by Peter Riva
Pero thought quickly. Three times since arriving he had felt the cold hand of danger in the room. The Singhs were wary of his presence when they should not be. He thought they were friends. Also, they had mentioned Moyowosi casually, yet they knew people had died. And then there was the revelation that the boat shoot-up was actually part of a coup. Just to use that word now, in his presence, told Pero that things were boiling over and that Zanzi-Agroforestry might be playing a larger hand. Last but not least, Pero reminded himself that he and Mbuno had instinctively theorized about a possible “coup” the previous day.
Pero raised his arms, saying, “Okay, I give up. You guys want to play games, go ahead. I’ll go and leave you to it. But just know this”—he looked at Virgi—“I helped save you all those years ago and would do it again, unless you don’t want my help. I know things, and I suspect you guys and this whole country are in trouble, but if you want to play games, forget it.”
Amar sat back in his easy chair, motioned Virgi to sit next to him and told Madar to sit as well. That left Pero standing. Amar looked at Pero, and Pero could see he was making up his mind. “Okay, Mr. Baltazar, let’s have lunch.” He pointed to the free chair completing the circle around a coffee table laden with English high tea triangle sandwiches. Pero went over and sat. Amar said, “What you say makes sense.”
Pero watched Virgi take a sandwich and start to eat. Madar took a glass of water and sipped. Both looked concerned. Pero thought, Damn, they look like they are waiting for an execution.
Amar continued, “Now, if we are going to share information properly, please, you start—ask us whatever it is you came to ask, but one item at a time, please.” Amar pushed his fingertips together, almost as if in prayer, and awaited Pero’s response.
Pero started with, “Do you know anyone who speaks Hausa?” Madar spat out his mouthful of water.
“Hausa? Hausa?” Madar was almost screaming. “What in Shiva’s name does Hausa have to do with anything at Moyowosi?”
Amar took control. “Little brother, I suspect Mr. Baltazar was trying to shock us.” He turned to Pero. “That is right, isn’t it? Hausa is a ruse?”
Virgi saw Pero’s face and knew it wasn’t. He reached over and put his hand on Pero’s knee. “I agree, Pero. If the word you just used is part of the problem we have here, then let us stop playing games. Tell us all, now, quickly.” Pero was unsure, and Virgi suspected as much. Virgi said, “I can tell you this, a coup seems to be in the planning. Zanzi-Agroforestry is making very serious money selling tobacco to the Chinese. It gives them political power in the new Tanzania.” He meant Tanzania no longer had a communist egalitarianism power structure. Money was beginning to rule the country. He went on, “And gold has come into the country. Bribery is everywhere, and word has reached us that rebels, maybe a small army, are being allowed by the minister from the region you were in. Moyowosi is in Tabora province. The Minister for Internal Affairs is the nephew of our country’s founder, Julius Nyerere. His name is Stephan Nyerere. He has a powerful name with all the regional tribes. He is also Madar’s boss.” Pero looked at Madar, who nodded. “Now, your turn.” Then Virgi added, “Please.”
I have to trust that these are the same two men whom I trusted before . . . Pero thought. And so, he began to tell them the whole story, including the rescue of Ube and the presence of Boko Haram speaking Hausa, but not what he and Mbuno had seen in that first room. Virgi and Madar were shocked. Amar sat still, hands in the prayer position, eyes half shut, meditating.
It was Madar who spotted the missing part of the story. “You rescued your man. Your people are safe. Why are you here?” He looked intently at Pero and thought he spotted further concern. “You saw something, something that makes you come to us? What? Why?”
All three men watched Pero. Pero responded, “Mbuno and I saw something we cannot forget or allow. In the first room, three windows wide, there were twenty to thirty girls, half-dressed, young women, in what looked like school uniforms. We coupled that with the Boko Haram presence and added it up. The girls need rescuing.”
This was shocking news to Amar. “In Tanzania? In Tabora province? How could this happen? It is an outrage!”
Virgi calmly asked, “How do you propose to do that? Those are armed men, Boko Haram—”
Pero interrupted, “Did you already know Boko Haram were in your country? And if so, why didn’t you do anything about it?”
Madar responded, “Even I have to take orders, Pero. I was prevented from investigating when we arrested a Nigerian at the port in Kigoma, off-loading a crate we found to be full of guns, machine guns. He only spoke Hausa, and I suspected he was Boko Haram. I could not prove it.”
“The guns, AK-47s?”
“Yes, like the one you saw, I presume. The man was most violent when we arrested him. He has since been released by the local police chief who is friends with the minister.”
Pero had a question. “Was the guy working for Zanzi-Agroforestry? And, by the way, who owns Zanzi-Agroforestry?”
Amar looked at his brothers and, receiving their nods of approval, explained, “When Tanganyika became free of the German colonial overlords, certain families—ex-German families to be sure—vowed one day to take the country back. They relocated to Zanzibar at the time. Later on, when unification came about, they left Zanzibar quite angry, or very angry, I would say. We confiscated their houses and property. Some went back to Germany, East Germany, as you call it. Recently, some of those families have returned with considerable wealth and now sit on the board of Zanzi-Agroforestry.”
Madar continued, “The man I arrested had no work papers. He did have a piece of paper with a phone number on it. I called the number. It was Zanzi-Agroforestry’s number in Kigoma. So you see, we had no knowledge of the mill and Boko Haram there.”
Virgi came back to his question. “Pero, how do you propose to rescue these girls?”
“I plan to hijack a train going to the mill. Go in, rescue the girls, and take them to safety. I have arranged transport with the CIA if we get them out. What transport exactly, I do not know yet. They are waiting for me to tell them what I need.” Pero was being absolutely frank. Then he remembered Niamba’s prediction about the Dar policeman who would accompany them. “And I guess you’ll be coming along, too, Madar.”
Madar’s mouth opened, shut, and then he glared at Pero. Everyone was silent. “And why do you think I will be coming along?”
Beyond Niamba’s prediction, it now made sense. Madar would be the only Singh who could be free, could represent the brothers, and, as he was a commissioner of police, would carry authority. “Let me put this another way,” Pero said. “Besides rescuing the girls, which would make you a national hero, maybe an international hero, it could give you a power base, politically.”
Ever the politician, Amar was nodding. “And you might find out where all the money is and where it is going to. The Russians may be sending the gold, but they are not giving it away. They are buying drugs. What and where, we do not know. If we can link—”
Virgi cut him off. “The link has to be there. We know it is cocaine because of the plants grown, but we cannot trace how it is being exported. We know it is not coming back through Dar.”
Pero had an idea. “Look, you told Heep on the phone about the tobacco farms, and the CIA knows that the only transport leaving the mill is cut lumber to Dar . . .”
Madar said, ‘We have searched those stacks—nothing.”
Pero was guessing, too. “Okay then. That leaves the giant logs going to Kigoma. It must be hidden between the logs, or on the flatbed train cars under the logs. Maybe when we get there, we’ll see how it is being done.”
Madar agreed. “We have been prevented by the same police chief from examining the flatcars in Kigoma. But we know what happens to the logs; we watched them being unloaded in case something else was hidden there. Nothing. The crane picks them up, one at a time, loads them onto a barge on the lake. Then the flatcars travel back to the
mill, get loaded with cut wood that is then offloaded in Dar and put on freighters to South Africa. The South African police have searched the freighter twice for us. Nothing.”
Pero thought for a moment. “There was a customs story I remember. Every day a Mexican kid rode his bicycle with two watermelons in the front basket through into the US. Every day they saw him come through, waving him on. What harm could he do, selling watermelons? What he was smuggling was bicycles.” He gave a little chuckle, as did the brothers. “So, where do the flatcars go?”
Madar answered, “The Siagwa-Bagir is a Chinese freight company. It’s their freight system, and they shunt them in a holding train yard. Every day the train leaves the yard with six or eight flatcars attached and goes to the mill. It passes the returning train at Tabora. When the flatcars are in the depot? We have looked, carefully. Again nothing.”
“So, it has to be the one thing you have not searched,” Pero said. He waited. “The logs.”
“How?”
“No idea, but if we have them loaded, we’ll have time to find out on the way to Kigoma.”
Amar turned to his younger brother. “Madar, you must inspect the logs on the way to Kigoma.” Madar agreed.
Pero said, “Okay then, if we hijack the train tomorrow morning, you say there is one going to the mill from Dar early . . . well, we’ll let them load the train, and then we’ll find out where and how they are smuggling the cocaine resin.”
Madar was suddenly inquisitive. “What makes you think it is resin?” Pero realized he hadn’t told them what Ube was poisoned with. He explained, and Madar smacked his hands on his knees. “That’s why! The dogs can’t detect cocaine powder if there is no powder! They are exporting resin, maybe the cocaine curds mixed with kerosene. The dogs are trained to smell the sulfuric acids used to turn it into powder.”
Amar said, “But that’s ten times the quantity, ten times the volume. Why take the risk?”
Pero thought he had the answer. “Two years ago, we did a shoot in Colombia with small cocoa farmers. The acid boiling and drying processes are different. Small holdings can boil it after adding acid to break the cocoa leaves down into the paste or resin that they mix with kerosene to stabilize for transport, but to dry it into powder takes sophisticated chemical labs, away from prying eyes. I think they’re extracting the paste or resin here, shipping that out, and it is being processed elsewhere.”
Amar added, “But the gold comes here and funds criminal activity. And if Minister Nyerere has his way with even more privatized tobacco farming cooperatives, they could refine the cocaine here in hidden factories, increasing profits, giving him more money from the Russians. And the only way he can do that is to overthrow the law. Bastards.”
Pero agreed, “A coup.” The three brothers sadly also agreed. Pero knew then for sure that they were the same reliable, trustworthy, patriotic Singh brothers he had come to respect. He also knew that although they were determined to stop the corruption and a possible coup, they were frightened.
“Fellows,” Pero began, “we’ll all have to pull together to make this work. I have a team in place . . .” and he explained who was helping and the plans they had started. He asked Madar if he still had his Interpol satellite phone. Madar pulled it from his pocket. “Good, then we have secure communication. We have a plan, of sorts, and surprise is on our side.”
It was Madar who concluded their meeting, saying, “It seems I am taking a train trip.”
Leaving the Toyota dealership, Pero called Sheila, told her to get the Piper Aztec back to Wilson Airport, and then Pero settled back in the Singh’s chauffeur-driven limo to the Julius Nyerere International Airport, where he took the afternoon jet commuter to Nairobi’s Jomo Kenyatta International Airport. He had called ahead, and the Interconti had sent a driver. He was back at the hotel in time to say goodbye to Susanna, Heep, Mary, Keriako, and Tom who assured Pero they were ready and would be standing by with Wolfie before nightfall.
Susanna’s last words to Pero were, “I love you, mein dummer . . .” Then she threw up in the gutter next to the car taking them to Wilson Airport. Mary told Pero she’d be fine. Pero kissed Susanna’s cheeks and watched them go.
Back in his room, Pero called and reached Tone, who was already on the road. Pero wanted to confirm the small plane arrangements Tone had made. Tone was circumspect. “Sorry, Pero, you have to trust me on this old boy. It’s a friend, you see; I don’t want names mentioned.”
Pero wanted to know if they had everything they needed. Tone pressed the cellphone loudspeaker button and the sounds of the Land Rover straining diesel came across the airwaves. Earlier, Pero had handed Tone his satellite phone, saying, “I’ll use Madar Singh’s.” Pero wanted to make sure Tone had it with him. “In case we get separated, use the satellite phone. Okay?”
Mbuno and Tone assured him they had it and were ready. They also vouched for Teddy, who looked keen and eager. Pero wanted to be sure they understood the plan. “When the train starts leaving, no matter what, get on the train. You have to get on the train or you will be stranded and we won’t know where you are. Agreed?”
Mbuno answered for them all, “Pero, my brother, you rescue the wasichana. We will protect and then we leave.”
An hour later, Pero, Ube, Nancy, and Bob were driven back to the airport by the Interconti driver. Pero decided to keep their rooms to create the illusion that they were coming back.
The regular commercial Kenya Airways flight to Dar landed at nine-thirty, and Virgi picked them up in his Toyota extended cab truck. “I have arranged for you to stay at my house tonight, most private. My staff thinks I am away, and I have given them the day off. Then Madar will pick you up tomorrow morning at four to go to the freight yard. You must try and sleep.”
When they got to the house, there were no servants. Pero thanked Virgi adding, “Where are you sleeping?”
“There will not be much sleeping tonight. Amar is planning what you call a counter-offensive, ready if you are successful.” Pero suspected Virgi was going to add “or not” but then thought better of it. He continued, “What you have found out, deep inside our country, is intolerable, and that treason will be used to secure the loyalty of many in Parliament. We will be busy this night.” Virgi prepared to leave, but not before handing Pero the front door keys. “Be sure to lock when you depart. Leave the keys in my brother Madar’s car, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Wait a moment . . . did you have any luck with the extra caboose or guard’s van for the train? We have to put these girls somewhere.”
“My staff is making other arrangements. It will be”—he paused, looking for the right word—“suitable, if not comfortable.”
Pero was content at that and shook his hand. “Want to wish us luck?”
“It is not luck we all need, it is strength. These are serious times. Our country is at risk.” And with that he drove away. Pero went back inside and made sure everyone found somewhere comfortable to rest. Pero slept on the sofa in the front hall, wanting to be near the door.
CHAPTER 26
Dar es Salaam, Four a.m.
The banging on the door dragged Pero from a fitful sleep. He opened the door to near pitch black. Two potted palms framed the open doorway. Between them stood the squat, rounded figure of Commissioner Madar. He was looking furtively right and left. He softly asked if they were ready.
Pero heard a noise behind him and turned to see Nancy, awake and ready. Then Bob appeared, flipping on the hall light, hopping while trying to tighten a sandal’s strap. Turning further, Pero spotted Ube standing, ready, silent. Pero wondered how long he had been standing there.
Pero made introductions, and Madar said softly, still looking around, “Let us get going. I will explain developments on the way.” He raised his hand as he walked toward the police SUV parked outside the property gates. In his hand was his satellite phone.
Madar drove the SUV quickly, lights flashing, but no siren. He said they were not headed for the main railw
ay station.
“All Tanzania Railway freight transport has to be assembled in the main station yard for departure. There it is checked and rechecked to prevent smuggling and theft. It is also a matter of timing for safety, to avoid collisions. I watched the locomotive already hooking up flatcars. So the planned departure is to be still at or near five. I do not think we can board the train at the station. If anyone is watching, it would be there. Already there are workers from all over Tanzania at the depot at this hour. When the train leaves Central Station, it will next be halted at Kiumbe Road. It is a crossing by the back road to Nyerere Airport. I have made sure there will be a truck blocking the crossing. We need to get on board there while it is still dark.” Pero thought it was a clever plan and said so. Madar’s determined expression, dimly seen and illuminated only by the instrument lights, reinforced Pero’s feeling that the commissioner was not so sure. Madar added, “Yes, yes, let us hope the train driver is awake and brakes in time.”
Madar had already reached the edge of town near the Julius Nyerere main highway. There were no cars at that early hour, so he turned off the police lights. With the windows open, the slightly stale and fetid air of the city gave way to the scent of the natural beauty of Tanzania. Green and lush, trees and plants alike filled the morning mist with their aroma that would soon fade away under the midday sun. Pero had only brought his Swiss Army knife, a halogen pencil flashlight, and a pair of binoculars with him. Bob had brought his medical kit. Nancy had a hunting knife she had smuggled the night before through airport customs by hiding it under her shirt. And Ube? Ube seemed unarmed but carried a small leather pouch that dangled from his waist belt. When Pero asked him what it was, he would only reply that Mbuno had given it to him and that Mbuno had asked Niamba to bring it from home.
Pero looked at the determined Madar and asked, “Okay there, Commissioner?”
“No, not really. I am breaking the law. If this goes badly, I may be out of a job, and Tanzania may be lost.”