At the Arab container, Botha organizes the African-Russians. He yells out, "Pieter?"
"Yes, Ng'ombe?"
"I want the vehicles lined up for an inspection. Take Ajani with you. Let's teach our Russian friends that there is a wrong way to do things, a right way to do things, and then the South African way to do things."
"Yes, sir." Pieter turns to Ajani. "Come help me. We have work to do."
Mikhail and Alexei stand in the shade of the gray container. They share a bottle of water, while they watch Botha bark out more orders.
In his native Russian tongue, Mikhail confides to Alexei, "The man is a clown."
"Time will tell, but for now, he holds our lives in his hands."
"But we are stronger. We are Russian."
"Fate brings us together. We share a belief. This is what makes us stronger. Besides, he will be of use to us."
"I do not trust him," Mikhail says.
Alexei watches Botha disappear into the container. "And he does not trust us, but we both pretend until an opportunity arises."
Botha emerges from the container and steps back onto the salt pan carrying a shovel and a length of rope.
"What does he do?" Mikhail asks.
Alexei shakes his head. "He makes something. That is what peasant farmers do."
Botha rests the shovel against the side of the container and stamps down on the wooden shaft. The force of the heavy kick breaks it in two.
"He is mad, Alexei. Look at his eyes. He is blind of others and only follows one path. He is dangerous."
"We only follow him until it suits us too. This time our patience is our advantage."
Botha breaks the steel head off the shovel. He is left with two wooden poles; one is shorter than the other. He ties the short pole, at a right angle and about two-thirds of the way up, to the longer pole.
Mikhail is puzzled. "What does the buffoon do now?"
"Maybe he makes an African spear."
They laugh.
The African and Russian vehicles begin to line up in front of Botha in an orderly line. Pieter and Ajani signal the drivers, one by one, to stop on their mark.
Botha glances up from his work and sees the Russian Humvee is out of line with the other vehicles. "Back! Go back! Straighten up. You are not in line. Pieter, DO YOUR JOB, MAN."
Pieter jumps into the front cab of the amiss Humvee, pushes the Russian driver to one side and takes over. He inches the truck back into line. "This is the South African way!" he tells the Russian. Finished, he jumps out of the cab and shouts, "Stand by for inspection."
The African-Russians disembark and shuffle next to their respective vehicles. Like soldiers on parade, they stand to attention and await Botha's approval.
"They are ready for you, Ng'ombe," Ajani yells.
Botha struts up and down the row of vehicles and scrutinizes their every detail.
Mikhail whispers, "Look, the general inspects his troops."
"A nobody who thinks he is somebody. A perfect combination for us to exploit," Alexei says.
Botha stops, then turns and addresses the collective unit. "My soldiers. I give you and expect discipline from you all. Discipline gives us strength. Discipline gives us courage. Discipline gives us unity. Do you understand?"
A few muttered casual responses.
Botha screams, "I said, do you UNDERSTAND?"
"YES!" they shout.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Now, check your weapons and your vehicles. Drink and eat. Be vigilant. We must be prepared and ready for what is next to come. Dismissed."
The African-Russians stand down, then scurry around as they follow Botha's orders.
Botha, hands-on hips, oversees. He barks out the occasional command or scolding word. Finished, he saunters over to Alexei and Mikhail. "They respond well, Alexei."
"Your words give them courage and fire in their bellys." Alexei patronizes Botha.
"True enough."
"Your cases?" Alexei asks.
"Yes?"
"Who did you defeat to win them?"
"It is of no importance. Those teams are now dead, and that is all that matters. They were only the undercards. The fights were not fair ones, but we will take the victories until the main event," Botha says.
"The main event?"
"I have much to tell you, Alexei, but I have more work to do." Botha heads back toward the container.
Mikhail turns to Alexei. "What is this talk about the main event? He is strange. I think you are wrong—we do not need him. We should finish him here."
"No, I am right. We play him. You will see."
"And what happens if you are not right? What happens then?"
Alexei and Mikhail watch Botha hold up the makeshift Christian cross he has just made. He stabs the cross into the ground. Pieter carries over an empty ammunition box and places it at Botha's feet.
Botha stands on the box and shouts, "Now it is time to say our thanks!" He looks upwards, toward the heavens. "We will sing for mercy, and we will sing our praises to the Lord God Almighty. Gather around me now, all of you. Gather around."
Mikhail says in hushed tones, "Answer me Alexei. I am worried. I ask you again, what happens if you are not right and he is the liability I think he is—then what?"
Alexei waves and smiles over to Botha then turns and whispers, "Then, comrade—we will crucify him."
