The Wonga Coup (14 page)

It shows Mann preoccupied with a ‘shortage of funds' and costly payments during his preparations. He wrote of meeting Moto and the plan to ‘escort' him home: ‘my role was to be concerned chiefly with the military and security aspects'. He recalled that, by June 2003, ‘The whole programme, in terms of my part, then stalled through lack of funds.'

Yet later that year the money worries eased. Mann signed two investment agreements in mid November on behalf of his company, Logo Logistics Limited. Logo had registered offices in the British Virgin Islands, but operated from an address in Guernsey, a tax haven in the English Channel. The two deals are similar, each five pages long with a dozen bland articles of agreement. The interesting bit is the short preamble (identical in each) which specifies that each investor will pay $5 million to Logo Logistics – ‘The Company' – to chase intriguing but ill-defined schemes in west Africa:

The Company has identified potential projects in the fields of mining exploration, commercial sea fishing, aviation (cargo and PAX [passengers]), helicopter charter and commercial security, in the following countries: Guinea Republic [a separate country], Sierra Leone, Liberia and Angola.

An initial investment of USD 5,000,000.00 (American Dollars Five Million) is required from The Investor by The Company to evaluate and initiate the above mentioned projects, which have been identified by the company.

There was no mention of a coup, though ‘commercial security' and the other operations were precisely what Mann planned once Moto became president of Equatorial Guinea, as mentioned in the July contracts. ‘Mining exploration' might refer to the oil industry. Du Toit was already setting up the fishing and aviation firms. The timing was intriguing: just when Mann was scrabbling for investors in his coup attempt, he signed two deals worth a total of $10 million. Though care was taken not to leave an obvious paper trail – there is no specific mention of Equatorial Guinea – these funds would have gone to Mann's firm and would have been used in the businesses that du Toit and Mann were creating.

Who agreed to invest? Crause Steyl, the pilot and plotter, recalls Mann saying he ‘was approached, I think, by a Lebanese consortium. They promised him money.' The names on the investor agreements gave clues. One was signed on behalf of Verona Holdings Limited, registered and based in Vaud, Switzerland. The other was signed on behalf of Asian Trading and Investment Group SAL, registered in Beirut, Lebanon. For those seeking a Lebanese connection to the Wonga Coup, this firm became the centre of investigation. One man, Karim Fallaha, appears here. Records of a meeting of Asian Trading on 27 June 2003 show Fallaha held a post in the company. Other plotters later made references to him. He eventually showed up in person in the Canary Islands in February and March. Calil and Fallaha are said to be acquaintances, though Calil denies any links to Asian Trading.

Soon after signing these agreements Mann passed money down the chain to du Toit. On 5 December he guaranteed a loan of $2 million to du Toit's firm, Triple Options Trading, for unspecified ‘projects in the fields of commercial sea fishing, and commercial safety, in the Republic of Equatorial Guinea …'
The deal was signed by both men. Repayments would begin on 1 May 2004, when both Mann and du Toit expected to be much richer. In the mean time Mann repeatedly provided du Toit with cash. In December the fishing trawler, the
Roslyn Joy
, left Cape Town and sailed up the Atlantic coast of Africa. Ten days later it arrived in Equatorial Guinea. Early in December, du Toit agreed to provide various ‘integrated risk, agriculture and fishing' services to the government. The same month he arranged with a German businessman called Gerhard Merz to broker two cargo aircraft, an Ilyushin II-76 from Ukraine and an Antonov.

Du Toit needed the planes urgently. On 27 November he had struck a deal with the Equatorial Guinea government to form an air transport cargo firm. His business proposal said Pan African Airlines and Trading Company, or PANAC, would provide much-needed links with nearby countries, using huge Russian aircraft, notably the Iluyshin II-76 (with an Armenian crew). Based in Bata, on the mainland bit of the country, customers could rent the aircraft for $6,000 per hour. But the PANAC business document had a curious conclusion. After explaining the aviation business and the use of the Iluyshin, it offered:

10. Triple Options Trading 610 GE SA will make a proposal towards the president concerning security. Part of the proposal will include the donation of 6 (six) Toyota Land Cruiser pick-up trucks by the SA partners, to be utilized by either the police or the military. These vehicles can be transported with the IL-76 directly to EG, pending the approval of the security proposal.

Why give the president six Land Cruisers? It appeared to be a
gesture of goodwill, or perhaps a bribe. In fact, it was an early plan for the Wonga Coup.

On 13 December at Wonderboom airport, near Pretoria, Mann met du Toit, Greg Wales and Crause Steyl. They moved to a holiday resort east of Pretoria where – probably over beers and steaks – they discussed the coup. Steyl recalls the plan they discussed at the time. It explains why du Toit had offered six cars to the president. The luxury vehicles would be loaded into the hold of the Ilyushin and flown to Malabo, with some weapons (bought in Uganda) hidden on the same plane. Obiang would be lured to the airport by the cars and, as he inspected them, the second plane, the Antonov, would land in Malabo. It would be packed with combat-ready mercenaries, also flown over from Uganda, who would rush the apron, guns trained on the president and his guard. Those on the Ilyushin would pull out their own weapons and ‘apply violent measures', snatch Obiang and install Moto. Steyl explains: ‘We had this plan for Obiang. We would take him cars, but first pick up our guys from Uganda. Then at the airport we would grab Obiang, and Moto could come in and have a few cars.' Obiang's life expectancy would be short. ‘If the Moroccan guard had resisted, and if he had come in the line of fire, then as sure as fuck he'd have been killed. Like any buffalo, there is a time to shove him out. Then Moto would come in.'

The plan had much to recommend it. It was bold and simple. Obiang would be vulnerable out of his palace, protected only by bodyguards. The attacking soldiers and their weapons could easily reach the point of use, at the airport. A helicopter would also be useful as an air ambulance or as a gunship. Mann said a financier was already lined up for that. With planes and a helicopter, the attackers would be mobile, heavily armed and could escape if things went wrong. But there were drawbacks,
too. It would happen by day, in the open, watched by anyone who happened to be there. Obiang's Moroccan guards were notoriously twitchy on the move. And, although the plotters probably did not know this, plans to kill Obiang at the airport had been exposed at least once before.

A World Bank adviser, Robert Klitgaard, watched Obiang arrive at Malabo late in the 1980s when Moroccan soldiers patrolled the apron. One had ‘a submachine gun … wrinkled fatigues and an olive-drab baseball hat', he noted. Others lined the fence of the airport, ready for an assault from a nearby forest. There was no attack that day, but a plan was exposed ‘to assassinate the President as he deplaned, in full view of the honor guard, the Moroccan soldiers, all the ministers and military men, and the television camera'. Some forty high-ranking officials were arrested, tortured and jailed for (supposedly) dreaming up the idea. Nearly two decades on, paranoid Obiang might have been suspicious of a trip to the airport, and indifferent to the bait of six Land Cruisers. It was more likely he would send his brother, Armengol, or playboy son, Teodorin, both of whom like luxury cars.

But the plotters knew little of this. They thought the idea was sound, and set an attack date of 25 January, just over a month later. There remained much to do. Early recruitment of soldiers had begun, and some finance had been promised. Du Toit's friend and business partner, Henry van der Westhuizen, had approached a highly placed man in Uganda to discuss weapons. But a deal was not assured. Nor were travel arrangements fixed. Steyl was to organise both Moto's arrival from Spain and transport for the main attacking force from South Africa. Now he said he could not deliver. He recalled: ‘By late in 2003 I was supposed to be ready to get troops up there [as well as Moto's team]. But around November I said I
can't do both.' Mann was unamused. Steyl suggested that an Ivan Pienaar could arrange planes for the footsoldiers, leaving him to deal with Moto. Mann, though not pleased, agreed.

And the helicopter? Obiang had two MI-24 helicopter gunships. The attackers wanted something, too. In the days of Executive Outcomes, and earlier when 32 Battalion fought in Angola, helicopters were essential kit. Mann and the others knew one could tip the outcome of a battle. The idea of using a helicopter for this attack had been floating around for months. ‘In military operations you have lots of things: cannons, pistols and other stuff,' said Steyl. ‘A helicopter? It wasn't essential, but a luxury item. We would use it when we were there. We never discussed exactly what we'd do. We discussed having hard points [where a machine gun could be fixed] on it. But you could also have a guy in the door with an AK-47 … Had things gone down successfully it would have been a mystery bonus. It would make us look powerful.' As another bonus, Mann had someone ready to fund it.

‘Some are always willing to surrender morals for profits.'

British businessman, 2005

Mann, though rich himself, always sought money from elsewhere for his new project. He had promises of $10 million set out in the two investor agreements in November 2003, but wanted more. His hunger for funds led to one of his bigger blunders: involving the famous son of a former British prime minister. Mann had been friendly with Mark Thatcher in Cape Town since they met in 1997. They had a mutual friend in Nigel Morgan, whom they affectionately called Nosher or Pig, and both had visited the intelligence-gatherer's remote country home. Thatcher had worked also with Morgan and Smith on the Cogito idea (selling business intelligence to companies or the government) in Equatorial Guinea. It was Thatcher who provided the capital for Cogito to be formed in the first place, and he had earlier helped Morgan through a difficult patch in his life in South Africa by providing him with a home for a spell. Both Thatcher and Morgan developed a steady interest in Mann's obscure west African scheme.

Like a man waving a golf club in a thunderstorm, Mark Thatcher invites intense and unwelcome attention. For a quarter of a century, since his mother became prime minister,
Mark (Sir Mark after his father, Denis, died) has drawn the interest of British journalists. Intelligence agencies probably keep an eye on him, too, intrigued by his range of business contacts. And though Morgan later claimed that Thatcher was never more than ‘peripheral', a mere ‘voyeur' of Mann's plot, he knew the British press and others would find his involvement in a coup plot to be momentous news.

Thatcher's life had been one of unhappy privilege. Born in 1953, he struggled as a child. Some teachers recall he was a quiet boy, overshadowed by his twin sister, Carol. Others at his snobbish public school, Harrow, thought him dim-witted and lowerclass. His mother was a rising star in the Conservative party, but for cruel schoolboys that was something to be teased about. He did poorly at exams and was sometimes called ‘Thicky Mork' as others laughed at his accent. But he was attracted to adventure and often pored over Frederick Forsyth novels, presumably including
The Dogs of War
. He tried different careers, including selling jewellery then racing cars, travelling to South Africa for races in the early 1970s. After his mother became prime minister in 1979 – the same year Obiang took office – he drew constant media attention to himself, usually for gaffes.

On New Year's Day 1982, while taking part in the Paris–Dakar off-road car race, Mark Thatcher and his female codriver disappeared in the Sahara. They were lost for six days, bringing the prime minister to public tears. When the two drivers were eventually found unharmed beside Mark's car, he shrugged off the incident, showing no gratitude to those – including his father – who had organised a massive search. His unofficial biographers, Paul Halloran and Mark Hollingsworth, say in
Thatcher's Fortunes
, that he was later an unofficial agent for David Bayley, who ‘set up a private office in
Muscatar [as] an arms dealer' and who subsequently sacked him, saying, ‘Mark is useful but a complete idiot. He is so incompetent.' Thatcher became known as arrogant and ready to exploit his mother's famous name for private gain. In conversation he can be affable enough, though aggressive, too. In the course of three interviews for this book he joked that any unflattering comments published about him would lead to this author needing ‘a new dental surgeon', and if I dared identify him with the Equatorial Guinea plot I would end up ‘as Mr Stumpy', that is, walking around on stumps for legs. In larger groups, perhaps because he grows nervous, he can be unpleasant, hurling threats at waiters and drivers, friends and strangers alike. But he is at least conscious of this. For a time he introduced himself saying: ‘Hello, I'm charmless Mark.'

He made most of his early money, said Halloran and Hollingsworth in
Thatcher's Fortunes
, ‘facilitating' trade in military equipment, though he said he personally never sold as much as a penknife. When Britain supplied a huge arms package to Saudi Arabia while Mrs Thatcher was prime minister, her son collected a ‘fixing fee' of at least £12 million, claim his biographers. The British public never warmed to him. He was told to keep out of sight during his mother's re-election campaigns. He moved to the United States and met his future wife, Diane, in Texas. But by the early 1990s the American tax revenue service (IRS) launched proceedings against six former directors and investors in a firm called Emergency Networks, one of whom was Thatcher. He responded by saying he was not responsible and the case was eventually settled out of court, with Thatcher incurring no penalties. But, with Diane and their two children, he moved on again. They opted for a reclusive expatriate life in Cape Town, South Africa.