Target Response by William W. Johnstone, J. A. Johnstone Page B

minister, in his midforties, had a soccer ball–shaped head and a pair of jug handle ears. His head seemed as wide as it was long. His scalp and cruel, thick-featured face were clean-shaven. His eyebrows came to points in the centers, giving him a satanic look. Perched atop his shining skull at a jaunty angle was his trademark leopard-skin fez.
    Tayambo wore a custom-tailored khaki uniform whose knife-edged creases were kept in place with ironing and plenty of starch. It was no mean feat to look sharp in Lagos’s sultry climate beyond the palace’s coolly air-conditioned confines.
    The defense minister wielded a bamboo-handled horsetail fly whisk. The palace was more or less free of flies; the whisk was a traditional symbol of authority. When crossed or irked, Tayambo was wont to slash the whisk across the face of the offending party.
    Seated below him on both sides of the long conference table were eleven lesser ministerial officers, along with the vice president.
    About half of the functionaries wore military uniforms; the others wore civilian clothes. Of the latter group, some wore Western-style suits and ties, and the rest wore more traditional folkloric garb, dashiki shirts with colorful prints.
    “The next order of business is the matter of the new port facility being built on the coast by the MYRMEX group,” the cabinet secretary announced, reading from a printed roster of the day’s issues at hand.
    “The matter is decided,” Tayambo said. “The port will be sold to our good friends from the People’s Republic of China.”
    His flat declaration left little to no room for discussion. Several ministers of other departments exchanged glances and stirred uncomfortably in their seats, but none seemed inclined to dispute the matter.
    Tayambo thrust his head forward on the end of a thick bull neck, gimlet eyes scanning both sides of the table, searching for dissent.
    The few restive officials in the room sat stone-faced and very still.
    Vice President Johnny Lisongu nervously cleared his throat. Tayambo glared at him.
    “Excellency, might it not be more prudent to lease the property to the Chinese, rather than sell it outright?” Lisongu ventured to ask.
    “No! There is no new port facility unless the Chinese continue financing the construction, and they won’t do that unless they hold title to the land,” Tayambo said, in a harsh, no-nonsense tone.
    The vice president sat too far away for Tayambo to hit him with the fly whisk and Tayambo feared that he might miss if he threw it. Instead, he went off on a tirade.
    “It’s a good site, an excellent natural harbor,” Tayambo said. “It will make an ideal transshipment point to offload our shipments of oil. We’ll run a pipeline to the refinery and storage tanks, all of which will be built by MYRMEX and paid for by our Chinese friends.
    “They have the resources. Most of all, they have the funds. China is the coming world leader in the next generation and MY RMEX is their chosen instrument in this sector. China and MYRMEX combined, who can withstand their power?”
    From outside the room came a dull crumping sound, a heavy thud. Nothing major but enough to make the assembled dignitaries glance away and turn toward the windows overlooking the courtyard.
    A beat or two later came a tremendous booming blast. It shook the windows and doors. Had they not been made of thick plate glass and been so solidly set in their black iron frames, they might have been jarred loose.
    The conference room also shook. Water pitchers and glasses on the table jumped into the air. The chandelier suspended from the ceiling on a chain jingled, swayed pendulum-like.
    A column of smoke and fire uncoiled in the courtyard, thrusting skyward.
    “Palace coup! The army has turned against us!—” one of the ministers said, voicing the great omnipresent fear of them all, including Tayambo, who as Minister of Defense well knew that the military was well stocked with ruthlessly ambitious