In Treacherous Waters

by Richard V Frankland

  “Anna-Maria, please excuse my prying, but what has your husband done to you for you to run away like this, obviously in fear of your life?” asked Blessings, almost as soon as Anna-Maria had sat at the dining table.

  “It is what I have done to him,” Anna-Maria got up and walked over to the window. “I discovered that he makes his money from illegally dealing in things that destroy people’s lives. I could not live with someone so wicked so I reported him to the authorities, but he found out and left the country before they could arrest him and he now knows I am the one responsible for informing. If he finds me I am sure he will kill me, he has a very bad temper.”

  “Does he know that you are here in Nouakchott?” Blessings asked nervously.

  “I am not sure; he has many friends in Africa who I think will be asked to look out for me.”

  Blessings walked to the window and closed the curtains.

  When Van der Rykes arrived back he waited for Blessings to go to the kitchen to prepare his own breakfast before delivering the bad news. “Your ‘husband’ has got men watching the port,” he said, pouring himself some coffee, “My man there tells me that many people, including the police, are searching for you, both here and at Rosso, so we must think of getting you out from somewhere else.”

  Anna-Maria was not sure whether to feel relief or further anxiety. “I was not looking forward to a voyage on a Mauritanian fishing boat.”

  “Well, there is no chance of you flying out from this town, is there,” Van der Rykes said, looking at her in surprise, before realising that she would be unaware of the latest news. “Of course, London may not have been able to tell you, your name and picture have been leaked by someone exposing a US security data list of British agents operating in Africa.”

  “What, but how could that be? I am not employed as a spy by anyone.”

  “Maybe not, but you have been passing very useful information that has exposed a number of criminals who now fear for their future, including Jan Vermeulen. You have rocked a very dangerous boat, young lady.” Anna-Maria buried her head in her hands. “One thing is very strange, and that is why you appear on a US list at this particular time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, your escape is being directed by British SIS not American CIA and it is being controlled by a very small group, which tells me that you are very special indeed to the British, but the Americans? Why them?” Van der Rykes shook his head, “Unless of course the British have someone leaking information.”

  “I do not know of any American link, in fact I don’t think that I have done anything very special other than tip off London about some of my step… er husband’s plans.” Only then did she remember the notebook in the tatty plastic bag hidden by her dirty and crumpled western clothes.

  She was about to mention the notebook to Van der Rykes when he said, “I received a message this morning to get you out at all costs, so what you know must be top deal intelligence. You are safe here for a day or two maybe, but the sooner we get you out the better.”

  “Oh my God, I am so sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault. Africa has far too many people wanting to start wars for their own profit, if by getting you out it will close down some of those bastards so much the better.”

  “But my being here is putting you and Blessings in danger.”

  Van der Rykes looked at her but made no reply.

  The term “top deal intelligence” had hit Anna-Maria in the pit of her stomach. She knew very little that had not already been passed to London so what was it that made her so important. But of course London knew about the notebook so it just had to reach them. These thoughts were beginning to overload her mind and seeking a change of subject she asked, “Why did you tell your wife that I am from Brazil?”

  Van der Rykes smiled, then, looking to check that they were alone said quietly. “Blessings is beautiful and I could not live without her, but she is a little naïve and likely to tell people more than they need to know. If by chance she told someone that you are Anna-Maria Ronaldo from Angola they would easily put two and two together.”

  Anna-Maria looked at him aghast, “Really, you think so?”

  Van der Rykes nodded and Anna-Maria felt fear gripping her again at the thought of such a simple thing bringing about the downfall of her escape.

  As Van der Rykes left for his normal day’s work at the airport, Anna-Maria went to her room, saying that she was tired, and spent the next hour studying the curious and unintelligible lists and notes written on the pages of the black notebook. No way could she begin to fathom out the real meaning of the notebook’s contents but she guessed that someone in London would be able to work it out. Her escape was now no longer for her alone, but for David, her wonderful David, her mother and the continent that she felt so sorry for.

  “I must do this and get the notebook to Uncle Alex,” she said out loud.

  As it turned out the journey was to be sooner than any of them expected, as Van der Rykes arrived back from the airport only two hours after leaving the house.

  “You are in luck,” he called from the lounge. “My guys working at Nouadhibou Airport in the North say they can’t fix the problem they have been sent to sort out, normally I would talk them through it but this time I said I would drive up. On the rare occasions I do this, I always take Blessings with me for her safety and make sure the house is fully secured, my neighbour feeds the dogs. So, you will have some female company and women’s clothes will not look out of place if the camper-van is looked into.” Anna-Maria had hurried from the bedroom and now stood facing Van der Rykes. “Also it will not give Blessings the chance of gossiping to others,” he added quietly and winked.

  “How far away is it?” she asked.

  “Oh, about five hundred kilometres, but I suspect that the departure lounge is being watched so don’t get your hopes up.” He saw the look of despair on Anna-Maria’s face, “Don’t worry, we’ll find a way to get you out.”

  It took a good two hours to get everything ready during which time Blessings provided Anna-Maria with a better wardrobe. It required Anna-Maria to forsake her comfortable trainers for platform soled high heeled sandals to avoid her tripping over the garments’ hems. The advantages of that were to make her look several centimetres taller than she actually was, and alter the way she walked. That, together with an improved head covering, lessened the chance of a casual recognition.

  Van der Rykes appeared at the bedroom door. “Let me have your passport, Anna-Maria, the one you are travelling under, I’m going to see if I can provide you with a believable false entry.”

  “I haven’t used this one since before I married David,” she said handing an unmarked Portuguese passport over, “and I used my married one for the journey to Senegal. No one asked for passports at Rosso.”

  “Okay, that is good; I should be able to show you flying in and out of here a few times to make it look as if you are semi-local.”

  The passport, when returned to her, looked much more travel-worn than before, and she noticed with surprise how well travelled she was in West Africa, Europe and islands like the Canaries and Cape Verdes. “How did you get all of these entry stamps put in?”

  Van der Rykes gave no reply, just tapped the side of his nose and grinned.

  In the camper-van, Anna-Maria tried out the cramped hiding place beneath the double berth in the rear of the van, cushioned from the hard floor by a thin duvet and concealed by the berth base and mattress. The only ventilation to the space was a small grill through which she could just about see down the length of the van to the driver’s seat. She struggled to get out as quickly as she could.

  “I hope I don’t have to spend long in there.”

  “Hopefully it won’t be necessary but we must not take any chances, not in this country anyway.” Van der Rykes lowered the base and mattress back into place. “Normally we keep spare bed linen in there, the airport can get very cold at night.”

  As the time came
for them to leave, Anna-Maria lay on the berth rather than under it, with the curtains of the camper-van drawn closed. They were some distance clear of the town when Van der Rykes called for her to come forward and sit beside Blessings. Along either side of the road was featureless desert, windblown sand occasionally covered the road making it hard to follow and with so little traffic to leave guiding tracks Van der Rykes was frequently having to gamble on the safe route to take.

  After nearly six hours of driving they were approaching Nouadhibou when Van der Rykes interrupted the women’s conversation. “Anna-Maria, get in the back and hide, quickly, keep down as you go to the back.” Anna-Maria crawled as fast as she could, and lifting up the mattress and base board scrambled into her hiding place.

  To Van der Rykes’ keen eye there was something not right about the police vehicle partially blocking the road and the two officers that flagged the camper-van to a halt. The sign-writing on the side of their vehicle was not quite correct and the lighting frame on the roof was not right. Unlike Anna-Maria’s journey from Rosso they had not experienced any police checks on the road from Nouakchott and Van der Rykes was suspicious of the one set up here. As one officer came to the driver’s side, the other went round to the nearside and tried the door. The one looking up at Van der Rykes had obviously been snorting something quite recently as his eyes were more than a little glazed.

  “What do you want?” asked Van der Rykes in heavily accented French. “I’m in a hurry to get to the airport to fix the radar.”

  “We need to search your vehicle.”

  “What for?” said Van der Rykes, holding up his Mauritanian Government airport pass.

  The van swayed as the second officer tried again to pull open the nearside door.

  “Will you stop your colleague from trying to pull the side off my vehicle.”

  “He has to search your vehicle. Now open the door.”

  Normally the police would have accepted his government airport pass as sufficient to allow immediate onward travel, the uniformed man standing alongside obviously didn’t appreciate the authority that the pass carried.

  “I said, open the door!”

  Van der Rykes, leaving the driver’s seat, walked back through the camper-van to the side door and flicked the lock. Immediately the door was slid open and an angry looking man in a badly fitting police uniform glared at him.

  “Why you not open the door straight away?” said the man.

  “Tell me what you are searching for,” said Van der Rykes, stepping back to allow the man in.

  “That is police business,” replied the man looking around. “Who else is travelling with you?”

  “Just my wife, why?”

  The man moved towards the back of the van and opened the toilet door.

  “I said there’s no one else on board, so why are you poking around?”

  “I am searching,” said the man, now opening the wardrobe and rifling through the clothes hanging inside.

  Next he lifted the seat in the sleeping area and peered into the void below as Van der Rykes stepped across to the bedside cabinet. Turning, the bogus policeman reached down to lift the mattress when Van der Rykes hit him with a rabbit punch, catching the man as he fell. Snatching the pistol from the bedside cabinet drawer, Van der Rykes turned and shot the second policeman in the head as he stepped up into the van, the impact throwing the body back onto the roadside. Grabbing the limp body of the first man, he dragged him to the door and tumbled him out firing two shots through the man’s torso to ensure that he was dead. Only then did he take notice of the men’s shoes; even in Mauritania the police wore issued boots, both of the bodies on the ground were wearing worn down cheap black trainers.

  “I should have killed you both the moment you came near,” he said as he jumped to the ground and ran across to the men’s truck where his hurried inspection confirmed the paintwork on the truck to be a rough spray job and the lighting frame to be a botch-up; the headlining dumped on the back seats, along with the men’s normal clothes.

  Getting back into the camper-van Van der Rykes drove away at speed. “Blessings my love, can you go back and tell Anna-Maria that she must stay hidden until I have checked out the airport.”

  Blessings was still wide-eyed with her hands over her mouth in shock. “Those two men were police, Lars.”

  “No, my dear, they were criminals, bad men, I think working for Anna-Maria’s husband. The police will be pleased to see them dead, believe me.” Van der Rykes gave his wife a gentle push. “Now hurry and tell Anna-Maria to stay where she is until I fetch her.”

  At the airport Van der Rykes walked across to the terminal’s check-in area and spent the next half an hour walking round watching for anyone not in uniform but loitering as if searching for someone and studying the few passengers who arrived. Three soldiers ambled around, their weapons held casually and the expression on their faces one of sheer boredom. Satisfied, Van der Rykes went to the airline desk and bought a return ticket on the evening flight north to El Aaiún Airport for his “sister-in-law” then returned to the camper-van and a very anxious Blessings.

  The shooting had also terrified Anna-Maria who squealed as Van der Rykes lifted the mattress and base board concealing her.

  “Here is your ticket for the evening flight to El Aaiún Airport in Western Sahara. It’s an open return ticket to make it look as if you are planning to come back. I will arrange for either Cecil Boyd or Marc Allian to meet you at the airport, you will be safer in Laayoune with them until London can organise your onward journey.”

  “Are you sure no one is watching the airport?” asked Anne-Maria nervously.

  “As sure as I can be. I don’t know whether the army soldiers that act as security here are briefed to look out for you but I doubt it, they showed no sign of studying passengers as they arrived.”

  Anna-Maria was trembling as she reached for the suitcase Blessings had provided. “Hey, sit down and drink this,” said Van der Rykes handing her a glass with what looked like a treble whisky in it.

  As the three of them left the camper-van and made their way across the car park it looked as if Lars and Blessings were there purely to see Anna-Maria off on holiday, giving her the normal kisses and hugs, and waving as she made her way to the check-in. The check-in went smoothly and Anna-Maria was beginning to gain confidence when at passport control the official, having inspected her ticket, asked her to confirm her name then took a long time looking through her passport.

  “Why do you wish to visit Western Sahara?”

  “I am meeting a friend there, he has only a very short time to visit Africa and our only chance of meeting is at Laayoune,” Anna-Maria replied.

  “Show me your ticket again.”

  Anna-Maria reached into her handbag, trying hard to control the shaking of her hands and, taking out the ticket, opened it and held it up for the official to read. After a cursory inspection he nodded then stamped her passport and handed it back to her. At the security area the arch was not working, so Anna-Maria had to endure being padded down by a woman who was rather too thorough for comfort. It was then just a matter of a short walk to the uninviting departure area where she stood rather than sat, occasionally strolling around, needing to stretch her legs and move about after suffering the confinement beneath the camper-van’s double berth, and also hoping to walk off the effects of the Scotch. Finally, a uniformed member of the ground staff announced that the flight was ready for boarding, and after a ticket and boarding pass check, led the passengers out across the concrete apron to the aircraft steps.

  The flight was only half full and duration relatively short but it was well after sunset when the aircraft touched down at El Aaiún Airport and taxied to the nearest stand on the apron next to the terminal building. There it stood in splendid isolation for twenty minutes, awaiting the tractor-pulled steps and baggage train to arrive.

  An hour later Anna-Maria walked out of the customs area to see a short podgy man holding up a piece of w
hite card with her name on it.

  “I am Anna-Maria Ronaldo,” she said, looking at the man and wondering why in the apparent cool of the terminal building he was perspiring so profusely.

  “Cecil Boyd, your husband is dead I hear,” came the languid reply. “You will be staying at my apartment for a night or two, then London wants me to take you to the fishing port.”

  Anxious to return to the chill of his air-conditioned Peugeot, Boyd turned on his heels and waddled rather than walked away leaving Anna-Maria to pick up her case again and hurry to catch up with him.

  She caught up with Boyd as they reached the exit. “Have you lived here long?”

  “Too long, my dear, far too long. Let me see, it must be thirty years now and frankly I am sick of it.”

  “What business are you in?”

  “Shipping,” came the brief reply, then, “Oh God, the heat, this perpetual bloody heat,” he shouted as they stepped out from the cool of the terminal building and turned towards the small car park.

  It was a short drive from the airport into the town and Anna-Maria noted the pronounced Moroccan influence, not only in the architecture but with the tidiness of the place compared to Nouakchott and what little she had seen of Nouadhibou.

  The apartment above a shop on the Boulevard El Kairaouane, not far from the Mosque Moulay Abdel Aziz, also served as Boyd’s office; a fact that went part of the way to explaining the man’s obesity and detestation of all outside activity. The other factor in relation to his size was his mastery of cooking and acquisition of excellent French wines. Anna-Maria had not eaten so well since the family had moved to South Africa, all those years before.

  ***

  The morning after her arrival Anna-Maria was receiving breakfast in bed, while Vaughan, having made an early start, was purchasing stores for the voyage from the central supermarket in Funchal. He estimated that he would need enough for two people for a month at sea, so it was a laden taxi that took him down to the boatyard. He arrived in time to watch, with interest, as the antifouling was applied and when the work was finished he started the laborious job of climbing up and down the ladder loading the stores, followed by the equally laborious job of stowing them. He had almost completed the task when his mobile chirped into life.