Ghost of Africa

by Chuck Van Soye

  After clearing that window, TD walked back to the waiting room entry gate to present his “special” ticket. He hesitated entering, peering in to confirm his memory of where Bret and Zhu sat. To the right of the gate was a flower bouquet vendor. TD bought the biggest bunch, and then used it to shield his face in case Bret glanced in his direction. He entered, but lacking a seat, stood as far away from his targets as possible. He was equally cautious during the boarding process. The ferry started its whiny engines and roared out to sea.

  After an hour-long, mildly bumpy ride, the ferry pulled into the Macau terminal and shut down its engines. After a short wait, passengers were allowed to disembark and enter the terminal building. Once inside, about a third left through a door marked “Taxis.” Bret and Zhu hailed the first cab in line. As they started moving away, the driver asked, “Where to?”

  “The Grand Coloane Resort, please,” responded Bret.

  “Crap. Why do I always get the dummies?” said the annoyed Chinese driver quietly in perfect English.

  “Who’s a dummy?” snapped Zhu. “What’s your problem, driver?”

  “Oh . . . sorry, Sir, I didn’t know you could hear me. I apologize. The reason I’m upset is that the Coloane is in walking distance, less than a block away. I lose my place in the taxi line for a low fare.”

  “Damn, now I remember,” groaned Zhu. “Chu told us she picked the Coloane because it was near the ferry terminal.”

  Bret reacted to the cabby’s apology, “No problem driver; we enjoyed the one-block drive. We’ll make you whole. This dummy has a twenty-dollar bill for you. Does that help?”

  “Sure does. Thank you, Sir. And allow me to tell you that while U.S. currency is always welcome in Macau, you should know that Hong Kong dollars are used in most transactions.“

  “What’s the HK versus US exchange rate?”

  “There are about eight HK dollars to one U.S. dollar. The official local currency is the MOP; they are roughly valued as equivalent to the HK dollar.”

  Bret and Zhu then exited the taxi and entered the Grand Coloane Resort. A bellman removed their luggage from the taxi’s trunk and carried it inside.

  TD watched this action from his taxi, parked across the street, then paid the fare and over-tipped his driver, saying, “Thanks for staying on their tail. I think I’ll get out here and just take a little walk. Oh, give these flowers to your wife.”

  TD did just that, inspecting the businesses, buildings and activities on both sides of the road for a block in both directions. Then he cautiously entered the Coloane’s luxurious lobby, looked around, registered for a room, bought a paper, and took an upholstered corner chair offering a clear view in all directions.

  After more than an hour’s wait, Bret and Zhu emerged from the elevator, wearing suits and ties instead of the street clothes they wore on the plane and ferry. They walked directly to the concierge desk, spoke to the uniformed male seated there, and after a brief conversation, left the hotel and caught a waiting taxi.

  TD wasted no time getting to the concierge. “Good evening. I’ve been traveling with those two friends, and they must have missed me waiting here in the lobby to go with them.” Then, laying a twenty dollar bill in front of him, “Did they say where they were going?”

  “No, Sir, but they asked me which of this island’s casinos was the biggest and best known.”

  “How did you respond?”

  “I told them that the Venetian Casino was the largest in the world and had over 3,400 slot machines and 800 gambling tables. It’s clearly Macau’s finest and most famous casino.”

  “Thanks, I’ll meet them there.”

  Then he walked out and caught a cab of his own, thinking, Gambling . . . so that’s Bret’s game, or I should say, Steffan’s and Zhu’s. I wonder why? What are they up to? I’d better let The Company know.”

  En route to the Venetian, TD used his special-issue phone to text Jim Baker in DC: Found and tailed our two friends to the Venetian casino in Macao. Suspect activities somehow related to gambling. Target not aware of my surveillance.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Venetian Macao, Cotai, Macau, China

  “What about the girls?”asked Zhu once they were in the taxi en route to the Venetian Casino.

  “They’ll meet us at the door, according to the escort service,” responded Bret. “I made it clear that they had to be properly dressed for the casino, and willing to play a role, according to our instruction. We have to pay half of the fee up front, 8000 HKD.”

  “Sounds like some of their past johns haven’t been honest gentlemen.”

  “I hope they’re as pretty as Celeste and Gabrielle.”

  “Aren’t you afraid Chu will get upset we’ve hired supermodels again?”

  “No. That’s what she wants. It fits in with the gossip articles she concocts.”

  “Your funeral, not mine.”

  “Too late now anyway. There they are. Right at the entrance waiting for us.”

  Bret and Zhu exit the cab and walk over to the girls. One clearly is of Asian descent, and the other appears Southern European, with tan skin. Both are knock-out gorgeous in features and form, and dressed for partying.

  “Hello girls. I’m Steffan and this is my bodyguard.”

  “You can call me Zhu,” he said, as the Asian girl in her red silk sheath and spindly stilettos wiggled over to his side.

  “You guys look and sound like Amercans. I’m Ying Yue, and was born in Beijing. My friend here is . . .”

  “My name is Izabela. I’m originally from Portugal,” she sighed, and held out the back of her hand for Steffan to kiss. “I just love Americans.”

  For the next five or ten minutes, Steffan did his best to concentrate on explaining the role he wanted the girls to play, ending with the comment, “Stay close to me as I gamble; just make me look like your sugar daddy, and have fun doing it.”

  He then gave each girl the negotiated upfront fee of 8000 HKD, plus an advance tip of 4000 HKD as half of their promised personal tip, the rest of which would be forthcoming for good role-play performances.

  * * *

  Bret had decided earlier that day he would limit any gambling losses to $25,000 for the first night. So by the time he sat down at the Blackjack table, he had arranged for up to 200,000 HKD credit with the Venetian Cashier’s office. That much would enable him to bet as wildly as proved necessary to generate lots of attention on himself and his ladies.

  He eventually found an open seat at a high-stakes table. Repeating the annoying greeting he used in Monte Carlo, Steffan sat down, loudly inquiring, “Hi y’all; any big winners or losers at this table? Well, there soon will be.”

  A volley of “Shhhh’s” from neighboring tables was his expected response. By loudly announcing winning bets and moaning his table losses, the boisterous personality of Steffan Doevendans was firmly established before the dealer ran through the deck the first time.

  After a subsequent series of winning “Let-it-ride” bets started drawing a crowd around him, a rather drunk, burly Asian man staggered from a nearby table towards Steffan, pushing the screaming girls aside. He grabbed the nape of Steffan’s neck with his left hand and raised his right fist as if to slam the top of his head, angrily slurring “I’ll shut you up!”

  Before the fist came down, Zhu had the attacker in a chokehold, securing him until an onrush of security guards took over, quietly taking the attacker to a nearby holding room. Bret was forcibly escorted out of the casino, shouting “They won’t do this to Steffan Doevendans at Rio Casino. Klerksdorp here I come!”

  Zhu captured a photo of this action before the security people made it clear he too was no longer welcome. After being shoved through the lobby to the street, both Americans were handed over to three waiting local policemen. Steffan and Zhu soon found themselves behind bars in a Macau holding cell.

  Situated in a balcony overlooking the Venetian’s huge casino, a silent observer of these happenings shook his head in disbelie
f. Now what do I do, wondered Tall Dog. I wish I could’ve heard what Bret shouted.

  * * *

  “Hi Chu. I promised to phone you when we got to Macao, but I’m a day late. Sorry Babe. I hope you weren’t worried. Let me explain the delay. After leaving the ferry, we checked into the hotel and then decided to play Blackjack at the Venetian Casino. Zhu and I are fine now, but after just an hour of gambling, we ended up in jail for a few hours.”

  “Oh, how terrible for you. What happened?”

  “No big deal, just a small fine levied by a night judge for ‘Creating a Disturbance,’ and we were freed to return to the Grand Coloane for a few hours’ sleep. We just woke up, and after some serious discussion, Zhu and I agreed that rather than trying other Macau casinos tonight, we should bug out of this town and head for South Africa.”

  “Zhu wants to tell you something.”

  “Chu, I did manage to get some good photos of the Venetian disturbance. One shows three security guys dragging Bret away from the table, his mouth wide open. He was shouting ‘They won’t do this to Steffan Doevendans at Rio Casino. Klerksdorp here I come.’”

  “Oh yes, I can add it directly to the Wikipedia story right now. I already posted the finished article yesterday. I bet that if anyone is seriously looking for an arms dealer, they’ll soon be looking for a guy named Steffan Doevendans in South Africa.”

  “I’m also gonna send a couple other photos showing two new supermodels hanging close to Bret while he’s gambling.”

  “Wonderful, Zhu. By the way, did he win or lose last night?”

  “He was winning a couple big hands, but I lost track during the ruckus.”

  “You haven’t told me what the ruckus was.”

  “Boils down to some big dude that didn’t like Bret’s noise, and was going to try to stop him physically. But I put that drunk into a chokehold and prevented anything happening to Bret. He’s still in one piece.”

  “Thank you, Zhu. I like him just the way he is.”

  “Chu, it’s Bret. We need your help once again. Can you fly us out of this town to Klerksdorp, and get us a nice place to sleep there?”

  “I’ll start working on it right now, and get back to you soon. And please stay out of trouble in the meantime.”

  “Chu, Babe, congratulations on getting the Wikipedia project done.”

  * * *

  Tall Dog ran down the balcony stairs onto the main floor of the Venetian hotel lobby, and rushed towards the door where he had seen the security team push Bret and Zhu. As he approached, he could see through its glass that his quarry was being secured in the back of a police van. By the time he reached the sidewalk, the van had driven off, presumably to jail somewhere.

  “Damn,” he cursed to himself as he realized that he had lost Bret and Zhu, at least temporarily. Unable to covertly do anything productive that late at night, Tall Dog went to his room at the Coloane for some much-needed sleep. The next morning, he felt obliged to note the failure, via secure text to his boss, Jim Baker in DC: Lost track of targets when both arrested for creating brawl in Venetian Casino. Presume they are in jail. Surveillance to date fails to establish target’s motives. Plan to ask for police help to covertly reconnect.

  About an hour later, TD got a text reply from Baker: Don’t worry about motives. One of my agents trolling social media and the internet asserts that Steffan Doevendans may either be a secret arms dealer, or trying to inculcate that ID. Most important that you re-establish surveillance. Keep me informed. This could be big.

  Just as TD left his room, heading to a nearby police station, a second text came from Baker: 95% certainty that target heading to South Africa. Wikipedia article asserts plan to gamble at Rio Casino, Klerksdorp. If you can’t reconnect in Macau, find a way to meet him there. Establish cooperation if possible.

  Two hours later, after speaking with local police, TD texted Baker: Police advise night judge released Bret and Zhu about 11:00 pm. By now, they may be en route to Rio Casino. I’m heading for Hong Kong airport now. Flights to South Africa rare. Arrive there late tomorrow if I’m lucky.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Aboard flight, Hong Kong to Johannesburg, South Africa

  “You got to hand it to Chu; she sure has a knack for getting us where we need to go.”

  “Yeah, if it hadn’t been for your sister, we’d still be sitting on our butts waiting for a 36-hour flight tomorrow morning. She told me this was the only non-stop flight from Hong Kong to South Africa. Instead of this 12-hour red-eye, all others were 36-hour 2-stops.”

  “To be honest, Bret, I’m not fond of red-eyes; I’d rather spend my midnights with Ying Yue or Izabela.”

  “We’re lucky to be anywhere. That night judge could just as well have sentenced us to a week behind bars. Hey, I haven’t thanked you yet for keeping that guy from making me a melon-head. Thanks Bro.”

  * * *

  Room 1401, Hotel Montaigne, Paris, France

  “Hello, General Zuluka, can you stop by my apartment today? One of my associates has uncovered some very interesting information. It might help you find that arms dealer you’re looking for.”

  “Of course, Mia. Early afternoon?”

  “Yes, that would be excellent.”

  * * *

  Arrival Terminal, O.R. Tambo International Airport

  “What’s the local time here, Bret? I need to reset my watch.”

  “My cell says 7:14. I’d go with that.”

  “So now we have to go to Klerksdorp. Did Chu set something up?”

  “No. She said it was only 120 miles away, and air and bus service was poor. She suggested we get a rental car or take a taxi.”

  “I’m all for letting someone who knows the way do the driving.”

  ”Me too. While I wait for our bags, why don’t you find a taxi that can take us to Rio Casino’s door, and set us up for departure in about ten to fifteen minutes.”

  * * *

  Room 1401, Hotel Montaigne, Paris, France

  “Gaspard, that must be General Zuluka at the door. Please show him into the library. I’ll meet him there.”

  “Good afternoon, Mia. I’m anxious to hear what information you have about my mission.”

  “We may have the name of an arms dealer who hasn’t already refused to supply the weapons that Kunga wants.”

  “I thought there weren’t any illicit dealers left. Tell me more.”

  “Best as I can tell, he’s keeping his involvement as a dealer semi-secret. But he’s dropped enough hints that it will be well worth our effort to meet him, if possible.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Steffan Doevendans. His business, possibly a front, is Dove International Security, headquartered in Colombia.”

  “So what makes you think he’s an arms dealer?”

  “My investigators tell me he’s an international high roller and wealthy playboy who’s been gambling at the big international casinos, like France’s Monte Carlo and Macao’s Venetian. He has a big mouth when he’s drinking and playing the odds. And his small one-man security business could hardly make the kind of money he throws around.”

  “How do you know all this? How reliable is your source of information?”

  “Wikipedia, my fine friend. Wikipedia is my prime source, and this particular content is backed up by numerous references. Lately, some of the social network, like Twitter and online gossip magazines, also seem to be pointing to Doevendans as a possible arms dealer.”

  “So how do we contact this guy to find out his true status?”

  “It’s not going to be hard, General. We know with high certainty that he’s on his way to gamble at Rio Casino in South Africa as we speak.”

  “Wow! That’s almost in my back yard. Let’s go find him there.”

  “My sentiments exactly. I’ll make the travel arrangements. In the meantime, I’m going to do a little more investigating on my own.”

  * * *

  TD eventually arrived at the Rio Hotel Cas
ino and Convention Resort early morning the day after Bret and Zhu’s arrival. He glanced around the lobby, and after making sure his arrival wasn’t noticed, located a comfortable lobby chair, yawned and sat down. It was 6:00 a.m. He reported in to Baker by text: At Klerksdorp Rio Hotel. Early AM here. Presume Bret and Zhu up drinking and gambling late last night. Will use credentials to learn their room number, go there and wake up. Will advise outcome of this first contact.

  * * *

  The Lee Suite, Rio Hotel, Klerksdorp, South Africa

  Bret’s deep sleep was interrupted by the sound of door chimes. At first, the sound blended in with his dream. But it continued incessantly, and his mind soon alerted him that he had to awaken and investigate the source of the unending noise. He tried to shake the sleepiness and open his eyes as he approached the door barefoot in a hastily donned hotel robe. Who could be so rude as to request attention so early in the day? He opened the door.

  “Hi Bret! Or should I call you Steffan?”

  Unable to focus his eyes clearly on the intruder’s face, Bret uttered, “Who the hell are you?” Then the brain fog started to clear, and his eyes focused on the smiling face. “Oh my God, is that really you?”

  “Yup, it’s me. Can I come in?”

  “Of course. I never thought I’d see you again, buddy. Especially here in South Africa. Especially at 6:30 in the morning. Zhu, wake up, dammit. Zhu!”

  “Have a seat on the sofa, TD.”

  As TD sat down, he caught sight of Zhu in the bedroom pulling up a pair of trousers over his skivvies.

  “The last time you rang my hotel doorbell, it was in Caracas. You introduced yourself as my local CIA contact, and gave me a gun for my protection.”

  “Good memory.”

  “Zhu, get up. You’re supposed to be my bodyguard.”

  Zhu appeared in the bedroom doorway. “What’s going on?”

  “You need to meet my very good friend, Tall Dog. TD, what the heck are you doing here?”

  “This ain’t a social call, friend.”