UMTATA

  They’d also heard from a lady in Nigeria, but soon the conversation dwindled; she, like many others, was trying to see how much money was in it for her.

  “Please do not let your hopes run too wild in the first instance; nearly all the information we have received so far has suggested a hoax,” Charles warned.

  “Yes, we must be careful, and I understand fully, but I am always hoping that the next telephone call we get will be a good one,” said Naomi.

  “In the case of Zimbabwe I will send Chola a note asking him to verify the information about the family he mentioned.

  “However, a note came to me from a family in a place called Maputo on the east coast of Africa.” Charles was matter-of-fact.

  “Maputo, yes, I know exactly where that is; it sounds a good possibility, the sort of place that Kwasi would go to hide with his girlfriend.”

  “You do not know that she is even still with him, or if the kids are with him.” Charles was trying to be constructive.

  “Anyway, what shall we do with this one?” asked Naomi.

  “I will try to make contact.” Charles got up. “Like some tea, or would you prefer a beer?”

  He had requested the information he wanted from Chola, but never heard from him again.

  A day before the meeting between Martin and Charles, Nat and Charles drove home for lunch. Martin was always trying to defeat Nat at darts; they had erected a board in the house, and often played during their lunch break, but Martin could never beat him.

  It was a hot day, and they had finished their lunch. James, the houseboy, was clearing the table. Moving from the table and settling on the sofa, they had half an hour for a quick nap. Nat lay down and closed his eyes, and fell into a deep sleep.

  With just two minutes remaining before they returned to work, Martin woke up Nat with a loud, “Time to go, Nat.”

  Nat jumped up quickly and made for the door, but Martin held out the darts and said, “Come on, Nat, just time for a quick game.”

  “Do we have enough time?”

  “Of course, it will only take a few minutes.”

  Martin got off with a double and with Nat still trying to focus on the board; then he finished up with a double eight. He turned to Nat. “Sorry, mate, it’s my game.”

  “Nah, best of three,” Nat said. He was now wide awake.

  “Sorry, Nat, no time, I have a meeting. Come on, I’ll drive.”

  Martin was happy; he had achieved the impossible. The terms were dodgy, but all’s fair in fun and war.

  Just as they were leaving the phone rang.

  “I’ll get it, Nat, you just take some deep breaths.”

  “Hello, is that you, Martin? Webster here.”

  “Hi, George.” He rolled his eyes as it was an inappropriate time, especially if he was to talk about his association with Charles. “What can I do for you?”

  “It concerns our friend Coughlin,” said Webster. “It seems that he actually absconded from both Sullom Voe and the IRA at the same time.”

  Martin welcomed this news in light of his forthcoming meeting with Charles. “Interesting,” he answered.

  “Yes, but that is only half the story, because he wowed a widow in London, duped her and stole her husband’s personal details and his money.” George was picking up the pace.

  “So he is now not only an inactive terrorist, but also a fraudster and a thief?” The voice tailed off; Martin was trying to sound enthusiastic.

  “One way of putting it; however, we have had some luck in tracking him.” George was getting to the point.

  “Where does the track take you, George – surely not here in Kitwe?”

  “We know what continent he is on, and the section of the continent he is operating in, and what we have discovered is that he is heading in your direction, although possibly a few thousand miles short of you yet.”

  “Do you want me to keep a lookout, George? I meet lots of expats, especially in my spare-time role of promoter.” Martin was leading his man.

  “That’s the reason for the call, old boy; ring me with anything you think will help us clear this matter up.”

  “Of course – remember last time?”

  “Yes I do, and bloody good show; hope the same will happen this time. Anyway, do that for me and we will speak in two weeks or so – that’s if you do not ring me in the meantime.”

  “Absolutely, George.”

  The line went dead.

  Martin slumped back in his chair. Webster’s call had presented him with a dilemma.

  “Come on, bonny lad, we must fly; it’s already quarter past the hour.” Nat was joking; he never worried. He appreciated Martin was stressed, and said nothing about the trick his friend had played on him.

  On Wednesday, Charles agreed to meet Martin in Kitwe; he paid a mineworker to take him in his car. They agreed to meet at a restaurant run by a German lady – the cuisine was European and the local cooks had an excellent reputation.

  An Overdue Meeting

  He arrived early and a little shaken as the old car taking him from Ndola to Kitwe was unstable. The driver looked either inebriated or stoned, and he was thankful when he arrived and left the driver to sleep off whatever he was suffering from.

  Charles had made himself comfortable and had already ordered a drink when Martin arrived. He was smiling, which was a good sign, and he shook Charles’s hand firmly.

  “Do I call you Barney or Charles? It is all rather confusing for me at the moment,” said Martin, and Charles wasn’t sure whether this was sarcasm or jest.

  “Call me Charles, if you don’t mind; it’s just that everyone around here knows me by that name.”

  “OK, it’s Charles. Now please, old mate, I would appreciate it if you can be honest with me and tell me your story – the truth, please – and we can order some food in the meantime.”

  “It can be only that, and my thanks for not saying anything at the golf course.”

  “My pleasure, Charles, but I cannot promise to keep the terms of our previous friendship under wraps forever.”

  “In Sullom Voe I worked on the site, but had been recruited and trained by the IRA.” Charles paused, then continued. “It was my job as an agent to use an IED at the opening ceremony in May 1981, but with only six months to go I saw sense. It was a senseless thing to get involved with, and I absconded.”

  “What made you change your mind?”

  “The senseless killings of innocent people – Lord Mountbatten, children, passers-by. It was too much, I just knew I had to get out, but when I did, I knew it would create a chasing pack.”

  “Has it?” Martin asked.

  “I don’t know but I just need to be careful; it may also depend on how you react.”

  “I need more time to think, Charles.”

  “I would appreciate some time also. I have not hurt a fly to this date, yet if I am detained, it will be either death or a long term in jail.”

  “Look, Charles, I am in a spot. I report to an MI6 contact, but I believe you and I also understand that you are genuinely helping others, so I may well not say anything at this moment. However, I will need to come up with a diversion, especially with Webster breathing down my neck.”

  “Thank you, Martin, I am in your debt.”

  There was a pause, and Martin wasn’t sure whether he had said the right thing. He had not mentioned that he was aware that Charles had stolen from the deceased husband; a serious offence, and he would need to warn him in due course.

  “Come, Martin, let me buy you dinner; it’s all I can do.”

  “No, that’s kind of you but I have a big tournament coming up and I need to talk things through with my partner, Wolfgang. We should meet again tomorrow; I will come to Ndola at about 4pm if that’s all right, because there is something you must know.”

  25
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br />   A Blind Date

  “Ba Naomi, what about a game of cards, so I can win some money from you?”

  “Now why do you call me Ba Naomi, when you don’t know what it means?” Naomi flashed a beaming smile at Brendan.

  “Beautiful Naomi,” mimicked Brendan, “would you like to play cards with my friends? It would be good if we can get six players, and with that many, I can win more money.”

  “But it’s curfew, Ba Brendan; when do we play?”

  “Now, my dear Naomi, so let us all sit around the table and play like good children. And by the way, you have met my good friend Charles haven’t you? He has come all the way from Ireland to play cards with you.”

  “Yes Charles is helping me find my children, we have met a few times and Charles has carried out lots of research.”

  Charles glanced at Naomi sitting to his left. She seemed embarrassed by Brendan’s comment. “I can see why you were good at sports.” He tried to put her at ease. “That is, being tall and athletic-looking.”

  “I like sports, especially netball.” Her heavy Afrikaans accent was prominent.

  Charles had already met her at a previous party and after speaking with her then and a few times since on the telephone he had never really appreciated her poise and elegance, she appeared to him previously as a woman in need of help, nothing more. Now in her presence again, he found her a different person. Charles studied her face, trying to be inconspicuous, and gently asked her questions, utilising her answers to cleverly turn the subject of the conversation to a common interest.

  Her features were typically soft and African: slightly rounded nose, deep brown eyes, a high forehead, her lips beautifully formed. The best was her smile; rarely used, it lit up the room when she did. She spoke English well, although heavily accented; she had learnt German at boarding school and spoke many African dialects. Her native language was Afrikaans.

  She looked at Charles, her expression innocent. “But who told you that I was good at sports?”

  “It was Brendan, I have to admit; “I’m not famous.” She smiled, accepting the compliment.

  Charles noticed her large, elegant hands gracefully moving around the table; sometimes as a gesture, other times when dealing the cards. Either way, they moved with poise and grace. Her dress was not elegant, it was as if she had just finished the housework, but it was tight-fitting and emphasised the shapely contours of her body.

  “I must go to the bathroom.” She rose slowly, pulled down her dress over her long brown legs, and walked away under Charles’s gaze. He noticed that her feet, like her hands, were large but elegant. Graceful and sure-footed, with a stealthy lope, she walked like an antelope.

  After Naomi disappeared from view Charles became aware of the amusement of the others, who were following his gaze.

  “Come, let’s play cards.” Veronica placed a pack in the centre of the table.

  “OK, Veronica, but the only game you girls seem to know is rummy,” joked Brendan.

  “Is it rummy? Oh, I hope so.” Naomi returned to the table and joined the five people already seated. She sounded like an appreciative child.

  Brendan and Veronica sat on one side of the table, with Jim and Pet opposite and Charles and Naomi adjacent to them; Jim suggested that with six players another pack of cards should be introduced, and he added these to those already on the table and shuffled them thoroughly.

  “No cheating, beautiful Naomi,” Brendan teased mischievously.

  They cut for the deal.

  “Oh good, it’s mine – I have the queen,” said Naomi. She dealt.

  “Cut them first,” Brendan joked.

  “OK, OK.” She gracefully gathered the cards in, shuffled them and dealt them, then when she was finished placed those that were left on the table.

  After a number of pickups, Charles noticed that Naomi dropped her hands, exposing her cards. Her hand consisted of four sevens, two threes and a jack, and his consisted of a four, a five, a six, three queens, and a three. At the first chance he picked from the top of the pack; it was a queen. Holding back from a winning declaration should he use the queen, he instead kept it and threw down his three, deliberately forfeiting winning the game.

  Naomi was quickly onto the card and shouted, “Rummy! I have won, that is marvellous.” She laughed, and those at the table were surprised; it was the first spontaneous laugh they had heard from her for a long time.

  Brendan got up. “I am going to bed; this game is too stressful.” He grabbed Veronica’s hand and they made for the bedroom, and Jim and Petula idled to the kitchen, leaving Charles and Naomi to gather up the cards.

  She was so excited about her winning hand, showing unbridled emotion as she laughed and clapped with joy. She was still laughing when from the table she picked up Charles’s discarded hand and carefully inspected the cards.

  “That is a shame,” she murmured, and rose steadily from the table. “Come, Charles, I have a bone to pick with you.” And they walked to the room allocated to her. “ We can share the same room can’t we, Charles, I hope my offer is not too forward for you?”

  Charles cleared his throat. “No. Not at all Naomi.”

  Naomi returned from the bathroom; she wore a white robe and, it seemed, nothing underneath. She did not look at him, but tilted her head to the ceiling and spoke. “The curtains, Charles, they are open. Are you going to stand there in that position all night?”

  Charles felt like a child, he closed the curtains as instructed and moved to the bathroom where he cleaned his teeth and undressed, and after a few minutes walked coyly back into the room. Naomi was lying on her back, her hair pulled straight back, her eyes still on the ceiling. She ignored Charles for the moment.

  As he got into bed, she spoke to him slowly. “Charles, I am not myself, and something happened a few weeks ago that has scared me.”

  “Anything to do with your family?”

  “No.”

  “What was it?” Charles was puzzled.

  “It happened on the road to Luanshya…”

  26

  On the Road to Luanshya

  Naomi related the story exactly as it had happened and made no excuse for being in the car. After a pause, she finished her explanation. “It was circumstance; nothing wrong happened but I should not have been there, and you, under the current circumstances, may be cavorting with a felon.”

  Charles did not want to be associated with the police in any way, nor did he want to block his friendship that he had with Naomi so he stalled the conversation to think of a solution.

  “I did telephone Pet for help and told her what happened; she is trying to find out the details, but in the meantime, I understand he is alive. I may or may not get involved, but thought it best to explain the situation.”

  She turned over on her side and Charles heard her sobbing. He looked down at her long brown back; she looked vivacious, hair spilling over her shoulders onto the pillow. On the bedside table he noticed a thin string of beads; a leather tab was attached, and on closer inspection he read a number – probably meaningless, except that the beads were smeared with blood.

  “Naomi, this situation appears to be becoming more dangerous by the minute, and by getting involved you may now be linked to something you do not understand.”

  “What do you mean, Charles?”

  “Khakkeki may be working for a cartel, a mob or any type of organised crime gang that would wipe you out in a second if they thought you knew something about them.”

  “What do you want me to do about it?”

  “Naomi, this is serious. It would be better if you moved away from Kitwe for a few weeks until this situation blows over.”

  “Move away? Where would I go?”

  “Do you think that others knew you were in the room waiting for him?” Charles was trying to establish her level of involvement.

/>   Naomi shook her head, her eyes wide open but seeing nothing.

  Charles continued to stare at the beads. “Did you leave any identification in the room?”

  She did not answer, but after a few moments she turned over and looked directly at him. “I should not have told you, Charles. It was wrong of me, and does not involve you – please forget what I said, and we’ll split in the morning.”

  “That is too late, Naomi; let us overcome this together.” He did not believe what he was saying; he was thinking of his own survival. “We will talk in the morning and make a plan.” Unfortunately, he was now in this situation up to his neck.

  She turned away from him again and her sobs grew soft, they subsided shortly after as she fell asleep.

  Charles had lost his tiredness; his mind was racing. Why had he got involved in something that might bring him unwanted exposure? Who had attacked James Khakkeki, and why? Africa was a dark place; life was cheap and killings occurred every night. He did not want to become part of those statistics.

  He then fell into a deep sleep, a nightmare brewing in his mind.

  It took him into a dark period of violence and death; it was early evening, and directly in front of him a huge man held a steel axe, more like an Indian tomahawk. He was felling a tree, and glanced at Charles. “You to be next.”

  A group of women stood over a fire close by, and one of them was much darker and taller than the rest. It was Naomi, and watching her not thirty yards away was a group of African men. They looked dishevelled, unkempt and very threatening.

  Milling around behind the women was another group, of mixed gender. They were wailing and screaming as if to scare away the men who were watching with intent. They held rocks in one hand and long knives in the other, and they just stared at those around the fire.

  Then one of the men at the back shouted, “Give to us the secret number or we will kill you all and feed you to the buzzards.”

  The women wailed even louder, and the men shouted appeals to those who were threatening. The armed men started to charge, their long knives at the ready—