Frederick Ramsay_Botswana Mystery 02

by Reapers

  The man seemed taken aback. He did not expect this bravery from a game ranger, from a woman. He seemed about to strike her, hesitated, and stepped back.

  “Remember what I tell you,” he said. He turned and spat on the ground at the entry to her little court in front of her house. Sanderson clenched her teeth. The insult to her home was almost more irritating that this man’s threats to her.

  “What is your name, man?” She shouted after him. He waved without turning around, a dismissive gesture, and strode away. Sanderson stamped her foot.

  “And what will you do if I do not listen to your threats?”

  The man turned and glared. “Do not be stupid, woman. You have a daughter. Do not forget that. She is young and pretty and…” he left the sentence dangling. He didn’t need to finish it.

  He was right, Mpitle was young, and pretty, and vulnerable. She spent the better part of her days alone or with Michael because Sanderson had to work long hours. Michael could barely leave his bed. He certainly could do little or nothing to protect her. She depended on her village to keep her safe. But against this man? Could the villagers do anything? Sanderson stood in stunned silence and watched as the man climbed into his truck and drove away.

  Chapter Eleven

  Yuri Greshenko expected a call from the freight company he’d hired to haul the room modules from South Africa to Kasane. So, the phone’s brrip-brrip did not startle him. But the voice on the other end when he picked up did. He listened. A scowl settled on his face. He spoke softly in Russian, checking frequently to see if Leo or any of the close employees were within earshot, even though he was sure none of them spoke the language. His former life, however, had made him cautious.

  “Nyet,” he repeated periodically, shaking his head. He listened some more, then sighed “Da, okay,” and hung up. He was not happy. How to explain to Leo he had to go away for a few days, perhaps longer, in the middle of this rush to finish the lodge? He’d assured Leo that his ties to his past were lost, broken, or at least sufficiently attenuated as to be nonfunctional, and all he had on his plate was his new life in Botswana. Now this.

  The past has a way of seeking you out and finding you, and then sometimes punishing you for having had the audacity to ignore it. Yuri’s past had searched him out and now required a favor of him, a simple task. There would be no rest until the thing was done. He did not like it. The job he could do, no mathata, as his foreman would say, no worries, but once done it could put him and possibly many others in an awkward position in any new situation that arose. Someone would have leverage and could use it against him. He did not wish to return to his old life, any of those old lives he’d lived before. He would need to find a way to make the thing work without a payback. He needed a diversion, a red herring.

  The phone twittered again. This time it was the transport company. Good. Something he could deal with. He handled the truckers and hung up. Leo Painter stepped into the room.

  “Leo,” Yuri began. Leo held up his hand. He was staring out the window toward the gate.

  “It’s that cop,” Leo said. “You know, the one from the time my daughter-in-law, if that’s what she was, and her husband got into that mess.”

  “I remember him. He came up from Gaborone.”

  “That’s the guy. Gabbo Mo…something.”

  “I think his name is Kgabo Modise.”

  “Right. How’d you remember that? What the hell does he want?”

  Yuri shrugged. Cops were hard to figure. Best to let them do their thing. Leo chewed on the end of an unlit cigar and studied the policeman who, in turn, was kicking at something near the skip.

  “What’s he doing? Why is he here? Our permits are all in place, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, we are covered and then some. I think it must have something to do with the World Cup. The rumors are all over the place that the American Secretary of State will be staying at the Mowana Lodge and we have bookings, which I hope we can honor, for some Mideast guests as well. Maybe some geopolitical intrigue is on someone’s agenda.”

  “What do you mean, hope? Of course we’ll be ready. Maybe not at one hundred percent, but we’ll be ready. The gaming tables and roulette wheels will arrive next week. If we offer our guests cards, dice, and make book on the matches, and keep the bar open late, we’ll be okay. Might have to do a crash course in dealing, though. I hired three dealers and a croupier from Laughlin, Nevada. Temps, but they should be here long enough to teach the locals the way American casinos operate.”

  “He’s heading this way.”

  The two men watched as the man from Gaborone walked toward them, notebook in hand and writing.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Painter, Mr. Greshenko. It is nice to see you here. It has been some little time.”

  “Hello, Inspector. Yes it has. I understand you took care of my late stepson’s widow.”

  “We did what we had to do, sir. The case against her was mostly circumstantial and with the husband finding himself dead, there was not much else we could do, certainly not hold her. She is a very interesting woman, that Brenda Griswold.”

  “Interesting doesn’t cover the half of it. What can we do for you? Not looking into any more murders? I’m not aware of any.”

  “Yes and no. I am here to apprise you of the security we will impose on the area very soon. And, in fact, there has been a murder in the park. A smuggler, we think.”

  “A smuggler? Of what?”

  “That is hard to say. His vehicle had been emptied of whatever it carried. But I am here on other matters today.”

  “You mean because of the secretary of state visiting the Mowana Lodge?”

  “That and the fact that we believe, with all the money and power that will congregate here in the north, there will be opportunists who will seek to market their products and cause embarrassment.”

  “Meaning?”

  “As you know, certain animals are protected both by international agreements and by Botswana law. Rhinoceros horns, for example. Also ivory, gorilla parts, pelts, and so on. And there are always those who wish to cut the corners on the purchase of raw diamonds. We wish to give you what you Americans call the ‘heads up.’ We will be monitoring these activities and our borders very carefully and anyone caught trafficking in them will be severely punished. As will their employers. You see my meaning.”

  “Ah, so if one of my employees happens to be suborned by these traffickers, it will fall to me as well?”

  “It could. The circumstances would dictate the degree of the response, if any. You are understanding this?”

  “Yes. Anything else?”

  “Oh yes. Drugs. We take a dim view of opiates, hallucinogens, prescriptions, or otherwise, as well. And there are other things in the wind, we hear.”

  “Inspector, you needn’t be so hard on us. I, we, have no interest in jeopardizing this enterprise for any reason. We will keep a close watch on the staff and report anything out of the ordinary to you. Will that do?”

  “Very good. Now, there is this other thing.”

  “More?”

  “Two things, I think. First there is the news, more than a rumor, I am afraid, of Russian mobsters having their eyes on this part of the world. What you are building here will have been noticed by some of the more unsavory elements in society. This is a heads-up but one that might be of particular importance to you.” Modise glanced in Greshenko’s direction as he spoke.

  “And secondly, can you tell me the origin of the cone-shaped object that you are using to prop open your gate?”

  “Sure. A couple of goons drove up a few days ago and dumped it, and a bunch of other stuff like it, in my skip. I pulled that one out for a gate stop. Why do you ask?”

  “Are you aware of a program called ‘Operation Paradise’?”

  “Is it a television show?”

  “No, sorry, not the telly.” Modise scratched his head. “It has to do with Wilhelm Reich. In the nineteen thirties, I am told, he believed that the path to Utop
ia lay in the release of ‘orgone energy’ and he came to see ‘orgone’ as a universal bio-energetic force that lay behind…um, various events and so forth. It is hard to explain. At any rate he created something he called orgonite, a substance supposedly containing an energy force. There are now many of the people you call New Agers following that claim, you see?”

  Leo looked at Modise and then at Greshenko. He didn’t see.

  “Reich’s successors think that orgone in this form as orgonite is the creative substratum in all of nature.”

  “Skip to the chase, Inspector. Hippie fads don’t interest me.”

  “Just this—the American based ‘National Center for Complementary and Alternative Medicine’ regards orgone as a type of energy. According to mainstream science, it has no practical application in medicine or wider science—in other words this is all total quackery.”

  “That is very interesting, Inspector…I think, but what has that got to do with the trash in my skip?”

  “This trash, as you so correctly label it, is orgonite. I would be interested in hearing about the men who brought it here.”

  “Really? Two beefy guys in hiking boots, bush jackets, and beards. Didn’t look like hippies to me, though.”

  “Boers, probably. Anything else?”

  “They were driving a fairly late model Toyota Land Cruiser and,” Leo smiled and pulled out his note book, “I have their license number.”

  It was Modise’s turn to smile.

  Chapter Twelve

  “We’d be taking a huge risk, you understand.” The speaker was tall and rangy, his accent from somewhere in the old Empire but difficult to place…Australia, South Africa, New Zealand, cockney, all of the above?

  “It can’t miss, chum,” his companion said, his accent seemingly from the same world, Brit, but not quite. “They know those nutters will be bringing in the kak by the lorry full. Look, for the next several months or so the bloody place will be crawling with smugglers, all sorts of dodgy types, not to mention spies, potential assassins, suicide bombers, and more drunks than on Irish Sweepstakes day. With all the things the coppers have to look out for, they’ll not waste much time on this stuff. Worst case, they toss it in a rubbish heap and run our guys back across the border.”

  “You realize that if you’re wrong and they tumble to what we’ve got in these cones we’re dead? Either we’re doing time in the local pokey, or more likely, our business partners, assuming we can find someone loopy enough to back this dodge, will feed us to the crocs.”

  “No worries. Look, we’re mixing in our stuff with these quartz bits, metal filings, powder, and fiber glass. They’ll think it’s orgonite for a cert. Hell’s bells, it is orgonite. Even if they crack it open, unless they’re looking, they’ll need a sharp eye to separate the coltan from the rest of the junk.”

  “There’s the third possibility you haven’t thought about. People say the Bratva is moving in. They will claim this as their territory and then what happens to us?”

  “All rumors and so what? We’re small chips to those blokes—flies at the picnic. Not worth bothering with.”

  “I don’t know. We’d be putting a half million Euros worth of minerals in that mess. That’s got to mean something to somebody if they tumble to us.”

  “Park off, Harvey, you worry too much.”

  “Okay, let’s say we get under the Russian mob’s radar or maybe they aren’t coming or don’t care, like you said. How can we be sure we can deliver it? I mean we dump it in the…what? The park, the river? Then, what if the stuff disappears?”

  “Easy-peasy, Jack. All we need to do is keep track of where we drop it, and it won’t be the river.”

  “How? It’s a hell of a big jungle out there.”

  “Not a jungle, it’s called the bush. See, we drop it here and there and then log in coordinates on a GPS tracking device. Our clients will buy a list of the locations, see? Maybe we don’t put all the locations on the same list. It’ll depend on who we round up to sell to. They get out their GPS things, tap in the coordinates, and go pick up the goods, and if they’re satisfied they return the thing and maybe buy another list. Maybe they buy the whole lot including the device. All sorts of possibilities here.”

  “And if they’re caught?”

  “If they are caught…well, we still have the locations on the master and can look for another client. Got it? And don’t forget, they can pick them up at their leisure. The officials have no reason to stop them, they’re all local. And if there are too many coppers in the field, they just wait for another day. I tell you, it’s brill.”

  “And what’s to keep someone else from coming along and picking them up or moving them?”

  “Lions, crocodiles, hyenas, leopards, you name it. Who’s going to risk wandering around the Chobe National Game Park? The only people in there, besides our mob, will be tourists with cameras on game drives and what are they told never to do? Never leave your vehicle.”

  “But they might.”

  “They might. To take a picture maybe. But it’s against the law to even pick up a feather or a bone, maybe even a pretty rock, so who’s going to go for this ugly shite? No way.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “Bloody cupcake is what this is, Jack.”

  ***

  Modise listened to Sanderson’s explanation of what had happened at the murder scene. She was careful to not be critical of Superintendent Mwambe’s apparent intention to keep it a suicide if he could. Modise said he would look into that end, and she shouldn’t worry herself over it. The business of the fence opening bothered him though.

  “The only reason anyone would create such an opening is to avoid being recorded in the park. It’s not as if the park was difficult to enter, or for that matter terribly expensive. Anyone who had any business in the area could arrange for passes, and all sorts of other quite legitimate means of gaining access. No, it is clear that the fence has been breached specifically to enable the wrong sort of persons into the park. The question is who?”

  “I am thinking you will need to determine why.” Sanderson said, and poured him a cup of tea. “Would you prefer coffee?”

  “Tea is fine, thank you, Sanderson. I think we are knowing why. People who wish to exchange contraband, smugglers, all sorts of things, they wish not to see the light of day.”

  “But why in the park. Wouldn’t it be easier to meet in an alley, a warehouse, somewhere easily gotten to?”

  “It would, but that would risk someone witnessing the exchange, possibly. Also, in the park there is a secondary level of security, you could say.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “If you are situated in the game park you will be surrounded by the animals.”

  “Perhaps. It is a big park and there is much open space with no animals in it. They move about, you know.”

  “They do, I am sure. You would certainly know that, but do the men from the cities know it and even if they do, how will they know if this is an area where it is safe? As you say, the animals move about.”

  Sanderson wasn’t so sure but she let it go. Modise was right about one thing; unless you worked with them every day, you would not know where and how often the predators might appear in any particular place. And if they caught your scent…

  “So, what shall we do?”

  “Show me these cameras you have discovered in your storage room.”

  Sanderson called Charles Tlalelo into the office and the two dragged the equipment they’d found earlier into the room.

  “Inspector Modise, this is Charles Tlalelo. Charles, this is Inspector Kgabo Modise. He is from Gabz and is a very important policeman.”

  Charles extended his right hand, his left touching its elbow. “Dumela, Rra.”

  “Dumela, Charles, how are you keeping?”

  “Ke teng.”

  “Tell me about this apparatus.”

  “Well,” Charles began, looking very serious. Sanderson smiled as he spoke and Mo
dise caught the smile, nodded in her direction, but kept his expression serious. The young man was nervous and trying not to seem so. “There was a crew of filmmakers here some months ago. They were in the park filming the animals. At least that is what they said they were doing. Making a documentary for the cinema, but…”

  “But?”

  “I am not so sure that is what they were about. The crew, they were you could say, unlikely.”

  “Unlikely? How do you mean that?”

  “They were several young women, very pretty young women to be exact, and they did not look to me like naturalists.”

  “I see. So they were filming something in the park. Why are the cameras here?”

  “They left them and never returned when Mr. Pako…he was—”

  “Sanderson’s predecessor. I know who he was.”

  “Yes, well, he discovered they did not have the proper permits to be in the park disturbing the animals. He sent them packing. They never came back.”

  “Yes. Okay. That is a mystery in itself. This is very fine equipment. Have you looked at any of it, tried it out?”

  “No. We did charge up the batteries. They were flat.”

  “I think I will have a look. The cassettes are still in the cameras?”

  “Yes. Video tapes, expensive ones I think.”

  Modise snapped a battery in one of the cameras and rewound the tape. Then he flipped open the screen and played the film. Images of lions and hyenas, of several kinds of gazelles appeared. There was a blank and then there were people. Two people to be precise. Modise watched, mouth agape, as the man and the woman embraced, disrobed and…”

  “Sanderson, I must confiscate these tapes. All of them. There is a reason these filmmakers did not return. I will find you new blank tapes, but these will be evidence if we ever find these men again.”

  Sanderson looked puzzled. Modise said he did not wish to share the contents of the tapes with her. He was sorry. It was police business. He proceeded to collect all of the cassettes and place them in a plastic bag which he sealed and initialed.

  “We will speak of this another time. I will return in an hour. It is enough to say that you were correct and you were incorrect, Charles. The women are very definitely ‘naturalists’ but not in the sense you meant it,” he said, and left with a wave of his hand.