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dominant a force in the group that they accepted that he could remove any or all of them, replace them with a fresh batch of minions and carry on pulling the strings of government and most of the other institutions of the country. Money was the key and Abel was a magician at creating mountains of the stuff. Not one of them had been in his screen room where he was known to work long hours taking on financial wizards around the globe, usually making impressive profits. It was Abel’s version of the sporting life, to outwit marketing giants and yet remain a shadowy figure behind the scenes. He was a man who enjoyed surprises as long as he was the one who was creating them. He was about to spring another one.
    He strode into the room exuding energy, power and enthusiasm. His smile was confident and reassuring to his colleagues. Fitter and slimmer than they could remember, he was down to business before he had taken his place at the head of the table.
    â€˜Gentlemen, good to be back. Just like old times, I feel. Now then, if there’s no objection, let’s get to the election.’
    There were murmurs of approval and even a short burst of applause. The feeling of relief around the table was palpable and the change of mood instantaneous. They may not have been in charge in the affairs of the country, but they were happy, and lucky, to be the backup crew to the main man. The spin-offs in terms of money and influence were considerable. They would still have the first and biggest slice of the millions and millions of shillings, dollars, euros floating around. They were grateful that their leader never took a single shilling of the aid money or the pickings of the other scams and schemes that brought spice to the financial life of their great country. Abel continued.
    â€˜As you all realise, we must put an end to the reign of our beloved president, who has proved to have been an inspired choice to replace his much lamented predecessor. Joseph Oringa has obeyed our instructions to the letter and has, by the way, not been an expensive item on our balance sheet. Headmasters never are! I am pleased to announce that the elections for parliament and president will take place on the first Saturday of the new year. This will give us plenty of time to prepare our people in every district.’
    The cheers from Abel’s conference room were heard all ‘round the house. Sally, who was in the kitchen with her chef, organising supper, paused to listen. She had become an expert in judging moods from the noises that she heard coming out of that room. Silence was always ominous. This cheering was high on the scale and she was eager to see what kind of Abel would emerge from this meeting. The signs were promising. The family outing to Londiani must have been a success after all.

Chapter Seven
    ally did not have long to wait to have her hope confirmed. Marcel, the French chef, had finished his work and she was alone in the kitchen. Through the open door, she saw Abel sauntering towards her whistling as he conducted an imaginary orchestra.
    â€˜Sally, I didn’t hear you come in. Mmn, that is one very pleasant smell! I think we both deserve a hug.’
    Sally considered herself to be an expert on reading body language. What she saw stunned and thrilled her. The transformation in her husband was miraculous. Her response to his suggestion was to open her arms and issue an excited warning.
    â€˜Husband, do not forget that you are hugging two people. Not too tight now. We don’t want to give the little one a nasty shock.’ She was a very happy lady. For the first time in many months Abel was giving her his complete attention. She sounded him out, hesitantly.
    â€˜So it was a success, then?’
    â€˜Sure. They all want me to stand for the big one.’
    â€˜Abel, are we talking about the same thing?’
    â€˜Why don’t we have supper in here, just the two of us? The kids …’
    â€˜Have had