Cry Havoc

360 Pages·2011·6.17 MB·English

by  Simon Mann

DEDICATION
I started this book in Chikurubi Prison as a love letter to
Amanda and I dedicate it to her, but also to everyone who
tried to help me escape my two prisons.
Contents
Title Page
DEDICATION
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Maps
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
POSTSCRIPT
GLOSSARY
APPENDIX ONE
APPENDIX TWO
APPENDIX THREE
Plates
Copyright
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
In this book I have tried to be honest about how I felt about what was being
done, or not being done, to get me out. Sometimes I was very angry. So I
wrote that. Now that I am out I feel differently. Now I feel just thankful.
There are people who, even today, I find out tried to help me, but I didn’t
know. There are people who tried to help me who don’t want me to ever know.
There are people who disliked what I was about, but who tried to help me
despite that.
This is for them all. Thank you. However they tried. To Amanda. To Edward,
my dear but now dead brother. To my sister, Sarah. To Peter, Jack and Sophie. To
all the many others. Big help or small. Successful or not. Thank you, just the
same.
I also want to thank all the many people who have helped with this book.
Particularly Jim Nally who worked slavishly as Creative Editor. I gave him
200,000 words that I had written and Jim turned it into the fabulous book it is
now. And Adrian Sington. Ever loyal and hardworking agent, without whom all
would have been lost, many times over and everyone at John Blake, and mostly
John Blake himself.
Some names, identifying characteristics and locations in this book have been
changed for legal reasons.

PROLOGUE
This is about oil. Oil wars. In Africa mostly.
Many of the words in this book were written by hand. In ballpoint pen on
heat-sticky school exercise books, in Chikurubi Maximum Security Prison,
Harare, Zimbabwe – Chik Max. When I started to write, this was a love letter to
my wife, Amanda. A present for her. The story of our love.
Prison security stole it.
Having been started over, and having been again stolen, then again restarted,
the letter had become more than the story of our love affair. It was the story of
my life, even if our love was the best part of that.
At any day then, I might have been taken to Equatorial Guinea (EG) to be
killed. In Zimbabwe, my trial yet lay ahead. The prosecution was asking for the
death penalty. Perhaps, therefore, this book was the only way that I could tell my
seven children who I was, what had happened, why I had done these things.
Perhaps this book was a way that I could make some money for Amanda. She
and the children were not eating air. Food costs money. Your man in prison costs
money. Lawyers drain away money. Lawyers guzzle money.
In 2007, security took away the book again. This time I had fooled them.
They took away 800 pages of unsorted and muddled drafts, but the best copy
was hidden – ready to be smuggled back to England. The book escaped.