by Dan Fletcher
*****
“You can get some sleep now Gakere. But be ready at 6am. I might need you,” Maliki dismissed the driver that regularly replaced Lembui and slammed shut the door of the Mercedes.
Gakere was another one of Maliki’s handpicked bodyguards, a veteran GSU officer with over eight years in the field. Including Lembui and Sabore there were sixteen officers living in the grounds of his mansion. One of the biggest on Gigiri Road the two storey colonial palace backed onto Muthaiga forest.
Maliki lived alone and eleven of the bedrooms were rarely in use. Only occupied when he was using prostitutes to coerce VIPs into sexually explicit acts. Maliki had tapes that revealed a darker side to quite a few of Kenya’s public figures, many of them high court judges. He kept them in the walk-in safe, hidden behind the false wall in his study. They were both Maliki’s tools of the trade and his insurance policy. Just in case the shit ever really did hit the fan.
Six guards were on duty at any one time, two at the gate and four patrolling the perimeter with Alsatians. He could hear one of them barking at their arrival and being told to be quiet by its handler. The fence on top of the walls that enclosed the garden was electrified and the building alarmed. Maliki had taken every possible precaution to protect the property from external attacks but still he was paranoid.
He constantly scrutinised his men for any sign of disobedience or mutiny, afraid of being brought down from within his own ranks.
He ran his hand along the marble balustrade as he bounded up the stairs towards the entrance. Arched oak doors surrounded by pairs of elegantly ribbed columns that rose up to the roof. He shielded the security panel next to the door as he tapped in the six-digit number. There was a second’s delay and a click before it opened inwards.
Only Maliki and Jozi knew the code for the alarm and it was changed regularly. He had rescued Jozi from the streets, taking the then sixteen year old with him from Mombasa three decades ago. Jozi was the only man that he trusted and the closest to what most people would call a friend. Maliki considered him to be more of a necessary dependant.
The Indian influence went down the east coast as far as South Africa, like a lot of Swahilis Jozi loved curries and was a great cook. He looked after the house and prepared Maliki’s meals. Despite the years they had been together Jozi wasn’t allowed to sleep in the house. He had his own room in the shed-like building that acted as the officer’s living quarters.
Maliki flicked a switch that illuminated the atrium and twin staircases in soft yellow light. He closed the door and went over to the master panel to reset the alarm. The panelled oak doors to the lounges and two wings of the building were closed. His footsteps echoed as Maliki continued across the marble tiles to his study.
After punching a separate code that only he knew into another panel Maliki inserted the key and entered his inner sanctum. Made to look like the rest of the Georgian style doors it was really three inches thick, solid steel hidden under the wood. The door swung back easily on specially engineered hinges. The lights came on automatically and Maliki stood behind the leather topped desk. He took his diary from his pocket and dialled the Deputy Director’s number. The number he was calling from didn’t exist as far as the telephone company was concerned.
It took a while for Tanui to pick up and he sounded irritated, “Hello, who is this?”
“It’s Commander Abasi,” Maliki barked. “I thought you told me that you had Nbeke under control?”
“Do you know what time it is?”
Maliki was well aware of the time, it had been past midnight when he left Katia’s apartment. She was in a right state and he’d left her a few hundred dollars to cover the extra damages. The bitch was moaning that she never wanted to see him again but Maliki knew that she would answer the next time he called. Business as usual once the bruises healed up and the swelling went down.
“If I’d wanted the speaking clock I would have dialled a different fucking number! Now where’s Nbeke?”
“I told you this morning. He’s up at the outpost in Purungat. Now what’s all this about?”
“You fool! Nbeke’s not in Purungat, nobody is,” Maliki wished that the receiver was Tanui’s neck. “If by some miracle you manage to find him I want Nbeke brought to me. If not you will be stripped of your command. I’m already considering it!”
Maliki slammed down the phone and started pacing behind his desk. His face began to twitch. Captain Nbeke was going to regret the day that he was born.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Caitlyn’s Apartment, Nairobi
August 18th, 1996
David woke in a cold sweat and it took him a few seconds to work out where he was. There was an empty space next to him and an indented pillow but no Caitlyn. Then he heard her clattering pans in the kitchen. He swung his legs out of bed and rubbed the ridge of bone on the back of his head.
A gentle breeze blowing through the patio doors cooled his skin. The double doors were swung wide open and led onto the terrace that connected the bedroom with the lounge. Thin white drapes hung from ceiling to floor and billowed in the wind. David looked around the room as he searched for his clothes. The only decorations were a few photographs of her family and friends, most of them of what must be her mother and sister. An older picture on the nightstand beside the bed was the only one that showed both her parents. Standing with Caitlyn and her sister on a cold looking pebbled beach.
At the end of the bed a cheap flat-pack wardrobe was sagging in the middle and looked ready to burst. Next to it and supporting one side from collapsing was a bookshelf, crammed with a mixture of thrillers and medical journals.
David retrieved his pants and combats that were scattered between the bed and the door. He pulled them on and followed the delicious smell wafting down the corridor.
Although basic the apartment was large enough to be comfortable and showed signs of being recently decorated, fresh cream paint and newly laid laminate flooring. Caitlyn’s room and a reasonable sized lounge overlooked the park, while the galley style kitchen, cosy bathroom and second bedroom faced the rear of the building. The smaller bedroom was tiny, big enough for a baby’s cot, but it was difficult to see how a normal sized bed could fit in. Caitlyn obviously used it as a study. As David walked past the open door he could see a plastic fold up chair and a desk crammed with more medical journals and reference books. There was one on Kenyan wildlife at the top of the pile.
Caitlyn raised an eyebrow as he walked into the kitchen. She was wearing nothing but an apron with a map of Kenya on it, holding a spatula in her hand.
“Last night you were underdressed and now you’re wearing too much.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief.
“Sorry, I just can’t seem to get it right, can I?” David smiled back at her.
“I don’t know,” she stepped over and looped her arms behind his neck. “You do have some talents.” Then she reached up and kissed him, slow and lingering, their tongues gently probing each other’s mouths.
Eventually she pulled away from him.
“What are you cooking?” asked David looking at the frying pan. “English breakfast?”
“Do I sound feckin’ English to you?” said Caitlyn emphasising her accent. “This is the real thing, an Irish breakfast. You sit yourself down and get ready for a real feast.”
David admired her toned body as she busied herself with the eggs and bacon, humming a tune that he didn’t recognise. He started to think about the day ahead and his trip down to Mombasa. The drive to the coast would take him around eight hours, plus another hour south to Gupta’s place on Diani Beach.
“Did you sleep OK?”
The question caught him by surprise, “Yes thanks.”
“That’s strange.” Caitlyn turned her head towards him, “You were moaning and moving around quite a lot. It sounded like you were having a nightmare, you mentioned your father a couple of times.”
“Oh.” David looked away, “I hope I didn’t disturb you too much.”<
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“Don’t be stupid David.” She came over and put her hand on his shoulder, “I just wondered if you wanted to talk about it, that’s all.”
“No thanks, it doesn’t really make for pleasant conversation.”
She moved her hand to his chin and lifted his face up, “Have you ever talked to anyone about what happened to him?”
David nodded, “I spoke to Damo about it once when we were drunk.”
“Great as this friend of yours sounds I don’t think that really counts as a professional consultation.” She smiled, “I meant a psychiatrist.”
“You think that I need to see a shrink?”
“I think that it might help you come to terms with losing him,” she shrugged. “It couldn’t hurt and you’re obviously affected by his death. I went through the same thing when my pa was murdered.”
Voicing the unspoken bond between them opened some kind of mental floodgates. David stood up and held her in his arms as she started to cry.
“What happened to him?” he asked softly, stroking her hair. Feeling her silent tears run down his neck and chest.
“Bloody bomb in a coffee shop,” she started sobbing uncontrollably. “Nobody even claimed responsibility, the cowardly bastards!”
He pulled her closer and felt a tear burst from his eyes and drip down his cheek, “Mine was murdered too. They shot him in front of us.”
“Who are they?”
David let the tears flow for the first time since his father’s death, “That’s just it. I don’t know either, he was wearing a mask.”
“Shit!” Caitlyn pushed away from him and ran over to the cooker. David could smell it too. “I’m burning the bloody breakfast!”
She pulled the pan away and turned off the gas before putting it to one side. Then she started to laugh, “We’re a right pair. You know that don’t you?”
“I do,” David walked over and wrapped his arms around her slender waist.
She reached up and kissed him, “Since breakfast is ruined let’s go back to bed?”
“That sounds like a great idea,” David picked her up in his arms and carried her through to the bedroom. Their lovemaking was more frantic than the night before. As if they were clinging on to each other for dear life.
*****
David didn’t want to make any calls from Caitlin’s apartment in case they were traced. He left her sleeping with a note on the pillow beside her. He closed the front door softly and took the staircase down from the fourth floor. Outside the building he found a public payphone and dialled the number for the hospital. Relief flooded him when Damo eventually came on the line.
“How’s the patient?”
“He’s conscious but not saying much, at least the power’s back on so the equipment’s working again.”
“Have Chege and Makori arrived?”
“Yeah, they got here late last night,” Damo sounded distracted. “Why didn’t you mention that you were supposed to be confined to barracks? The Deputy Director phoned last night and I almost dropped you in it.”
“Sorry, I should have said,” David guessed that Tanui must be spitting nails. “What did he want?”
The bigger question was how did the Deputy Director know that he wasn’t in Purungat so soon? Days or weeks could go by without anybody visiting the remote outpost. Tanui must have sent someone there specifically to check up on him.
“He asked whether I had seen you and how the prisoner was. Wanted to make sure that he was being watched. He offered to send up a reinforcements but I told him that we had it covered.”
“Thanks,” David still wasn’t sure whether Tanui’s interest was professional or personal. “Sounds like you’ve got everything under control.”
“It would be easier if I knew what the hell was going on. What all the cloak and dagger stuff is about.” Damo sounded angry.
“I’m sorry Damo, but until I’ve got some proof things are going to have to stay the way they are. As soon as I’ve got anything positive to go on I’ll let you know.”
Damo seemed to calm down, his voice softened, “Is there somewhere I can reach you if I need to?”
“No.” David wanted Damo to think he was staying in Nairobi, “The phones don’t work at the motel. I’ll call again later to see how you’re doing.”
David replaced the receiver. He took Bernstein’s card from his wallet and dialled the hotel. The receptionist told him that Bernstein was out so he decided to leave a message.
“Are you sure that’s it sir?”
“Please just make sure that he gets it!” said David before hanging up. His conscience was a little clearer but he feared that his note might arrive too late for the American. It read simply, “You’re being watched.”
David walked over to the LandRover and fished for the keys in the pockets of his combats. He could feel the gun digging into his spine and irrationally half expected a tap on the shoulder any second. He climbed in and put the key in the ignition. The heat plugs seemed to take longer than usual to warm up as he waited to start the engine.
When he was well out of the city and sure that he wasn’t being followed David allowed himself to relax. He sat back in his seat and the tension started to go out of his arms as he loosened his grip on the steering wheel. Once again he found himself alone and with far too much time to think. David kept running events over and over in his mind on the drive south, knowing that if he had done things differently Haji would still be alive.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Kilindini Harbour, Mombasa
August 18th, 1996
David followed the road parallel to the railway line. Driving across the fifty-meter wide strip of man-made rock and earth that joined Mombasa to the mainland. There were two lanes running in both directions but very few cars using them. The town’s residents resting in or out of the Sunday afternoon sun somewhere.
The calmer waters of Tudor Creek on the left of the dual carriageway branched off into lots of different sized tributaries. The various streams and rivers that fed the huge lagoon reaching out into the rich green delta of tropical forest like the fingers of a giant hand.
Kilindini Port and the choppier harbour were on the other side. David could see five huge cargo ships towering above the warehouses that lined the dockside. One of them was being loaded. Wind gently buffeted the sails of a few smaller dhows as they slowly crossed from one side of the harbour to the other.
He heard the long deep blast of a ship’s horn and looked to where people were stood out on the decks of a cruise liner as it sailed out of the port. Only the top two rows of cabins and the three smoking funnels in view above the town as it headed out to where David guessed the Indian Ocean must be.
The air smelt of salt and he began to feel like a kid wanting to see the ocean for the first time. His knowledge so far was restricted to his geography textbook and the odd photograph. The island, surrounded by turquoise water, was littered with new buildings. Russet coloured roofs tucked away amongst more modern, taller, office blocks and apartment buildings. Between the town and the docks were row upon row of two-storey warehouses.
The railway veered away from the road towards the port and David continued down Mombasa Road. He followed the signs for the Likoni ferry and the south. On his left was the old part of town, where arched windows and doors showed the extent of Portuguese and Middle Eastern influence. The buildings were crammed in like sardines between narrow alleyways. A lot of signs in the shop windows were written in Arabic, most of them by hand. A few people were milling around, some wearing turbans and robes, others in western dress, colourful t-shirts and shorts. Most of the people he saw were men. The few women had veils or scarves covering their faces to retain their modesty. One or two coffee shops were open for business, but that was about it.
Some empty cricket grounds and the athletics club next door seemed to be the only bastions of greenery. The rest of the town he passed on the way to the ferry had given way to high-rise buildings and new developments.
He joined the handful of vehicles rolling through the tollbooth. David paid a small fee before parking behind a Bedford truck and killing the engine.
He got out to stretch his legs and spotted a phone booth next to the almost deserted bus station. Around eight people were sitting on a covered bench. Their slumped shoulders and bored expressions evidence that they had been waiting for a long time.
Behind the terminal was a small triangular shaped park, the curve as the road swept away to follow the coastline filled with short thick-trunked trees that had been pruned for hundreds of years. Behind the thin strip of park was a row of ugly four storey buildings that seemed out of place with their tropical surroundings. To the right of them David could see a small section of the ocean at the end of the harbour. Waves broke on an unseen sandbar with an endless swathe of blue water in the background.
David pumped some change in and dialled the number for the hospital. After a few short rings it was answered and he asked to speak to one of the guards outside Koinet’s room.
“Are you the same officer who was here the other day?” it was the plump nurse on reception again. He could imagine her twiddling with her crimped hair as she spoke.
“Hi, is that Nurse Dafina?” David smiled to himself.
“Oh...you remembered,” she actually giggled like a fifty-something schoolgirl. “I’ll go and fetch one of the officer’s myself. Just hold the line.”
A few minutes later she returned, puffing and panting, “I’ve got one of the rangers here for you Captain. I’ll hand you over.”