by Dan Fletcher
David nodded to the nameless man beside him. He took a deep painful breath and went outside. The drop in temperature was noticeable as the chill night air enveloped him. Hugging the wall and keeping low he headed for the opening, stones crunched underfoot.
The prisoner’s laboured breathing and dragged footsteps seemed amplified. He worried that the combined noise they were making would attract attention. David crouched in the shadows between the two buildings and waited for him to catch up. His injuries and Caitlyn’s death were forgotten as he scanned ahead, looking for a way out
Directly in front of them the driveway ended at a gatehouse about three hundred meters away. Under the oasis of light created by the arcs of two streetlamps David could see an armed guard, machine gun slung over his shoulder. He was standing behind the red and white striped barrier facing in the opposite direction. The occasional glow of a cigarette in the hut beside the gates gave away the position of another guard.
Over to the right of the road was a large level expanse of ground that could have been a football pitch except that there weren’t any posts. David knew that it was a parade square, having finally worked out where he was. GSU Headquarters on Thika Road. No wonder Abasi and his bodyguards were so confident. Around two hundred troops lived in the rows of Nissan huts that made up the barracks on the other side of the square. If the alarm was raised the place would be swarming in minutes.
“Sorry,” he apologised for bumping into David’s back.
David held up his hand for him to be quiet. He could hear something, footsteps getting louder. Leaning around the corner at knee height, he honed in on the sound and picked up the silhouette. A figure emerged from between the last two huts and headed towards them. Ducking back behind the safety of the wall he swivelled on his haunches to face the other man. He jabbed him in the chest and then pointed at the ground, signalling him to stay put. The man nodded to say that he understood.
Whoever was coming had traversed the parade ground and was getting close when he took another look. David withdrew into the shadows and switched his grip on the Glock so that he was holding it by the barrel. Firing it would be like committing suicide.
David rose slowly to his feet and pressed his back up against the wall. He lifted the gun above his head ready to strike. Fighting back the pain as his broken rib dug into his lung.
As the man drew level with him he brought the butt of the gun down hard on the back his head. There was a loud exhalation of air and corresponding thump as he hit the ground. David leant over the prostrate figure. He aimed for the same spot and hit him again for good measure. The man sighed strangely and his whole body seemed to sag deeper into the gravel. David rolled him over. The staring eyes belonged to the other GSU officer he had seen outside Tanui’s office.
David straightened up and turned the gun around so that he was holding it the right way. At least two of the men responsible for Caitlyn’s death had been made to pay the price. He would have to come back for their boss. His fellow prisoner was squatting next to the wall, clearly in shock, eyes fixed on the dead man’s body.
Tapping the trembling man’s shoulder gently to get his attention David gestured towards some narrow brick buildings with tin roofs. The man stared at him blankly.
“Snap out of it!” hissed David.
He blinked and his eyes lost their glazed look. Then he nodded and with David’s help the man pushed himself to his feet. Gritting his teeth against the resulting pain that shot through his shoulder they made their way towards the firing range.
During basic training David and the other rangers had been given the opportunity to try their skills out on the course. Part of the selection process in deciding whether you ended up out in the field or behind a desk somewhere pushing paper. Designed to test reaction speeds as well as marksmanship it was the only facility of its type in the country. There were both indoor and outdoor arenas where live rounds and smoke grenades were used to keep the candidates on their toes.
They walked slowly down the length of the building and passed the briefing room where he had received his induction. Treading carefully in the dark David searched for obstacles in the over-grown grass with his bare feet. His accomplice wasn’t far behind.
Pausing first to make sure that there was nobody around he went out into what was the main section of the course. They crossed through the large wasteland of burnt out cars and trailers that resembled a disorganised scrap yard. As they entered the copse of trees on the other side he realised that Thika Road was closer than he remembered. The sound of a vehicle drifted through the trees and he caught a glimpse of some headlights.
Dry leaves crunched and branches snapped underfoot as they threaded their way blindly through the patch of woodland. David’s arm bashed against a tree trunk and it took all of his will power to stifle the scream that built in his throat. He saw a single headlight coming down the road a few hundred yards away, bobbing up and down. Then the beam swung in an arc towards them and he realised it was a torch. One of the perimeter guards doing his rounds.
“Get down!” David quietly dropped to the floor. Lying as flat as possible he took some of the weight with his elbows to reduce the pressure on the broken rib. Pointing the pistol at the spotlight he prayed that the sentry would walk by without noticing them. The stomping of the man’s boots got closer and then he heard the dog growl.
The sentry stopped in his tracks a few yards away and spoke softly in Swahili, “What is it? Did you hear something?” A deep bark answered him, then another.
Making the split decision to shoot the animal first and then its handler David prepared to squeeze the trigger. But then common sense told him to do neither. He lowered the weapon and pressed his face into the dirt. Resisting the temptation to look up, he could sense rather than see the light probing the darkness above his head. There was rustling nearby and he almost jumped out of his skin when the dog barked a feet away from him.
“There’s nothing there,” snapped the sentry.
There was a thumping noise followed by the dog’s whimpering.
Gradually his footsteps and cursing faded and David got to his feet. He set off without looking back. The woods ended at a footpath and six-foot high fence, some bushes on the other side between them and the road. David grabbed the bottom of the chain link and pulled, stretching the metal and bending it up to create a gap underneath.
“Hold this for me,” he instructed the man breathing heavily next to him. Chubby hands took hold of the fence and David crawled underneath.
Returning the favour from the outside David couldn’t make the opening big enough and the man’s jacket snagged on the fence as he tried to get through.
“Shit!” David put the pistol in his pocket and used both hands but no matter how hard he pulled the man wouldn’t budge. His jacket was snagged on the fence, “Try going back a little bit.”
As he wriggled around somebody started shouting in the distance, only to be drowned out by the shrill ringing of an alarm bell. David yanked harder and almost lost his balance as the man shot out from under the fence like a cork from a bottle. The jolt produced another wave of agony.
David turned and started to run as the other man scrambled to his feet. They burst through the bushes onto the old Thika Road that ran parallel to the new highway feeding the city. Luckily they were hidden from view of the main gates by a curve in the road. David turned away from the entrance and started running north.
A handful of matatus and a few trucks were taking advantage of a lay-by a few hundred meters up the road. David banged on the back of the nearest minibus and skidded to a halt beside the driver’s door. The scared occupant woke with a start and jumped again when he rapped on the glass.
David made a revolving motion with his hand to indicate that he should wind down the window. The driver shook his head and shrank away from him. At a guess he was in his late twenties, possibly early thirties, from one of the desert countries bordering Kenya. Either Ethiopia or Somalia. His mi
xed Arabic and African heritage betrayed by his thin nose and purple lips. Closely cropped hair and a cleanly shaven face above a striped tunic.
David rubbed his forefinger and thumb together to indicate that he wanted to pay. The frown changed into a smile and the window was wound down.
“Where do you want to go, boss?”
That was when the big man arrived wheezing like he was about to die. He spoke between gasps for breath, “Take us...to the...American…Embassy.”
“Get in!” replied the driver excitedly. He reached over his shoulder and unlocked the side door.
Sliding it open David bundled his unlikely partner into the vehicle and closed the door behind them. The starter motor clicked and whirred and for an awful moment sounded like it wasn’t going to work.
Blabbering something in a foreign dialect the driver struck the steering wheel and fiddled with the key again. This time the starter turned over and gathered momentum until the engine reluctantly kicked in. Coughing and spluttering the minibus careered out onto the road and began to pick up speed slowly. Eventually the shaking matatu levelled out at a steady pace, one that David was sure he could outrun. He leant forward between the front seats and looked at the speedometer. The erratic needle was hovering below the 50km per hour mark.
“Doesn’t this thing go any faster?”
The driver smiled at him in the rear-view mirror, “Not anymore.” He veered off the road onto a slipway.
They went over the bridge and rejoined Thika Road, this time heading south towards the city on the highway. David sank back into his seat as they passed the lay-by and got close to the GSU gatehouse. Around a dozen officers were lined up inside the gate. Some of them standing, others crouched down on one knee. All of them were facing away from the road with their weapons trained towards the base. A thick concrete wall in the middle of the highway separated them from him. But David still didn’t feel safe.
He could see a hive of activity over near the main building. Commander Abasi towered over the men around him. He was waving his arms and gesturing towards the gate. Then the scene was gone, blocked by hedges and Nissan huts. He turned to face the man next to him in the back of the minibus.
They stared at each other seriously for a second and then the big man grinned. His nerves got the better of him and David joined in.
“I’m Professor Onesimus Mutungi,” he held out his hand. “A man forever in your debt.”
“David Nbeke.” He took the outstretched hand and shook his head, “and you don’t owe me anything.”
David closed his eyes for a few seconds and let his head fall back against the seat. Now that the adrenalin was wearing off he was feeling a bit faint.
Then vivid pictures of Caitlyn lying mutilated on the bed popped into his head. Thinking about the chain of events that had led to her death he felt the hatred growing inside him.
Trying to get near Abasi at GSU headquarters would require a small army. David wanted to speak to the Deputy Director and piece together some sort of plan but first he needed to get his wounds seen to. Infection would set in soon if he didn’t get antibiotics, and some painkillers wouldn’t go amiss. He spoke to the driver.
“Once we’ve dropped him off you can take me to the hospital.” He turned to the Professor, “Do you think that you can get hold of some money at the Embassy?”
All of his worldly possessions were in the rucksack that he had left with Gupta outside Caitlyn’s apartment. David wondered if Abasi had found the recorder and realised that the tape was missing. Not that it mattered, only David knew where it had been sent.
“Of course, if that’s what you want,” replied the Professor, thoughtfully stroking his chin. “But I’m sure that we’ll be able to get medical attention at the Embassy, and it will be much safer. Seymour will take care of us.”
David shrugged. As long as he got patched up it didn’t really matter where. Driving over the Globe Flyover he could see the taller trees of Jevanjee Gardens, the park in front of Caitlyn’s apartment. The road started to descend and the painful reminder disappeared as they dropped down into the city centre.
Something clicked. Bernstein had used the same name. “Do you mean Seymour Dewitt?”
The Professor raised one of his bushy eyebrows, “Why, do you know him?”
“Not personally,” David shook his head. “But it’s a small world.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
GSU Headquarters, Nairobi
August 20th, 1996
Maliki was daydreaming when he heard the shrill noise. At first he thought it must be the phone ringing. Then he realised it was the alarm and jumped to his feet. Running from his office he practically bounced down the central staircase to the foyer.
“What’s the alarm for?” He had to shout at the duty officer behind the desk to be heard above the racket.
“Your driver told me to sound it,” the veins on his neck swelled up as the lieutenant was forced to shout back. “He found a dead officer. Looks like one of the prisoners might have escaped.”
“Turn that bloody thing off!” barked Maliki. The noise was disorientating and would have alerted all the men in the barracks by now. His face twitched.
Thankfully the ringing stopped as he stepped outside. Ahead of him one of the double doors to the jail was swung open on its hinges. Maliki turned right, attracted by the sound of raised voices coming from beyond the courtyard. Following them he found the group of officers he had been expecting to arrive from his mansion. Huddled together near the gap between the buildings. They were animated and seemed distracted by something near their feet. As he drew closer Maliki realised that it must be the dead officer.
“Who is it?”
Some of the men with their backs to him were so on edge they actually jumped at his question. A hush fell over them and they parted so that he could see into the centre. Gakere was bent over the body.
“Its Sabore sir.” He looked up, disbelief in his eyes, “Somebody crushed his skull.”
“Don’t be stupid, man,” Maliki stepped into the throng to get a closer look, but sure enough the back of Sabore’s head was a mess. Caved in like the crater of a volcano.
“Gakere, you come with me.” Maliki waved towards the front gate that was already swarming with troops, “The rest of you go and find him, he can’t have got far.”
A rusty brown matatu caught his eye beyond the throng at the gates, trundling along slowly on the other side of the highway. But there was no one on board except the driver in the front. His men fanned out and started to search the grounds as Maliki turned away from the gates. With Gakere beside him he walked briskly back into the courtyard, over to the detention block.
“Be careful,” he instructed standing to one side. “He could still be in there.”
Gakere took out his Glock and led the way. Maliki waited until the light was on and he shouted that the room was clear before following.
All of the cells were open, including the Professor’s, so was the door at the top of the staircase. Maliki nodded towards it and Gakere disappeared down into the basement.
A few minutes later he returned gasping for breath, a look of disbelief on his face, “There’s nobody down there except Lembui, sir...and he’s dead.”
Maliki had to see for himself, he pushed past Gakere and descended the stairs. Lembui’s frazzled corpse face first on the floor near the doorway sent a shiver down his spine. It was a sensation that Maliki hadn’t felt in a long time. Not since being mauled by the lion all those years ago. Captain Nbeke had been badly wounded and strapped to a chair the last time he saw him. Yet somehow he had escaped with the Professor and killed Maliki’s two best men with his bare hands. It wasn’t until he was back outside in the courtyard that Maliki recognised the strange feeling. It was fear. His cheek went into spasm.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
American Embassy, Nairobi
August 20th, 1996
“If your name’s not on the register then you don’t get in.�
�� The guard from the local security company manning the checkpoint tapped his clipboard, “And you’re not on it.”
“Just call Seymour Dewitt and tell him I’m here,” the Professor shouted, exasperation evident in his tone. “Or Ambassador Bushnell. For Christ’s sake man can’t you see it’s an emergency? This man is bleeding to death!”
The podgy security guard peered in the window through bloodshot eyes. He frowned at David’s messed up face and roughly bandaged shoulder. Obviously this was a dilemma for him. Waking up Embassy staff in the middle of the night was not a step to be taken lightly. Get it wrong and you could find yourself out of a job. The stoned guard scratched behind one of his ears with a pen and nudged his navy blue beret. A few sizes too big it threatened to topple off but somehow stayed perched on his head at a jaunty angle.
“OK.” He stopped itching his ear, “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”
David noticed the creased white shirttails hanging over his bubble shaped butt as he walked back into the booth. Through the glass he saw him put a telephone receiver to his ear and wondered why the guard didn’t have a radio. Now that David thought about it he hadn’t seen a weapon either. Maybe he was expecting too much but David thought that there would be Marine Guards everywhere, armed to the teeth.
Security in the Embassy basement was worse than lax, it was practically non-existent. Even the barrier itself was temporary, the freestanding metal type that police use for crowd control. David was tempted to tell the driver to hit the gas and run through it but that might stir the Marines into actually making an appearance. Presumably there must be some of them in the building on nightshift? Inside the booth the guard was now talking into the telephone, he nodded and replaced the receiver.
“Maybe we should just go to the hospital?” the driver of the matatu sounded nervous. He started to fiddle with the gearstick.