Free Minute Zero by Todd Moss Page A

they in business together?”
    “I don’t know. Wouldn’t surprise me.” Sunday shrugged.
    “What can you tell me about a massacre many years ago. Moto . . . something.”
    “Motowetsurohuro,” Sunday said. “In the north, not far from the Kanyemba mine, actually. We don’t know what happened exactly, but there used to be villages there, and now there aren’t.”
    “They’re just gone?”
    “Yes. Erased from the map.”
    “How does that happen?”
    “The government denies it
ever
happened. The record has been totally expunged. They claim it was always propaganda from local troublemakers. Our ambassador inquired about it at the time in a meeting with their foreign minister and they nearly expelled him from the country.”
    “My God, Sunday. We didn’t do anything?”
    “A local church recorded the names of those who disappeared. They have a list of several hundred people. But no living witnesses and no bodies.”
    “No bodies?”
    “Nope.”
    “No case.”
    “Aaay.”
    “The trail’s gone completely cold?”
    “As far as I can tell.”
    “So that’s what Simba has on Tino? The massacre?”
    “Plausible. Or maybe that’s what Tino has on Simba. Ever since, Chimurenga has been treated almost like Tino’s son. And that’s what brings us back to this weekend’s voting. If Tinotenda somehow lost the election, then Chimurenga would make sure, one way or another, it never happened. Just like Motowetsurohuro.”
    “How could he do that? There are hundreds of election observers.”
    “Good question. Since I was put on Zimbabwe, I’ve been watching how they operate and where they draw lessons. Chimurenga visited Gabon and Angola to see how they run elections, plus he’s run election security for the past two voting cycles at home. Based on what I’ve gathered, I assess that Chimurenga’s built three layers of protection.”
    Sunday paused to check they were still alone. He then leaned in and whispered, “Phase one is to intimidate the electorate. That usually works. With some money and guns, it’s not hard to bribe the right people and frighten the rest into voting for the Big Man.”
    “Incumbents don’t always win.”
    “True. ‘The people who cast the votes don’t decide an election, the people who count the votes do.’ You know who said that?”
    “Tinotenda?”
    “Joseph Stalin.” Sunday smiled again.
    “So that’s phase two?”
    “I think so. If intimidation doesn’t work, then Chimurenga can steal the election by vote rigging, ballot stuffing, and, if it comes down to it, falsifying the results.”
    “How can they get away with that? Aren’t the ballots counted at local stations and posted outside so all the people can all see the local tallies?”
    “Control the computer network, control the result. Even if the local counting is accurate, they can change the numbers in the aggregation. There are always discrepancies in an election. One constituency here and there where you get some odd results. They can just fix the numbers. Even if the opposition could get their hands on the raw data, it would take months to challenge the final results in court. And by that time it’s too late. Once the final election results are announced and the new government is sworn in, it’s very hard to reopen the books.”
    “The opposition needs real-time data.”
    “Sure. But how are they going to get that? The election commission is run by Judge Makwere. Do you know who he is?”
    “I’m guessing he’s close to Tinotenda?”
    “Bingo. Makwere is the uncle of Harriet Tinotenda.”
    “The First Lady.”
    “Right.”
    Judd sighed. “Does the Agency have polling numbers?”
    “We always do.”
    “Well, what do they say?”
    “It’s a small sample size, but the numbers are pretty clear that, in a truly free and fair election, Gugu Mutonga would take it in a landslide.”
    “A landslide? Really?”
    “Most voters were born after independence. The ruling party is a bunch of greedy,