Pieter parks the South Africans' Humvee next to the Arab container. "Look, Ajani, the Russians surrender to us."
Apart from Alexei, the Russians are lined up facing the container with their hands on their heads. The South Africans have their weapons trained on their backs.
Pieter and Ajani leave the truck and trot over to Botha, who stands to one side. Alexei is next to him. A Black case and a gray case rest at their feet.
"You did well, Pieter," Botha says.
"Only under your leadership, Ng'ombe."
"The codes." Botha passes the remote to Pieter. "Enter them—now."
Pieter kneels and inputs the numbers that are on the outside of both cases into the remote. Two beeps are followed by another two LEDs lighting up on the South Africans' collars.
"We now have four blues lights," Pieter says.
"We are unstoppable," Ajani says.
"Put the cases in the Humvee. You, Ajani, and one other go and retrieve our bikes. Come straight back here. The Russian and I will finish our discussion," Botha says.
"Finish?"
"Yes. I find I have much in common with our new Russian friend. Don't you agree, Alexei?"
The defenseless Russian gives a small nod of agreement.
Pieter and Ajani pick up the cases and head over to the Humvee. Another South African joins them. They drive away from the container and head out over the salt pan. Botha turns his attention back to Alexei. "Where were we, Alexei?"
"Both our countries raped."
"Ah, yes, both our countries raped, oppressed and enslaved by the politics of the elite and the unjust privileges of the ruling aristocracy that they have bestowed upon themselves."
Alexei listens. There is little else he can do.
"We, by the British and their empire of cruelty, hate, loot and plunder. You, by the Americans and their self-serving, brutal, financial sanctions. But we never give in. We will always fight our noble battle against injustice. Is it not better to die a free man than live like a slave?"
"Yes, of course—die a free man. It is only right," Alexei indulges.
"Tell me. Before this. Before today. What did you do?"
"I was, well, am a prison warden."
"Good. Excellent. A man of discipline. A man of structure. A man who appreciates that society must be protected from those who do not share our common civilized values."
"And you?" Alexei asks.
"A soldier, but now, like my father and my father's father, I work the land. Every blessed day, I till the soil under the great African skies and watch in wonder as the crops grow and feed my family. It is honest toil and worthy work. I am not just a simple farmer, but I am a creator of things. I create living things from nothing."
"Do you know why we are here?" Alexei asks.
"Because we have been chosen."
"Who does this?"
"Do you not understand, Alexei? We share the same faith." Botha rolls up his sleeve on his prison uniform and exposes a Battalion 32 tattoo. Below the number, there is another smaller tattoo, a swastika. "And you are marked with the sign of the number 88. Tell me what this means to you?"
"The letter H is the eighth letter of the alphabet. Two Hs is the abbreviation for the salute to the Führer."
"Show me that the Third Reich still lives, Alexei?'
Alexei raises his right arm into the air. "Heil Hitler."
Botha says, "I expected nothing less because divinity has intervened for our great nations. We now go forward as one."
"Yes. It is . . . our new destiny. The money?"
"Victory is our savior—money is not. However, the generals always reap the rewards of war." Out of earshot, Botha nods toward the teams. "The cannon fodder are disposable. I think I make myself clear."
"I agree. The codes?"
"They will be entered into your remote too. You have it?"
Alexei taps his pocket.
"Excellent. Now we are comrades, equals." Botha embraces Alexei—his response is stiff and awkward.
"Equals." Alexei does not sound convinced.
As Botha draws away, he pickpockets the remote control from the Russian's pocket. He holds the small black box up in front of him.
Alexei looks shocked. "You take what is mine."
"No—this is—ours, Alexei, and I will keep it in a safe place! You have my word."
"But we have an alliance—we are equals!"
"Equals still need a leader, and I will lead our new alliance. You will be my second-in-command." Botha waves the Russian's remote in front of him. "Who would believe such a delicate yet vital piece of electronics holds so many lives in the balance—would you not agree, my new brother?"
Outmaneuvered, Alexei thinks I will kill you before this day is out. He can only nod his agreement.
"Good, then it is done. Now perhaps you would like to say a few words to your troops."
Alexei turns and walks over to the Russians. Botha follows him.
"Men and women of Russia, turn your brave souls towards me," Alexei commands.
Cautious, the Russians turn and face Alexei and Botha.
"Lower your weapons," Botha instructs his team.
The South Africans bring their guns downwards. The tension between the two teams diminishes.
"I have made an agreement—a pact," Alexei continues, "We go forward as one. We are now an ultimate fighting unit. Nothing will stop us. The South African will lead us, and we will follow him. And I promise you this: between us, we will take you to victory and to freedom and to riches. What do you say, Russians?"
"Let the South African speak," Mikhail points at Botha.
Botha steps forward. He pauses for several seconds, then shouts, "Today, we are not Russians or South Africans. Today, we are now African-Russians. Our common enemy will fear us and bow to us and we will rule them with the iron-fist of solidarity."
The African-Russians nod their heads in agreement.
Botha pauses once more, then shouts, "For today, my brothers in arms, anyone who stands in our way—will be—annihilated!"
