[Chapter 856: The Land of Forgotten Gods]
"Hey, Tanner, the connection to Europe has been cut. There's evidence showing that these two guys were last seen in Somalia."
"Geez, that's a real mess. What's the situation there now?"
Jack shrugged, pondering how to describe the situation. After a moment of thought, he couldn't find the right words.
As someone educated and articulate, vocabulary was never an issue for him, but what could you say in a situation like this?
"The land abandoned by the gods, Tanner. All the evils you can think of are unfolding in Somalia. What's worse, it happens every minute. I really can't understand why the UN chose to leave."
"Dear Jack, nobody's paying for anything. If they continue, the UN might just disband. They don't like anyone meddling. Anyway, I've got it. And about the angels, we can't let our guard down."
"Alright, boss, I'm on my way." Jack had initially wanted to say that if they just ignored it, another disaster like Rwanda could happen again.
But to be fair, Jack was overthinking it; Somalia was not Rwanda. Rwanda had its terrible hardships because both sides were evenly matched, but Somalia was entirely different. It was ruled by petty warlords, and no one dared to take that step.
When William White heard it was Somalia, his mood soured immediately. He was sure that the CIA rats had their fingers in this pie. And from the looks of it, there was probably more than one group involved.
"Hey, how about we dive in as well? Jack's a decent choice; let him take the lead."
"Come on, you think this is a movie? Captain Jack? This place is a real headache, strategically significant. We'll just develop some contacts. As for those pirates, we can only handle that for now. I'm sure they'll slip up eventually. Investigate that pirate family; they're the most eccentric. Dig into their equipment and find out who's really behind this."
"Okay, I'll get that organized. I think they'll need some heavy-duty gear."
"Of course, just having AK-47s and RPGs won't cut it; at least they need GPS and satellite phones. Otherwise, all they can do is raid fishing boats. For a pirate with ambition, robbing fishing boats is just humiliating. Just wait and see; we'll catch them when they surface."
In modern society, the idea of piracy seemed ridiculous. You cut off the oil transport lines in Asia, and of course, no one's going to touch you. Japan faced legal restrictions that made it difficult to just go wild, and as for China, it was too far away. If it were the Strait of Malacca, that would be easy.
Oil prices had risen from under $13 to above $15. While the profit margins weren't great, at least they weren't losing money.
William White let out a sigh of relief, while continuously cursing. From Mexico to the desert, and now to Somalia, everything revolved around oil.
Looking at the chain of interests, the Rockefeller Foundation had the most suspicion. Those who stood to gain the most always had the greatest culpability, and there was nothing more to debate.
"Ha! Don't let my guys grab you by the short hairs, otherwise, the first financial group will make your life miserable as well." William White muttered, cursing, occasionally dropping some F-bombs.
His assistant noticed something strange; her boss had recently gotten a daughter and had been in a noticeably better mood. Now, though, he seemed to have snapped out of it unexpectedly.
Lisa had no way of knowing that playing the role of a big shot was actually pretty tiring. Essentially, William White was still that rich, immature guy.
People like him had one common trait: they hated to lose and detested being outplayed. Given the complexities of the situation, losing his temper was inevitable.
Of course, such people also had their merits; everything seemed to come and go easily for them. An hour later, a visibly relaxed William White reappeared before Lisa.
"Let's go; I'm starving. I want steak and make sure it's rare."
"Sure thing, boss. It's all ready."
William White knew all too well that his anger wouldn't solve anything. As his assets continued to grow, more people would want to take action.
"Max, how's it looking over there?"
"I taught some clueless idiots a lesson. It's much better now. Sir, Kinshasa is full of refugees; there's absolutely no order. However, diamond production is significantly increasing."
"Ha! That's due to cheap labor influx. If there were this many people in Australia's gold mines, production would at least double. By the way, we need to expand where conditions are good. Hmm, not too many people; just around a hundred or so should do. As for the specifics, Tanner will get in touch with you."
"Alright, I'm all set for that. I've got plenty of those kinds of folks."
"Good, it's settled then."
Trying to figure out the situation in Somalia wasn't going to work with nobody on the ground. In a place as small as that, how could there be so many pirates? Fortunately, this crew would have to come ashore.
The disaster in Rwanda had nearly come to an end. In the foreseeable future, life would be relatively calm.
Human memory had its flaws; unless it was their own personal experience, it never felt quite as clear, even when the events were close at hand.
With Rwanda's chaos fading, society began to regain order. Looking at the mountains of bodies, the survivors finally found a semblance of peace.
They had to--killing would leave them with barely anyone left. Things were looking up here, but next door, it was a different story for old Wang.
To begin with, there wasn't enough food; now millions of refugees were suddenly pouring in. This was a real death sentence.
Donations?
That was merely a gesture. Millions of people? Please, it was a joke. If the UN couldn't handle it, what could an individual do?
Believe it or not, if sufficient food was provided, in two years, there would be ten million people here. Apart from the refugees from other places, most would likely be newborns. While it wasn't pleasant to say, it was merely stating a fact.
The world's strangest refugees were probably those from Africa. If there was a way to lie down and eat, they would never sit. Only when completely desperate would they head out in search of food.
The land was fertile and not short on water; it could be cultivated year-round. The idea that people could starve in such a place was ludicrous.
Someone might argue, "Wait, but Africa's had droughts for days; how can there not be water?"
Without getting into debates, yes, some places had water and some didn't--no need to dispute that. But Kinshasa had the Congo River; how could it possibly lack a water source?
Of course, it was also true that there were no irrigation systems. Over ninety percent of freshwater was likely wasted, flowing straight out to sea.
"Filson, have these desert tycoons lost their minds?"
"Ahem, boss, oil prices are unstable; they need to hedge their risks. It's not just Americans; they've invested in Europe and Asia too. I heard they plan to build a large refinery in China."
"Wow, that's quite visionary. Hahaha, they're probably worried that if the oil runs out, they'll end up starving!"
Having resources is indeed beneficial, but if someone planned to just lie back and let the resources do the work, they were likely not far from demise. There was a place called Nauru that seemed to have met that fate.
"That's true; today's welfare systems are built on resources. By current estimates, in fifty years, the desert region will likely run out of oil."
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