The men first came to see me just a couple of weeks after my father, God rest his soul, passed. They talked about the responsibilities I had to the workers, to my family, to my mother—and reminded me I needed another contract to replace the one we’d lost, if the company was to survive.
At first, much of the work was legitimate, with the occasional order for drugs to go into cartons with foreign names and overseas addresses. And even if the packaging wasn’t right, I knew the contents were safe. We still followed all the rules and checked the batches before we packed them.
As time went on, the number of ‘special’ orders increased and for the past year or so, we’ve done nothing but make fake lotions and cough mixtures. I knew it was wrong, but I didn’t know how to get out of it. Every time I tried to argue with them, they reminded me of my sick mother and once they threatened to make her even sicker, if I didn’t do as I was told.
A couple of months ago, things started to go badly wrong. I knew there was something up, from the way they were talking. They’d always been edgy, but now they were extra-cautious about everything. It was after your conference in Swaziland.
Then I had a letter from Dr Businge, asking me if we would take part in the pilot scheme and informing me you were going to visit Ndola and inspect the factory. They wanted me to say no, but I couldn’t work out how to do that without making you all suspicious. So we arranged for your visit. And one of the bosses came over from Ukraine to keep an eye on you; Nico, his name was; Nico Mladov.
As soon as you saw the labels and started asking for contact names in the multinationals, I knew we were in trouble. Their guy told me they would take care of it—hide you away for a couple of days while we moved to safety. We’d spent the previous week packing up my house—my mother passed recently, so I was planning to move to somewhere smaller anyway, somewhere with fewer memories. And they told me we needed to shut the factory down for a little while—just until the spotlight had moved on to somewhere else. I was worried about the workers, but they told me not to be—they would look after them.
So that afternoon, when you visited the factory, they told me they were sending an alternative car for you—and to make up a story so you would get in to it, rather than waiting for your own driver. When that broken down vehicle arrived, I didn’t think you were going to get in—and part of me hoped you wouldn’t—but then you drove away, just before the real driver arrived. And I thought that was it. A couple of days of discomfort—just to let us sort out the factory and then we could all disappear for a while.
But then when they took me away to hide, I realised they were just going to leave you there—and I couldn’t let that happen. I managed to slip away from them when we stopped for coffee and made that call to Lusaka. Again, I thought that was it—the end of the problem. It was only days later when I heard about the fire, the death of all those poor women, who trusted me, and I realised I had to be brave—do what is right, no matter what the consequences for me.
Most of them remained nameless and didn’t give much away, but over the months and years, I managed to pick up some pieces of information. The members of Banda that I met were mostly local; but the gang bosses are white. They come from Eastern Europe, Ukraine I think, or maybe Poland. But I don’t think the operation is controlled even from there. I’ve heard them mention ‘the Brit’ as the controller of all the money—and I’ve also heard them refer to that person as ‘she’.
That is all I know, and all I can tell you. But I, Kabwe Mazoka, swear this to be the whole truth, so help me God.
As he finished speaking, Kabwe stood up and walked towards her, reaching into his pocket with his left hand. Suzanne flinched, expecting to see a knife or a gun, but all he brought out was a small brown envelope which he held out to her.
‘My statement, plus the names and any other facts I’ve managed to uncover, are in this envelope. I’ve also sent a copy to Dr Businge and Mr Desai.’
There was a sharp knock at the door. Kabwe jumped, looking startled. Suzanne, shocked and distressed by what she’d heard, took the envelope from him and turned to the door.
‘It’s probably only Charlie,’ she said, but mindful of the previous time she’d let someone in without properly checking, she put her eye to the spy hole. Her sister was standing just outside. ‘Yes, it is; I’ll talk to her and then we’ll decide how to go on from here.’
Pulling the door open, Suzanne saw Charlie’s eyes widen as she caught sight of Kabwe standing across the room. She’d never met him, but she’d seen his picture often enough since the kidnapping.
‘What the hell’s he doing here—are you okay?’ She tried to push her way into the room, but Suzanne grabbed her sister by the arm and stepped out into the corridor to join her.
‘Yes, I’m fine, don’t panic. He came to offer his help catching Banda.’
‘And you believe him? You actually let him into your room! Are you crazy?’
‘Hush, Charlie and listen to me,’ Suzanne urged. In a few sentences, she brought her sister up to date. ‘And he thinks the financial controller is British and female,’ she finished.
‘Well, I’m still not convinced, given what’s happened so far,’ Charlie said, ‘but if he really is willing to help, maybe we can use him to find out more about her. The more evidence we have, the better.’
‘I don’t think he knows more than he’s already told me; but let’s call the others up here. We can read his statement and ask Kabwe for more details as we go along.’
Suzanne turned and went back through the door, followed by her sister. But the room was empty and the door to the balcony was wide open. From the street fifteen floors below came the sound of squealing brakes and blaring horns. Then someone started to scream.
26: ZAMBIA; DEC 2004
As the last person to see Kabwe alive, and the one to receive his confession and information about members of Banda, Suzanne was told she had to stick around for the police investigation. So she and Charlie cancelled their plans for Christmas in London and postponed their flight home. Two days later, they met in Chibesa’s office with WB and Sara for their own review of events.
‘The police have rounded up a couple of guys who were living here in Lusaka,’ Suzanne told them, ‘and they’re working with police in Ndola, so they’re quite hopeful about catching the ones who live in the Copper Belt. But they’re not optimistic of catching the foreign members of the gang. They’ll be long gone; probably back in Eastern Europe by now.’
‘Well, at least we’ve managed to interrupt the supply chain,’ said Chibesa.
‘But how long before the next one springs up?’
‘Not too long, I suspect,’ said WB, shaking his head. ‘These were only the foot soldiers; we need to take out the generals if we’re going to win the war, rather than just an occasional battle.’
‘I’m hoping I might be able to help there.’ Charlie hadn’t taken any part in the discussion so far; she had been tapping rapidly at her keyboard. They all looked at her expectantly. ‘You remember our first meeting, when we talked about chasing the money?’
‘Of course,’ Chibesa said. ‘You got so far and then lost the trail.’
‘Well, I’ve been doing a bit more digging—’
‘—and did you manage to get a name for the account?’
‘Not yet, but I’m getting there. I’ll let you know if I come up with anything.’
Later, back in the hotel, the sisters sat in the shade, sipping rock shandies. Charlie was chewing on her thumb nail.
‘Okay, Charlie,’ Suzanne said, putting down her drink and folding her arms, ‘spit it out. There’s something bugging you, isn’t there? I could tell back in the office.’
‘It’s that account I was chasing. I did find a name, but it’s so odd, I didn’t want to say anything to the others until we’d had a chance to think about it.’ She pulled open her laptop.
Suzanne looked over her sister’s shoulder, but when she saw the name Charlie was pointing to, she laug
hed.
‘Little Piggy M? Well, there’s a coincidence. What with me seeing our own Little Piggy recently, after more than a decade. And fancy this one having those particular initials—’ Then she stopped, jumped up from the table and looked at her sister in horror. She could see the same look reflected back at her. ‘No, you don’t think so, do you? It can’t possibly be the same one.’
‘No, I don’t think so, not really. She was bit of a pain, but she was always honest, painfully so, in fact.’
‘Though it might explain why she insisted on coming to my presentation—’
‘—and if she managed to have a go at Sir Frederick, that would explain why he warned you off getting too close to Sara.’
‘But why on earth would Francine Matheson be mixed up in all this? She’s Parliamentary Undersecretary in the Department for International Development, for goodness sake.’
‘Exactly!’ Charlie said. ‘She’s in the ideal position to influence things for Banda. And, let’s face it, she wouldn’t be the first dirty politician, either at home or here in Africa, now would she?’ But Suzanne was shaking her head.
‘Come on, there’s a world of difference between fiddling a few work permits and profiting from counterfeit drugs sold to vulnerable people.’
‘You’re probably right,’ Charlie said, ‘and that’s why I didn’t say anything to the others, but let’s keep an open mind on this. We need to find out a bit more about what Francine Matheson’s been getting up to since you were sitting in the sixth form common room with her all those years ago.’
When the team weren’t working on their theory that someone in the UK was funding the supply of counterfeit drugs, Charlie spent most of the time with Chibesa, either running before breakfast through the streets of Lusaka or helping him organise the Christmas festivities for the Aids orphans living in his house. Suzanne, on the other hand had been looking forward to the opportunity to chill out, and intended to spend most of the time lying by the hotel pool. But that was before she had a phone call from Nathan.
She hadn’t heard from him since they’d left the Copper Belt and had decided to put the whole thing down to experience and move on. Now, at the sound of his voice, she felt herself moving into her boiled lobster impersonation and was very glad video phones hadn’t reached Zambia yet.
‘Suzanne, I’m coming into Lusaka tomorrow, on my way to Jo’burg. I was wondering if you would care to have dinner with me.’ And just like that, her resolution disappeared and her time ceased to be her own. When she was not at the police station or in the IHF office, she was in the company of the elegant mixed-race ranch owner.
On the first evening, he arrived at the hotel five minutes early. She had wondered if he would come to her room to meet her, and whether she would object if he did. But in the event, the receptionist called her down to the foyer. Deciding to take the stairs rather than the ancient elevator, she had the opportunity to observe him unnoticed from the first floor balcony. He looked cool and relaxed in a smart casual kind of way. But when she walked down the final flight of stairs and he caught sight of her, his face lit up in a bright, excited smile. A smile she was sure was reflected on her face. He held out a bunch of proteus and jacaranda.
‘For you,’ he said, before turning to a messenger standing discreetly in the corner. ‘Please put these flowers in water and take then to Madam’s room.’ Then he took her arm and steered her gently towards the door.
Suzanne had been anxious she would find it difficult to hide her attraction to Nathan—and that would be tongue-tied in his presence. But there was no need to worry.
‘You’ve had quite a time of it over the past few days, I understand,’ he said. So, she was able to recap everything that had happened since they returned to Lusaka. By the time they had exhausted that subject and moved on to more pleasant topics, she was completely relaxed. But there was one thing she felt she couldn’t leave unspoken.
‘How’s Lily?’
‘She’s fine, as far as I know.’ Nathan shrugged and pulled a wry face. ‘I’ve not seen her very much lately. She’s very tied up with her latest conquest and hasn’t been out to the farm since you guys were there.’
‘Her latest conquest…?’
‘Yes. Some guy she met in an airport lounge somewhere. She was on the phone to Mother last week. Apparently it was Julius this… and Julius that…. It probably won’t last—they never do!’
‘Well they certainly looked close when I saw…’ Too late, Suzanne regretted opening her mouth, but Nathan looked puzzled and so she went on, ‘when we were in Kenya last week, I saw them in the distance at a restaurant.’ He smiled and nodded.
‘Yes, that would be right; she told mother she was spending a few days with him in Nairobi.’
‘And you don’t mind?’
‘Mind? Why should I mind? It’s nothing to do with me—and although she looks young and vulnerable…’ He broke off and stared at her for a moment, then began to laugh. ‘Oh, no! You’ve been listening to Mother’s stories, haven’t you?’ Suzanne felt her face go warm.
‘Well, when we were getting our tour of the farm, she did imply—’
‘Suzanne, my mother’s been matchmaking since I was old enough to shave! She’s always had a soft spot for Lily and built this story around the possibility of us getting together. But it was never going to happen!’
‘So there was nothing between you?’
‘When we were teenagers, it was a useful device, especially for Lily. We would go off together, to a dance or the cinema, and we would come home together at the end of the night. But we never spent the evening together. Lily’s great fun, but she’s too much like my sister. We could never get together like that.’
‘So why doesn’t she like me?’
‘What makes you think she doesn’t like you?’
‘Well, she didn’t seem too pleased when we were staying at the farm.’
‘Oh, that was nothing to do with you. She’s the same when anyone else gets a bit of attention. Likes to be centre stage, does our Lily.’ He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. ‘Right, enough about Lily. I’m starving; let’s order, shall we?’
Dinner lasted well into the small hours of the morning and she was slightly disappointed when he dropped her back at the hotel, handed her out of the car, kissed her cheek and wished her sweet dreams. But as she walked away, he promised to call the next morning. And he did—at seven-thirty, as she was sipping her early morning tea, barely awake.
‘I couldn’t wait any longer,’ he said. ‘Have breakfast with me?’ And when she walked out on to the terrace twenty minutes later, he was sitting waiting for her, squinting into the sun and sipping a glass of orange juice. Afterwards, he took her to visit Victoria Falls and they watched the sun go down over Lake Kariba. Their dinner took even longer that evening—and he didn’t leave her at the door of the hotel this time.
Nathan kept a small penthouse in an apartment block in the centre of Lusaka. It was here they had dinner, here they shared their first passionate kiss, and here she woke next morning in a double bed, to the smell of coffee and bacon.
Suzanne went back to the hotel later that morning to change her clothes and to see Charlie. She was worried her sister might be concerned about her absence, especially considering what happened last time they lost touch overnight. But it turned out Nathan was as considerate of her sister as he was of her—and had texted her the previous evening to warn her. Suzanne didn’t ask what time the text had arrived; she didn’t want to find out how presumptuous he had been, but she was touched by the gesture.
The next three days went in a whirl and then it was over. The police announced they were satisfied with their investigations and would be prosecuting the members of Banda denounced by Kabwe. They were also satisfied that Suzanne was no more than an observer in his death—and she was free to go.
When she told Nathan she had to go home, he nodded.
‘And I must continue my journey to Jo’burg,’ he
said.
Her English reserve prevented her from asking him whether she would ever see him again, but she suspected not. She had no more trips planned for the foreseeable future and it was a very long way from a ranch on the Copper Belt to Heathrow Airport and the city of London.
She refused to allow him to accompany her to the airport. ‘I so hate goodbyes, don’t you?’ she said. And he agreed. In fact, she thought she sensed just a touch of relief in his face, although she might have been mistaken. He arranged to take the morning flight to South Africa. Their final evening was reflective, and a little sad. It was also New Year’s Eve and they stood on his balcony in silence at midnight, watching fireworks rise from the city skyline. When she woke the next morning, he was gone, leaving a note on the pillow and the faint smell of his cologne in the air.
PART III
27: ENGLAND; MAR 2005
‘Ms Matheson,’ said the toffee-nosed PA into the telephone, ‘there’s a Ms Jones to see you. Ms Suzanne Jones.’ There was a distinct sniff in her voice. ‘She doesn’t have an appointment. But she says you are old friends.’
After listening to her boss’s response, she stood and walked from behind her desk, twisted her face into what probably passed for a smile in her case and pointed towards the oak panelled door to the inner office.
‘Ms Matheson can just about fit you into her schedule, but she’s very busy, so you’re only going to be able to stay for about fifteen minutes,’ she said.
It was more than two months since Suzanne and Charlie had returned to London after the traumatic trip to Africa.
On her first day back at work, Suzanne had briefed Sir Frederick on progress with the IHF project. She’d spent as much time as she could updating him on the factory visits, the company assessments and the pilot study they planned to commence over the coming year.
Then, quietly and calmly, she told him about the incidents surrounding her visit to Mazokapharm. He was visibly shocked, although whether by the loss of life at the factory, her imprisonment or Kabwe’s suicide, she couldn’t judge. She assured him she had suffered no lasting physical damage and persuaded him there was nothing he could have done to help then, or since.
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