UMTATA

  “Is that man by himself or does he have children with him?” Naomi had lost her joviality and looked seriously at her companion.

  “He has three children, I think, but I may be guessing as I have not met him yet,” advised Aileen.

  Naomi head tilted her back straight she became rigid with excitement, but if she was wrong she must play the situation down until she found out the whole story.

  Aileen took up the conversation before Naomi could express herself. “Naomi, please may I change the subject and ask you something before I forget? It concerns your friend Charles Siddons. Mr Siddons shared a lovely day with me today, he was the perfect gentleman, but I feel that we have met previously.”

  Naomi was acutely aware of Charles’s dilemma, and tried to change the subject.

  “But I am sure that I have met Mr Siddons before; if not face to face, certainly his name is familiar.

  “When did you first meet him?”

  “Oh, he is a friend of Brendan; they have known him for some time, possibly since he arrived from Ireland.”

  The second fight had been announced and the bell rang for the first round. There was a lot of noise in the arena, and because of this the women ceased to chat during rounds, but made up for this between rounds during the one-minute break.

  “Let us go to the back, perhaps find a seat at the outside restaurant and have a drink. We will find it more suitable for a normal discussion without shouting at each other.” Aileen suggested.

  “OK. That sounds fine.”

  “You have a strong Afrikaans accent – are you from South Africa?”

  “Well, yes, I am originally. My folks are from Lundazi in Zambia but they actually married in Johannesburg, and that’s where my accent comes from, but then I was educated in Swaziland and speak German as well.” Naomi smiled.

  “A private school?”

  “Yes, I was lucky; it was paid for by my grandfather. He was a white farmer, you understand?”

  “I, er, think so, but that does not matter; you had the opportunity.”

  “But, Aileen, seriously, I want you to be honest with me. I am a mother who was forcibly separated from her children; it happened and I cannot explain to you what that does to a mother, not having her children around her.”

  Her face grew sullen, her lips curled downwards, and she bowed her head and wept. She was ashamed of her weakness; it felt disrespectful to her companion.

  “Naomi, I am sorry – and you think that this lady is the person who has your children?”

  “It is not the woman; she is just another in the life of Kwasi. It is the children. If only he told me that they are safe; I do not know if they are well or in poor health, lost or whatever, and now what you say suggests to me that they are not only safe, but with him – and so close! All I want to do is see them and tell them I love them and miss them. I must see them. Excuse me please, Aileen, let us walk; people are looking.”

  They stood up and strolled around the perimeter of the arena. The noise was once again deafening; it seemed the main fight was on.

  Naomi forced a smile and looked at Aileen. “It must be Musankabala; he is the favourite and I know from discussions with my friends that he is the best. If he wins this fight he should fight for a world title or something.”

  Naomi fell silent as the cheers echoed around the arena. A single voice would be lost. The noise continued, building to one huge cheer followed by a loud murmur. Naomi and Aileen turned away from the arena and walked back into the avenues of market stalls. The traders were giving away gifts, this being the last day of the event.

  One stallholder shouted across to his friend on a stall opposite, who was trying to give away some trinkets to a group of children. “Who won the fight?”

  Before the friend could answer, one of the young girls snapped, “Musankabala, by knockout.”

  The vendor shrugged his shoulders.

  “Naomi, I do not know what to say. I have not seen the children or Kwasi, but I know that he is teaching at a university in Umtata. I cannot divulge his address to you, you know I must have loyalties, but I also have sympathy for you, and I understand what you are going through.”

  “Get your passport, do what you have to do, but you need to tell me where my children are. I implore you!” Naomi was in tears. She stopped walking and Aileen took the opportunity to look deeply into her eyes.

  “I have told you that Kwasi is close and the children are safe but you must promise me that you will do nothing for a week and will allow me to do what I came here to do. I assure you that Kwasi is going nowhere for now, and I will not mention that I have met you.”

  “I promise, then, that I will not contact him for a week, and when I do I will not mention your name.”

  “Good luck, Naomi, you deserve it, and I hope that you are reunited with your children.”

  Naomi nodded.

  “I must go now, finish my business here and return before my director gets back next Monday, so I will bid you goodbye and try and find Charles to drive me back to the embassy. He did tell me where to find him.”

  “Goodbye, Aileen, and thank you.”

  After Aileen had gone, Naomi wanted to speak with Charles, but he would be home later after taking Aileen home. She walked from the stadium to the bus terminal; it was a long walk and took her an hour and twenty minutes.

  She found the ticket office and approached the clerk. “I want to go from here to Umtata in the Transkei next week. Please advise me on how I can do this, and the cost of the travel.”

  “That is a long way, ma’am, a long way; it will take you many hours.”

  “Yes, I know, but please tell me. It is important.”

  The clerk looked at some papers and shook his head. “Ma’am, it will take you two days and you must travel to Lusaka, then on to Johannesburg and then the Transkei. It may be many, many buses.”

  “How much will it cost?”

  “Plenty.”

  “How much is plenty?”

  “Ma’am, it will be about four hundred kwacha.”

  “Thank you.”

  She hailed a taxi; it was a white transit van with seats fitted in the back. Only one seat was vacant, so she sat and later the taxi dropped her at the institute, from where she walked back to her house.

  She waited for Charles to phone her.

  Telephone Call to London, Monday Morning

  “Is this the right number for the Foreign Intelligence Offices?”

  “Yes, ma’am, which extension, please?”

  “My name is Aileen Santos; I work for the Amnesty International.”

  “Yes, ma’am, but please give me the extension you want.”

  “You will need to tell me that after I explain the situation.”

  “OK, then please proceed.”

  “I saw a photograph on the board in my office: an Irish fugitive called Barney Coughlin. He was wanted for questioning by your organisation.”

  “One moment, ma’am.” He checked some papers on his desk. “Putting you through.”

  “Webster here, can I help?”

  “Mr Webster, my name is Aileen Santos, I live in the Transkei in South Africa. I know where a Mr Barney Coughlin is living and I understand you want him for questioning.”

  “Er, yes we do – can you please advise me of your details and the information you know about Coughlin?”

  “Yes, I will tell you what I know. But one thing: please do not send further enquiries to me by mail; I need to confirm my position over this situation with my superior first. Is that clear, Mr Webster?”

  “That’s absolutely fine with me, and should I have further questions we will speak again by phone.”

  “Thank you. This is all I know…” She went on to explain what had happened over the past two days.

  George Webster was now suspici
ous that his old confidant Martin Valeron was not telling him the whole truth. Was it a coincidence that he and Coughlin (alias Charles Siddons) now knew each other in Africa, or had they actually colluded when they were at Sullom Voe?

  Webster gave the situation some thought, and decided to confirm his action with his director. But first he would make a call. Without wasting another minute he rang the British Embassy in Lusaka, explained the situation and advised them that an order for Coughlin’s arrest would be sent in the next day.

  At four in the afternoon he entered the director’s office.

  “Good afternoon, sir; can I update you quickly on Coughlin, our IRA fugitive?”

  “Go ahead, Webster.” The director was curt.

  “We have located him in Kitwe, Zambia, and can bring him in for questioning today if necessary. Do you advise this?”

  “Why not, but I suggest that we get an extradition order set up, and in the meantime have the local police take him in for questioning. Once the extradition is arranged you can pay a visit to clarify what we will do with him once we have him deported back here.”

  There was a pause before the director went on. “I was thinking that in the first instance this might not be worth it, but in view of Mrs Siddons’ recent claim we have no alternative.”

  “OK, sir, we will bring him in and, arrange the extradition;

  I will go down there and question him before flying him back here.”

  “That’s it.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Shut the door behind you, Webster, that’s a good chap.”

  45

  An Imminent Arrest

  The police station in Kitwe seemed overcrowded at the best of times, and was made worse by the large waistlines of the officers who squeezed past each along the corridors, or in the office at tea breaks. The situation got even worse if the dartboard was in use.

  Now things were going to get a whole lot worse. It was Wednesday 2nd June 1982, and the commanding officer in Kitwe had received a message from the high commission in Lusaka.

  Geoffrey Banda stared at the facsimile. The message was instructing him to arrest a foreign citizen residing in Kitwe. He was to send two of his officers to Ndola, where a further two from the local force would join them. The men should be firearms experts and intelligent enough to show restraint and compromise should the situation arise. This was serious, he thought; an international interaction. Who were his most reliable team members?

  Banda walked quickly from his office and made an announcement. “Stop everything you are doing and take a seat at your desks. I have an announcement to make.”

  The whole office was suddenly in turmoil as the officers all headed for their own desks, bumping into each other and knocking chairs onto the floor. It was pandemonium until everyone was settled and awaiting the brief from the boss.

  The chief cleared his throat and stood glaring at his team, ready to give his orders. He looked bewildered, and thrust his hands into his pockets, trying to locate the fax.

  “Felix, the fax is in my office; hurry, bring it to me.”

  The unfortunate man hurried to Banda’s office and, after a few minutes, returned with a crumpled piece of paper.

  “I have received an important instruction from the high commission in Lusaka. We are to locate and arrest a man wanted for questioning regarding a number of offences that have occurred in the United Kingdom. The man should be treated as dangerous and all precautions taken by those who are involved in his arrest.

  “I will nominate two officers who will join forces with two others from the Ndola force. The two nominations from here will be Officer Bishonga and Officer Makobi; please make yourselves ready to travel as soon as possible. The rest of you are on alert; as soon as the man is in transit we need to be ready to receive him. He will be held here until an MI6 agent arrives from London.”

  Approximately three hours later, four officers armed with rifles and old British Army pistols were on their way to the house where the alleged offender was living. They pulled up in a cloud of dust and moved swiftly into position around the house. The senior officer strode up to the door and knocked hard.

  In just a few minutes a tall, pretty local lady opened the door. “Yes, what can I do for you?” Her heavy, guttural accent was pronounced.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am; I am looking for a man by the name of Charles Siddons. He may also go under the name of Barney Coughlin.”

  “What do you want from him?” she barked. “We are very busy at the moment, so state what you want with him.”

  Charles had overheard what was going on, and joined Naomi at the door. “Yes, Officer, I am Charles Siddons; how can I help?”

  “I am here to arrest you and take you back to Kitwe Police Station. I have the house surrounded, so I would appreciate it if you came without any further ado. I will need to handcuff you, and also advise you that anything you say may be used in evidence against you in a court of law.”

  “What, here in Zambia or…?”

  “The British government has applied for extradition, but you will be held here until this order has been authorised.”

  Charles smiled. “Nonsense, man; please come in, all of you.”

  The four officers shuffled into the living room. Their rifles were carried clumsily, as if they were not used to them.

  “Put those things down, and Naomi will make you a cup of tea.”

  “That is not necessary; we must be on our way.”

  “Yes, yes, Officer, but you must realise that all this fuss is unnecessary; it’s all a misunderstanding.”

  “What do you mean, a misunderstanding, sir?”

  “Well, last week I was asked by the high commission to bring my passport into the station, but due to our agricultural show, I totally forgot. Obviously there has been some misunderstanding and the high commission has overreacted.”

  Naomi entered the room and handed out tea and biscuits to the four policemen.

  “Now, what I suggest is that you return to the station with my passport and inform the high commission of this, and I will pick it up on Friday when this has been cleared up.”

  “Those are not our orders, sir; you will need to come with us now.”

  “You four will look absolutely stupid, especially when I tell the papers that, after all the support we have given to the police benevolent fund, you have treated me in this way.” Charles added, “You know that I was in partnership with Lemmie Chipili? Now, what I will do is add to our donation by providing expenses for you and your team, given your undue troubles, and allow you to return to your stations.”

  “That is very considerate, sir, but I have my orders.”

  “Take this and go, and if your senior is not satisfied then you can return here and collect me, and you can keep the expenses.”

  Charles handed out the notes. The officers were at first reluctant, but a month’s pay for an hour’s work sounded too good to be true, and they stuffed the notes into their pockets.

  “OK, Officers, thank you for coming and I will see you all on Friday when I come to the station to collect my passport.”

  After he closed the door he turned to Naomi, who was collecting up the dirty cups and saucers. “Do not say anything, but listen; pack the things you need for a two-week stay. You are going to Umtata tonight, I will book a taxi now.”

  “But how will I get there, Charles?”

  “I have collected some funds from the guys at work and we have enough for you to get there and back, plus you can stay for a week if you want to.”

  “But it will take so long, Charles.”

  “You will fly via Johannesburg to Umtata, stay in the local hotel for up to a week and return the same way.”

  “But what will you do, Charles? They will be back, and with a much bigger force; you will not be able to bluff them a second tim
e.”

  “Never mind me, I am used to it and will let you know where I am.” He looked at his lovely friend.”

  “Don’t worry, I will be OK; just you go and find your kids. They are more important.”

  They held each other tightly for a few moments, before he pushed her out of the door and into a waiting taxi.

  Charles caught her just before the driver pulled away. “Just remember, Naomi: you are doing everything right. Then make sure that everything you do, you do with your head held high!”

  He stood back as the driver accelerated away.

  46

  Umtata

  The long wait at Jan Smuts Airport in Johannesburg made Naomi very tired, and she had hardly completed half the journey. Not even the excitement of potentially seeing her children after such a long time raised her spirits.

  The flight to Umtata was short and she avoided taking on a conversation with the man sitting next to her, and the more he spoke to her the more irritable she became. The time it took for the plane to circle whilst waiting to land seemed an eternity for Naomi, and once it had touched down she was ecstatic. Her excitement was beyond belief, and she almost fainted.

  She was landing in an area that was a young country but extremely important in terms of African history. The area was nominated as the black homelands, and in 1976 the Transkei was granted independence but not recognised outside of South Africa. The town called Mthatha served as the capital and later became known as Umtata, and a new airport was currently being built, though the original runway continued to be in service. The area was especially historic as both President Nelson Mandela and his famous colleague Walter Sisulu originated from there.

  The luggage turntable whirled around, empty; the ground staff were having trouble delivering the cases, and the passengers waited patiently. It gave Naomi the opportunity to think of her strategy; how she would approach the principal and Kwasi when the time came. Her biggest challenge would be the children, and how she would stop herself from breaking down when she finally met them again after such a long time.