Dawn of Deception

by Dan Fletcher

  “Just wait,” snapped the Professor, speaking with an air of confidence that David hadn’t heard before.

  The hired security guard ambled back over to the minibus. He pointed to a spot against the wall behind them, “You can park over there for now and someone will be down to see you in a minute.”

  “They’d better be quick!” snapped the Professor.

  Now that he was on familiar turf the Professor was a different man, far from the cowering wreck that David had found back in the cell. There was a loud bang and David was thrown back against the seat as the driver of the matatu reversed into the wall.

  “Now look what you made me do!” He covered his face with both hands, “Allah, what have I done to deserve this?”

  “Relax.” Mutungi leant forward and patted him on the shoulder, “I’ll make sure that the repairs are paid for.”

  “Really?” the driver dropped his hands and turned to look at the Professor.

  “You have my word...sorry, what is your name?”

  “Jamal,” replied the driver. His face lit up and he smiled, “Like the basketball player.”

  Despite the pain he was in David smiled at the irony. Jamal Jones was almost seven feet tall whereas the driver could barely see over the dashboard. Somebody had a sense of humour but he wasn’t sure whether it was Jamal or his parents. Professor Mutungi turned and squinted at him.

  “Please excuse me, Captain Nbeke. I can’t see a damn thing without my glasses.” The Professor shook his head, “So how did you end up in Abasi’s dungeon?”

  “I could ask you the same thing,” he sighed, causing a pang of pain in his chest. So much had happened in such a short space of time. How could he summarise the whirlwind of events that had led to their chance meeting in just a few words? David looked up. The Professor was peering at him expectantly.

  “It’s all to do with poaching. I’ve got proof that the Commander is involved in smuggling rhino and elephant horn out of the country. He’s also responsible for the death of one of my colleagues and somebody very close to me.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” the Professor sounded sincere but there was a hint of excitement in his voice. “Did you say that you have proof?”

  David nodded, “I’ve got a witness in custody and the statement of a poacher who worked for him...Abasi killed him too, tortured him to death.” Thinking about Gupta’s burnt genitals almost made him retch.

  “With your testimony it just might be enough.” The Professor stroked his chin, “Let’s see what Seymour has to say.”

  “What about you?”

  “Sorry?” the Professor frowned.

  “Why were you in there?”

  He actually smiled, “All in good time Captain, let’s get you patched up first.” He pointed out the window, “Looks like our escort has arrived.”

  A detachment of six marines had materialised beyond the checkpoint. Their leader, a squat sergeant with three stripes on the shoulders of his khaki shirt, was talking to the hired help.

  After a brief conversation the sergeant nodded and walked over to the minibus. Two of the other Marines followed a few paces behind him. Fingers on the triggers of the Heckler & Koch machine guns they were carrying. If he was surprised by their appearance or the lateness of the hour the sergeant didn’t show it. Ignoring the driver he addressed them through the side door.

  “Sergeant Krasinski,” his eyes darted around the back of the minibus, examining the seats behind them. “Which one of you guys is Professor Mutungi?”

  *****

  The sergeant led them into the building through a fire escape in the basement. A brightly lit stairwell replaced the gloom and damp. Now that he was safe, the massive amounts of adrenalin his body had been producing were no longer needed. As the flow ceased and it broke down in his blood stream David started to tremble. He shivered as if cold, even though it must have been over thirty degrees Celsius in the subterranean level of the Embassy.

  As they walked up to the first floor David suddenly felt queasy and his legs buckled underneath him. One of the marine guards grabbed hold of his arm to steady him. The procession halted in the middle of the stairs as he gathered enough strength to continue. Aware that all eyes were on him David took a few deep breaths and nodded that he was ready to go.

  “Not too quickly, just take it one step at a time, sir,” barely twenty with blonde fluff rather than stubble, the fresh-faced marine’s words of encouragement only made it worse. “Not much further now.”

  David was relieved when they reached the foyer on street level and walked towards the elevator. He couldn’t contemplate attempting another flight of stairs. After not sleeping for days and losing so much blood all he wanted was to find somewhere to lie down and close his eyes for a while. The sofa opposite reception looked inviting, but they weren’t stopping.

  “We’re taking these gentlemen up to the conference room on the fourth floor. Call the hospital and have them send over a doctor ASAP,” Krasinski barked at the local security guard manning the desk. “And make sure that they come prepared, two trauma patients, one with a stab wound.”

  Not waiting for a reply he pressed the button and the elevator doors opened. Sergeant Krasinski turned to the Marine helping David, “Pierce, come with us. The rest of you stay here. Make sure that only the doctor and the RSO make it anywhere near the fourth floor until you hear otherwise from me personally.”

  Professor Mutungi’s laboured breathing filled the silence as the tiny elevator trundled slowly upwards. The steel box was cramped with only four of them inside and didn’t seem large enough for the building, either an oversight or the result of underfunding. Their ascent ended jerkily as the elevator settled itself on the fourth floor.

  Krasinski took them down a long glass panelled corridor with offices on either side and opened a set of double doors at the end.

  “Make yourselves comfortable,” he said, switching on the light. “We’ll get you some water and clothes to put on. I can’t guarantee they’ll fit but we’ll find you something.”

  David was helped into one of the twenty or so leather chairs around the oval shaped conference table. Mutungi sat opposite him, his face reflected in the highly polished walnut.

  “Thanks,” his voice sounded weak and distant. David felt the room start to spin and closed his eyes.

  *****

  By the time Dewitt got there the doctor sent from the hospital had already sewn up the stab wound and taped his ribs. David winced as antiseptic was applied to his nose but he was feeling a lot better. Probably had something to do with all the morphine.

  After everything he had been through in the last few days it didn’t surprise him when Aaron Bernstein turned up with the Embassy’s Regional Safety Officer. Bernstein looked scruffy as usual, wearing torn jeans and a collarless shirt. The reporter walked into the room ahead of Dewitt, acting as if he belonged there. In contrast, the RSO was immaculately dressed. Despite the fact that he must have been dragged out of bed he wore a crisply ironed shirt that hugged his square cut shoulders

  “What the hell happened?” exclaimed Bernstein seeing his face and fresh bandages. “You look like shit!”

  “Thanks,” replied David. “It’s good to see you too.”

  What did seem strange to David was that once the introductions were over Dewitt took a back seat. It was Bernstein who asked all the questions. He was obviously a skilled interviewer and only interrupted David a couple of times to ask for Gupta and Caitlyn’s addresses. Dewitt took notes, scribbling away noisily with his pencil.

  “It’s a miracle that the two of you managed to escape,” said the reporter, shaking his head when David finally finished recounting events.

  “I owe my life to Captain Nbeke here,” announced the Professor glancing over at him. “If it wasn’t for him I’m certain Abasi would have killed me.”

  Bernstein addressed David, “How much do you know about Commander Abasi?”

  “Only what I’ve told you,” replied
David. “Until a couple of weeks ago I’d never even heard of him.”

  “Makes sense, Abasi likes to keep below the radar,” Bernstein nodded. “If that’s even his real name.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Dewitt coughed, “Unfortunately poaching is not the only crime that Abasi is guilty of, in fact it’s just the tip of the iceberg. He first appeared on our radar in 1978 not long after Kenyatta died and Moi came to power. A group of MPs were falsely accused of plotting against the President after a failed assassination attempt. The Ministers declared their innocence and claimed that the trumped up charges were being used as an excuse to get rid of them.

  Commander Abasi led the enquiry against them as the head of Moi’s secret service. By all accounts it was a brutal investigation that ended in the disappearance of two Kikuyu MPs.”

  Professor Mutungi’s powerful voice took over, “Since then he has been President Moi’s enforcer and implicated in numerous crimes. Including the ethnic cleansing of the Kikuyu people in the run up to the election. His job was to keep them away from the ballot polls. Which he did to great effect, killing and detaining tens of thousands.”

  David felt disbelief turning into raw hatred. Abasi was connected to his father’s death as well as being directly responsible for Caitlyn’s. As head of the Secret service Abasi would have ordered the death squads to do his dirty work. He slammed his fist on the table and sent a shockwave through his shoulder that managed to override the painkillers.

  He gritted his teeth, “If you know all this, why hasn’t anything been done? Why isn’t Abasi behind bars?”

  “We are talking about the President’s right hand man.” The Professor sighed deeply, “Every time a witness comes forward they mysteriously disappear along with any police reports. People who know are too afraid to speak out, even members of the Human Rights Committee.”

  “Where does he come from?” David couldn’t shake the feeling that his and Abasi’s fates had been intertwined for some time.

  “Before 1978 there doesn’t appear to be any official record of Peter Abasi, at least not one that we can find,” it was Bernstein who replied.

  “What, nothing at all?”

  “We believe that the name Peter Abasi is invented.” Bernstein turned to Dewitt, “What do you think. Have we got enough to go on?”

  “I’m not sure that there is enough evidence to convict Abasi.” Dewitt furrowed his brow, “But with Captain Nbeke and the Professor’s testimony it’s probably enough to have him brought in for questioning. And to obtain search warrants. I’ll call Minister Kamotho and ask him to speak to the Police Commissioner. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find something at Abasi’s house or his office.”

  “Hold on a minute,” said David, as the RSO got up from his chair. “This is a KWS investigation and it stays that way.”

  “I don’t understand?” Dewitt clenched his jaw and examined him through steely grey eyes.

  “From what you’ve been telling me we can’t be sure that Abasi hasn’t got the Minister and the Commissioner in his pocket,” David wasn’t ready to take the risk. “If not them, one of their members of staff. Start asking for his arrest or search warrants and he’s bound to find out.”

  “I suppose you’re probably right.” Bernstein gave him a sideways look, “Just what are you proposing?”

  “A set up. Abasi wants Koinet and we’ve got him,” replied David simply. “Is there a CB radio in the Embassy?”

  Dewitt nodded, “There are two down in the coms room on the ground floor.”

  David held onto the edge of the table for support and got up from his chair, “Would you mind taking me there? I need to make a couple of calls.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Waiyaki Way, Nairobi

  August 20th, 1996

  Bernstein drove them northwest out of the city. Dawn was breaking and the streets were already bustling with people on their way to work. The American drove confidently and weaved the Datsun hatchback expertly through the traffic.

  “So, who do you really work for?” David already knew the answer but he wanted to hear it from Bernstein.

  The American glanced over at him and then turned his attention back to the chaos in the street ahead. Five lanes of traffic were sandwiched into what had been built for three. Bernstein gave a long blast on the horn and forced his way into a lane that was moving.

  “You’ve probably figured it out already anyway.” He shrugged, more to himself than David, “I work for the CIA. I’m what they call a Collection Management Officer, CMO for short. It’s my job to collect information in the field and relay it back to Langley for analysis. Find out who the bad guys are and suggest affirmative action.”

  “You make it all sound very corporate.”

  Bernstein smiled, “I guess it is, in a way. That’s why we call it ‘the company’.”

  Bernstein had the perfect cover. Nobody would suspect a reporter asking questions or poking his nose in, it was part of the job description.

  “How long have you been investigating Abasi?” David grimaced as they went over a pothole in the road and it jarred his shoulder.

  “Like the RSO said, we’ve known about him for years. But things escalated when the Professor contacted the Embassy a few months ago. I was called in to do some digging around. Once I found out that Abasi was familiar with Counsellor Wei it didn’t take long to figure out what was going on. Wei’s family own a string of carving factories back in China, we figure that he’s been shifting the ivory for Abasi. We also believe that Deputy Director Tanui’s involved, passing on operational information so that the poachers can avoid your patrols. But that part’s conjecture, we’ve got no proof.”

  David shook his head, “I thought so too but Tanui’s not the leak. Abasi must have someone else inside the KWS.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Abasi let slip that there’s no love lost between them when he was interrogating me.” David shivered when he thought of the basement, Gupta and Lembui.

  “Well someone’s been giving Abasi the heads up,” Bernstein accelerated into another gap. “Until you came along he’s been getting away with it for years. We’ve traced regular transfers from an account in Zurich to Abasi’s local bank. Going back over a decade. As usual the bloody Swiss crooks won’t break client confidentiality so that’s where the money trail ends.”

  Once they got past the Kabete Telephone Exchange the traffic began to thin out and Bernstein picked up speed. They soon left the city behind them and the land beside the road fell away as they reached the edge of the rift valley. They dropped down from the escarpment and turned onto the B3, heading through the dry grasslands towards Narok.

  David ran things over in his mind. Spencer Scott had taken the news of Caitlyn’s death badly. David just hoped that he kept it together and didn’t become a hindrance. The likelihood was that they were going to be outnumbered and they would be relying on the element of surprise. If Scott acted recklessly it might endanger them all.

  Back in the Embassy he thought about calling KWS Headquarters but decided against it. Not knowing the mole’s identity he didn’t want to risk the possibility of tipping off Abasi. David would have to come clean with Deputy Director Tanui when this was all over, a conversation that he wasn’t looking forward to.

  He checked the display on the dashboard, nearly eight o’clock. Damo would probably be back at base camp in the Mara by now.

  “You should try to catch some shut-eye,” Bernstein interrupted his thoughts. “You look like you need it.”

  David leant his head back against the seat and winced, he’d forgotten all about the bump on the back of his head. It seemed superfluous compared to his other injuries, yet he had to turn sideways in the seat to get comfortable. He closed his eyes. The vibration and rocking motion of the car soon put David to sleep.

  “We’re here,” Bernstein announced, the hatchback skidded to a halt in a cloud of dust. “Which way now?”

&nbs
p; David opened his eyes and shook his head to get rid of the drowsiness. He must have been asleep for over an hour, his troubled mind torturing him with new nightmares, Caitlyn being raped by Abasi as he was forced to watch.

  They were outside the KWS camp behind Serena Lodge. He pointed to a track leading to the left of one of the barracks, “Damo should be down there.”

  Bernstein ground the gearstick into first and the Datsun lurched forward. Damo and the six additional men he had requested were sitting under the shade of an acacia tree. Next to them was a Bedford truck with green canvas covering the back. Damo stood up as they approached and patted down his jacket to get rid of the dust. Bernstein pulled up behind the truck and killed the engine. Damo was opening the door for him before David could reach for the handle.

  “Jambo sana, I was beginning to think that you weren’t coming back,” his friend’s smile vanished when he noticed the extent of David’s injuries. “Man, you look like shit. What happened?”

  “I’ll tell you later. Is everything ready?”

  “Yes.” Damo nodded towards the truck, “We’ve got enough in there to take down a small army.”

  “Good, I’ve got a feeling that we’re going to need it.” David turned to the American, “Damo, this is Aaron Bernstein. He’s here to help us. Make sure that he’s fully kitted out. I’m assuming he knows how to use it.”

  Damo raised an eyebrow, “Are you sure?”

  Bernstein smiled, “Don’t worry. I’ll try not to get in the way.”

  “OK,” David nodded. “Get everybody loaded up, we leave in five minutes. Did you bring the other things that I asked for?”

  Damo handed him the rucksack he was holding, “All in there.”

  “Thanks, I won’t be long.”

  Turning his back on them he headed back up the track towards the hotel. It was time to put the call into Commander Abasi and stir the hornets’ nest. David just hoped that he could make it sound convincing.