Amie in Africa Box Set 1

by Lucinda E Clarke

As she’d promised, Vivienne came back later to pick up the tray with the empty plates. “You must have been hungry,” she remarked. “Feeling better?”

  Amie nodded. She didn’t know whether to feel kindly towards Vivienne or to hate her for turning that key. Before she had a chance to say anything Vivienne rushed on.

  “Ken would like a word with you, are you up for that? Feeling strong enough?”

  Again, Amie nodded. She had nothing better to do and she did feel a little stronger, although her thoughts were still confused. Maybe Ken would have answers for her.

  “Follow me.” Vivienne opened the door, turned right along a corridor, on down a flight of stairs which led to another floor below ground level and into an office. It reminded Amie of a hundred typical offices in government departments. In the centre was a large desk, behind which was a bookcase stacked floor to ceiling with books and box files. Along one side was a row of filing cabinets with a plant pot sitting on the middle of one. Amie thought it might be an African violet, but she knew more about the wild, edible plants which provided bulk and moisture out in the savannah. She wondered how it could survive without daylight.

  Ken broke into her thoughts as he rose from behind the desk to welcome her.

  “Come in, Amie,” his voice was soft and soothing. “I’m sure you have some questions.”

  “Yes, lots of questions. What am I doing here, and why have you locked me up? Am I under arrest?”

  Ken shook his head and pointed to a chair. “No, no, nothing like that, but we didn’t want you taking off before we’d had a good long chat. Take a seat.”

  “As I understand it, I’ve nowhere to go, right? Not without help.”

  “Well, yes, that’s true. But you’ve proved resourceful in the past and ... well, let’s start at the beginning, shall we? What can you tell us about that night?”

  Amie sat down and thought hard. She remembered that Jonathon was gone, and the tears rolled down her cheeks.

  Ken pushed a box of tissues across the desk. “Take your time, there’s no rush.”

  A part of Amie wanted to clam up, to tell them all to go to hell, that she would do just fine. She’d phone her folks, get them to send the tickets through online and then she’d be out of here. But then she realised she had no passport, no way of contacting her parents, no access to a phone or internet. These people held all the cards and she was helpless. And, she had to admit they’d been kind. The sensible part of Amie decided to cooperate as best she could, at least for the moment.

  “I don’t really remember anything much,” she began. “I ... I think we’d gone to bed, and then I was in the hospital, and then here. You’ve told me the house blew up and that Jonathon was ... was ...” she couldn’t say the words out loud.

  “Yes, all that is true. I’m sorry about that.”

  “This is all a bad dream.” Amie blew her nose loudly and wiped the tears away.

  “I wish it were.” Ken sounded quite genuine. “But once again you were a target.”

  “Me, from whom! Why?” Amie sat up a little straighter.

  “You made some bad enemies when you thwarted the group in the valley,” Ken began to explain but Amie interrupted him.

  “Yes, sure, but they got their revenge – in Britain, and that was the end of it – wasn’t it?”

  “Sadly no. There wasn’t much left of the house after the explosion, but we’re convinced it was the same group. It was possible to see the letters A-l-- -k--ar. I think you might recognize that.” He slid a photograph across the desk of what was left of the outer front wall of Amie’s house.

  A cold shiver ran down Amie’s back. Would she ever be free, or always looking over her shoulder? Never able to live a normal life? They must have followed her in Britain, and now they knew where she lived here as well – or rather where she had lived.

  “Do ... do you think they will keep trying to ...?”

  “No, I don’t. They won’t try again we are convinced of that. That is, only as long as they think they’ve succeeded – in killing you. But,” he paused, “if they find out you’re still alive, who knows? You’ve outwitted them before, and you’re a woman, so I can’t promise to protect you unless you help us. It’s in your best interests to cooperate with us.”

  “And how can you be so sure?” Amie was still not convinced. She was frightened and she was concentrating hard to understand what Ken was telling her. Her brain didn’t feel as sharp as before and her thoughts were muddled.

  “Because, as far as they’re concerned, they’ve succeeded. You’re dead. Did you not hear me, Amie? Or I should call you Miss Mansell now?”

  She suddenly recalled the nurse in the hospital calling her Miss Mansell, now that made sense.

  “We did it for your own protection,” Ken continued. “You were found by the back wall after the explosion. We’d had our eye on the group for a while and knew they were up to something, and luckily, we got to you before their local people did. The official reports will show that two people died in the house as a result of a gas bottle exploding.”

  “Two? But – oh my God, they got Mathilda as well? What had she ever done to them?” She felt a fresh wave of sadness and wondered what Ouma Adede would say.

  “These people have no mercy, especially for women, or any infidel. They are utterly ruthless.”

  Amie had seen that for herself. “And now you say I’m officially dead?”

  “Yes, Amie. You are now another person with a new identity.”

  “But that’s impossible.” Amie had seen enough television shows to know that re-invented people could never again contact family and friends. They were out on their own. This was yet another nightmare.

  “What about my parents, do they think ...?”

  “Yes, they were informed. I believe they held your memorial service yesterday.”

  “How dare you!” A wave of anger swept over Amie and she lurched to her feet, only to fall back into the chair when her head throbbed and the room spun round her. How dare they make all these announcements! How dare they tell her she was dead! She was not dead. She was sitting here in this office right across from Ken. She was very much alive. How much pain and suffering had they put her family through, and what was worse, they hadn’t even consulted her. She felt like a rat caught in a trap, no way to turn unless her captors allowed it. They’d thrown her in prison; a nice prison, but a prison all the same. They had commandeered her life. What about her human rights? What about her free will? What about allowing her to make decisions? The enormity of what they’d done took her breath away.

  “I can understand how you feel.” Ken reached over and touched her hand.

  “No, you bloody well can’t.” Amie snatched her hand away. “You’ve just taken my life away. How could you do that?”

  “Amie, we’re saving your life. We want, no, we need to keep you safe, please understand that.”

  For a second, Amie believed him and then common sense kicked in. What was so special about keeping her alive? If it suited them, they would throw her to the wolves before breakfast. A wave of rage surged through her body again, causing her to shake violently. The mists around her brain cleared momentarily as she spat out. “What do you want from me? You’ve not set this up to be nice and kind, you want something from me.”

  Ken had the grace to look ashamed.

  “Why would you ...?”

  “You do, don’t you? You want to use me in some way.” Amie was convinced of it.

  “In return for saving your life, we would be grateful for a little help. Yes, I’ll admit it.”

  “I should have known. The lock on my door, the false name at the hospital, and then taking me out the back way so no one would see me. Yes, it all makes sense now.”

  “I can understand your anger.” Ken rose and grabbing another chair he came to sit next to Amie on the same side of the desk.

  “Mrs Fish, Amie,” he began. “I think you knew that your husband worked for us.”

  There, i
t was, out in the open. For the first time Amie had solid proof that Jonathon had been a spy, no matter how many times he’d evaded her questions. He’d lied to her again and again. Yes, there had been hints, but when she tried to pin him down, he’d made little of it. All he’d say was he was just keeping his ears to the ground and passing on information if it happened to come his way. Nothing more. But that wasn’t the truth.

  “You knew, yes?”

  “I thought he was – well a little.” Amie was forced to acknowledge. Then it hit her like a thunderbolt. “And now you want me to work for you, that’s it, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but only if you want to.”

  “Tell me,” Amie poured as much sarcasm as she could into her words. “Tell me, do I have a choice? Everyone thinks I’m dead. I’d probably give my father a heart attack if I walked back into the house after my memorial service.”

  “And it would cause a very public scene,” Ken added. “The news reporters, the TV cameras, the questions, the interviews.”

  Amie groaned. Did Ken have any knowledge of what she’d been through before, when she’d been featured on national television? She remembered the intrusion, the microphones shoved under her nose and anyone else’s who had ever known her, even slightly. The days spent lying low in the house with the curtains drawn to prevent flash bulbs illuminating them in the lounge, sneaking out the back door to buy basic necessities at the supermarket, it was just like being in prison.

  It was prison whichever way she turned.

  “I’m afraid the details of the explosion were all over the news in Britain. People haven’t forgotten your starring role on television,” he paused. “Look, maybe you need time to digest all this.” Ken took her hands between his before she could snatch them away. “This must be a terrible shock and tomorrow we can chat again. How’s that?”

  Amie barely acknowledged him as he helped her to her feet. As if on cue, the door opened and Vivienne stood waiting to escort her. Numb, Amie let herself be steered along the corridor, up the stairs and back into her room where she was left alone again.

  She paced up and down, her thoughts flying in all directions. One moment she wanted to cry, to mourn Jonathon, to sob her heart out at the thought of never seeing her parents again, nor Sam and the kids. Would she ever find out if Sam and Gerry got back together? She’d never see Dean and baby Jade grow up, get married – hell she’d never go shopping down her High Street again!

  The waves of sorrow gave way to surges of anger. How dare they do this to her! The British government had taken advantage of her, backed her into a corner, blackmailed her into working for them, doing their dirty work. It couldn’t be legal. She had rights.

  But once the anger died down it occurred to her how helpless she was; a puppet with unbreakable strings manipulated by a great power. Perhaps they’d been behind the explosion! Had they wanted her dead, her husband dead? No, that didn’t make sense but what if she refused to help them? What would happen to her then? She was already dead so no one would ever know. Would they do that? Were all those silly spy novels based on real life? Could upright, well-educated Englishmen kill in cold blood? She rather feared they could.

  She could see no way out.

  9 LAST DAYS IN APATU

  She was left alone for the rest of the day, and it wasn’t until after breakfast the next morning that Vivienne escorted her back down into the basement where Ken was waiting for her.

  Even with all those hours to consider her options, if she’d any at all, Amie had made only one decision and she was curious to know how her jailor would react.

  “Come on in, Amie.” Ken met her at the door and taking her elbow he steered her into a chair then sat down opposite her. “You’ve had time to think? To decide what to do with the rest of your life?”

  Was he being serious? What life did Amie have if she didn’t go along with what they wanted? Just how long a life would she have? They had stolen her life. Stolen her future.

  “I want to go to the funeral,” she stated firmly.

  “Funeral?” Ken was taken aback.

  “Yes, Jonathon’s funeral, my funeral. You were going to have one for us, weren’t you?”

  From the way Ken hesitated, Amie guessed that maybe they’d not even considered a funeral. Were they just going to ignore his death, and hers? She watched his face closely as he thought for a moment, then came to a decision.

  “But of course, we are. The community would expect it. Jonathon’s company have arranged it. A funeral, for both of you and if you’re discreet, and stay in the background, I can arrange for you to be there. That should be possible. I’m sure you’d like to pay your last respects. But you can’t be seen ...” he repeated.

  “I realise that. I understand. But it would also give me more time to think about your er, proposition.” Amie wanted him to be quite sure this would be part of the bargain. If they cooperated with her, then she would be more willing to consider their wishes.

  So it was that two days later Amie stood on the far side of the cemetery, veiled in black hiding behind a Natal Mahogany tree, while she watched them lower two coffins into the ground. One contained Jonathon’s mortal remains, and the other she could only guess was full of stones. If Apatu had such a thing as a crematorium, they would have probably destroyed all evidence of her passing, or had they found another body to put in her coffin, Mathilda perhaps, wondered Amie. They had taken her in a closed car as far as the gates, and left one man by her side, while several members of the embassy stood some distance away.

  It all came back in a wave as she peered across the headstones to where the small party stood by the graveside. While she had moments of clarity, much of the time her thoughts were jumbled and events still passed in a daze. The only thing she knew for sure was she had nothing, not even a photograph of her beloved husband and family, no clothes, no possessions, no money and no passport – no life.

  The tears streamed down Amie’s face, then she felt someone move up close behind her and squeeze her hand. She turned to see Mrs Motswezi.

  “How did you ...?”

  “I knew you would be here,” was the simple reply.

  Amie glanced over her shoulder. Her bodyguard hadn’t appeared to have noticed the elderly lady next to her. Did he even know that she was the Amie who was in the coffin next to Jonathon? Did he think she was just one of the embassy personnel who stood at a distance so as not to intrude on the grieving family? Very odd.

  A small thrill of victory ran through Amie and for a few moments she felt a sense of triumph. She squeezed Mrs Motswezi’s hand and smiled at her old friend.

  “You know I’m supposed to be ...” she nodded towards the graveside, the tears running down her cheeks.

  “Yes, but I just knew you were not ‘late,’ don’t you remember the banana?”

  Amie was about to question her more, how could she possibly have known? Even at the hospital they’d kept her isolated, but then she reasoned there were many things about Africa which were beyond the comprehension of modern westerners. She thought at some point Mrs Motswezi had sneaked in to see her, the banana definitely triggered a memory, but it was all still a bit of a blur, and she couldn’t remember the details. She knew now that Mrs Motswezi knew she was alive, and that gave Amie a warm feeling inside, a sort of security.

  “I came to give you comfort,” Mrs Motswezi whispered. “You have friends. You are not alone.” Then, just as suddenly as she’d appeared, Mrs Motswezi was gone.

  Amie looked around bewildered. There was no sign of the little lady who stood barely five-foot high, with her smiling eyes, her tight black curly hair and the wrinkles that made her look older than she probably was.

  Amie dug into her jacket pocket for a tissue to wipe her eyes. It was the bang on her head, she must be hallucinating. If Ken thought he could use her in this state then he was wrong, very wrong. She was no use to anyone.

  Next time she looked up, she could see the crowd beginning to disperse and on the far s
ide of the grave, facing her, was Ouma Adede. She looked straight at Amie and gave her a slight nod. Maybe I’m not going mad after all; she also knows I’m still alive.

  Amie’s bodyguard took her by the arm and led her back to the waiting car. She wasn’t going to ask him if he’d seen her talking to anyone, but she noticed him whisper in Ken’s ear after he’d ushered her into the vehicle.

  A few moments later Ken got in beside her but Amie ignored him. She wished she had long hair to hide behind but all she could do was look out of the window as they drove through the familiar streets of Apatu. The veil over her face was stifling and it reminded her of those repulsive burkas she’d been forced to wear for so long.

  No one said a word when Amie walked in the side door of the embassy and straight to her room. Throwing herself on the bed she cried and cried until there were no tears left. She fell into an exhausted sleep and when she finally woke up it was to see that someone had been in and left a tray of salad and a flask on the table.

  She sat up and put her head in her hands. What was she going to do? What options did she have? Seeing Mrs Motswezi at the funeral had been a shock but if she knew Amie was still alive, would she be able to help her? No, it wasn’t practical to run away, was it? Even if she escaped to the next country, say Ruanga, where could she go? Not to the British Embassy, not to any embassy, and the English people she knew there couldn’t help her without an official sanction. She couldn’t ask them to get involved in anything illegal.

  Would Jonathon’s company help her? She couldn’t imagine the problems there might be if they saw she was alive when Her Majesty’s Government had stated quite specifically that she was dead. But then, if her enemies from way back knew they hadn’t killed her after all, there was that danger to consider as well.

  She oscillated between anger and despair. She’d never felt so helpless in her life even when she’d been alone and lost. Whichever way she looked at it she really didn’t have a choice. She didn’t think Ben Mtumba could help her either. He wouldn’t want to upset relations with the British, their friends and trading partners.