“I’ve kept my promise,” Begela said. “Nothing in life is certain, and in the capitol this is particularly true. Some members of the National Assembly have been swayed by UpLink’s—”

Fáton’s hissing expulsion of breath instantly silenced him.

“Watch your words,” he said. “That name is vile to my ears, and its mention further erodes my confidence in you. Only a fool would think this cubbyhole secure as we sit here.”

Begela opened his mouth, closed it.

“Monsieur Fáton, I share your disappointment with the results of my trip,” he said at last. “My ties to factions within the assembly have tilted the balance of important decisions affecting Port-Gentil in the past, and I was frankly convinced they would do so again in this instance. It was indicated to me that your, shall we say, financial incentives, would be the glue for a political coalition that could block the Americans from finalizing arrangements with my government. But in the end the assemblymen who signaled they would act in your—our—favor backed down. As did a fellow minister in the Office des Postes et Telecommunications . . . someone with whom I have a clan affiliation and whose promises are normally trustworthy. No offer was enough. The president and prime minister are adamant about welcoming those we wish to keep out. They control the ruling party, and the party holds more than half the assembly’s hundred and twenty seats. And, needless to say, the assembly controls the OPT.”

“Ah,” Fáton said. “And what am I to take from this lesson in Gabonese civics? Other than further evidence that your prating assertions of influence meant nothing. That you failed me.”

Begela shook his head in denial.

“It may be true we cannot keep the Americans out of this city at present,” he said. “Their future is anything but inevitable, however. Port-Gentil is many kilometers from Libreville. And I have recourse to ways of making their time here most unpleasant.”

Fáton traced a finger around the brim of the panama hat on his lap.

“If by that you mean your pathetic assortment of greased gendarmes, technicals, and militiamen, then you are once again exaggerating your reach,” he said.

Begela continued shaking his head, his hands on the arms of his chair. “With utmost respect, I think I know something about my own people—”

“Perhaps so, Etienne. But you know nothing of the enemy’s strength,” Fáton said. “I cannot afford another fumble . . . which brings me to the reason for this call.” He paused, his eyes on Begela’s. “I’ve picked up a gift. A piece of history that I hope will benefit you. Help you avoid similar misjudgments from this point onward.”

Fáton reached into an inner jacket pocket for the plastic bag he’d brought from the fetish market, removed what was inside, and leaned forward to set it down on the desk.

The minister’s high, curved eyebrows became more pronouncedly elevated. A bleached white color, the object was a smooth, not quite flat disk perhaps four inches in circumference.