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"A Prayer for Jara" by Alan G Brown.

 

 

 

 

Genre: Thriller
Pages: 196
Written: 2004
War, some mild language

A high salary and bonus helps Rick to ignore the impending civil war - until it happens. Now the money means nothing as the military coup leaders kill foreign workers while blaming terrorists. The only people he can trust are the so-called terrorists, an ethnic minority facing extermination by the army, whom he blames for his problems. His pacifist side wonders why the different factions can't talk, but his love for Jara impels him to join their fight for life. His love, the betrayals, and killing means that he is no longer the man he was. Possessions mean nothing. Life and freedom are worth fighting for. Yet the uprising has no hope of succeeding.

A fast, action-packed adventure.

This is bound to join Deserve to Die, Grave Digging, The Life Pool, and Devine Retribution in the 'page-turning and unputdownable' league table.

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Extract:

Chapter 1

I thought the only reason for Radman and me going to the bar directly from the office was because the long day had been gruelling. After the usual small talk, he showed that he had a serious and more sinister reason for the invitation. If I had known how the next twenty-four hours would change my life, then I might have listened closer and taken his advice. However, I would not be the person I am now, and would never have met Katarina.
    "Rick," he said softly while glancing around the room. "You saw what happened today, so why are you still here?"
    I kept my voice low too, although I doubted any of the labourers in their rough clothes understood a word of English. "A bit of terrorism. Every country suffers attacks now and then. Anyway, the army quickly sorted out the problem."
    Radman sighed and shook his head. "Why are you here at all? You still know nothing about us."
    "Hey," I said, smiling to lighten his mood. "I'm just here to do my job, help drill an oil well, teach the local workforce, and go home. That's what the company hired me for."
    "A fat pay cheque and a much fatter bonus at the end. That is all you saw and all you care about." He was a forty-year-old family man with a thickening middle, and he was talking to me like he was my father. Only fourteen years separated us but he made me feel like a child.
    "What else matters?" The look he gave me stirred my own anger. "Look, if you must know, I'd just gone through a messy divorce from a messy wife. She and the bloodsucking lawyers left me with nothing. I needed to get away. You know, someplace new, and go back with something to show for it. This job was perfect." His enigmatic smile made me wonder if he thought my reasons were that poor.
    "Did you even bother asking about the country where you would be working?"
    "Of course." I sipped the beer to hide my guilt. "I read the gazetteer and saw articles on the web. The government and army seemed to have everything under control and still do."
    "And you never questioned why the bonus and death in service amounts were so high." He shook his head again and chuckled. "Perhaps you deserve to stay here to discover that not everywhere is like England, my friend."
    "I don't have a choice. If I leave now, no bonus. No bonus, no starting capital. No starting capital means I'm just another bum on the streets."
    "Better that than dead." He waved his hand as though wafting away cigarette smoke. "The government is about to fall and the army is ready to take over the country." He looked at everyone carefully to see if anyone was listening. "Those people whom you call terrorists are only defending themselves against the army's death squads. Have you heard and seen nothing that goes on around you each night?" His gentle voice only helped to anger me, but that anger was probably only to hide my discomfort.
    "I'm not blind." Yes, I had seen and heard too much but had tried to ignore it. Their problems had nothing to do with me. I was only here to do a job. That's all. However, I had peered through the curtains several times to ensure nobody was about to attack the flats in which I lived. "Look, if terrorists blow up transmitters and power substations, like they did today, then of course the army will arrest anyone involved."
    He sighed again, and looked as though this child couldn't understand. "Those people did nothing except belong to a different ethnic group. Have you seen anyone return? Have you heard of any court cases? No, of course you haven't."
    "That's because I don't know the language. How can I read a local newspaper? The only English papers around say nothing of what goes on daily in places like this, and CNN just makes it sound like some heavy political thing."
    "Have they not said that foreigners should leave?"
    "No. Well, only that tourists should be aware that this is not a good time for sightseeing." He was starting to make me nervous, but I kept thinking about the money I'd lose if I left now. "Nobody will harm foreigners, especially English and Americans because they'd send in the troops."
    This time Radman laughed like I had told him a joke. "The UN will do nothing. Understand this, if they were to enter the country because of an uprising, then they would need to be prepared for a major war. This they will not do. Cannot. Even the Americans fear such a commitment."
    Now I was scared. That's when I realised that everyone in the bar was talking quietly and nobody laughed. In every English pub, bursts of laughter punctuated the deafening hum of dozens of conversations. This place was like a morgue in comparison. I'd even been to happier wakes than this. Even the warm room seemed cold, almost clinical for a bar. I finished my drink and grabbed his glass. Although I had the company car with me tonight, the glasses were small and the police hadn't stopped me yet. He was right about one thing though. The police here were like an extension of the army, and could be just as vicious. They were more likely to shoot first rather than risk a confrontation. A night in their cells was more like a death sentence. When I sat again, Radman was watching me as though waiting for a revelation.
    "A few more weeks," I said. "That's all. Surely things won't get worse that quickly?"
    "Get on a flight tomorrow."
    "Oh, yeh, and wind up looking and feeling like a fool because the whole thing dies. With the way the army and police are arresting people, the terrorists will soon disappear. Then everything will become peaceful again."
    "I know you do not believe that nonsense, Rick. Your mind is finding excuses because you think you will lose face if you leave."
    "The government won't allow this to continue," I said, trying to sound convincing.
    "The government have grown weaker and are now powerless to do anything. If they try to stop the army from secretly murdering ethnic minorities, then the army will take over the government. Provided the politicians change nothing, they continue getting fatter on the backhanders from companies like ours." He nodded. "Yes, I see you understand."
    I gulped down the cold beer and sensed that I could drink all night without getting even mildly lightheaded.
    "It is time to take off those blinkers, Rick. Nobody will be safe after this week, of that I promise."
    When I looked into his eyes, I knew that he was somehow connected to the terrorists, or freedom fighters or whatever they liked to call themselves. "Thanks for the advice, Radman," I said calmly and seriously because of  my discovery about him.
    "Trust nobody, especially the army."
    I stared at him, trying to see whether he would gladly put a gun to my head if he did join an uprising. That thought quickly disappeared. If trouble started, then I sensed the safest place for me was by his side. He had worked on my own fears as though reading my mind over the last few days. Yet I still felt moderately safe in the city simply because I was not alone. Three large foreign companies had moved here to help the country and its economy, and all had foreign workers, mostly Americans. My main worry over the past week was that America would look after its own by flying in armed choppers to rescue US nationals if the worst happened. What would happen to the half-dozen English workers? The small German and Dutch contingent seemed the safest. They were Continental Europeans after all, and could quickly drive to the nearest border and safety. Why should it be any harder for me? "I'll sleep on it."
    "Then I suggest you have an early night because you do not have long," he said while rising. "Trust me." He drained his glass and shrugged into his overcoat. "The bonus is not worth it."

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