How does Jack know all this? Alexandra asked herself, nervously running her fingers through her hair. The extraordinary revelations, if true, were as far-reaching as they were astonishing. As Jack had correctly pointed out, the past was closing in from all sides. However, most disturbing of all, was the reference to Blackburn Pharmaceuticals and Macbeth.
I did warn you, wrote Jack. Macbeth appears to be the spider sitting at the very centre of this deadly, complicated web. I don’t know exactly how it all hangs together and works just at the moment, but I intend to find out; promise. I feel that I’m getting close, but it may come at a cost … So, please consider my request in light of what I’ve just told you. We are poking a giant here, and poking a giant is never without danger. Huge interests are at stake. For that reason alone, I would completely understand if you don’t want to get involved. Please think carefully before you decide and remember, once you come on board, there’s no way back.
Alexandra put down the letter and stared at the little glass bottle in front of her. I have to give Lola my answer in the morning, she thought. Then she picked up the letter and carefully read it once more. By the time she finished, she knew exactly what she had to do.
Lola could feel someone gently shaking her by the shoulder. At first, she refused to leave the cosy sanctuary of much needed sleep and tried to ignore the unwelcome intrusion, but the shaking wouldn’t stop.
Lola opened her eyes. She could just make out a dark shape next to her pillow.
‘It’s me,’ whispered Tristan, stroking her hair.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Lola and sat up. She turned on the bedside lamp and looked at Tristan.
‘I saw something …’
‘Oh? What?’
‘Jack and Dr Rosen … bleeding.’
‘What are you saying?’
Tristan looked at her with sad eyes. ‘They are in great danger …’
Lola knew better than to dismiss this as fanciful, adolescent nonsense. She reached for her phone and dialled Jack’s number. There was no answer. ‘Come here,’ she said and held out her arms. Tristan bent down and Lola kissed him on the forehead. ‘We’ll leave first thing in the morning. Now, go back to sleep. I want you well-rested and alert; otherwise, no flying. Is that clear?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Tristan. Feeling better, he let go of Lola and went straight back to bed.
70
As expected, Kobo turned out to be very well-connected and resourceful. As he didn’t own a car, he had borrowed a motorbike from his neighbour.
‘What a beauty,’ said Jack, admiring the vintage bike, a genuine Indian. ‘I haven’t seen one of these in years. My God! This is a 1943 Military Scout. An Indian classic! Would this have a few stories to tell …’ Jack ran his hand over the handlebars of the powerful bike. This is worth a fortune. I know collectors who would give anything to own one of these, especially in the US.’
‘You know about bikes?’ said Kobo, surprised.
‘A bit.’
‘Want to ride it?’
‘Could I?’
‘Sure.’
Jack noticed that the bike had been slightly modified. A pillion seat and saddlebags had been added, but otherwise it looked original and in good condition.
Jack had retained Kobo for the duration of his stay in Kenya. He needed someone with good local knowledge to assist him in his investigation. Always short of money, Kobo willingly accepted. He was a bit of an opportunist when it came to work. However, he could turn his hand to almost anything. When he wasn’t volunteering or doing odd-jobs for MSF, he would work as a cook or a guide on safaris. His extensive knowledge of the bush and engaging, easygoing manner made him popular and sought after by tour operators taking wealthy clients into the Masai Mara and Kruger National Park to see the Big Five. And most importantly, Dr Rosen had assured Jack that he could be trusted.
The surprising amount of information gleaned from Jana’s Hoffmeister interview had given Jack an unexpected starting point. He was ready to begin digging into the Van Der Hooven family history, and Kobo knew just the man to help him do it. Kobo had offered to speak to one of his cousins who worked in the local police.
‘Another cousin?’ said Jack, remembering the customs officer who had waved them through upon arrival, almost without looking at their papers. ‘How many do you have?’
‘Fortunately, quite a few,’ said Kobo, laughing. ‘And they all have good jobs in high places.’
‘Lucky you. First stop, MSF,’ said Jack. ‘We’ll pay Dr Rosen a visit to see how she’s getting on. Especially after yesterday …’ Jack started the engine. It roared into life, making the old bike throb with power and the promise of speed. As soon as Kobo climbed on the seat behind him, Jack engaged the gear and took off, the aviator goggles giving him a distinctive, retro-look.
At first, he enjoyed the wind in his hair and the raw power of the old bike, but as soon as they approached the centre of Nairobi, the traffic became chaotic with no road-rules to speak of.
This is scary, thought Jack. He pulled over and stopped the bike. ‘You better take over from here,’ he said to Kobo. ‘I’m not up to this.’ Kobo grinned and they swapped seats.
Abuukar had been watching the MSF building all night. He was certain that Dr Rosen was still inside and hadn’t left the compound. Hungry and tired, he kept moving his aching feet to stay awake. As he was the only one who knew what Dr Rosen looked like, he couldn’t ask one of the other men to take over. However, when Kobo and Jack pulled up in front of the entrance, he instantly recognised them as the two MSF volunteers from Dadaab.
Abuukar turned to the young African standing beside him. ‘Follow these two,’ he said. ‘As soon as they come out. I want to know where they go, who they talk to – everything. Don’t lose them! Clear?’ The young man nodded and got on his scooter. Johannes will be pleased, thought Abuukar.
Al-Shabaab, the radical Somali rebel group, had only a few young members in Nairobi. What they lacked in experience and leadership, they more than made up in zeal. Abuukar was well aware of this and allocated tasks accordingly. Al-Shabaab depended on HAU and people like Johannes for much needed cash and weapons and was therefore only too willing to do HAU’s dirty work without questions asked. As allies of necessity, they complemented each other and were a force to be reckoned with. The only thorn in their side was some of the Somali pirates like Sharif, who had taken up the cause of the oppressed and the exploited, and troublemaking do-gooders like Dr Gaal and Dr Rosen. However, growing stronger by the day, they could no longer be ignored.
Dr Rosen was in a meeting with one of the senior MSF officials and sent word to Jack to come back later.
‘Where’s your cousin?’ asked Jack, stepping into the searing sun outside.
‘In the police station just around the corner,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and talk to him.’
‘Why exactly are we talking to a police officer?’
‘He’s much more than that; you’ll see,’ said Kobo, smiling.
Kobo had prepared the way. His cousin knew all about Jack and who he was. He was obviously delighted to make the acquaintance of a famous, best-selling international author who had arrived on a private jet, and was only too pleased to help.
‘The Van Der Hoovens were a very powerful and influential family here in Kenya, especially before independence,’ said Kobo’s cousin, Rahim, a senior police officer approaching the end of his career. He worked in administration and was also an amateur historian who had written a book – Thorny Road to Freedom – about Kenya’s long and bloody struggle for independence. ‘They owned a lot of farmland and employed hundreds of Africans. In many ways, they pioneered safaris as we know them today,’ said Rahim.
‘When Erwin Van Der Hooven was killed by the Mau Mau in 1960, things began to change. He had been the driver behind everything the Van Der Hooven’s had achieved and stood for. His death was seen as a great triumph for the Mau Mau and the independence movement at the time. It was held up as a vic
tory against foreign landowners and colonial oppression, but there was a lot more to it than that …’
Jack looked stunned. Kobo’s cousin had turned out to be an almost inexhaustible source of information regarding the Van Der Hoovens. They featured prominently in his book as key players on Kenya’s bumpy road to independence.
‘I’m particularly interested in his son, Siegfried Van Der Hooven,’ said Jack, watching the fascinating man sitting behind the desk with interest.
‘That’s quite a sad story,’ said Rahim.
‘In what way?’
‘After his father was killed, Siegfried – then only about 18 – found himself as head of the family and at the helm of its vast business interests. He was an only child, you see. He was certainly thrown in at the deep end.’
‘What about his mother? Didn’t she step in?’
‘No. Greta Van Der Hooven somehow always stayed in the background. She wasn’t the social type, or a businesswoman.’
‘How did her son cope?’
‘He was a bit of a wild boy,’ said Rahim, sidestepping the question. ‘He preferred the company of the natives and loved hunting. He grew up with them on the family farm, he spoke their language, knew their customs and was at home in the bush.’ Rahim took off his horn-rimmed glasses and began to polish them with his handkerchief, the perspiration on his bald head glistening like tiny glass beads. ‘With independence approaching,’ continued Rahim, ‘instead of making arrangements to get out, as many of the English landowners did, he built up the safari business. He already had quite a reputation as a hunter and adventurer, and was very popular and sought after by wealthy tourists looking for African adventure and big game hunting. All went well until the scandal …’
‘What scandal?’ asked Jack, leaning forward.
‘The Elms scandal.’
‘What?’ Jack almost shouted. Both Kobo and Rahim looked at him, surprised. ‘I’m sorry,’ said Jack, settling back into his chair. ‘It’s just that … I didn’t quite expect this. What can you tell me about the scandal?’
‘Siegfried Van Der Hooven was a very good looking young man. Blond, tall, with piercing blue eyes; very dashing and gregarious. And very popular with the ladies, of all ages … They were attracted to him like moths to a flame. They saw reflected in him everything this exotic land had to offer: excitement, danger, adventure, sex. A heady cocktail. Then one day, Lord Elms, a passionate hunter, arrived from England with his new young wife. A frequent visitor to Kenya, he had gone on several safaris with Siegfried before. Lord Elms was much older than his wife and he treated her like a pretty, spoilt child. Apparently, the moment they set eyes on each other at Mukuyu Lodge, Siegfried and Lady Elms fell hopelessly in love.’ Rahim paused, and glanced at Jack, watching him intently.
‘To cut a long story short … things ended badly.’
‘In what way?’
‘The young couple had an affair, right under Lord Elms’ nose. The whole lodge knew about it except him. Then Lord Elms was suddenly recalled to London – he already held some high office at the time – and had to leave in a hurry. Lord and Lady Elms flew back to England, but Lord Elms promised to return as soon as he could to go on the safari he had missed out on—’
‘When was that, do you know?’ interrupted Jack.
‘Around 1962. Early, I think.’
That fits, thought Jack, unable to hide his excitement. ‘Then what happened?’ he said, hoping there was more.
‘All would have been forgotten if Lord Elms hadn’t returned as promised. About eight months later, he came back with his young wife, and the lovers resumed their affair … That’s when things started to really go wrong.’
‘In what way?’
‘One evening, Lord Elms left the gambling table at the lodge early and discovered the young lovers in flagrante in his own bedroom of all places. They had become reckless. There was a terrible row and Lord Elms immediately made arrangements to leave the next day and return to England with his wife. That’s when things went from bad to worse.’
‘How?’
‘The young lovers ran away together. The next morning, they were gone. They went bush, literally speaking.’
‘How did Lord Elms take this?’
‘Very badly. As you can imagine, the humiliation was devastating. He knew everyone here in Nairobi; the social elite, the officials – everyone. News spread like wildfire and turned into a huge scandal overnight. However, he put all the blame on the charismatic seducer.’
‘What did Lord Elms do?’
‘To return to England without his wife was unthinkable. He was determined to get her back. He put a search party together and went out into the bush to find her. The whole of Nairobi was talking about nothing else.’
‘What happened?’
‘After a week or so, he returned with his wife and left for England the next day.’
‘And Siegfried? What happened to him?’
‘There’s been a lot of speculation about this for years …’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He disappeared.’
‘What? Just like that?’
‘The official word was that the couple was found hiding in a native village. When the search party closed in unexpectedly, Siegfried ran into the bush and hid.’
‘What, leaving his lover behind to be captured by her angry cuckold of a husband? Doesn’t sound like the dashing young adventurer, does it?’
Rahim shrugged. ‘However, there were rumours …’ he said.
‘What about?’
‘That he was killed.’
‘And?’
‘There was no investigation. No one spoke to Lord or Lady Elms to find out what happened. They left in a hurry and never returned. It was said that those in charge covered everything up.’
‘That’s it?’
‘Not entirely.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘There was also another rumour – a persistent one – that Siegfried had been captured by Lord Elms and was almost beaten to death.’
‘And?’
‘But had managed to escape and was somewhere in hiding.’
‘Did anyone look into this?’
‘His mother desperately tried to find out what happened, but all her attempts failed and fell on deaf ears. Officialdom closed ranks. She got nowhere.’
‘Did you investigate this? For your book, I mean?’ asked Jack.
‘No. My book wasn’t about that and it wasn’t something you speculated about, if you know what I mean …’
‘What happened to the mother?’
‘Not long after, Greta died and the Van Der Hooven family fell into obscurity. There were rumours she had taken her own life. No one has heard anything further about Siegfried since.’
‘Is there anyone you can think of who could help me find out what really happened to him?’
‘As a matter of fact, there is. I came across someone during my research who was a tracker in the search party. He’s quite an old man now. Perhaps he can help you. Perhaps after all these years, he may be prepared to talk. I tried … Kobo knows him. He doesn’t live far from his place.’
Jack and Kobo stood up, ready to leave. ‘Do you know anything about Dr Van Der Hooven’s clinic?’ asked Jack, almost as an afterthought.
Rahim looked up, surprised, a worried look on his face. ‘How do you know about that?’ he said.
‘Old rumours …’
‘A little bit of advice,’ said Rahim, standing up.
‘Oh?’
‘Let sleeping dogs lie.’
71
‘That was quite something,’ said Jack, following Kobo out of the police station. ‘I’m paying you a bonus for this one.’
Kobo beamed, obviously pleased with himself. ‘I told you there was more to Rahim, didn’t I?’ he said.
‘Do you know the man he mentioned?’ asked Jack.
‘No, but I know where he lives. It’s on our way home; come.’
Just bef
ore they got on the bike, a man walked up to Kobo and spoke to him quickly in Somali.
‘What was all that about?’ said Jack.
‘Tell you later. Let’s go.’
Kobo turned off the main road and into a narrow dirt track leading into the bush. They had left the outskirts of Nairobi and were in a semi-rural area, not far from Kobo’s place. Kobo didn’t notice the scooter that had also turned off the main road and was following them.
To call the humble shack a home would have been an exaggeration. Built out of all kinds of materials obviously cannibalised from abandoned places nearby, it was more like some kind of improvised lean-to propped up by the trunk of a huge tree, than a structure fit for human habitation.
Jack’s spirits sank as soon as he set eyes on the frail old man sitting on the ground in front of the shack. The man had his eyes closed and appeared to be asleep. We’ll be lucky to get something useful out of this one, he thought.
‘Stay here,’ said Kobo, ‘I’ll talk to him. I doubt if he speaks much English.’
Kobo walked up to the old man and gently shook him by the shoulder. The old man opened his eyes and looked at him, his furrowed face expressionless. Kobo sat next to him and began to speak quietly in a dialect that sounded like some kind of sing-song with lots of lip smacking. Jack stood under the tree and watched.
The old man kept shaking his head. Kobo reached into his pocket and put a wad of notes into a chipped bowl in front of the man. The old man looked at the money and shook his head again. Kobo sighed, and put more money into the bowl.
An African Hoffmeister, thought Jack, unable to suppress a smile. Some things are the same the world over.
After a while, the old man began to speak, haltingly at first, but soon he became quite animated, and even raised his hand from time to time to make a point. Kobo just sat there and listened. He only interrupted a couple of times to ask a question. Then suddenly, the old man stopped talking and closed his eyes.
Kobo put a few more notes into the bowl and got to his feet. ‘Come,’ he said to Jack, and together they walked back to the bike.
The Hidden Genes of Professor K Page 36