Evensong

On the evening of October 18, the social function postponed from the previous night took place. Like the eve-of-summit reception, it was held in the Conference Centre. This time, however, the media were allowed in.

The music was a compilation of old African recordings: mostly Congolese Rumba, with artists like Awilo Longomba and Koffi Olomide. The style was Big Band, with jazz and Cuban influences: trumpets, saxophones, drums (Western and African), keyboards, and guitars. Joyous, affirming music, upbeat and foot-tapping and infectious.

But it was out of place with the mood of the evening. The summit was collapsing.

Tucked into the middle of the compilation was a song called Ebale Ya Zaire, written by Simaro Lutumba. There was the same big band lineup, but this time it alternated with a solo voice and a single guitar. The singer was Sam Mangwana. His voice was distinctive and wistful. Anwar spoke several languages fluently, but had only a working knowledge of Lingala—enough, however, to identify the words.

The deep river changes its course with the seasons...

Anwar almost laughed out loud. Someone with a sense of irony had put this compilation together. Water rights disputes often arose because one state dammed or diverted a river, stopping water from reaching states downriver. They would claim that they weren’t deliberately diverting the river, that it changed course naturally with the changing seasons. And more irony—this song wasn’t about just any river, but the deepest in the world, and one of the largest: the River Zaire.

And, later in the song, two other lines:

The one you reject, is the one who ends up loving you the most.

The one you run away from, chases after you the most...

Love. It probably didn’t exist, but if it did, it came and went with a deliberate perversity of timing. Like a lighthouse beam switching on and off. On when ships weren’t in danger of being wrecked, off when they were.

Anwar didn’t laugh at that.

Olivia was there, circulating. A few people came on to her. She wasn’t interested. One of them, a tall grey-haired man in elegant robes, was more persistent than the others. When she didn’t respond, he made small talk for a few minutes and then took his leave courteously.

“Who was that?” Anwar asked her.

“The Foreign Minister of the United Federation of Congo and Kinshasa.”

United Federation of Congo and Kinshasa. In Lingala it made perfect sense, but in French, the old colonial language, the initials were unfortunate.

“You should introduce him to the President of Vietnam. The Heart of Darkness meets Apocalypse Now.”

“I don’t understand...Oh, your old books again.”

9

Arden was working late at Fallingwater. The rest of Rafiq’s staff had gone. Rafiq came out of his inner office and walked over to her.

“You’re working too late to be effective,” he told her.“Give it a rest.”

“I can’t. I have until October 23, maybe less, to find whatever it is. I have to find it. It might be something Anwar needs.”

By unspoken agreement neither of them had mentioned, or would mention, what took place between them until after the summit. Rafiq paused before he spoke next.

“You have a lot less than that. The summit will finish early.”

“Yes. The Troubled Summit. It’s already collapsing.” “No, it’ll finish early because it will succeed.Unexpectedly.

There will be a breakthrough.”

She glanced up at him sharply. “What are you up to, Laurens?”

“What I’m usually up to. What I get paid for. You’ve got maybe three or four days. Arden.”

Olivia attended the summit’s morning session on its fifth day, October 19. Anwar was there too, at a discreet distance. The proceedings were only a few minutes old and the previous days’ hostilities were already being fully resumed. The atmosphere was rancid.

Then something strange happened.

Olivia and Anwar were sitting in the auditorium, with the main body of delegates and participants. Zaitsev as usual was at the top table on the stage, chairing the morning’s proceedings along with the members of the committee who had drafted the now increasingly beleaguered Agenda. Zaitsev’s security people were placed at strategic points—all the obvious ones Anwar would think of looking for—around the stage and auditorium. Suddenly one of them strode quickly onto the stage and towards Zaitsev. He wasn’t the one with whom Anwar had exchanged words at the reception. This one was bigger.