Devil’s Harvest Page 31

  Gabriel felt his voice quiver and he paused, deliberately reaching for a glass of water to break the tension that had gripped his tongue. A number of students appeared to be gaping in disbelief at the emotional unbundling of their new professor. And the challenge that he was laying down. There were more glances cast in the direction of Todd and his associate. Hargreaves had crumpled a tissue in his hand.

  ‘In a moment I’ll bore you with a summary of the scientific conclusions reached in our research. And you will applaud politely, as is required, and leave, not to give it another moment of thought. But before we slide into this routine paraphrasing of facts and accomplishments, let me ask you to indulge me a little further.

  ‘Firstly, with Professor Symington’s blessing, I’d like to announce the establishment of a new unit within the faculty. It will be devoted to the investigation of crop diseases, particularly in the developing world, with a view to evolving sustainable combative practices. In addition to research, the unit will provide a mandatory module in the second year of the biological sciences undergraduate programme, and a postgraduate diploma in crop sciences. It will, I believe, rightfully situate the study of botany in the public domain.

  ‘Secondly, then, may I ask the following people please to stand.’

  Gabriel proceeded to read out the names of his research assistants, his associates, Brian Hargreaves, Professor Symington, the laboratory technicians. At the end he also named Mrs Thebes, who seemed flustered for the first time in her life, giving a little deprecating ‘ooh’ and rising to her feet with a clatter of falling glasses.

  ‘While these persons are on their feet, I would also like to mention the following persons, who are not here today. Professor Abdurahman Ismail, University of Khartoum, Sudan. Professor Chong Wei Jin from the University of Zhejiang, China. In collaboration with the Universities of Bristol, Khartoum and Zhejiang, and with the assistance of the ministry of science and technology of the Republic of South Sudan, I can announce the culmination of our cooperative research project. And, with mixed feelings of pride and sadness, I can share with you the taxonomic name of the new species of Arabidopsis identified in Northern Bahr al Ghazal and Unity State in South Sudan. As you’ll hear shortly, the plant represents a significant in loco example of biological adaptation to warming conditions and associated soil alterations. This plant forms the subject matter of our collaborative research paper focusing on its implications for agriculture both in north-east Africa and the globe, given the challenges of the changing global environment.’

  Gabriel clicked on the first slide of the PowerPoint presentation and the photograph of Alek was replaced with the photograph of a flowering Arabidopsis that had been his screen saver. At the top of the photograph appeared the plant’s new taxonomic name.

  Arabidopsis alek.

  It took a moment for the significance to sink in, and some in the audience remained baffled. But a hushed undertone rose, as those who understood pointed out the name to others around them. The noise faltered, the audience unsure of how to react. Then a loud snort emanated from Hargreaves as he plunged his reddened nose into a tissue. It was the outburst the tension needed to break, the crowd mistaking it for an ill-repressed shout of approval. They started clapping, initially a polite slapping of hands, but soon enthusiasm overtook them and the students started drumming on the desktops, hooting and shouting while the staff applauded effusively.

  Those not applauding were notable: Todd and the ministry man remained stony-faced; Jane appeared to be crying; Mrs Thebes was cleaning her glasses. The noise from the auditorium rose further.

  Were they honouring a woman they had never met, Gabriel wondered, battling to hold back his tears. And a woman they may not have liked very much at that? Yet the applause grew still louder and the students managed to shout above the din of hands smacking together. It became more ferocious, an expelling of complicit shame, of loss and inexplicable sadness.

  They are clapping for themselves, Alek would have told him. It’s foolishness to call a plant after a person. It’s just words that help no one. He smiled at the thought of her haughty response, walking away, sternly unapproving of the frivolity. But he also imagined a lighter step to her long stride as she went. And she was wrong. They weren’t clapping for themselves, or even for her. Nor for him. But rather for a frail instance of shared humanity. And the hope that, for a moment, the world might be more bearable for it.

  * * *

  Gabriel detected the floral aftershave before the man even appeared in the doorway of his office.

  ‘Come in, Todd,’ he said without looking up.

  He heard the man scrape a chair closer to the table. This wasn’t to be the brief exchange that he’d hoped for. Todd’s green tie seemed to flash as if lit by neon from within. The coif of his hair was gelled to the consistency of concrete and moved in unison with his head.

  Mrs Thebes walked into the room with perfect timing, carrying the UPS parcel she’d been storing at home. She glared at Todd as she placed it on the desk between the two men.

  ‘I don’t know who you are or what you’ve done, but you should be ashamed of yourself … wearing a tie like that.’ She hmphed to herself and turned to leave, giving Gabriel a startling but unmistakable wink as she left. Todd seemed quite nonplussed by her accusation, sliding his hand down the length of his silk tie reassuringly.

  ‘There’s your bloody evidence, as I promised,’ Gabriel said. ‘Now take it and get out.’

  The MI6 agent did not move from his chair, instead placing his fingertips together in some kind of thoughtful position of prayer. ‘We’ve been impressed by you, Professor Cockburn … Gabriel, if I may.’

  There was no move to acquiesce to this geniality on Gabriel’s part.

  ‘You handled yourself well in South Sudan, by all accounts. You showed ingenuity. Composed during the interview. Overall it was a competent … more than competent performance.’

  Gabriel felt his shoulders start to tense. He sat up in his chair, his eyes focused on the dapper dresser in front of him.

  ‘We’d like you to continue with your good work. But this time looking out for the interests of Her Majesty and this country.’

  ‘Stop right there, Todd.’

  ‘Are you not a patriot, Gabriel? Do you not carry your country’s interests close to you?’

  ‘In my experience, Todd, patriotism is a notion invoked by avaricious men and governments looking to justify their trampling of the rights of ordinary citizens, both at home and abroad. When spoken from your mouth it is synonymous with jingoism and the very worst of subjugation. Do you really expect me to play a role in your new enslavement?’

  ‘It’s a pity that you see it that way.’

  Todd seemed sincerely disappointed. He stood and picked up the UPS parcel. He held it on his flat palm, as if assessing its weight and potential contents.

  ‘But I’ll not push it. We had a deal and we’ll stick to our end. You’ll not see me again.’

  ‘I can’t say that’ll worry me unduly.’

  Todd turned and with a stiff stride walked out of his office. Gabriel thought he heard Mrs Thebes hiss at him as he passed, but he couldn’t be sure. It was done. The last of the conditions fulfilled, the evidence taken from his possession. There was nothing further he could achieve now.

  Gabriel stared at the picture on his computer screen. The ochre rocks obscured her feet, but her thin calves gleamed in the sunlight. Her face seemed almost serene, though he knew she had just been crying. Perhaps it was relief that she’d felt, the knowledge that it was coming to an end. Or perhaps, he hoped, that she knew, at that moment as she looked down on him picking his way through the carnage with his camera, that she had finally shared her burden. That he had picked up the mantle. That she was no longer alone.

  He moved the computer mouse and the photograph disappeared, replaced with an internet page with the flight schedule for Kenya Airways. Juba had given him leave to grieve, but the place haunted him, refusing
to unclasp her hands from his heart. Now it was time to return. He needed to sit at the humid bar listening to Rasta’s reggae, the smell of frankincense tickling in his nostrils. There was a market to explore. And he had a generator’s installation to check on. There was cheap whisky that needed sharing under a star-filled sky with a mad Scot with wild hair.

  It was time to visit Alek once more.

  Acknowledgements

  Due to the sensitive security circumstances in South Sudan, it is not possible for me to acknowledge all of those who helped me while I was researching this book. To all those courageous, unnamed people, who each day risk their health and their lives to do good work, and who nevertheless took time to guide me, my deepest thanks, admiration and respect. To those SPLA men and women, the exiles, the insiles, the refugees and the former IDPs, for sharing your extraordinary stories, I hope only for your strength and health in the years ahead.

  Of those who are comfortable to be named, my thanks to Aisha Mundwa Justin Waja of Juba, whose stories are woven throughout the text of this book and who will always hold my warmest respect and admiration. To Daud Gideon in Juba and Father Peter Othow in Malakal for your generosity and patience in assisting me to get around the Upper Nile Province, and to Mike Pothier for putting me in touch with them. To Francis (and his dedicated team) at the UNHCR Transition Camp for returnees at Malakal for your patience and your stories. My gratitude to Ellen Vermeulen of Amnesty International, whose courage and commitment to ‘getting the bad guys’ is an example to us all. To those other members of Amnesty International who I cannot name: may your determination eventually wake the world from its slumber.

  To Rasta behind the bar (a fellow fan of Dire Straits, the Police and any good reggae), mad bad Robin in front of house, Christopher and John in the office at Bedouin Lodge: the warm welcome and cold beer are among my fondest memories of my visits to a tragic and beautiful country. Claire and Michael from the British Council, working hard in the SPLA camps in Juba: thank you for always keeping a friendly eye out for me.

  My thanks to Frances Cartwright (School of Biological Sciences, University of Bristol) and to Barbara Costello (Biological Sciences Library, University of Bristol) for their generous help during my visit to the university.

  To my editor, Martha Evans, and Robert Plummer and Marlene Fryer of my publishers, I am always so grateful for your support, your loyalty and your belief.

  I remain, as always, deeply indebted to my wife, Patti, and my three children for their love and support, and the time that they generously afford me to continue my literary endeavours, this time putting up with me being away and uncontactable in foreign lands.

  This book is dedicated to my father-in-law, Dr Maurice Silbert (who makes a cameo appearance as Air Marshal Bartholomew’s general practitioner): you remain the epitome of humility and compassion to which we can but all only aspire.

  This is a work of fiction. The events depicted here are not based on actual incidents. However, the government in Khartoum is undeniably conducting a cynical campaign of ethnic cleansing that has been described as a new genocide in Nuba and South Kordofan. If you are interested in following these events more closely, I can recommend the website www.nubareports.org as well as the websites run by UNHCR and Satellite Sentinel Project which seek to track and expose the atrocities being committed by Bashir’s regime.

  ANDREW BROWN

  CAPE TOWN

  MARCH 2014

  Glossary

  aiwa: yes

  ajam: barbarians

  Akondi ti momondu inasiku ko ponda tinate: there’s no problem just waiting for that time, thank you

  Allahu akbar: God is greatest

  ana kwais: I am well

  boet: brother

  braaied: barbecued

  ghazzua: a rapid military raid carried out in enemy territory or on innocents, or those who carry out such raids

  IDP: internally displaced person

  insile: person who has remained in the country

  Janjaweed: evil horsemen, a semi-organised mounted militia paid by Khartoum, notorious for attacks on south Sudanese civilians before secession

  luaak: cattle byre with conical roof

  MSF: Médecins Sans Frontières

  Muonyjieng: broad Dinka tribe

  SAF: Sudan Armed Forces

  salaam alaikum: good morning

  shukran jazeelan: thank you very much

  skraal: scrawny

  SPLA: Sudan People’s Liberation Army

  SPLM: Sudan People’s Liberation Movement

  UNESCO: United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization

  UNHCR: United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees

  wadi: riverbed, non-permanent water course, usually dry

  WFP: World Food Programme

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  Black, David R., and Paul D. Williams. The International Politics of Mass Atrocities: The Case of Darfur. Oxon: Routledge, 2010.

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