenience to the man responsible for her troubles just to protect her stepfather's reputation. Still she needed a fix, and there was only one way she could get it.

As Harrison left, Washington reached for the phone. It had been more than six years in the making. With the help of oil money from Raschids father, the Emir, the big plan was just about to take off to another level. For too long his operation had relied on small shipments at sporadic intervals to establish his business. Now the demand required volume. It was time for the first bulk shipment. Dialling the international number that would connect him to his "brother" Samuel, he rattled off the details, re-assured himself that Samuel's men knew what was necessary and sat back to wait. It would only take a few days.

Mark closed the door behind him leaving the boss to make his call. Janey got up out of her chair and pleaded with him.

"Just one, Mark, I'm your wife for Gods sake".

"Listen, bitch, the only reason we're married is to protect your Stepfathers reputation so don't push your luck!"

"Please?"

"Fuck off!"

The door slammed behind him.

Jane sat, shaking, getting up the courage to ask Steve. She walked acoss the floor, knocked quietly at the door, and stuck her head nervously into the room. Steve was sitting with his back to the door, concluding a phone call. He waved his hand to indicate the chair, leaving her to pad quietly across the room and take a seat. He hung up , turned, and slowly smiled as he saw her sitting there, waiting.

"Long time Jane"

" I know , Steve, and I know you told me never to come back, but Mark won't talk to me, and I need someone to help me. You know I will do anything to get my fix..."

She blushed with the shame of what she had done before, but she knew that she would have to make a special effort if Steve were to get her what she needed. Putting on her sexiest look, she slowly unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse. When Steve told her to stop she almost panicked, but he reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a small packet of white powder and a business card.

"Thats to hold you over." "Be at that address at 9.00pm tonight. Don't be late, and tell no-one."

"OK., and thanks."

Perigord - Gujanga 1994

The heat and dust were getting to him. Bouncing around in the back of his Landrover, President Samuel Mwamba wondered to himself what the hell was he doing holding the meeting out at the farm instead of his air-conditioned office in Gujanga city. The farm was unique. Named "Perigord", presumeably to remind the previous owners, the Rochas, of home, it bore no similarity to its namesake. Apart from being the largest in Gujanga, it had two distinct halves. One was typical african plain. Dry for most of the year, but lush and green through the two rainy seasons, it was ideal for traditional cattle rearing which formed the basis of the farms legitimate (and public) business. It was the other half, however, which was the reason for his interest. A sharp escarpment ran through the middle of the property leading to steep slopes of semi-tropical bush and forest, ideal not for traditional horticulture, but for the growing of Mwambas cash crop... the coca bush.

The GODS business plan required a supply of drugs. Traditional sources were sewn up by the cartels so a new source had to be develope from scratch. It was the misfortune of Eduardo Rochas, and his French-born wife Alexandra to own the farm. When Mwamba set his henchman, Major Ibo Ngoro on the job, he had no idea just how effective the abuse of power could be.

It was Ngoro who had accused Eduardo of treason, beat him, subjected his wife to sexual abuse of the worst kind, confiscated the farm and finally threatened them with death. Eduardo eventually was allowed to return to the farm as "Manager", his organisational skills put to new use growing cocaine. His wife also returned to the farm, as housekeeper for the notional owner, Tembo, one of Ngoro's secret service agents and trusted follower. It was Tembo who welcomed him as his Landrover slid to a halt.

"Welcome, Sir, the others are already in the study."

"Thank you, Tembo. I will call you when we need your report."

He strode purposefully across the well-appointed hallway and pushed open the study door. Three of the men inside stood to meet him. The fourth, Ngoro, remained seated, his shorts round his ankles whilst the head of a young woman bobbed furiously up and down servicing his giant cock.

Mwamba crossed the floor, a big smile on his face, and signalled the girl to leave.

"For Gods sake, Ibo, don't you know there's a time and place for everything?"

"I sure do, boss." grinned an unrepentant Ngoro. " I just can't find time for meetings..."

Cape Town - South Africa 1988

"Jesus Christ". Judy Bergsson jumped to her feet and backed away from the splintered door. Four uniformed figures leapt through the door, automatic rifles at the ready.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing!" she screamed at the top of her voice.

A fifth figure, in plain clothes walked slowly across the room. Stopping in front of her he smiled a slow, scary smile. Before she saw it coming, he backhanded her across the room bouncing her against the wall. She slid to the floor in shock, her legs splayed, her nightie sliding up to reveal all to the intruders' gaze.

Scary smile raised his hand, and without a word being spoken, the uniformed policemen left, closing what was left of the door behind them.

"Where is she" he hissed, looking down his broken, stubby nose at the cowering girl below him.

"Who" Judy asked innocently.

"Don't get fucking clever with me, bitch". "Your flatmate, Mathilde Steenburg"."I'm told she fucks Blacks."

"She's not here."

Scary Smile leaned down, gathered a handful of her nightdress and hauled her up the wall,leaving her dangling, feet off the floor, virtually naked.

"I didn't ask if she was here, did I." "I know she's not here, I asked where she is."

Judy hung there, terrified, unable to issue any more than a squeak. Scary smile lowered his face to hers.

His free hand moved to cup her naked breast, and his knee pushed between hers, forcing her thighs apart.

Judy's hands let go of the wrist at her throat, and she began thashing about, desperate to release his grip.

"Put your hands down"

Judy couldn't believe how evil he could sound. Instinctively her hands lowered to her side. His free hand tightened his grip on her breast until it was almost unbearable, drawing tears from her eyes. His grip released, but his hand set off on an inexorable journey toward the junction of her thighs.

"No." "Please." "I would tell you if I knew."

His hand completed it's journey, cupping her mound and insinuating it's middle finger into the folds of her labia. Her inevitable struggle simply made things worse, helping him enter, and then tear at the walls of her cunt. Tears of frustration and anger rolled down her cheeks as, for a moment, she thought he would stop. She should be so lucky...

"No!" "NO!" "AAAAaaarrrggghh

Within seconds, his other leg joined the first, spreading hers still further. He had taken the opportunity to free his dick, and as she relaunched her struggle, Judy felt him push himself deep inside her. Fear ensured that her cuntwalls were as dry as sticks, and within seconds his thrusts began to cause irritation and pain.

"Where is the bitch?" "Where is the bitch?" "Where is she?"

"OOph!" "I don't know." "OOph!" "I would tell you if I knew." "OOOph!"

The pain was unbearable. Her cunt was sore, the back of her hips rubbed raw by the rough wall, and the back of her head ached from the rhythmical banging induced by his thrusts.

"Please...Stop!"

The gush of his climax took both of them by surprise. He stepped back as he withdrew, dropping her unceremoniously onto the floor. Fastening his pants, he swivelled on his heels, and strode towards the door.

"Tell her!" "Cunts who shag blacks have nowhere to hide." "I'll be back!"

Robana Airport _ Gujanga 1994

Sam Roberts was beginning to get concerned. She had been sitting on the chair in the small reception room for nearly two hours and still had her cargo manifests on the table in front of her. The heat was oppressive, and her decision to wear Company uniform added nothing to her comfort.

She had removed her jacket as soon as she stepped in the room, but now, perspiration had created damp patches on her starched white blouse. She removed her tie, placed it in the pocket of her jacket, loosened the top three buttons of her blouse, and sighed with frustration.

The door opened quietly behind her, as two uniformed officers and two soldiers in fatigues came into the room. She stood up as the two soldiers stood either side of the door, The younger officer took her chair, twisted it around and sat on it backwards, his arms folded in front of him across the chair back.

The older officer sat on the chair opposite her and introduced himself as Captain Mpenza.

"Well, Samantha, you've been a naughty girl, I see".

Sam looked at him in disbelief.

"My name is Captain Roberts, to you, and I would be obliged if you would refrain from patronising me."

"I will call you whatever I like, Samantha," he intoned, pompously stressing her name for effect. "You are in serious trouble, so you had better get used to it."

Sam's mouth dropped open in amazement then horror as he quietly informed her about the search of her cargo, the discovery of AK47s, Dickens' confession that they were destined for the rebels, and his assertion that Sam was a major player.

"So you see, young lady, we have a cast iron case, which has already been heard in our local court, and you have been sentenced to death."

Sam stared at him, her mind working overtime as the full implications of his words began to sink in.

"You can't do that, I'm a British Citizen, and demand to see my Ambassador."

"I'm afraid that will not be possible", he answered evenly. "This is only a small country, you have only a small Trade delegation who have already decided not to take an interest in your case - It is too politically and economically sensitive."

Sam was panicking now. As she stepped forward to protest her innocence she found her arms pinned to her side by the two soldiers. She needed to think,...get some time.

"I must have the right to appeal", she muttered, almost under her breath.

"Only the President himself can overturn this decision, and I certainly am not going to ask him in this case."

To her left, the tall figure of the younger officer stepped in front of her. Despite his age, he was clearly the senior of the two, and, towering over her, he raised his hand and cupped her chin, drawing her eyes to his.

"I might" he said.

Birmingham - England 1994

Jane sat slumped in a corner. The address Steve had given her proved to be an almost abandoned block of flats in the seedier part of town. The damned elevator was out of commission, it's broken door jammed half open, stinking of urine and worse. She took the stairs. In her condition, the climb was a trial. Her last fix had worn off, she felt dreadful, her temperature high, her joints aching, she was desperate for a fix.

Now that she had reached the flat, she rang the doorbell. No Reply.

Panic struck. Wildly she pushed at the door, which opened under her assault. A frantic search of the place revealed nothing but an empty slum. The place stank. A mouldy carpet and cold gasfire were the only furnishings in the larger room, and apart from a cooker and a couple of cupboards the kitchen was in just as bad a state. The effort was all too much. Tears of despair ran down her face as she slumped against the wall.

She didn't hear the man enter the flat, closing the door behind him.

"Hello, Jane", he said softly.

"Clyde? What do you want, get lost, I never want to see you again".

Clyde smiled.

"I'm not surprised after what you did to the Great Dane last time we met, but Steve sent me with this".

Jane looked across at the package he was holding in his hand. There was more H than she had ever seen.

"Great, give it here". "I knew Steve wouldn't let me down".

Clyde smiled again.

" Not so fast, bitch", his tone harder now that he had her attention. "It needs to be paid for".

Janey knew it couldn't be that simple. These bastards never let you alone. She smiled as sexy a smile as she could muster.

"I don't have any money, can we do a deal?"

"Same old Janey, eh?" "What have you got to offer, as if I couldn't guess?"

"Please, Clyde, don't make me do it, I need the stuff"

"Shut the fuck up, bitch, and get on you knees". "If I remember well you love it that way."

Jane moved away from the wall, and lowered herself to her knees.

"Turn around"

"Pull your skirt up"

"Knickers to your knees"

"Face on the floor"

Jane waited, face down on the stinking carpet.

Clyde pulled a hypodermic from the package he was carrying, took off the cap and inserted it into Jane's buttock. Taken completely by surprise, Jane squealed as he depressed the plunger. Her hands reached instinctively behind her to protect herself, but it was to no avail. A simple push with the sole of his boot, and she slumped in a heap face down on the carpet. Casually Clyde pulled up her knickers, lowered her dress, and rolled her over onto her back. Leaving her to sleep, he walked across into the kitchen, switched on the gas and returned. Taking a telephone from his bag, he plugged it into the wall socket and left, closing the door behind him.

The blast, when it came, took out more than half the twelve storey block. Clyde was not around to watch it.

Cape Town - South Africa 1988

The insistent ringing of the doorbell echoed through the house. John Wyatt left his guest and padded across the wooden floor.

"Good God, Mathilde, you're shaking. What brings you here at this time of night?"

It was a good quarter of an hour before they could get any sense out of the distraught girl.

"My flatmate... the police raped her...they were looking for me...They know about Patrick... they said they would come for me...I don't know what to do."

She was sitting in his study. As she poured out her story, Professor Wyatt listened intently. His guest, a tall, handsome black man dressed in a dark suit also hung on every word as Mathilde described her finding Judy slumped on the floor of their flat covered in blood and semen.

"Why are you worried girl?"

The soft dark tones of his voice startled her, surely he knew that she had broken the law by sleeping with a black man.

"They will arrest me, treat me like Judy, but they will also ruin my career. I will never be able to get a job, and they won't let me leave the country."

"Tell me what you do, child."

"I'm not a child. I have a Phd in Chemistry, and I need a research grant to continue working. Jobs are not easily come by."

"What's your speciality?"

"Chemical Synthesis."

"Then why not come and work for me?"

Mathilde looked at him as though he was crackers.

"What would you want with a chemist, and how could you protect me from the police?"

"General Mwamba is not South African, Mathilde. He is President of the Independant republic of Gujanga."

"That's right young lady, and I'm here to ask Professor Wyatt for help in finding a production manager for a small pharmaceuticals venture we intent to start-up. He had just suggested your name when you turned up. Perhaps the gods are smiling on me. I can offer a good salary, excellent prospects, your own workforce, and, most importantly, sanctuary."

Mathilde stared at him, unable to comprehend her good luck, as he continued.

"I'm leaving for my home at first light in the morning. Smuggling you across the border as diplomatic baggage will be no problem, but I suggest you stay here the night if you intend to join me."

"I will," spluttered Mathilde, taking the opportunity before she thought too much about it. Memories of poor Judy flashed through her head, taking away any need for further thought. "I will."

Wyatt's maid appeared as if by magic as the discussion ended.

"Ah, there you are Joceline, please see Doctor Steenburg to the spare room." "Oh," he added as an afterthought, "see if you can find her some appropriate clothes for a week or so in the bush. That should do don't you think."

As Mathilde vanished up the stairs, Wyatt raised his glass to Mwamba.

"Perhaps we should drink a toast to the gods?"

"Don't forget that the Gods had a little help, professor." "Here's to our friend Inspector Walwijk."

"I second that," whispered a voice, as their friend, Scary Smile, joined them in a toast.

Robana Airport - Gujanga 1994

Samantha Roberts was not a stupid woman. She stared up into the deep brown eyes of the officer. Her mind was whirring, control had returned, options were being considered. It was pretty clear what he wanted, and it was equally certain that he would ignore her wishes in the matter. She knew the real threat was violence. That frightened her enough to make her mind up to co-operate. Putting on her most innocent expression she explained that she had nothing but the deepest respect for the Gujangan authorities, and pleaded with him to intercede with the President on her behalf.

"I might, but that depends on you"

"What do you want from me?" she murmured, "I've told you the truth"

"I will need much more than that".

"Please, send the others away, and I will fully cooperate"

He smiled at her, bent his head and whispered in her ear.

"They are staying! and you are going to show your respect, starting with Mpenza here". He grabbed a handful of her hair, and, none too gently pulled her acround the side of the table and stood her in front of the older officer. "Why don't you show him how much you want to leave".