Dictator by Tom Cain Page B

more glasses and fresh supplies of whisky. ‘And I was about to tell him how I used to think I was making the world a better place by taking out the bad guys. Then I realized that it made no difference. The world carried on just like it had before. And I had more deaths on my conscience.’
    Klerk gave a snort of disgust. ‘Don’t get wishy-washy on me now, man. You weren’t this squeamish when you rescued my niece. You plugged plenty of the bastards then, and a bloody good thing too.’
    Tshonga accepted the whisky that Terence offered him, gave a nod that indicated both thanks and dismissal, then said, ‘No, Wendell, Mr Carver has a point. It is one thing for us to wish an evil man dead, it is quite another to be the one who actually has to kill him. But think of all the people who have died because of this man. Do they not deserve retribution? Think of the people who will die because of him. Do they not deserve to be saved? On their behalf, Mr Carver, I implore you, rid the world of this monster.’
    ‘Suppose I did. Suppose you and your party took power. What then? Any way you dress it up, you’re planning the murder of a head of state. Doesn’t sound like a good precedent to be setting if you plan on taking his job. Someone might decide to get rid of you the same way. And you claim to be a democrat. What kind of democrat becomes president by assassination?’
    ‘The kind who has discovered that it’s not enough to win elections,’ said Tshonga. ‘I have tried to do this in the proper fashion. I have fought elections honestly, even though Gushungo sends his thugs to disrupt my rallies and attack my supporters; even though his men threaten and intimidate voters; even though the final counts are corrupt; even though it cost me my son. I have done that and won a majority, against all the odds. But then he refuses to accept the result. He denies the truth. He spits in the face of the electorate. And no one has the power to stop him. Believe me, Mr Carver, if there were a way to remove the President by legal means, I would find it and pursue it. But there is not. I have therefore been forced to conclude that the only way to save the lives of our people, who are dying every day of disease and starvation, is to kill the man who is causing all this suffering. And if you think that is wrong, I would ask you: why is it worse to kill one evil man, so that innocent people can be saved, than to let him live and condemn those people to death? Why are their lives worth so much less than his?’
    ‘That’s a very powerful argument, Mr Tshonga,’ said Carver. ‘But I don’t hear you making it in public. I don’t see the rest of the world’s politicians nodding their heads and agreeing. None of you people can afford to be seen to support the assassination of a national leader. So you’re asking me to do something you don’t even have the guts to talk about outside this room.’
    ‘You are right, Mr Carver, I cannot get up in public and say that the President should die. But that does not make any difference to my argument. It is still better to cause one evil leader to die than to let an entire nation perish.’
    Carver nodded, taking the point. ‘Maybe, but what about you, Klerk? Don’t even try to tell me you’re doing this for the good of humankind. What’s in it for you?’
    ‘Tantalum,’ Klerk replied, with typical bluntness. ‘You know what that is?’
    ‘Sounds like some kind of designer drug,’ said Carver.
    Klerk laughed. ‘Well, there are certainly people who are addicted to it. But they are industrialists, not junkies. Tantalum is a very hard, very dense metal. It is a superb conductor of electricity and heat, and incredibly resistant to acid. Mixed with steel, it makes alloys of unusual strength and flexibility. You could say it is a wonder-metal.’
    ‘That’s the science lesson,’ said Carver. ‘How about the economics?’
    Klerk smiled. ‘Ah, yes, the money. Well, tantalum is particularly