Benjamin's declaration that they were going to steal gasoline directly from the British had left his two most loyal men completely paralyzed.
Kofi, the aging caretaker, was the first to break the tension.
"Mr. President, please. We cannot antagonize the British Empire. Your late father always taught us diplomacy! He was a great man of peace. He signed the London Accords to guarantee our stability. He told us the British were generous partners who built our roads, established our central bank, and gave us the civil service. If we steal from them, we spit on your father's legacy of cooperation!"
Benjamin leaned back in his heavy leather chair and stared at the old man.
This was the problem with the Republic of Zambura...
The people had been fed a diet of colonial propaganda for so long that they actually believed the men robbing them were their benefactors.
"Was my father a great man, Kofi?" Benjamin asked, his voice completely devoid of emotion.
"A saint, sir!" Kofi insisted, nodding fervently. "He secured millions in foreign investment! He kept the military in the barracks and focused on trade. He believed in the goodness of our allies!"
Benjamin let out a harsh, humorless scoff. He had to tear down these illusions immediately. He could not fight a proxy war with men who still believed in fairy tales.
"My father was the perfect, naive victim," Benjamin said.
"You talk about the roads the British built. Have you ever looked at a map of those roads? They do not connect our villages. They do not connect the capital to the farming provinces. They run in straight, unbroken lines from the interior rubber plantations directly to the export docks. They didn't build a transportation network for Zambura; they built a conveyor belt to extract our wealth."
Captain Elias frowned. "But sir, they established the central bank. They gave us the loans to keep the government running..."
"Let me explain how the economy actually works, Captain," Benjamin said, standing up and walking over to a large map of the country pinned to the wall.
He tapped a finger against the western desert region. "The British loaned us money with a twenty percent interest rate. Where do you think we get the money to pay them back? We export our raw cocoa and rubber at rock-bottom prices. Then, we use the meager profits to buy manufactured tractors, radios, and clothes from British factories at an massive premium."
Benjamin turned to face his men, his eyes sharp and unrelenting. "It is a rigged casino. My father thought he was signing treaties of friendship. In reality, he signed debt traps. They gave us a little bit of money upfront, like tossing crumbs to a starving dog, to ensure we would remain too poor to ever build our own factories. My father sold our sovereignty for a pat on the head from the Ambassador. And the moment he tried to look for other options they assassinated him."
The room grew terrifyingly cold. Captain Elias stared at the map, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek.
The young officer had spent his entire life believing the civilian government was protecting them.
Now, laid out in simple mathematics, he saw the trap.
"They played us..." Elias growled. "The Ambassador smiles at us while his banks bleed us dry. And General Mbeki is just their hired muscle to make sure we never fight back."
"Exactly!" Benjamin confirmed. He felt a flicker of satisfaction. Elias was finally waking up.
"Damn them!" Elias cursed "Damn the Ambassador, damn Mbeki, and damn the London Accords! We are guarding a hollow shell, sir! They have locked us in this palace to starve, while they steal the very dirt from under our feet!"
Kofi, meanwhile, looked entirely defeated. The old man's worldview had just been shattered. "If... if what you say is true, Benjamin... then we have no allies. We are completely surrounded by enemies. How can we possibly survive? Can we not just surrender? Ask for exile in France or America?"
Benjamin looked at the trembling caretaker. Another protagonist in another story might have placed a warm, comforting hand on the old man's shoulder and promised that everything would be alright.
"No, Kofi. We cannot surrender," Benjamin said flatly. "If we surrender, Mbeki will execute us to prevent a future rebellion. If we flee, foreign intelligence agencies will hunt us down because I know too much about the oil reserves in the west. No one is coming to save us. There are no knights in shining armor.
If we fail tonight, Mbeki will mount our heads on the front gates by morning. Our only option is to become the predators instead of the prey."
Before the silence could settle again, the doors opened with a quiet creak. A junior servant hurried in, carrying a tarnished silver tray. He looked completely terrified.
"Dinner is served, Mr. President!" the servant whispered, setting the tray down on the desk.
Benjamin looked at the meal. It was a single, dented tin of cold baked beans, three pieces of hard, stale rationing bread, and a glass of cloudy water.
"The main water pumps have stopped working, sir," the servant apologized quickly, keeping his head bowed.
"General Mbeki's men outside have cut the municipal electricity lines leading to the estate. We are operating on the backup generators, and the kitchen pantry is completely empty."
Elias stared at the meager rations, his stomach letting out a loud, embarrassing growl. "They are trying to break our morale before the twenty-four hours are up."
Benjamin picked up a piece of the stale bread, examining it with a detached curiosity. "Let them cut the power. We do not need electricity to shoot back."
He took a bite of the hard bread.
Suddenly, a loud burst of static hissed from the corner of the room.
Captain Elias rushed over to the military radio sitting on a side table. He hastily adjusted the frequency dials, trying to clear the signal.
The device was an old tube radio, prone to intercepting unencrypted military chatter from the local garrison.
"...repeat, this is Northern Command. Colonel Diallo has halted his advance. I repeat, the 3rd Armored Division is turning around. They are falling back to the northern border provinces. Diallo refuses to engage Mbeki's blockade at the capital..."
Elias slammed his fist against the table, swearing loudly. "Coward!"
Kofi rushed forward. "Colonel Diallo? But he was your father's most loyal commander in the north! He has three dozen modern armored vehicles! The loyalist factions in the senate sent him an emergency plea this morning to march on the capital and break Mbeki's siege! Why is he retreating?"
Elias looked disgusted. "The radio chatter says the British Ambassador just offered Diallo a regional governorship and a massive bribe in pound sterling if he stays out of the conflict. The loyalists are begging him to honor his oaths, but he is running away."
Kofi slumped against the bookshelf, all hope draining from his face.
"If Diallo will not fight... we are truly finished. He was our last military reinforcement!"
Benjamin finished his piece of stale bread and washed it down with a sip of the cloudy water. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, completely unfazed by the devastating news.
"Diallo is not a coward; he is simply a pragmatist," Benjamin explained calmly, stepping away from the desk.
"If he marches his tanks down here to fight Mbeki, he risks a massive civil war. Even if he wins, his forces will be depleted. But if he takes the British bribe, he gets to stay in his northern province, keep all his tanks, and rule like a petty king while we die in the capital. Why would he risk his own neck for a dead President's son?"
Elias looked at Benjamin, "So you expected him to betray us?"
"I expect everyone to act in their own self-interest, Captain," Benjamin said, his eyes locking onto Elias's.
"Diallo is looking out for Diallo. Mbeki is looking out for Mbeki. The British are looking out for their economy. It is time we start looking out for Zambura..."
"We are done waiting for phantom armies," Benjamin declared. "Captain Elias, gather your ten most discreet men. Dress them in civilian clothing. Kofi, draw me a map of the city's underground drainage system that leads out past the estate walls."
"We are really doing this, sir?!" Elias asked.
"We are going to sneak out of this palace, locate the main British petroleum depot in the commercial district, and hijack a commercial transport truck full of gasoline," Benjamin commanded.
"Then, we drive that fuel to the abandoned docks, gas up the heavy transports, load the Soviet assault rifles and RPG-7s, and drive them right back into this palace before the sun comes up."
Benjamin walked toward the doors, pausing only to look back at his two stunned subordinates.