They knew the president was in because the Congolese flag was flying on every available flag-pole. Half an hour later the response came back: Croon and two of his assistants were granted an audience with the man. They left the Tutsis lolling somnambulantly at the gate, smoking cheap cigarettes and joking about insurrection. Croon and his assistants were bundled into a high-performance golf buggy and ferried to the chateau.

The interior was even more ambitious than the grounds. They crossed vast lobbies of marble and weathered limestone, ogled at the chandeliers, reflected on the various European masters hanging in the anterooms. The age of the great African silverback was coming to a close, however, and this included dictator excess: on close inspection those European masters were prints, for example, and most of the chandeliers were plastic.

Croon was invited to dine with the president later that day. His Excellency was apparently a keen fan of nature documentaries (who wasn't?). A week bumming around the tropical undergrowth had taken its toll on the agent's godliness, however, so he was pampered to an afternoon in the baths. Several members of the presidential harem were dispatched to scrub his back, pluck his nostril hair and offer him tray after tray of musk essence (he settled on a wildebeest/jaguar combination).

The bells were rung, and it was time for dinner. Croon was led to the dining hall, the doors were flung open, and he beheld a long teak table covered by a splayed hippopotomus. The president was at the far end, hippopotomus-faced himself, tucking into a generous slab of hippo gristle.

<<My friend, sit please, and eat!>> His Excellency instructed. He dropped a lettuce leaf to some creature beneath the table... presumably it was his pet? Croon sat down and despite himself sliced a steak from the purple bulk with a large carving knife.

<<Good meat, eh?>> the president inquired. <<Good, juicy steak. It's our finest work-horse, this. Five years of selective breeding went into the creation of this monster. It produces up to 40 per cent more meat than our earlier models, and that meat is 50 per cent more tender, and it tastes about 60 per cent better. We're working on a pygmy pedigree for the Euro market.>>

<<It tastes good>> Croon said, despite himself.

The president gave his pet another lettuce leaf and lifted it to rummage over his plate. Croon gagged, fork frozen in mid air. For the president's pet was a poodle-sized sky-blue elephant.

<<I'd like you to meet our chef>> the president said. <<All the way from China...>>

Wong Ka-Fai sauntered out of the kitchen wearing a floppy chef's hat and holding a silver tray. He smiled at Croon, lifted the lid from the tray and offered him a pile of steaming scrota.

BON APPETIT!