Slagging About In Somalia

I did not expect to be away for so long, but, as the saying goes, shit happens. While I am not in a position to tell the whole story -- certain government officials would be furious -- I can, however, relate the gist.

At the request of Irving, my Mossad-trained butler, and Matilda Hatt of the CIA, I was asked to accompany them and some colleagues to Mogadishu in Somalia. Apparently some U235 had gone astray from Russia, and had surfaced in Somalia waiting for the right price. This uranium was weapons grade, and the buyer at the head of the line was Iran. Needless to say, the Israelis took a dim view of such a transaction, as did the Americans. My role in all this was to watch from a vantage point with my Erma SR100 and ensure that the extraction went smoothly.

How we entered the city I cannot relate, but once in, I, Tilly, Irving and a colleague of his named simply Bak adopted a rather neat disguise. We aged ourselves, and slowly made our way along one of the main streets, avoiding the various pot holes, barricades and what have you that make Mogadishu such a charming place.

The armed patrols that careened along from time to time didn't give us a second glance. Four poor, elderly Somalis tottering along, the men in front, Tilly and I behind in our naquibs, were non-existent to the clans that run Mogadishu. When we reached the half-wrecked building where the uranium was guarded (Israeli intelligence doesn't make errors in this regard) we waited for the show to begin.

It was evening, and suddenly, down by the waterfront, an explosion. This got the attention of everyone, but the guards at the building were well-trained (or terrified of breaking orders) and stayed put. No matter -- more was in store, for we knew what was coming.

After the explosion, a wide beam of white light appeared from the sky, and out of it, a white-clothed figure of a bearded man emerged, stating in flawless Somali that he was The Prophet returned, and that he was mightily displeased. One of the clan leaders, not taken aback as were others, raised his AK47 and fired a burst at the figure. The bullets went right through, and the figure began quoting various suras from the Qu'ran on the futility of mindless violence. The growing crowd, hearing this, fell to their knees. Of course The Prophet would be beyond earthly attack!

Word was also spreading throughout the city that The Prophet had arrived, and people were flocking to the site. To such news, the guards at the building were not immune. What was uranium when put against hearing the words of The Prophet? They left, Tilly, Irving and Bak entered, and before long emerged with a heavy lead canister. One armed patrol, oblivious at this point to The Prophet's appearance, happened round the corner,saw this and made to investigate. My Erma came into action, and the investigation came to a sudden and abrupt halt.

We made our way out of the city, and were picked up by some very helpful Americans in a Blackhawk helicopter, one (this time) that went up instead of down.

At the seaside, The Prophet continued to lecture the clans on the errors of indiscriminate killing, the value of peaceful negotiation, and, where women were concerned, that Allah saw them as people rather than chattel. He urged, as well, that the Qu'ran should be read intelligently, not brandished about as a foundation for jihad.

How long all that went on I didn't know. What I did know was that the laser-driven holography being sent down from an overhead AWAK was finite, and at some point the power would give out. I will watch and listen carefully to see if this little event makes any difference on the ground. Probably not. Poor Somalia.

At home, Sir Harry was soon on the secure line, apoplectic with fury.

"You were told no more field work! Now this! I'm afraid I'll have to inform the PM."

"Oh I have already talked to Gordon. He thought it was an excellent idea. Also, he is quite interested in doing some consulting work for me. After all, my sugar beet enterprise keeps on going, the money is getting complex, and Gordon does understand finance. This, of course, after that young Billy Cameron has his day in the sun."

"I despair," moaned Sir Harry.

"Now what you need to do," I replied, , "is to relax somewhere at a place where girls in diaphanous veils bring you orange sherbet. Among other things."

There was a long silence. Then he said, in a hoarse voice, "You may very well be right."