by Dan Fletcher
“Have you ever met any of the buyers?”
“No,” Gupta swayed his head like a snake. “Abasi would never allow that. But there is only one buyer as far as I know, he’s Chinese.”
“How do you know if you’ve never met him?”
Gupta laughed for the first time and David was hit by a foul mixture of tobacco and what smelt like decaying meat, “I heard Abasi calling him a yellow belly bastard once when he was on the phone to him.” His brow furrowed in concentration, “They were talking about a meeting the next day in Nairobi.”
“How did Abasi get the scars on his face?” he wanted Gupta to confirm Abasi’s description for the record.
“I don’t know,” Gupta shrugged. “He’s always had them.”
David had heard enough, he pointed the gun away from Gupta and gently lowered the hammer before putting on the safety. Getting up from the chair he tucked the weapon back into his trousers and walked behind Gupta. Turning the recorder off first he stuffed it back into the rucksack and slipped his arms through the straps. David picked up what was left of the roll of gaffa tape and walked back around to where Gupta could see him.
“You stay there a minute while I fetch the car.” He tore off another strip, “I promise that I’ll be right back.”
The life force seemed to have gone out of Gupta and he hung limply from the chair. He made no attempt to resist as David put the tape over his mouth.
He left Gupta in the kitchen and went outside. As he walked past the Nissan he noticed the half hidden logo on the side of the cab for first time. The top of what resembled a Christmas tree with writing shaped in an arch above it was poking out of the mud covering the door.
David scraped off the dirt with his hand, ‘EAST AFRICA TIMBER COMPANY’. Instinctively he went around to the back of the truck and lifted the tarpaulin. David expected to see a pallet of wood or the creamy tip of an ivory tusk, there was nothing but a dark void.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Maliki’s Residence, Nairobi
August 19th, 1996
Maliki had become increasingly agitated over the last twenty-four hours. There had still been no sign of Captain Nbeke, or any word from Gupta. On top of that Professor Mutungi was proving to be a stubborn old fool. They had to resuscitate him twice after overdoing the electric shock treatment but the fat bastard still wouldn’t talk. He allowed himself the briefest of smiles, which only served to set his lip off and annoy him further. He had left the badly beaten and dazed Professor in one of the cells in the early hours of the morning, instructing the guards that he should receive no food or water. The arrogant academic would be singing like a canary by sundown.
As a result of the late night activities Maliki woke up later than usual and it was nearly 10am by the time he sat down for breakfast in his study. Jozi served him scrambled eggs, toast and orange juice on a silver tray at his desk.
“Will that be all?” asked the benevolent Swahili.
“For now,” grunted Maliki.
The years of service had taken their toll. Jozi looked twenty years older than Maliki even though he was a few years younger. His skin was weathered and wrinkled like that of a rhinoceros hide. He moved slowly and deliberately with a bent back and stooped posture, as if in constant pain. Jozi’s subservient demeanour was that of an old dog that had endured years of physical and mental abuse from its master but remains faithful. Cowering, keeping his eyes on Maliki as he retreated from the room.
Jozi had always been afraid of him, ever since they had met on the streets of Mombasa. They once shared a blanket to keep warm in the dilapidated warehouse. After being disgraced and expelled from the tribe Maliki needed someone to take his anger out on. Jozi had been the unfortunate recipient on many occasions.
Maliki felt no gratitude. Even though it was Jozi who had set him on the course to wealth and power. He had got the information by threatening to kill Jozi one cold and windy night under the blanket. The Masons were supposed to be on holiday in England and the house empty, ripe for the picking. But they weren’t. Maliki was shot while trying to break in. Luckily the Masons took pity on him. Rather than hand him over to the mercy of the police they decided to take him in and educate him in the Christian way.
Maliki was given his own room and went to school with the Masons’ children, Douglas and Katie. On the surface he responded well and did as he was told, all the time resenting their stupid beliefs. Jozi was the only person alive who knew that he had slit the Masons’ throats as they slept and emptied the safe. Maliki smiled to himself as he absentmindedly forked scrambled eggs into his mouth. Ironically it was Jozi’s fear that kept him alive.
The telephone on the corner of his desk started to ring. The long shrill tone signifying that the call was being patched through from his office at GSU headquarters. Maliki put down his fork and picked up the receiver.
“Yes?”
“It’s Sabore, sir.”
At least it was the more intelligent of the two. He was well aware that Lembui was being talked into making all the calls bearing bad tidings. Maybe it was good news.
“Have you found Nbeke?”
“Err...no sir.” Maliki’s question put Sabore off his stride but he recovered quickly, “We have found out that someone at the Elephant Orphanage has been spending a lot of time with him recently. The new vet there, an Irish woman called Dr Caitlyn Brennan. According to one of the keepers Captain Nbeke was seen leaving with her on Saturday afternoon.”
Maliki digested the information quickly, “Have you questioned her yet?”
“No sir, I wanted to speak to you first. She’s out in the Park with the elephants and Lembui’s keeping an eye on her car to make sure that she doesn’t leave.”
Maliki rubbed at the scars on his face with his free hand and took a moment to think, “You’ve done the right thing Sabore. Don’t talk to anyone else there. I want you to follow her and see where she goes. Find out where she lives. Call me when you have something. Don’t go anywhere near this Dr Brennan or Captain Nbeke without informing me first. Is that understood?”
“Yes sir. I’ll let you know immediately...” Sabore’s reply was cut short as Maliki pressed the button in the cradle of the rotary phone.
He dialled ‘0’ and was put through to headquarters on the line reserved for his use only.
“Good morning Commander,” the sergeant on duty who answered after a couple of rings tried to sound friendly but Maliki could hear the resentment in his voice. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“I want somebody picked up and brought to the cells for questioning, have you got something to write with?”
“Yes sir, go ahead.”
“His name’s Koinet,” Maliki allowed himself the briefest of smiles. Deputy Director Tanui would probably blow a blood vessel when he found out, “A poacher that was caught in the Maasai Mara by the KWS. He’s currently under guard at Narok hospital.”
He instructed the sergeant to inform him when it was done and then hung up. Maliki grinned and stood up from behind his desk, pleased that at least something was happening. There was work to do, first the obstinate Professor and then the Irish woman. Instinct told Maliki that she would lead him to the interfering Captain.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Voi, Northwest of Mombasa
August 19th, 1996
David checked the clock on the dashboard, nearly 10am. For over three hours they had been driving through the monotonous and unforgiving landscape. The lush green tropical forests that hugged the coastline and the hills around Mombasa left far behind them. It had been a stressful wait for the ferry in Likoni and they had to fight their way through the rush hour traffic. But since then the rest of the journey had passed uneventfully.
The railway running beside the road drew a red line through the grey desert tundra. Richer earth concealed below the surface had been turned over to lay the tracks. Elsewhere patches of rusty red stood out from the chalky whites and sandstones of the veldt around them. An
endless savannah of dry grassland only interrupted by the odd stunted tree.
Surprisingly the barren wasteland still supported some life. A herd of impala skipped and jumped gracefully as they ran away from the sound of the approaching LandRover. They were dainty looking antelope with short curved antlers that pointed forwards above hare like ears. Black teardrop markings around their eyes and white bellies. The adults had matching dark lines down their sides and the backs of their hind legs.
Later he saw a flock of five ostrich digging in the dirt for grubs. Three drab brown females and two dark black males with white tail feathers. They popped their heads up from the sand and pointed duck-like beaks towards the jeep as they drove past.
The going was tortuously slow. The road surface riddled with potholes, some of them over half a meter in depth. Navigating the craters made it almost impossible to overtake without risking losing a wheel or breaking an axle. David had been stuck behind a crawling refrigerated meat truck for over half an hour. The company’s address in Nairobi and telephone number written on the doors at the back imprinted on his mind. To make matters worse there was little airflow inside the jeep and it was baking hot.
Looking at the state of the road David wondered how many people were actually employed by the highways agency. He sighed to himself, AWA, Africa Wins Again. To most Africans the phrase was a proud statement of achievement but to David it represented the corruption that riddled the continent.
David glanced over at Gupta in the passenger seat. He was snoring and appeared to be sleeping soundly. His arms were still bound behind his back and David had taken the added precaution of taping his feet together once he was inside the LandRover. He had removed the strip from his mouth to stop Gupta looking like a kidnap victim.
He spotted the spattering of ragged hills around Voi in the distance and could see the tops of low buildings poking above the trees. The savannah gave way abruptly to a stark line marking the edge of an aloe vera plantation. The farm stretched for almost a mile along either side of the road. David marvelled at so many cacti growing in one place. With funding and medicines in short supply his Aunty Farisi often used the healing qualities of the sap to treat bruises and small lacerations. He resisted the urge to stop and pick her some of the huge spiny leaves. David felt guilt a pang of guilt. He hadn’t spoken to them since leaving Kisii to meet Spencer Scott.
He pulled into the Shell petrol station on the outskirts of Voi and parked the LandRover at the far end of the lot. Facing away from the kiosk so that Gupta couldn’t draw attention to himself. He tuned the radio into 98.4 Capital FM and turned up the volume to some soulless pop music. David locked the doors and walked over to the kiosk.
The payphone was out of order. After some haggling with the Kikuyu attendant he paid fifty shillings to use the staff telephone behind the counter. David took Bernstein’s card from his wallet and dialled the number for the hotel on the back. This time he was put through to the room and Bernstein answered.
“David!” exclaimed the American. “Good to hear your voice. I’ve been worried since I got your cryptic message. What’s been happening?”
David brought him up to speed on events, including his chat with Gupta and suspicions regarding Commander Abasi. He failed to mention that he was holding Gupta prisoner, or that he had taped his interrogation.
“Shit! You have been busy.” Bernstein put his excitement on hold for a moment, “Sorry to hear about your friend, but what exactly do you need me for?”
“I want you to use your contacts and do some digging, find out everything you can about Commander Abasi and this ‘EAST AFRICA TIMBER COMPANY’.” David frowned to himself, “And while you’re at it the Deputy Director as well. I’ve got a feeling that he’s involved in all this.”
“Am I going to get exclusivity?”
“You’re the only person I’ve spoken to about this,” grunted David. “And remember not a word to anyone until we’ve got more proof. Lives are at stake, yours and mine included. I’ll call again this evening when I get to Nairobi.”
“OK, but you won’t find me at the hotel. I’m moving somewhere a little safer.” David dug for the pen in his combat pockets and scribbled down the number.
“Ask for Seymour Dewitt, he’ll know where I am.” Bernstein paused, “What do you plan to do next?”
“I’m not sure yet but I’ll be in touch.”
He hung up before Bernstein could ask any more questions and dialled Caitlyn’s number. As expected there was no answer, she would probably be at work by now. He considered calling the orphanage but decided against it. As part of the KWS facility all calls would go through the switchboard and be easy to monitor. Not for the first time he regretted involving her, albeit indirectly. If Abasi’s goons started asking questions at the orphanage then she could be in real danger. The less contact he had with her until this was all over the better. But he needed to warn her somehow that the GSU were involved.
He made one more call to the hospital in Narok. An indignant receptionist, whose name David didn’t recognise, informed him that Koinet and the rangers had disappeared in the middle of the night.
“This is most unorthodox and a complaint will be made by our Chief Surgeon. There are procedures to be followed you know...”
David cut her off and replaced the receiver, hoping that Damo had followed his orders and moved the prisoner. With no way of contacting Spencer Scott he would just have to wait until he got there to find out.
A ‘POSTA KENYA’ sign hung above the counter and there was a stationary stand next to it. Before returning to the jeep David picked up a pack of envelopes and a book of stamps, along with some stale looking chicken sandwiches and a bottle of water.
Gupta was awake and watched him lean on the bonnet and scribble a note to his Aunty. David wrote that he was fine and asked her to put the tape in a safe place until his return. He shielded the letter from Gupta with his free hand and wrote the address on the envelope. As he walked back to the post box he took the miniature tape from his pocket and slipped it inside the envelope.
Once again he hated having to involve someone close to him but travelling with Gupta and the evidence was too much like carrying all his eggs in one basket. As he dropped the incriminating package through the slot David consoled himself with the fact that nobody else knew about the tape and his Aunty Farisi was not connected to the investigation in any way.
*****
“I really need to piss,” grunted Gupta.
He had been moaning for over an hour and David could do without the stench of urine being added to Gupta’s body odour. They were about ten miles from Nairobi, close to a settlement called Athi River. There would be little other opportunity to stop before they hit the town centre. David reluctantly turned onto a small track. Half a mile found later he found a dry riverbed out of site from the main road. He followed it for a few hundred yards, pulled to a stop and left the engine running.
He took the gun from his waistband and pointed it at Gupta’s lap, “Alright let’s make this quick and no funny business, or I’ll blow that thing off.”
David got out and had a look around before opening the door and helping Gupta out, “Here will do, squat down there next to the jeep.”
“What?” Gupta looked put out.
“I thought you needed a piss?” David smiled, “You didn’t really expect me to untie you? If you’re wearing underpants then I’ll pull them down for you but that’s as far as it goes.”
As it turned out Gupta wasn’t wearing any so David was spared the experience. He watched from a distance as Gupta squatted next to the door of the LandRover. Leaning his back against the side for support. Some of the urine splashed off the sun baked ground and stained the hem of his robes.
“You bastard!” exclaimed Gupta. “You’ll pay for treating me like a dog!”
“That’s all you are Gupta, a rabid dog.” David grinned, “Now get back inside before I decide to put you down.”
Gupta looked li
ke he might say something else but the pain stopped him. David pulled him to his feet by his ear and bundled him into the passenger seat. He slammed the door shut before Gupta had a chance to react.
By the time they rejoined the highway the traffic had built up going into Athi River. Vehicles were nose to tail and crawling forward at a snail’s pace. Eventually a bus driver allowed David to enter the stream of motorists.
He wondered whether it was an accident or road works causing the hold-up. As they approached the bridge into town the reason for the delay became apparent. GSU officers armed with machine guns were manning a temporary roadblock. A series of oil barrels forced the vehicles to slow down between them. Adrenalin pumped through his veins and a voice inside his head screamed at him to floor the accelerator.
David calmly pulled off into a side street and passed a weathered looking sign that read ‘GREENPARK ESTATE’.
“Please Captain, I’m begging you! Turn around and take me back to Mombasa and I will pay you handsomely. I can get a boat from there to Karachi or Mumbai. Shall we say $50,000?”
When David didn’t answer he kept talking, the panic evident in his rapidly spoken words, “I told you that as long as I am in Kenya then I am not safe...let’s call it $100,000. Think about what you could do with all that money. You would be set up for life.”
David ignored Gupta’s blabbering and continued to where the street and rows of unfinished bungalows ended in an unnatural sand dune. David guessed that bulldozers had created the ridge when they flattened the land to make way for the new development. He gunned the engine and the LandRover careered up the slope, wheels tearing into the sand as they bit for purchase. The jeep flew off the top of the mound and the engine revved wildly as the wheels came free of the ground. They landed with a crash and the chassis groaned in protest. Gupta cried out in pain as he was thrown forward and his head struck the dashboard. The front wheels were jolted off course on impact and the jeep threatened to topple over. David wrenched the wheel back in the opposite direction and accelerated gently to correct the skid.