UMTATA

  He picked up the phone and dialled, his hands shaking as he did so. “George, it’s me, Valeron. You remember our connection with Sullom Voe? It seems a long time ago, but I was hoping you could give me an update on the attack; as you know, we are a bit backward here in Africa.”

  “Hi, Martin, good to hear from you, and a few things to get you up to speed with. The first is that we have not located Coughlin yet, and we may not pursue him under the current situation; things have changed and we have bigger fish to catch. He was not involved in the final act in Shetland so we have taken the heat off him, but if you do hear anything then please do not hesitate to contact me. We always need people like you to give us a heads-up.”

  George thought for a moment, then must have remembered where Martin was working.

  “What town are you in, old boy.”

  “Somewhere that nothing happens, I guess?” answered Martin.

  “I remember it’s Zambia but which town? he asked.

  “I am in Kitwe, George, on the Copperbelt.”

  “Sounds interesting, but whilst we’re talking about the opening ceremony, yes, one bomb did explode but it turned out to be harmless; it was detonated in the ducting inside the power station. The other, well, it was delivered late and returned from the Shetland post office to an address in the north of England.”

  “What was the outcome of the one that did detonate?”

  “It went off, but in the structure and nobody was hurt. It was lucky but it seemed that it was dumped at the last minute, thank God.”

  “Anyone charged?”

  “One guy caught, but we understand there were two. Anyway, the situation has not changed with Ireland; still the same difference.”

  There was a pause, and Martin interjected, “I will not keep you any longer, George; I am sure that you are busy with other things.”

  “That’s all right, my friend, but keep in touch; you never know when you might find other people who may interest me.”

  “Bye, George.”

  “See you.”

  The phone call was terminated, but it gave Martin a lot of food for thought. Charles had got away from the site six months before the attack. He had absconded without carrying out a single act of terror and now he was a changed man, assisting those who needed it – much of his time was spent helping Naomi find her lost family. Martin now felt more comfortable with his friend, and intended to make a more serious attempt at making his feelings clear the next time they met.

  He was smiling to himself, due to the relief of finding out the truth about Charles, when he was disturbed by a noise. It came from movement outside the house, and broke the stillness.

  He switched out the light, and looked through the curtains. A shadow glided across the dry earth. He soon realised it was the house guard walking around the garden, trying to make his presence felt. Martin wondered what Joseph would do in the event of violent invasion; any sensible man would run and look after himself! He was nonetheless a brave man earning but a few dollars; on the other hand, he could earn more, for example as an informer against the people living in the house, if anyone was willing to pay for his services.

  The slow tread of Joseph’s boots on the garden outside soon faded away and the room was again quiet, with the exception of the silence of the bush outside.

  “Damn it – Martin picked up the phone and rang his old buddy. “Brendan, is that you?”

  “Yes, mate, it is, what can I do for you?”

  “Fancy a Mosi?” (Mosi-oa-tunya is a beer named after Victoria Falls.)

  “Yes, mate, normally, but not now – I am with Veronica.”

  “OK, sorry.”

  “No, don’t be, but why not join us tomorrow for golf? We are playing at Mufulira.”

  “OK, that sounds fine.”

  “Yes, we are three at the moment.”

  “Three?”

  “Yes: you, me, and a guy from the London office will join us, he’s called Colin Schubert, and Charles will make it four.” “Thanks, Brendan; I’ll meet you at the golf club at Muf and we can form a better ball.”

  “See you there. Cheers.”

  Martin now felt upbeat and was looking forward to the game tomorrow. He forgot the impending dangers that he dreamt regarding ‘death after a break-in’ and decided to go to bed; golf would take his mind off his trip next week, not to mention his meeting with the partners on Monday.

  33

  In a Tangle

  Charles Siddons, alias Barney Coughlin, had travelled nearly the length of Africa to get to his current home in Ndola. How he had achieved this without a problem was a mystery to him, but it was now in the distant past.

  He enjoyed the house where he lived, although he continued to suspect that the man he was renting from was on a fiddle with the mines; possibly some fraudulent deal with the mine housing association. But this was OK with Charles; it was a fair price and a perfect hideaway.

  He had adequate cash to see him through the year, and could if necessary utilise money in Sarah’s deceased husband’s bank account; it was easy with his card but this benefit was due to end. He had done this a number of times before, and it was never ideal in Zambia to carry large amounts of cash.

  At midday on Sunday, he had just finished making a curry from a few vegetables he had found at the supermarket, and put it in the freezer until he was hungry.

  He heard a car pull up sharply outside, and simultaneously the phone rang. He took the phone first.

  “Hi, Charley, I’m coming over, is that OK?” Naomi seemed upbeat given that she was worried about a few things.

  “Of course, Naomi; get a taxi and I will settle when he arrives. Must go for now, I have another visitor outside the gate.”

  “OK, see you in about twenty.” Naomi hung up.

  Godfrey Ngosa jumped out of his car and contemptuously pushed the guard away when he saw Charles. “We do the deal I suggested last time we met, but now I want cash urgently. Now you will make double as I cut my rate.”

  Charles thought he was talking in riddles. “Hold up, Godfrey, what are you talking about? Just calm down.” He felt perturbed at Ngosa’s attitude; the man was rude and the heat did not help Charles’s own mood. He started to sweat. “Godfrey, it is too hot; let’s resume this conversation inside.” Charles walked towards the house, but was wary of this man and was already thinking of ways to deter further conversation.

  He changed his direction and moved under the banana tree, and waited for Ngosa to join him. “Now, what’s on your mind, Godfrey?”

  “Look, Charles, the last time we spoke I offered you a deal to make some money by putting cash through my account in London.”

  “Yes, I remember that, Godfrey, but at the moment I have no plans to travel.” Charles was puzzled by Ngosa’s urgency, but continued with some caution.

  “I need some cash urgently, to travel to Senegal tomorrow. I have a bereavement, my mother has passed and funerals are expensive, so if you can forward me fifty thousand American dollars now, and once you have exchanged my money keep a further fifty for yourself, and return the rest to me.”

  “Godfrey, look, I do not intend to travel to London in the near future, nor do I have the money available to give to you now!”

  “Mr Charles, you promised to do this deal, and now I expect you to honour your promise.” He seemed desperate.

  “Godfrey, with all due respect I did not promise you anything, I said I would think about it.”

  There was an uneasy pause in the discussion, and Godfrey took up the conversation. “You people think that you can manipulate me. I have already lost a hundred thousand dollars from a man who promised to exchange. He was African, nothing less than expected, but from you, from the UK, I expect honesty!”

  “What was the man’s name?” asked Charles.

  “Oh, that is not important –
I think it was Khakkeki, or something foreign.” Godfrey’s face was twitching and his eyes glazed. He turned quickly, and stormed from the garden. Charles heard the car door slam, and the engine roared as it screeched away in a cloud of dust.

  Charles returned to the house and sat waiting for Naomi to arrive. He wanted to discuss with her his ideas regarding the possible location of her ex-husband Kwasi and their children, and if anything that was of use came up he would send a contact letter to the campus where Kwasi worked.

  But a more pressing issue that he needed to discuss was this thing with Ngosa; his money-laundering tactics and especially his connection with Khakkeki would be interesting to Naomi. He could not wait for her to arrive so he could tell her the story.

  He stayed outside and waited, but it wasn’t Naomi’s taxi that arrived next; it was the police. Two officers, dressed in crisp khaki denims with black peaked caps and looking extremely serious, got out of the car and approached Charles as he sauntered outside of his front door.

  Charles felt that both uniforms, although recently laundered, were not the right size for these gentlemen. The wide brown belts were pulled tightly around their thick waists, each with their stomach overhanging the buckle, their rotund bottom protruding from the rear, and the hem of their jacket bent upwards due to the tightness of the belt.

  “My name is Officer Makobi and this is Officer Manda; we are here to question you regarding your association with Naomi Nzema.” He was very formal and sombre.

  “Yes, I know her; in fact she should be with us in a few minutes, but why, what is the problem?” Charles selected his words carefully.

  “Please tell me if you know a man called Khakkeki?”

  Charles’s mind went into overdrive. Now he really needed to select his words carefully; not to do so could be detrimental to Naomi’s forthcoming interview with them. “No, I do not know a man called Khakkeki. But please sit down and we will wait for Naomi.”

  They entered the door and felt the cool air from the air conditioning and seemed to relax more; Charles even witnessed a smile from one of them.

  There was an uneasy silence in the room as both parties did not want to weaken their hands. After about ten minutes they heard a taxi pull up outside.

  Charles excused himself, walked outside and paid the driver, as he did so he lent over Naomi who whispered, “What are the police here for?”

  “I am afraid it is you they want to question regarding Khakkeki.” He looked at the ground to hide the movement of his lips from the police, who were observing them both from inside the house. “Look, Naomi, they want to know about your association with him.”

  “What will I say?”

  “Then tell them the truth, my girl – but on second thoughts, advise them that he did not return to you, and you left before him. Which is the truth, isn’t it?”

  “Yes – I cannot lie, Charles, they will catch me out anyway if I do, and it will make it worse.”

  “If you do they will accuse you of not informing them; it will be difficult.”

  A pause in their conversation, then Naomi sighed. “Yes, I will say I was scared and left before Khakkeki came back.”

  They walked into the house and Naomi immediately approached the two policemen, and without a smile said coldly, “So you want to speak with me?”

  “If you are Naomi Nzema, then yes, I do.” Makobi introduced himself and his colleague. “Did you have an association with a man called Khakkeki?”

  “He took me to a hotel against my will, and when he was called out on business I escaped and came home by taxi.”

  “Can you substantiate this?” asked the policeman.

  “Yes,” answered Naomi. “It was Leopold’s Taxis, and the driver’s name was Manda, the same as your friend here.” She lied, as she had no chance of locating the old man who had offered her the lift.

  “Mrs Nzema, the man you were with that evening was stabbed by a gang called Spots, and we now have positive proof that they are led by a businessman called Godfrey Ngosa. Unfortunately, Khakkeki got involved with Ngosa and owed him a substantial amount of money – this was the motive for his murder.”

  “He died? I knew he was in hospital but did not know… I am sorry.”

  “It was unfortunate, madam; he lasted two weeks before expiring.” The policeman put on a sad face, then continued talking to Naomi. “We have been trying to arrest Ngosa for many months, but were unable to do so due to lack of evidence. But now we have that! Our only concern is that he lives in a house not more than eighty yards from where we are now, and will most certainly have some of his gang members with him, all of whom may be armed.

  “At this stage we do not know how many men are living with him; it will be necessary for us to return with a warrant and an adequate band of armed officers to apprehend him. He is now wanted for murder in addition to money laundering, drug peddling and extortion; we will require you and Mr Charles to accompany us to the station for further verification.”

  “Are we under arrest?” asked Charles.

  “No, sir, we are retaining you for your own protection. You are free to go if you want but it will be better if you come now to clarify the matter. We have already issued an arrest warrant for Ngosa, but we will require you both to testify.”

  Later that evening, a truck containing sixteen fully armed policemen drove within half a mile of Ngosa’s house. Two officers were already in close proximity, maintaining contact with the officer in charge.

  At precisely nine o’clock the superior officer stationed two men at each corner of the plot where Ngosa lived. They stretched out on the grass, trying to look inconspicuous, while the others approached the house directly from the front.

  Only two of these, a senior policeman and an assistant, advanced to the porch and knocked. The maid answered and a conversation took place.

  The team at the front of the house regrouped and stood discussing their next move. Suddenly a gunshot was heard at the rear of the house, and without exception the policemen hit the ground, their eyes wide and frightened.

  There was silence – not a sound except the crickets. The whole team continued to lie still on the ground, then the commanding officer instructed four of them to make their way to the back of the house, he stayed under cover.

  There they found two policemen, both standing rigid with rifles pointing at two men, one Ngosa and the other his aide, who was badly wounded and lying on the ground. Ngosa held his hands high, and did so until he was handcuffed and told to sit down. Two other men searched the house whilst the medic attended to the wounded man.

  Seeing that the situation was now under control, the superior officer took the initiative and marched to the scene, where he barked an order to show his authority: “Chitoule, read them their rights, and get them off to the station. I will contact the director.”

  The man with his hands in the air was addressed by name. “Godfrey Ngosa, you are arrested on suspicion of murder, and anything that you say…”

  After twenty minutes the two men searching the house returned and reported the all-clear. The maid and her husband were left to clean up, and feed the six policemen who were retained overnight. The rest of the squad returned to Head Office for a debriefing.

  Charles and Naomi returned to Charles’s home from the police station later that evening and settled down to watch his flickering black-and-white television set, their thoughts retracing an exciting day. Their conversation was lively as both were excited at the night’s action and extremely relieved that Ngosa was behind bars and Naomi had been cleared of any wrongdoing at the hotel near Luanshya.

  As they walked along the corridor to the bedroom, Naomi sighed. “At least the weight of that day with Khakkeki is all but cleared up. I am sorry that he died but I have a clear conscience.”

  Charles leant over and kissed her on the forehead. She had never experienced tenderness su
ch as that this man had given her. It was not the African way, but she felt she needed Charles in her life; she would learn from him the ways of a gentleman and somehow return the tenderness he had expressed to her.

  34

  Peace in Sight,

  November 1981

  It was now six months since the attempts on the lives of HM Queen Elizabeth and Pope John Paul II had taken place, and Irish politics was going through a major change.

  Initially the atrocities carried out by the IRA during the 1970s brought about feelings of great antipathy from the public, but these were to soften. Those who vehemently opposed the IRA for their atrocities were now seeing another side to the passion of the nationalists, and attention was now focused on Maze Prison in Northern Ireland.

  Bobby Sands, now a British MP, and six colleagues were in the Maze and dying on a hunger strike, putting their heads on the line in support of the cause.

  On another front, Sinn Fein, the political side of the IRA, were making progress via peaceful negotiations in Parliament, and the fervour of change was in the air.

  Sadly, Sands died in May 1981, his friends passed a few weeks later; it was a waste of young men’s lives and with an end to hostilities clearly in sight.

  Sinn Fein, the political wing of the IRA, had established a firm foothold and had taken their cause to the British and European Parliaments – at last a way forward to peace for the people of Northern Ireland. Times were changing and the power of the people was now a stronger force than the violence of previous years. The peace process was starting to bloom.

  For the time being nothing had changed in the IRA’s attitude or intent, and this would remain so until it was agreed formally; they had been foiled so many times in the past. It was an in-between time, both sides held by the leashes of political leaders, not knowing whether to attack or retreat.

  But it was a time for retribution, too; not for the common soldier so much as the hated individuals who enjoyed the killing and harm they did to others. These individuals had committed extreme violence and were hated for their actions; their counterparts, on whichever side of the line they stood, took the liberty to take revenge where appropriate.