‘No dear lady, I didn’t do it myself. In fact when it happened, I was no longer in Kampala. I got a warning that I was in danger, and decided a tactical disappearance was the better part of valour, as it were.’ He paused and shook his head once more. ‘Such a pity about the factory, though; we worked so hard to build it—and all those people will now be out of work.’ He sighed and looked across at her. She could see his features in the faint moonlight and realised he was smiling at her. ‘But at least no-one was hurt in the fire. It wasn’t people they were after, thanks be to God.’
‘But why are you here? Do you want to hide?’
‘No, no, dear lady.’ WB chuckled gently and shook his head. ‘I don’t think hiding in the home of a respectable unmarried lady in Swaziland would be very effective for very long, do you?’
Sara thought of the neighbours she’d lived among for such a long time—wonderful people who had been so sympathetic when she lost Ruth—but no denying, the biggest gossips in the kingdom.
‘No, you’re right. So, I don’t understand…’
‘I’ve come to fetch you, Sara,’ he said gently. ‘They know who you are; they’re on their way here. You’re not safe.’ She jumped up and looked wildly towards the window. Although she’d known it was only a matter of time, having her thoughts confirmed by someone else was heart-stopping. ‘Sit down,’ he went on, ‘my sources tell me we’ve got a few hours’ start on them.’
‘Your sources?’ she asked.
‘I’m lucky enough to have a very wide network of contacts and friends across the continent,’ he said. ‘Most of them are left over from my days in government, before I ‘went over to the enemy’, but they’re still willing to give the nod to an old friend. Even if there are very few of them brave enough to do what you did, dear lady.’
‘I don’t feel very brave,’ she whispered, shivering violently as the impact of WB’s words gradually sank in. ‘They’re really coming to get me, are they?’
‘But you won’t be here, will you?’ he said. Then he stood up and rubbed his hands together. ‘Now, I think the time for talking is over. Go quickly, Miss Sara, and pack a few things. Anything you can’t live without. I doubt if you will be back here—at least, not for a while.’
‘And my papers, my passport?’
‘Yes, anything like that will be useful—although I’ve got some others you can use for tonight.’ He handed her the candle. ‘Use this if you have to, but keep it away from the windows.’
‘But you said they aren’t coming tonight.’
‘And they’re not. But I suspect you are being watched. Banda has watching eyes everywhere. And I would prefer any spies who are still up to think you are safely in bed at this time of night.’
In less than thirty minutes, Sara was ready. In her mother’s old carpet bag she had a couple of changes of clothes, her documents, and a picture of Ruth. It wasn’t much, but she found it was all she really wanted to take with her.
WB put his finger to his lips and opened the back door. She slipped out onto the veranda behind him and he quietly pulled the door shut. Then, taking her hand in his, he headed across the garden, down the bank to the little dried-up river bed marking the border of her property. They set off across the scrub land, keeping in the shadow of trees wherever possible. When Sara looked back a few minutes later, her house and, she suspected, her life in Swaziland had disappeared from sight.
PART II
12: ZAMBIA; DEC 2004
Suzanne was surprised and touched to find her sister waiting for her in the kitchen when she crept in with her bags at five am.
‘Well, I couldn’t let you go without saying goodbye, now could I?’ Charlie said. ‘Sit down and I’ll pour you a coffee. I take it you’ll eat when you’re checked in?’ Then half an hour later, the taxi arrived bang on time. Charlie gave Suzanne a tight squeeze as she headed for the front door. ‘Take care of yourself, sis—and let me know how you’re getting on, won’t you?’
‘I’ll text you when I get to Kenya this evening. I’m stopping overnight and meeting with someone from the Health Ministry in the morning, so I’m not due to land in Lusaka until mid-afternoon tomorrow.’
At that time of day, the traffic heading westwards out of London was light and Suzanne was checked in and sitting in the departure lounge by just after seven o’clock. She had plenty of time for a croissant and yet more coffee before the flight was due to board. Then wiping the butter off her hands, she pulled her report out of her bag and started to reread it.
‘Passengers flying to Nairobi on BA flight number 0065 should proceed immediately to gate 31 where boarding is about to commence.’ The tannoy announcement made her jump. She’d been lost in plans for the next stage of the project and hadn’t realised how time had flown by.
As the plane taxied along the runway, the crew made the usual announcements about emergency exits and what to do in the event of a landing on water. Like most seasoned travellers, Suzanne paid very little attention to the words, but she did, as always, take note of the nearest emergency exit—and checked that her life jacket really was attached to the bottom of the seat.
‘Please ensure that all mobile phones are switched off and remember they must stay off for the duration of the flight.’ As the steward completed his announcements, Suzanne reached automatically into her handbag for her mobile. She usually switched it off while still in the departure lounge, but she’d been so engrossed in her report that she’d forgotten to do it this time.
She felt around in the pocket where it was usually kept, but it was empty. So were all the other pockets and compartments. She grabbed her briefcase from beneath the seat and rummaged around in there too. But the phone was nowhere to be found. There were no pockets in her coat, so it couldn’t be there. As the steward walked down the aisle for one final check, she pushed her briefcase and handbag back under the seat in front of her and threw her head back against the headrest in frustration. It looked like her phone was gone. Lost or stolen, she would probably never know. But one thing she did know, was that her copies of the papers given to her by Sara Matsebula and scanned onto her phone for safety before she left Africa last time were no longer in her possession. She just hoped Chibesa had done a better job of looking after his copy than she had with hers. And that whoever now had her phone would not understand the significance of the documents.
Suzanne scanned the sea of faces and the name signs being waved around in the arrivals hall. All around her were smiling, laughing people, greeting friends and relatives at the end of long flights. At first she thought no-one was there to meet her, and was considering taking a taxi, when she spotted a tall, lithe figure leaning against a pillar at the back of the crowd. She pushed her way through the hugging, noisy groups and, dropping her bags on the floor, opened her arms wide.
‘Chibesa, I’m so glad to see you.’ His face lit up as he pulled her to him and gave her a tight squeeze.
‘Suzanne, it’s great to see you. How are you?’ Suzanne was surprised to feel her eyes pricking with tears as she stood hugging this man she hadn’t realised she was becoming so fond of. She’d only met him once, during her previous trip, but they’d been in constant contact over the past few weeks, both by phone and email—and of course, they had so much shared history, with the conference, Sara Matsebula’s story and the counterfeit medicine he’d bought after she’d returned to England. At the thought of this incident and its terrible consequences, she pulled herself out of his embrace and looked at him steadily.
‘How is Samuel?’ she asked. Chibesa’s smile faded and his shoulders slumped.
‘He’s not doing too well, I’m afraid. He blames himself for George’s death—and it doesn’t matter how many times I tell him it’s not his fault. He’s started coughing again over the past few days and he doesn’t seem to want to get better. It’s almost as though he’s trying to make up for the loss of his friend by making himself ill—or worse—as well.’ Then Chibesa shook his head and smiled at Suzanne onc
e more. ‘But you’ll see him later this week. You made me see it wasn’t my fault; maybe you can do the same for him. Now, come on, let’s get out of here.’ And grabbing her bags, he strode out of the airport, heading for the car park.
Twenty minutes later, as they were driving westwards along the T4 towards the city, Chibesa turned towards Suzanne.
‘I hope you’re not too tired?’ he said. ‘I want to make a quick detour on the way to the hotel. I’ve got a surprise for you.’ Suzanne tried to get him to tell her more, but he just shook his head with a smile and said, ‘wait and see.’
The car pulled into a driveway lined with jacaranda trees, their heavy mauve blossoms waving in the warm breeze and dipping towards the car, as though bidding Suzanne welcome.
‘Where is this place?’ she asked, but Chibesa just took her arm and helped her out of the car, telling the driver he could go around to the kitchen and get himself a drink while he was waiting for them. Then, still holding her arm, he escorted her up the steps to the colonial-style veranda. The large oak doors swung open in front of them and a young boy in a white suit with large brass buttons waved them into the cool, dark interior.
‘Chibesa, where are we going?’ Suzanne pulled against his guiding hand and stopped just inside the doorway. ‘I’m tired and I’m hot and sweaty after my flight. I’m not in the mood for silly games. I insist you tell me what this place is.’
‘Suzanne, don’t be like that. I’ve come a long way to see you.’ The voice floating down from the landing at the top of the curving staircase was deep and contained a smile. Suzanne peered up through the dim light, not believing her ears. ‘Come on up and we can talk—if you’re not too tired, that is,’ the voice continued.
But Suzanne was already halfway up the stairs, her tiredness forgotten. She threw herself at the huge man standing waiting for her.
‘WB! You’re alive! I knew it,’ she said before bursting into tears. The two men stood and laughed at her, especially when she stamped her foot in temper at them. ‘Stop it! I’ve been really worried about you.’ Then she too burst out laughing, and wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. WB pointed to a door off the landing.
‘Come on in here; we’ll be more comfortable and we can have a drink while we’re talking.’
‘So I decided that, as the Bard says, “discretion is the better part of valour,” and headed for the airport,’ WB finished his story a little while later, as they sat drinking sweet milky tea and nibbling shortbread biscuits. He’d told them about the strange calls he’d had in the middle of the night, silent calls that came through with disturbing frequency; he’d talked about the vehicles he saw around Kampala too regularly to be coincidence, which had to be watching him—and he’d gone on to discuss the early morning warning he’d had from an old friend, that Banda was planning to visit the factory. ‘I wasn’t frightened for me,’ he said, ‘I’m big enough and ugly enough to look after myself, but I didn’t want to risk any harm coming to my wife and daughters.’
‘So you staged your disappearing act,’ Suzanne said. ‘And your beautiful factory—all gone. Such a pity.’ WB shrugged.
‘I needed to cast suspicion on myself, so my family would be safe. And I wanted to confuse Banda; make them stop and find out whether any of their rivals was also after me. It gave me the breathing space I needed to get away.’
‘You’re not saying you fired it yourself, are you?’ gasped Suzanne. ‘I’ve been telling everyone there’s no way you would do something like that.’ But WB shook his head.
‘Of course not!’ He smiled and patted her arm, ‘Let’s just say I made a few unwise comments in the wrong places.’
Suzanne stared at WB with her mouth open, unable to take in everything she’d been told. Just then, there was a gentle tap on the door. Not the door off the landing, but a second one, behind a screen, that Suzanne had not noticed before. Chibesa jumped up and opened it, standing back to let a slim young woman slip into the room. Suzanne was sure she’d seen her before, but couldn’t place her at first.
‘Ah, the fourth member of our little band,’ said WB. ‘Will you take some tea, my dear?’
As the newcomer nodded to WB, she smiled shyly at Suzanne and lifted a slim hand to brush her hair out of her eyes. The gesture took Suzanne back to a villa in Swaziland ten weeks before and she gave a gasp.
‘Sara; Sara Matsebula!’
‘I thought Miss Sara would be safer out of Swaziland,’ said WB, ‘so I made a bit of a detour on my way to Lusaka and picked her up.’
‘That’s quite some detour. And how did you manage to get across the borders undetected?’ Suzanne asked. WB shrugged.
‘Well, there are always back roads that are less well controlled; there are trains; and of course,’ he pulled a face, ‘neither of us was actually using our real names.’ As Suzanne opened her mouth to ask yet more questions, he held up his hand and then put his finger to his lips. ‘Trust me, Suzanne, you don’t want to know!’
‘I’m very grateful to Dr Businge,’ Sara said, shaking Suzanne’s hand and then sitting with her cup of tea in one of the large chintzy armchairs. She looked much more relaxed than the previous time they’d met and, from the looks she was stealing across at the big Ugandan, Suzanne wondered if she was developing a bit of a crush on her rescuer.
‘Sara’s not been in contact with anyone since she left Swaziland,’ said Chibesa, ‘it’s too dangerous to let anyone know where she is.’
‘And there’s no-one left in the family to worry about me anyway,’ Sara added softly.
‘But my contacts tell me we got out just in time,’ WB continued. ‘I understand there’s been another incident of arson. It seems to be Banda’s weapon of choice.’
‘Oh, Sara, I’m so sorry to hear that,’ said Suzanne, but the girl just smiled sadly.
‘There’s nothing they can do to me that’s any worse than what they’ve already done. I just hope the papers I gave you can help put an end to this terrible trade.’
Suzanne’s heart plummeted and she looked at WB.
‘Please tell me you didn’t keep the papers in the factory,’ she said, ‘I’m afraid my copy’s gone. My phone disappeared when I was in Heathrow waiting to take off.’ Chibesa’s head shot up and he looked at her, askance. But WB gave a chuckle.
‘No, it’s okay. The papers weren’t in the factory. They were never in the factory. In fact, they were never in Uganda.’
‘Well, where were they?’ Suzanne asked.
‘Have you ever heard the saying about hiding something in plain sight?’ he said. ‘Well that’s what I’ve done—and I think we can be sure the papers are still safe. Although I’ll keep the details to myself, if you don’t mind. The fewer people who know, the better.’ And with a grin, he tapped his long forefinger against his nose. ‘Let’s just say, I may need to visit Lusaka University Library over the next few days. Now, I think there’s just time for another pot of tea and more of these wonderful biscuits and then Chibesa will escort you to your hotel, Suzanne.’
13: ZAMBIA; DEC 2004
At the hotel, Suzanne refused Chibesa’s offer of help with the luggage and once he had handed her over to a porter, he left. As she watched him sending the official driver back to headquarters and strolling across the hotel car park towards the bus stop, she felt a pang—of loneliness, of fear, she wasn’t quite sure which—but pulling herself together, she followed the porter inside and checked in. The three days of travelling, and the revelations of the past couple of hours were starting to catch up with her and she was dozing as she walked. Within minutes of reaching her room, she had undressed and crawled inside the bedclothes, asleep almost before she’d had time to register that the sun was just going down and the orange sky was filtering through the black silhouettes of the trees.
She woke with a start to complete darkness, and the whine of a mosquito in her ear. She groaned as she realised she’d forgotten to put on her insect repellent! She thought she could feel the insect’s prog
ress up her arm and neck, although she knew in reality that any bites she might have picked up would take a few hours to start itching. Bleary-eyed, she untied the mosquito net from the wall above her head, pulled it out and secured it to each corner of the bed. Then, ignoring the rumbling in her stomach reminding her it was hours since she’d eaten, she closed her eyes and attempted to go back to sleep. But it was no good. There was a party going on in the grounds of the hotel and the smell of barbecued lamb and the sounds of drumming and laughter reached her even through the closed windows. Clicking on the light at the side of the bed, she checked the clock. It was not yet half eight; she’d only been asleep for a couple of hours. It would be ages before the noise outside subsided. Her stomach gave another rumble and she admitted defeat.
Pulling on her crumpled travel clothes once more, she went down to the bar and ordered a toasted sandwich and a rock shandy, no ice. Looking around at the few fellow guests who were still inside, rather than out in the garden party, she wondered if there was anyone she might chat to; maybe pass a couple of hours before attempting sleep once more. But a group of businessmen were engrossed in a noisy discussion about the relative merits of soccer versus American football; the young couple in the corner looked like newly-weds and only had eyes for each other; while the only other single woman in the room was talking quietly into her mobile phone, and seemed to be taking no notice of anyone else. From her position near the bar, Suzanne could watch the woman’s reflection in the mirror. Her long, bushy red hair was topped by an Adidas baseball cap and her eyes were hidden behind huge reflective sunglasses, which she kept on even in the dim lighting. She didn’t look like she wanted company, so Suzanne picked up a newspaper instead. When she’d finished her supper and waved good night to the barman, she glanced in the mirror once more, but the table was empty and the woman had gone.
Counterfeit! Page 7