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Chapter 23
May 12, 1929, Point Noir, Imperial Congo
Less than a year ago, if someone had asked Mary Sioux who she hated most in the world, she would have unhesitatingly named Tanya von Degurechaff as the chief target of her ire. Since then, many things had happened that ended up broadening her horizons in unexpected and unwelcome ways. It was during this last month in Africa, however, that Degurechaff had found herself at risk of being replaced as number one on Mary's list of people she wanted to see drop dead.
When she had first signed on with Cold Steel Trading along with Becker and Royce, she had expected more of the same she had experienced in Colombia under Velvet Iron. Most of her time would be spent patrolling various installations, occasionally interspersed with intimidating or arresting hoodlums that tried to interfere with their client. Hopefully this time there would be no Imperial snatch squads mistaking her for Degurechaff, and she could actually find some clues towards the elusive girl's location.
Instead she had found herself dropped in the middle of a low key trade war. Cold Steel Trading and Imperial African Trading were fighting tooth and nail over the supplies of exotic goods from within the African interior, transported along the Congo and Kasai river systems. Timber, fruits, herbs, coffee, ivory, rubber, tin, copper, gold, diamonds, all of it moved down those rivers. The two companies were fighting tooth and nail to control the trade - and neither side were above strong arm tactics to keep their suppliers in line. Mary, Becker and Royce all found themselves constantly traveling up and down the rivers escorting trade caravans and visiting trading posts to make sure they remained free from interference. No shots were fired, but more than once she found herself staring down armed hirelings of Imperial African. What made it particularly nerve-wracking was that sometimes those hirelings were wearing the uniform of the Imperial Army. Luckily, openly displaying her computation orb seemed to be enough to convince them to back off. And the one time she found herself facing down aerial mages, Becker's presence and his reputation as a former member of the 203rd had been enough to cow them.
All this, Mary felt she could have eventually come to accept. After all, she was not blind to some of the rougher business practices in her adopted country of the Unified States. What made her gnash her teeth in impotent fury was the state of the Imperial African Company's rubber plantations.
It should be noted that Cold Steel Trading was very much a newcomer with an operating budget a fraction the size of Imperial African. There were several locations where Imperial African's stranglehold on the river-borne trade was well-nigh ironclad. Chief among these monopolies was the raw latex harvested from vines growing across large areas bordering the Congo River.
One of the tasks assigned to her by Cold Steel had been to scout out these plantations for potential weak points. What she saw there had left her wondering if perhaps Degurechaff was but a symptom of some much more systemic illness that pervaded the Empire as a whole. True, the life of the workers toiling away for American multinationals in Colombia was no walk in the park. But they were living on easy street compared to the miserable conditions of the African natives. Forced to work day in and day out for the simple right to eat, no rest nor medical care, paid in company scrip that was immediately confiscated in lieu of basic necessities like clothing and shelter, and most telling of all, forbidden from leaving to find more meaningful employment. It was slavery in all but name, and Mary had ended up pretty much storming Cold Steel's head office demanding to know how such a thing could be permitted in the 20th century, and requesting permission to launch a raid on Imperial African's holdings.
It had taken Becker, Royce, and Murtaugh, the President of Cold Steel, all working together to sit on her as they explained to her the facts of life. It seemed that Cold Steel had already reported the situation - the recordings taken by Mary would be just one more in a long string of complaints. Nor were they the only ones, before Cold Steel's appearance local missionaries had been raising a stink over the treatment of the locals. However, not only had Imperial African bribed a significant chunk of the local government and law enforcement into turning a blind eye, but Imperial Congo was directly administered by the Crown. In response to the reports orders had come in directly from Berun, instructing the Governor to suppress any local attempts to interfere with the business of the various companies which were apparently 'vital to national interest'.
Mary had never thought she would hate someone more than Tanya von Degurechaff, but those few weeks in the Congo had been enough to push the Kaiser - and all those complicit in the de facto enslavement of the locals - to the top of her list. For the first time she began to seriously accept that Degurechaff may have been telling the simple truth when she claimed all her most horrific actions in the war had been carried out under orders from Berun. Certainly, people capable of perpetuating the atrocities she witnessed were capable of ordering anything during a war.
In the meantime, Cold Steel was taking quiet glee in supplying the most restless natives with modern arms and military gear sourced from Colombia. Of course, Mary did not believe for a second they were doing so out of the goodness of their hearts. Not only was Cold Steel making money off the arms trade, but the now armed rebellion was acting as a beautiful distraction for their rivals. Did Cold Steel care that the presence of firearms would only make the harsh oppression even harsher? No, they did not. As far as Cold Steel was concerned, the more energy Imperial African Trading spent oppressing their plantation workers, the less energy they would have to spend on various other markets where they were in conflict. The workers' ultimate fate was only of academic interest.
Well, Mary wasn't one to sit on her hands and do nothing. Part of her Interpol training had been knowing when and where something fell within Interpol's jurisdiction. As a result, she knew just how fuzzy the rules regarding Interpol's intervention actually were. In practice, Interpol usually only investigated a case when invited to do so by one of their member nations. Even then, it was generally assumed they would only start investigating within a country with that country's permission. However, legally speaking, Interpol could choose to investigate any criminal activity that had originated within a member nation and then crossed international borders. Furthermore, they could go into any country without needing to notify the government. It was only in the case of actual police actions like making arrests, invading privacy, or making searches and seizures that they needed local permission.
Mary was already stuck in an investigation that she was not willing to abandon, and she doubted she could persuade Captain Strong to get involved in the Congo mess. However, Interpol had other teams from other nations. And if there were one people she could count on to always be eager to give the Kaiser grief, it would be the Francois. As it happened, Interpol had a branch office in Lyon. The rubber harvested using slave labor could be considered criminal evidence, and the moment that evidence left the Congo for (among others) Albish and American markets, it became, technically, within Interpol's jurisdiction. Yes, it was a most tenuous legal interpretation, but it would be good enough for Interpol to start poking around, provided their agents were willing. Mary had put together a report carefully containing every scrap of evidence she had regarding the situation, along with her own legal justification for calling for an Interpol investigation, and towards the end of April, she had found a trustworthy courier to carry the report to Interpol's Lyon office.
The report's departure had been a weight off Mary's conscience. For the first time since joining Interpol, she felt as if she had struck a blow against the evils of the world. But now that she could turn her focus to other matters, Mary started to become aware that she may be in some trouble. She had only noticed it while trying to send out her report, but Becker and Royce seemed unusually interested in keeping her company. She may have chalked it up to prurient desires, except neither of them actually made any serious effort to flirt with her. They just seemed very interested in knowing what she was up to in her spare time. Even when their duties for Cold Steel separated them, Mary swore she had seen some of Becker and Royce's local friends popping up in the background.
Mary thought she had managed to send the report without tipping them off, but that didn't make the ongoing surveillance any more comfortable. Now that she was paying attention to her personal situation, she was getting the distinct feeling she had wandered into the belly of a hitherto invisible beast. After all, it was a question that had been in the back of her mind ever since she'd arrived in Africa - how did an unknown upstart like Cold Steel suddenly rise to challenge the monopoly of Imperial African Trading? Something about the paranoia of being under observation seemed to have sharpened her intellect, because over the last week disparate bits and pieces of information had come together to create a very disturbing answer to that question.
She, Becker, and Royce had found their way to Cold Steel via Velvet Iron Protection - a company she was convinced was deeply involved with Degurechaff.
The ships Cold Steel used to transport their goods were Albish in origin - and she had heard the name Tilbury Security in connection to their presence. Tilbury Security, the very starting point for her investigation into the missing mage.
The various trade goods and weapons that Cold Steel supplied the natives at a handsome profit were sourced mostly from the Colombian government at rock bottom prices, a government whose resurgent mage corps was suspected to have been equipped and trained by Velvet Iron, if not Degurechaff herself.
And, finally and most recently, there was Imperial funding. Becker had once complained in passing that in spite of his best recommendation, his extended aristocratic family had chosen to invest 'only' a quarter of a million marks in Cold Steel Trading. Mary had experienced firsthand the kind of fanatical devotion Degurechaff could inspire when she interviewed Serebryakov. Now she had to wonder just how deep were the pockets of those Imperials who identified themselves as Degurechaff's partisans.
As the connections grew in Mary's mind, so did the cold pit in her stomach. American and Imperial military expertise and funding, Colombian weapons and supplies, Albish shipping - resources from three continents mobilized to break the status quo in Imperial Congo and establish a new monopoly. And all of them connected - in ways impossible to prove beyond the tenuous - to Tanya von Degurechaff.
Yet the question remained, what was the purpose behind all this, and who was the mastermind? Degurechaff, for all her prodigious talent, was a child soldier. To put together an alliance like this required an immense understanding and experience of business and politics. Degurechaff's logistics training in the army was at best a poor substitute. It was absurd to suggest that a teenage fugitive could put together something like this in less than four years while on the run. No, this was proof positive that Degurechaff was being backed by people of great influence and foresight.
But this again brought forward the oldest question in police work - cui bono? The Albish were not sufficiently involved to be the brains. America had looked the prime suspect - until the Colombian embarrassment and aftermath. Colombia was definitely involved, but they struck Mary as more of a patsy than a prime mover. And that left the Imperials, which begged the question why they would encourage a native revolt in their own back yard.
The only answer Mary could come up with was that Degurechaff was being backed by Imperials, but not by the incumbent Imperial government. Whether one person or a wider conspiracy, the ones behind Degurechaff were likely seeking to destabilize the current power structure to their own benefit, starting with an ugly controversy in the Congo. Which meant she had indirectly played into their hands when she reported the situation to Interpol.
It was at this point that a particularly nasty thought came to Mary: Did they know I'm an Interpol agent? If one assumed the primary purpose was to cause trouble for the Kaiser, then it would be useful to position an undercover Interpol agent as witness to the atrocities in the Congo. It would certainly explain the surveillance she was under, yet at the same time why she had been permitted to act more or less freely in her time here.
The worst part of it was, even in her own head Mary knew it all sounded like the ramblings of a paranoiac. No criminal conspiracy of any competence would be so confident in itself as to freely permit an Interpol officer into the heart of its operation. Yet at the same time her instincts were telling her she was being watched.
For days she had gone back and forth in her own mind. In one moment, she was convinced that she had been discovered and was being used as a pawn by a shadowy globe-spanning conspiracy. The next moment, she was sure no conspiracy existed, the various corporations were nothing more than allies of convenience, and Degurechaff nothing more than a fugitive bouncing from one patron to another one step ahead of the law. More than once, she had to fight the urge to grab her computation orb and fly all the way back to the Unified States where she would hopefully no longer feel as if a noose was tightening around her neck.
If she had been left to stew in her uncertainty for much longer, Mary had no idea what she would have ended up doing. Fortunately for her, in the second week of May she received some clear signs that whatever else, Cold Steel's management did not see her as a threat. First, her two watchdogs, Becker and Royce, were both assigned far away from her. Becker was going up the Congo to protect the various shipments going up to one of Cold Steel's biggest ivory collection points. Royce was going deep into the Kasai system to locate and protect the shipments from some new diamond mine that Cold Steel was now contracted to supplying. Second, Mary herself was given an important task - she was assigned as the chaperone to the daughter of one of Cold Steel's investors.
To be more accurate, the girl was the daughter of the CEO of Velvet Iron Protection. Mary had met the CEO Lydia Brown during her brief stay at Velvet Iron's New York office but hadn't thought her old enough to have a daughter. Either way, the assignment was a great relief to Mary because it meant she was still trusted. According to her briefing, the daughter was coming to Africa on some sort of training assignment. Her task was to oversee the operations of Cold Steel and report back to Velvet Iron on how their investment was doing, and Cold Steel was bending over backward to accommodate her. In many ways, this was an ideal assignment for Mary, as it meant she was going to be accompanying someone who was going to be poking into all of Cold Steel's business.
On the appointed day, Mary arrived bright and early to Cold Steel's HQ in Point Noir, eager to get started on her new assignment. Walking into the designated meeting room, she looked around to find her charge, and felt her heart stop in her chest. She barely even noticed the large and tough looking African woman in one corner of the office, or the Cold Steel executive standing up to make introductions. Because, standing in front of Mary, was a fair-skinned redhead who was almost a perfect match to the photos of Jennifer Ecks, one of Degurechaff's suspected aliases. Only where Jennifer Ecks had been reported to be in her twenties, the girl in front of her couldn't be more than sixteen, or in other words, the exact age of Tanya von Degurechaff.
The girl, who the executive introduced as Jenny Brown, gave a broad grin before striding across the room to grab Mary's numb hand. "Madelaine Smith! I've heard about you! They say those damned Imps mistook you for Tanya Degurechaff, but you kicked their asses anyway!"
"Ah... yes." replied Mary faintly, one tiny sane portion of her brain noting the Irish accent sounded very authentic even as the rest of it was busy gibbering in shock.
"Well, I guess I can't ask for a better guide than you. You'll have to tell me all about it! Oh, and this here's my companion Samantha Young," a careless hand was waved at the woman standing by the corner. "Now, Ms. Smith, tell me since you're gonna be our guide - where would you say is the biggest trouble in Congo happening right now?"
"Trouble?" The question served to knock Mary out of her shock. "Um... well... there's some kind of revolt in the rubber plantations..."
"Then that's where we're headed first."
The Cold Steel executive looked concerned. "Ms. Brown, that may not be very safe..."
"Screw safe," came the harsh response. Then 'Jenny Brown' refocused on her, and Mary felt a lump in her throat at the positively predatory cast to the girl's face. "What I'm looking for is the biggest trouble spots in the Congo. So if the rubber plantations are where trouble's at, that's where we're gonna be. Better pack for bear, Ms. Smith. This is gonna be fun!"
May 15, 1929, Kolwesi, Imperial Congo
While I did get my planned villa and Visha was doing an excellent job keeping me company and supplying me with her coffee, my vacation so far had been a bit less restful than I'd hoped. Kolwesi was one of the largest centers for the mining and refining of copper and cobalt in the Congo, and perhaps the world. As a result, it was well connected by rail, road, and telegraph, not just to the rest of the colony, but also to German East Africa, Albish Rhodesia, and Ispagnian Angola. What this meant was that the moment I'd sent out messages notifying my various holdings of my location (under the appropriate pseudonyms), I was buried under a deluge of backlogged paperwork.
Going through the reports of my various holdings, I could see the Great Depression starting to strangle the global economy. Lena had done a great job finding work for Velvet Iron's agents, but she'd been forced to put a freeze on further expansion. Household Magicks was still going strong, the virtue of being a first mover in a field where demand outstripped supply. Sunrise Botanicals continued to expand its drug farms as coffee plantations continued to face bankruptcy due to falling demand. Fortunately, the demand for medical marijuana and opium was holding steady. In fact, that study I had commissioned on medical uses of marijuana had come back with a report identifying some possible health benefits. It was far from conclusive, but it gave my lobbyists something to wave around when arguing against any attempt to tighten the laws on distributing those drugs.
And speaking of drugs, Cold Steel had managed to identify, from my descriptions, some of the herbs used by Shaman Abara in his divination brew, and samples of those herbs had been sent along to Household Magicks for further study. According to Lin's report, the mages of Household Magicks were working alongside some hospitals in Jersey to study the herbs.
So far, all they had achieved was an agreement that yes, some of these herbs did in fact react differently to mages channeling magic as opposed to other people. But they were still far from nailing down exactly what those effects were, or isolating the active ingredients. I penned a permission to continue the experiments. I wasn't expecting anything much, but my experience with those herbs had been memorable, and I was willing to spend a little money to satisfy my curiosity.
As for the rest of Cold Steel's business, they were definitely seeing falling demand due to the Depression. Fortunately, some of Cold Steel's biggest money makers like hardwood, ivory and diamonds had a high enough margin that they remained profitable even at reduced demand. Cold Steel's earnings had taken a hit, but a little profit was still better than no profit.
Still, I couldn't afford to be complacent. Much to my surprise, Cold Steel had become the largest of my companies by market capitalization. This was mostly because when I'd sent out a prospectus seeking investment, I'd gotten a very generous response from my former homeland. I had no idea there were so many people in the Empire looking for an opportunity to invest in an African company that had a sensible business plan. Gratifying as this outpouring of confidence in my business acumen had been, it still meant I had a bunch of investors to keep happy. For example, there was a note that Velvet Iron had sent out an inspector of some kind to look over Cold Steel's operations. I assumed it was simply Lena doing her due diligence, but with falling profits I could expect other, more hostile inspections in short order. I needed at least the prospect of new opportunities to soothe my investors. This is why I decided to take advantage of Kolwesi's telegraph connection to start sending out requests for information on the existing industries in the region, and to hire consultants to guide me on the local businesses. I even mobilized Koenig and the others to do some of the legwork.
At first glance, things looked bleak. Even two years back, this entire region had been screaming for investors. Copper, tin, gold, diamonds, the Katanga region and the Mutumbi mountains in the north-east had it all. Unfortunately, the Great Depression had frozen all industrialization in its tracks. Demand for copper had dropped like a rock in the last year, and tin prices had been falling even before the depression came knocking. It seemed my best option was to fund surveys in the mountains for commercially viable deposits of gold, even though extracting and transporting it was going to be a pain given the rocky terrain and lack of infrastructure.
I was idly toying with the possibility of refining the gold on the spot and transporting the bullion using mages to avoid the hostile terrain when I came across a document in my inbox that nearly made me spit out my coffee. It was a report on a small mine located near the town of Jadotville. The mine's ore contained small amounts of a metal that had a small but steady market in Europe and America. Most of the ore, however, comprised of a material that was considered a scientific curiosity with no useful applications. The document noted how, besides the commercially useful radium, the pitchblende being extracted from the mine contained something like ten times the normal concentration of uranium. I could feel my insides start to shrivel when I read that the mine was currently sitting on a stockpile of eight hundred tons of the richest uranium ore in the world, less than 150 kilometers east of where I was sitting.
I had to spend a few minutes furiously racking my brain before I remembered that most naturally occurring uranium was not useful in a nuclear bomb, and so I didn't have to worry about that big pile of ore suddenly exploding. Now that I was past my initial panic, I could start considering the matter from a business perspective. Right now, the world had no use for uranium. But that was not a situation which would persist for long. In fact, as I studied further details on the mine's operation, I realized the nuclear era might actually start earlier in this world than it did in my last.
The mine had started operation less than eight years ago for the purpose of supplying radium to the few industries that used the stuff. At first, demand had remained steady but small. The war had disrupted demand badly, which is what had caused an enormous buildup of inventory. After the war, demand had at first returned to old levels. Over the last two years though, the Empire had started ordering increasing amounts of the ore.
The Empire was one of the scientific leaders of the world. And unlike the Germany from my last life, they had not gone on a pogrom that had ended up driving away some of the world's best physicists. If there was an equivalent to Albert Einstein in this world, chances were he was still in the Empire and working diligently with others to unlock the secrets of the atom. Judging by the increasing demands for the ore, they might be experimenting with fission already. And once someone finally figured out what uranium was good for, that pile of ore might as well be a pile of gold.
I could feel the smile on my face. While the idea of nuclear weapons in a world with Being X made me nervous, the fact remained humanity was going to figure it out whether I wanted them to or not. But since this opportunity had dropped in my lap, I would be a fool to not take advantage of it. I started to plan.
May 29, 1929, Elisabethstadt, Imperial Congo
First Lieutenant Vooren Grantz of the 209th Mage Battalion looked up in surprise as a full pint of beer was placed next to his own half-empty one. His surprise grew even more as a gorgeous redhead slipped into the chair next to him with a wink and a smile. "You looked as if you needed more than one there, Lieutenant."
Normally Grantz would have dropped everything to focus on such a fine specimen of the female of his species, but recent events were weighing on his mind. So all he could muster was a bitter smile as he replied, "Is it that obvious?"
"The speed at which you were downing your current one was a bit of a clue," came the casual reply. "Although I am curious as to why you are drinking here instead of your officer's mess. Would your presence here have something to do with your attempt to drown your sorrows?"
Grantz scoffed. "You wouldn't care."
"Maybe not. But sometimes it can be useful to vent."
After a long moment of sullen silence, Grantz conceded the point. "You know what? Fine. So, last year..."
Elya paid close attention as Grantz unloaded his angst. Apparently the local copper magnates, first having forced their miners to work for them in near-slavery conditions, were now dismissing them left and right and shutting down their livelihoods thanks to reduced demand for the metal. And when the inevitable protests happened, they expected the army to step in! Grantz had joined the army to defend the Fatherland against its enemies, not to beat down helpless civilians, and this position was making him unpopular among his fellow officers.
While Elya had some sympathy for him, she was also secretly a bit disappointed. Grantz butting heads with the colonial authorities was nothing new, it was in fact part of his file. Nothing Grantz said seemed to indicate he had any recent communication with Degurechaff.
No matter. Elya had taken three months' leave before making her way on her own money to Elisabethstadt. Not only was this city the heart of Imperial administration in the Eastern Congo, it was also the location of the largest concentration of ex-203 mages. Of the company stationed in the city, not only was Grantz' entire platoon composed of Degurechaff's former subordinates, but the second in command of another platoon was also ex-203.
If Degurechaff had any major plans involving the Congo, it was inevitable she would reach out to Grantz, if only to sound out his loyalty. And where Degurechaff went, Visha wouldn't be far behind.
When Elya had first agreed to help Visha, it was with the understanding that Degurechaff had been a loyal hero who was being unjustly scapegoated. Since then though, Elya had seen too many clues indicating Degurechaff's involvement with too many foreign governments. Whatever her objections to how the Major had been treated, Elya was still a patriot.
So she would befriend Grantz. She would make herself part of his life. And she would wait. And when Visha finally showed up, Elya would have a long heart-to-heart with her friend about exactly what Visha's precious Major had been up to these last few years.
June 3, 1929, Ndola, Albish Rhodesia
Visha and I were sitting at a cafe and enjoying some shepherd's pie when Koenig joined us. I glanced up at him and smirked. "So, how goes it Mr. Vice President?"
Koenig rolled his eyes at us. "Oh wonderful. I'm going to be spending the next forever guarding shipments of ore. Exactly what I came to Africa to do."
"Suck it up," I replied bluntly. "I may have found that Albish manager to act as President, but I need someone I trust to keep an eye on him and to run security against outside interference."
Koenig rolled his eyes at me repeating something he already knew. Still, I felt it worth saying. Since I was establishing my mining-focused company, Black Diamond Inc., in Albish territory, I felt it prudent to hire an Albish as the President. Call it prejudice from the war, though, but I would never get over my first impression of the Albish as sly bastards. This is why I had also appointed Koenig as Vice President of Security, with Teyanen and Vogel as his assistants.
There was a very good reason why I had chosen to cross the border and set up Black Diamond on Albish soil. The idea of buying up as much uranium ore as I could against the day when people realized its value could be extremely profitable - provided the Empire didn't simply seize my holdings as a matter of national security. Whatever it's other good points, the Empire was still a functioning monarchy with a powerful military. Human rights only lasted as long as the Emperor wanted them to, as parts of the Congo amply demonstrated. The Albish, on the other hand, were largely democratic with their monarchy reduced to figureheads. If they chose to seize my uranium, I was at least more likely to get a fair price out of them for it.
"So, all the paperwork for the lead-lined warehouses are ready?" I asked.
"Yes they are. We're building storage for five thousand tons of pitchblende, and the President's already got land ready for another five thousand if we need it. Word's also come in from Jadotville, work on the rail line is starting."
As part of my deal with the uranium mine's owners, I'd agreed to extend the current rail network fifteen kilometers closer to the mine. In exchange, they were not only giving me their entire stockpile for free, but they were going to sell me as much of their product as I could afford at cost plus 3% for the next five years.
"Excellent. You know your other priorities?"
Koenig ticked off on his fingers. "Coordinate with Cold Steel to start prospecting for gold in the mountains, and carry out a proper mineral survey in Imperial East Africa." The tip on East Africa was something I'd found in my research. While there was some mining in that colony, the area between Lake Tanganyika and Lake Victoria had been very poorly surveyed. Hopefully I could find something profitable for Cold Steel to do. The mining industry in Rhodesia was considerably more developed, and I was happy to hire some Commonwealth experts using Black Diamond and send them into Imperial territory to search for shinies.
"And finally," continued Koenig, "Set up the import of copper ore through Elisabethstadt, and get the refinery running."
The copper refinery was the single largest outlay for Black Diamond. Luckily, I didn't have to set one up from scratch, instead leasing one which had gone defunct after the recent depression. As for why I was importing ore from the Congo instead of from the numerous Rhodesian mines, that would be the result of an absurd situation created by the current state of global politics.
Unlike Imperial Congo, where copper mining was both underdeveloped and under competing companies, the mines in Rhodesia were both well established and under the control of a cartel. This cartel had gone to considerable effort to maintain the price of copper in Rhodesia at a profitable level in spite of the global slowdown, and thanks to the ridiculous tariff barriers, importing the cheap Congolese copper piling up fifty kilometers away wasn't an option.
Fortunately for me, while copper metal might be subject to huge tariffs, copper ore was not. As for why no one else had already tried this, I put it down to poor Albish-Imperial relations. After all, even Black Diamond was using Cold Steel as a go-between to acquire the ore.
Amazingly enough, I didn't even have to worry about finding a customer for the copper. Within days of announcing our intentions, Black Diamond was playing host to a representative from the cartel. After some tense negotiations, they agreed to purchase our refinery's output at a very good price. In exchange, we promised not to sell to anyone else, not to tell anyone what we were doing, and not to expand our operations beyond a certain level.
I was sure the cartel thought they had done a fine job intimidating us upstarts into freezing our growth. Let them gloat. The whole reason I even bothered with the refinery was to use it as a smokescreen. After all, a company which does nothing but stockpile something as largely useless as uranium ore was bound to raise eyebrows. This way, if anyone asked what Black Diamond did, we could point at our refinery as the reason for our existence. The pitchblende stockpile was nothing but a speculative venture in radium as a side-project, or so would go the official story.
Ultimately, the true purpose of Black Diamond was to act as prospectors for Cold Steel, and to invest in uranium futures. As long as the refinery broke even, I couldn't care less. I would just wait for the day someone made the first working atomic pile. On that day the value of Black Diamond would shoot through the roof.
I didn't bother telling any of this to the others, since I had no good way of explaining how I knew so much about uranium. Instead I made vague mention of the recent trend of increasing Imperial interest in the ore to support my actions.
I did, however, decide to help the nuclear race along. Any of my loyalty to the Empire had long since faded, so I felt no guilt about sending a telegram to Lena asking her to use Velvet Iron's contacts in the American military to see if anyone could be persuaded to fund some research into the applications of uranium. After all, when you are trying to sell something, it paid to have more than one customer bidding for your merchandise.
After I was satisfied that Koenig understood what he was supposed to do, I started to make preparations for our group to split up.
Koenig and the boys would be mostly working around the copper belt, making sure Black Diamond got off the ground and coordinated properly with Cold Steel. Koenig was also making noises about getting in touch with Grantz who was posted to Elisabethstadt. I warned Koenig to be very careful about revealing himself, but otherwise wished him luck.
As for us girls, I, Visha and Emilie were going to travel through north-eastern Rhodesia before eventually reaching Lake Tanganyika. The lake was a large navigable water body connecting Congo, Rhodesia, and East Africa. It was also the location of arguably the Empire's most embarrassing defeat during the war. A 'volunteer' Albish naval force consisting of some armed riverboats managed to beat back an Imperial flotilla that had the Albish outmassed, outnumbered, and outgunned. If not for the Empire's victory in Europe, they might have lost East Africa entirely. I was naturally curious to see the sight of this small but interesting conflict.
Besides the military interest, Lake Tanganyika could also serve as my next base of operations. With easy access to three different colonies by water, rail, and road, it would provide me considerable flexibility as I awaited the results of my latest machinations. Holding still might be ill-advised for a fugitive, but so far I'd seen almost no indication that anyone even knew I was on the continent. I foresaw no difficulty in spending at least a few weeks enjoying a relaxing lakeside retreat with Visha and Emilie while I waited for the news around the world to catch up with me.
Non-canon Omake: Meet The Boss
Bertram Emsworth was not happy. Four days ago, with no warning, the Vice President of Security came into his office and handed him travel documents, and told him he was being called to a meeting by the owner of Manpower Plus, the mysterious company that held the majority shares of his employer, Black Diamond Inc.
In most other cases, it would be ridiculous for a Vice President to be ordering the President around. Bertram knew better. In Black Diamond it was a little known secret that the Vice President of Security was also the unofficial representative of the enigmatic owners of the company, and as such was the tail that wagged the dog. This had been underlined in 1932 when the original Vice President of Security, some Imperial named Koenig, had decided to move on and had been replaced by a native recruit named Henry Olonga. Bertram's predecessor, a dynamic old warhorse named Farnsworth, had delivered a blistering objection at the mere suggestion that a gentleman of breeding should ever take orders from some black-skinned savage.
Two days later, Farnsworth had vanished, and Olonga was in Bertram's office asking if he'd like a promotion from Vice President of Procurement to full President.
Bertram, tempted by the increase in salary and perks, had accepted, and apart from the occasional instructions from on high, he'd been largely left to operate Black Diamond as he saw fit. Still, that meant when Olonga came and handed him his marching orders, he swallowed his annoyance and complied.
So, for three days, he'd been traveling. First, by train and ferry all the way from Ndola in Rhodesia to Mzizima in Imperial East Africa. Now, he was aboard a seaplane and heading out into the Indian Ocean. At least his pilot, a loquacious Canadian by name of Lewis, had shared with him that they were on their way to the island of La Digue in the Seychelles.
Contrary to Albish stereotypes, Bertram did in fact know his geography. So he knew the Seychelles were a set of modest islands controlled by the Albish and mostly useful for their tropical crops, their position between Africa and Asia, and as places to stash inconvenient people, like political prisoners and lepers. La Digue, he vaguely remembered, was one of the larger islands, so at least they weren't headed to a leper colony.
It was as they were landing that Bertram received the first hint his visit was going to be even more uncomfortable than anticipated. The pilot Lewis, on getting in touch with La Digue Air Control, was asked for a password, to which he replied a short string of numbers and letters. Then looking around and noticing Bertram's curiosity, had grinned broadly and said, "Every time I come by here, I think to myself, 'Lewis old boy, better pray you remember the day's password, or you're gonna get blown out of the sky'. Lucky for you, I got it right this time too."
Bertram had thought he was joking. "Oh, they'd shoot you down would they?"
Lewis had nodded seriously. "You better believe it. I seen it myself, a shiny new Bofors 40mm ack-ack cannon, and I bet they got more than one. Folks on this island, they could give the damn Royal Guard lessons in paranoia."
Bertram was still trying to come to terms with this when they finally landed. At the pier he'd been greeted by a Bharati and whisked away by motorized rickshaw, past a guarded steel fence, and to a doorway cut into the base of the hill that dominated the island.
Waiting for him at the entrance was a true Slavic beauty, long straight lustrous brown hair and blue eyes, strong but aristocratic features, and superb curves that were only accentuated by the fitted dress shirt and short tight skirt. Introducing herself as Viktoriya Serebryakov (and why did that name sound vaguely familiar?) she led him into the hill.
It took all of his excellent Oxford education for Bertram not to stop and gawp. The greeting room was a massive chamber hollowed out from the native rock, but calling it a cave would be like calling Buckingham Palace a house. High quality electric lamps lent a soft glow to the room. The granite walls had been laboriously cut into aesthetically pleasing angles and polished to a mirror sheen. The wooden fixtures and furniture looked plain at first glance, but were obvious to his eye as having been created from the best tropical hardwoods. He didn't recognize the artists of the paintings that graced the wall, but he wouldn't be surprised to learn they were lesser known compositions from modern masters, the talent in the brushtrokes seemed clear to his layman's eye. And pride of place went to the enormous gorgeously patterned blue-green rug that lay in the center of the room. As he stepped across it, even through the soles of his shoes he could tell the rug was not cotton or wool, but silk. His mental calculator ran out of zeroes trying to calculate the cost of a silk rug of that size and quality.
The shocks didn't stop there. Apparently, higher levels in the hill had been carved out into guest quarters. His own rooms were a superbly appointed suite, with a coolness that spoke of actual air-conditioning, a plate glass window with a superb view of the island, and all the modern amenities. He had no hesitation pouring himself a three of scotch from the minibar to try and calm his nerves. In his own mind he was forced to admit, the strange combination of beauty, luxury and ruthless paranoia was leaving him apprehensive. Especially since he didn't even know what exactly had prompted this sudden summons.
It was later that evening that a servant informed him the last of the guests had arrived, and he was to present himself at the Conference Room. The conference room, when he got there, comprised of a large room with an enormous window that dominated one wall. A long table was in the center, with a chair at the head of the table. The chair was currently turned around, its concealed occupant facing out the window, a cup of coffee by the table the only clue the high-backed chair was even occupied. A young female voice called out, "Welcome, Mr. Emsworth. Please, pour yourself a drink from the bar and pick a chair. We will start shortly."
The unseen occupant at the head of the table was not the only one present. There were others, and more kept coming in. Pouring himself another of the same excellent scotch that had been in his room, Betram tried to identify the occupants. Unfortunately, the only ones he recognized were Murtaugh and Roth. Murtaugh was an Imperial and the boss of Cold Steel, the biggest name in transport, mining, and forestry in most of Central Africa and a close partner to Black Diamond. The gorgeous redhead Elya Roth he only knew as a big buyer of Black Diamond's copper, and the woman in charge of some infrastructure company in the Middle East.
The others were an eclectic bunch. There was a swarthy stocky woman of what he judged was Ispagnan stock, a young Qinese woman in some oriental robe, another Ispagnan gentleman, a Bharati chap looking incongruous in a three-piece suit, and a distinguished middle-aged fellow that had a distinct Middle Eastern look to him.
Bertram had just finished taking stock of his companions when the chair at the head finally turned around, revealing a girl who didn't look a day older than eighteen, with messy bright blond hair and eyes as freezing blue as chips of ice. Bertram felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. Before coming to Africa he'd been in the Albish army and had avidly followed the news of the war. Even after so many years, he had no trouble recognizing the woman in the boss' chair. Sure enough, her words confirmed his worst fears. "Welcome ladies and gentlemen. Some of you may know me already, but I am Tanya von Degurechaff. And as of six months ago, I was officially named the owner of Manpower Plus. And thus, not to put a fine point on it, your boss."
After a moment to let that sink in, she continued. "As for why you are all here, it is simple. All of you are leaders of various companies, working independently but all under Manpower's umbrella. Well, it is high time all of you got to know each other so we may now face the future, united in purpose. Some of you already know each other, but I will make introductions."
Indicating the Bharati she said, "This is Shivkumar Chanderpaul. He is the head of the Islander Agricultural Cooperative. As the name suggests, his organization coordinates the efforts of numerous farms and plantations across the various island communities here and elsewhere. And he has some recent good news for us. Mt. Chanderpaul?"
The Bharati spoke in almost flawless Albish, "Our efforts to secure ownership of La Digue has entered its final stage. Apart from two plantations, every other scrap of land on this island is either a member of our cooperative or directly owned by Manpower. The last two plantations simply cannot compete with us. Their owners have been politically marginalized and can no longer use the local government to interfere with us. They will either sell to us now, or they will go bankrupt in a few years. Either way, this island is now effectively ours."
The blond devil nodded. "A small but important victory. Colonial plantations are a thing of the past. Once we hold the island, our agricultural cooperative will have a platform from which to expand not just to all the other islands, but to the mainland as well." Turning to the Ispagnan gentleman she continued, "Mr. Vargas has joined us all the way from Colombia. As the CEO of Sunrise Botanicals, he controls the single largest supplier of opium and marijuana in the Americas. The primary customer is the Unified States, but Sunrise supplies its product to all the Americas and is now expanding to Europe and Africa. And I hear you have another success of late?"
"Indeed I do, madam," Vargas replied obsequiously. "We have finally concluded short-term trials of our new compound that we call Lysamide. A most interesting chemical, it acts as a mental enhancer for mages, while in mundanes its a potent hallucinogenic. Trials show that in spite of its potency, it is less harmful to the physique than tobacco, and unlike opium is extremely difficult to overdose on. Volunteers have taken twelve times the recommended dose with no real ill-effect. The American, Kanatan, Brasilian and Colombian governments have already placed orders for their aerial mage programs, but I would also like to pursue possibly marketing it as a recreational drug."
"You will do more than that," cut in Degurechaff. "You say it is less harmful than tobacco? Is that provable?"
"Oh yes, absolutely."
"Then push that comparison. Push it hard. If possible, I want this to replace tobacco as the recreational drug of choice."
"Ah, I should warn you that unlike tobacco, Lysamide is quite debilitating. Driving a car, for example, is extremely ill-advised under the influence."
"So is alcohol. That doesn't stop anyone from drinking. Be imaginative." Turning to the dusky woman, the blonde continued, "This is Lydia Brown, CEO of Velvet Iron Protection, New York. Purveyors of weapons and security specialists, magical and mundane. Lydia, what news?"
"The American economy is finally pulling itself out of the hole, so we are getting more customers. If it keeps up, we'll have supplanted the Pinkertons as the biggest names in private security on the East Coast from Kanata to Washington."
"Excellent." Now it was the turn of the Qinese. "This is Changying Lin, CEO of Household Magicks of New Jersey, specialists in the research and performance of Oriental ritual magic. Normally they sell rituals that promote health and reduce accidents over a large area, but recently they have perfected something for our private use."
The girl nods. "Old ritual, but now made useful. Makes people more friendly and agreeable. Not much use if they are very stubborn, but good for getting people to go along if they are not enemies. Hard to detect if mage not know what to look for."
"As you can guess, such a ritual would be invaluable in negotiations or making a good first impression," said Degurechaff with a smile. "I'd like all of you to see if you would benefit from having such a ritual emplaced in your facilities. After all, such methods are currently not illegal. I know I'll be using it when I meet the Persian ambassador next week."
There was a small chuckle that swept around the room. Bertram joined in, but his voice sounded horribly nervous to his ears.
"Now we come to the Middle East. Mr. Haroun bin Rashid of Byzantium Petrochemicals of Constantinople in Turkmen, and Ms. Elya Roth of Blue Gulf Infrastructure in Abu Dhabi of the Trucal States. They have been working hard securing our influence in what will be the next big oil producing region. What news?"
The two exchanged glances, before Haroun took the lead. "News is good. The Albish attempt to unify Central Arabia into one big oil monopoly is dead in the water. The region's stabilized into multiple sheikdoms, each being backed by a different major power. Of these, the Khafjils are eager to ally with Turkmen to get access to the Mediterranean-Gulf pipeline that we just finished building. And of course, I understand recent events have made the Imperial-backed Doha ripe for Blue Gulf to expand into?"
This question was addressed to Roth, who smirked and displayed a magnificent diamond ring on her finger. "The sheikh's third son is such a romantic young man. Always happy to see his lovers happy, and he does have the sheikh's ear."
"Now, Mr. Murtaugh. CEO of Cold Steel Trading, general suppliers, mining, logistics, with routes all through Central Africa. How does it go?"
"Steady, ma'am, real steady. We've finally overtaken Imperial African Trading in the Congo. Makes us the biggest name there and in Imperial East Africa. We're also making headway in Rhodesia and Angola. Probably as much as 15% of all goods in the region are carried by Cold Steel."
"And last but not least, we come to Mr. Emsworth of Black Diamond Inc., Rhodesia. It is a message from him that prompted this meeting. We are entering a new era, of great risk as well as great opportunity. Mr. Emsworth, I understand you are having difficulty stockpiling pitchblende?"
"Yes? I mean, we already have over six thousand tons of the stuff that we gathered over five years, but recently it seems the Imperial government took over our sole supplier and they're refusing to sell."
"Unsurprising. To those who don't know, pitchblende is the ore for a metal called uranium. Ten years ago, it was a scientific curiosity, its possible uses largely theoretical and confined to the Empire's more esoteric researchers. More recently though, experiments are showing the metal, if properly handled, can be the source of unimaginable power. To put it into context, properly utilized, it would make my little accident over Brest look like a minor incident. Mr. Emsworth, have you been receiving any inquiries about purchasing your stockpile."
Bertram had to fight through the numb horror of Brest being called 'a minor incident', but he answered, "Yes, but not from the Imperials. The Americans."
"Naturally. The Americans are not that far behind the Empire in their research. And now that the Empire has moved to monopolize the best known supply of the material, they will be desperate. Of course, the Empire will want to build their own stocks as quickly as possible, so expect them to come calling as well. And since the Albish spies have both countries thoroughly penetrated, the Allied Kingdom will also be interested, if only to see what the fuss is about."
Degurechaff got up from her chair and looked coldly at the entire table, her freezing gaze sweeping over each and every one. "Make no mistake, ladies and gentlemen. Whoever can first perfect the practical application of uranium will become a global superpower. And courtesy of Mr. Emsworth, our organization is the only one in the world controlling a strategic stockpile of the material. This will be a bidding war unlike anything the world has ever seen, gentlemen. And we are going to take them for every single cent."
Now a grin akin to a shark was stretching across her face, and Bertram suddenly realized why this young woman had earned the name 'The Devil of the Rhine'. In a voice filled with what could only be called murderous joy, she cheerfully declared, "Of course, there may be those unwilling to pay our price. So all of you best prepare. Someone will try to be clever. To deny us our due. They will soon realize, Manpower is ready to take on the world."