by Reapers
Leo walked to the pile and retrieved the object. “Sammi,” he yelled, “What the hell is this thing and why did somebody leave it lying around?”
“Sorry, Mr. Painter, it is my fault. That is my youngest boy’s gaming device. I took it from him this morning as punishment. It was in my back pocket and I thought maybe it will be damaged there so I took it out. I am thinking I will put it in a jacket pocket and then the foreman called to me into a conversation and I forgot.”
“You nearly lost it to that monkey. That’s the same monkey that filched the cell phone, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yes. You can tell by the white tuft over his eye, you see. I think he must have had a run in with a big cat when he was small and escaped with a cut over his eye.”
“I thought you all were going to get rid of him. Get him drunk and dump him in the park or something.”
“That was the plan, yes, but the park people are giving the very fishy eye to everyone who is entering the park, except the game drives. They are concerned about the murder, you know. I think now is not a good time to do that.”
“Well if we can’t have him drink beer, how about something that will do him in? These monkeys are like rats, for crying out loud. If this were Chicago, I’d set out poison and that would be that.”
“Oh no, that cannot be. If we are caught killing the animals it is off to jail for a very long time. It is not worth a cell phone or this game toy. We will be more careful, I promise.”
“Careful or not, this is the new rule—you lose something to that little thief, replacing it is on your dime.”
“Dime?”
“Thebe, then. The costs of replacing whatever is lost will come out of your pay. Do you understand?”
“Oh yes. Certainly. That is very fair.”
Leo wasn’t sure it was, but he wouldn’t say so. If the threat of lost money helped stop the problem, then he’d let them believe it was so. If and when it happened again, he’d decide whether to enforce the rule. He returned to his bench. The light-fingered antics of the monkey were the least of his problems. What would Modise do to Greshenko and how would that affect the casino? Well, the cop said we were to report any and all illegal activity. They will have done it. That ought to score a few points in their favor.
But the real worry would be the reaction of the goons who’d put Yuri into the game. Leo guessed that if all that Yuri had told him were true—if half of it were true—there’d be hell to pay in the morning. Well, you reap what you sow, he’d been taught and it looked like some of Yuri’s bad seed had finally germinated and produced a crop. People on the shady side of the law didn’t always spread the best seed around.
The Bible, if he remembered the story correctly, and that would be a stretch, taught that you had to let the crop mature and then pick out the weeds from the good grain at harvest. Tares among the corn. Too early and you couldn’t tell the good from the bad. He conjured up an image of his grandmother reading from her Bible dictionary. She took her Bible seriously. She had a dictionary that allowed her to look up things like tares. Who said tares anymore? As a child Leo had listened politely to her. He loved his grandparents. But as soon as he was out of the house, all thoughts of the Hereafter were left behind. Now? Perhaps he should pick up the Good Book, you never knew. Bearded dirndl. What did that have to do with this? Ah, it was the name of the weed that looked like wheat until it reached full maturity—this from grandmother’s dictionary. You had to wait ’til that happened and then you separated the wheat from the weeds. The latter were burned in the fire. Grandmother had looked at him with flinty eyes and urged him not to be numbered among the weeds or he’d burn in the eternal flames. The image a demon in a red union suit brandishing a pitchfork and herding him into the eternal flames had terrified him. He’d promised to never be a tare, a weed, a bearded dirndl, although the idea of growing a beard did have a certain attraction to an eight year old.
On reflection, he wasn’t entirely sure, at the remove of nearly sixty years, that he’d managed to avoid the weediness he’d promised her he’d eschew. He shuddered. He no longer believed in the fiery furnace, but was less sure about retribution or the lack thereof at some point. He shook his head and longed again for one of his banished cigars. Why could he remember all this youthful imagery and not what he’d had for lunch the day before? I must be getting old, maybe senile. What a terrible thought. Someone…who? Can’t remember. Someone once said “the trouble with Alzheimer’s is: when you finally realize you have it you can’t remember where you hid the gun.”
He sat back down on his bench and waited for Inspector Modise. He really needed to concentrate on something brighter. But that would have to wait.
Chapter Twenty-seven
“I’m worried. This whole business has moved from something that was simple to something very complex, Jack.”
“In my experience, Harvey, anything worth doing usually moves that way. You show me a simple job, and I’ll show you a low return on investment.”
“Right, if you say so. Okay, I met with the guy I bumped into at that squirrely meeting, and he said he could provide some locals to help us make the orgonite. They seem pretty happy about the process, though they did wonder why we were assembling it here. In the past they said it came in from outside the country and their job was to just place it.”
“What’d you tell them?”
“I made up a book about the London office had determined that the stuff worked better if it was made fresh before it was put down. All bollocks, of course but they seemed okay with that. Who knows?”
“Here’s the plan then. Have them make up the cone things with a hollow inside. Then when the goods get here, we can pop it in a plastic bag, shove it in, and seal the bottom. That way our buyers can retrieve it without a lot of fuss.”
“I don’t think they’ll buy into plastic. It will cut down on the power.”
“Harvey, have you slipped round the bend? What do you mean, ‘it’ll cut down the power?’ The whole business is bogus. Who the bloody hell cares? Tell them there’s new research. Plastic acts as an amplifier or some such guff.”
“Sorry. I’m trying to think like them.”
“Right. Good luck with that. Then we’ll tell the lads that they can’t be part of the final loading. Too dangerous. Tell them we have a new formula direct from old Whosis himself.”
“Reich? He’s dead. Been that way for years, you could say.”
“Say we found some old notes of his what say using this new approach would up the power. I don’t care, just keep them the hell away.”
“I’ll think of something. Okay, then we stuff the cones, seal them, and drop them off in the park. How’s the buy going?”
“Super. I have the money. It’s going to cost a bit more than I hoped what with the interest they’re asking but we’ll book a packet.”
“Where’d you find it?”
“There’s a group of European investors anxious to buy in. They are most likely mobbed up, but they have the cash. We get the stuff for quarter of a mil, sell for a half quick like, and we’re in the chips, lad. Two hundred and fifty thousand Euros. Think of it.”
“Right. I ain’t counting my pennies ’til they’re in my pocket. When will the stuff be here?”
“On its way. That local wheeler dealer, Botlhokwa, is handling the transfer through Zambia or Zimbabwe. It should be here any day now. Somebody named Noga is our contact.”
“I’ll get the chaps going on the cones.”
***
“So, Superintendent Mwambe, you have saved me time by rounding this man up and putting him under arrest.”
Mwambe thought Kgabo Modise seemed very pleased with his good fortune. He didn’t know how he thought about that, though. Did he really want this upstart from Gaborone liking his efforts? Bad luck for Andrew. So much for a grace period.
“Andrew Takeda, before I charge you I wish to suggest that you can do yourself a large favor by coming clean.”
Andrew�
��s eyes widened and Mwambe could almost see the wheels turning behind them. Would his friend try to slither out of this with a pack of lies and make his case worse in the hopes of keeping his employment, or would he come clean? He knew Andrew could tell a pretty tall tale if he wanted to.
“I don’t know what you are saying.” Takeda glanced hopefully at Mwambe, who merely shrugged.
“You don’t? That is very strange indeed. Perhaps you would like to inspect these photographs. I must apologize for the quality. They were taken with a cell phone, after all. You will be interested in them as well, Superintendent.”
Modise tossed Sanderson’s processed and enlarged pictures on the desk. Mwambe nudged them with a stubby finger. “Who took these pictures?” This did not look so good. Someone seeing these for the first time would think he and Andrew were somehow in some dodgy business with the big man, Noga. Did Gaborone have agents in his jurisdiction he did not know about? This was serious.
“It is not important who took them. What is important is what is going on here.”
Mwambe sat back in his chair which protested with a loud squeal. There could be no saving Andrew now. “We were just discussing this very situation,” he said. “That man in the picture having a chat with Takeda here is a man called Noga. I do not know his full name. I am not sure anyone does. He is one of Botlhokwa’s people. I am under the impression that he may have been alerted by Ranger Takeda that someone would be entering the park at night. Isn’t that right, Takeda?”
Takeda wiped his palms on his trousers and swallowed. Mwambe could see the emotions race behind the poor game ranger’s eyes. Fear, doubt, cunning, and finally, resignation. For him, the game was up.
“As I told Superintendent Mwambe here, I had some contact with this man before. I believed he was one of us, you see.”
“Us? Another game ranger? I don’t think so. Who, or what, is us?”
Takeda lowered his gaze to the floor and then, a decision made, shot Mwambe a defiant look. “Us. That would be myself, Mwambe here, and a dozen other men who wish to see the countryside restored and the land healed.”
“You say the superintendent is involved with this man?”
Time for Mwambe to assert himself. “Modise, you are ahead of yourself.”
“Am I? This picture seems to tell a different story, wouldn’t you say?”
“No, it does not. Takeda means that he and I and others are convinced that orgonite will have many beneficial effects for the country.” A safe description and near enough to what he believed. “We meet and plan how we might accomplish this great thing. We arrange for the orgonite to be brought in and so on. That is all. Takeda met this man and foolishly thought he held that same beliefs. Understand, because he is a rogue does not mean he cannot be concerned for the home continent.”
“I am sorry, but I am not following you. Please explain this sequence of pictures and the connection between them.”
Takeda took a deep breath and let it out. He was defeated. “It is like this. I know this man and believed he wanted to help with our project, you see. I mentioned a ‘precious cargo’ would soon arrive. He thanked me and that was that. I cannot believe he would go and shoot somebody—”
“I believe you have left something out of your story,” Mwambe interrupted. Now was the time to distance himself from Takeda. Friendship is one thing, a career in jeopardy and disgrace quite another. He was a policeman after all.
“What? What did I leave out?” Takeda’s eyes pleaded. Mwambe ignored them.
“You witnessed the shooting in the park, did you not?”
When Mwambe made this accusation Takeda collapsed. His body language up to that point had been alert and cautious. No more. If he didn’t know better, Mwambe would have said he shrank by about half.
Modise stared with dead eyes at Mwambe. “You knew of this arrangement?”
No time for equivocation now. “I knew he would be in the park to meet the man sent from Kinshasa and receive the orgonite, yes. We all did. I simply waited for him to come forward and tell me what he saw that night. That is why we insisted on the suicide story. I wished for some time, you see? When Takeda didn’t do his duty, I called him in, and here he is. And, also, here you are. If I have erred in this matter it is in overlooking the illicit entry into the park. It is something you will discover, Modise, which is not always considered an illegality in these parts. After all, the Chobe is our homeland and orders from the government not withstanding, we maintain we hold certain rights to it.”
Modise studied Mwambe for a moment. “And were you aware that this man has made a small extra income over the years by allowing others into the park?”
Mwambe shook his head. “I did not know for certain, but I am not surprised. Until that new superintendent for the game rangers took over, it was a common practice, something many did. This is the north, Modise. Except for the lodges and tourist places, the economy is thin here. We do what we must to survive.”
“You, too?”
“Not me, no.”
“Then I would like you to please explain the pictures to me again.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
Noga had his orders. Botlhokwa wished him to bring a shipment from Congo into Zambia at Kasumbalesa and see it through to Kasane. The material would be delivered to an address he would only receive after he’d crossed the border. Botlhokwa made it clear Noga did not need to know what the truck carried. His job consisted only of assuring its safe passage, no more. Noga was annoyed by this apparent snub by his boss. He had stared angrily at Botlhokwa for nearly a full minute before the latter spoke.
“So, you are angry at me, Noga? You think as one of my most trusted employees you should know what it is you bring into the country?”
Noga nodded.
“Yes, I suppose you would. But there is this small difficulty. I charged you, you recall, with finding out who introduced this man into the park only to give him over to be murdered. ‘Oh,’ you said, ‘I will find this man immediately.’ But you failed me in this. I am thinking this double dealer must be very clever to elude discovery by my man, Noga. It is surely a great puzzle. This is the very interesting part…you will appreciate this…that game ranger, Takeda, is taken to the police headquarters. Why is that, I ask myself. Then I remembered this is the man about which you have spoken to me in the past. ‘He,’ you told me, ‘secretes many people into the park for a small bribe.’ A pittance to what we might realize on the deal of that sort we agreed. And I sent you out to discover what this man is up to.”
Noga opened his mouth to speak, but Botlhokwa scowled and waved him to silence
“And here is a most peculiar thing. You do not return to tell me. So, now I am thinking, well he has some other matters on his mind, he will tell me eventually. It is, after all, no threat to our business. So I wait some more.”
Noga had no response for this. None was expected. Botlhokwa drummed his fingers on the polished surface of an elaborately carved antique library table. A remnant of past colonial overrule.
“I can add, Noga. I know that two plus two equals four. You decided to do some business on your own, something you have done before. I have overlooked this activity in the past. If it doesn’t hurt me too much, I can overlook a small loss of revenue that would ordinarily come to me. But this little enterprise went badly, I think. Did the cargo turn out not to be what your people expected and they want their money back? So it would seem.”
Botlhokwa leaned back in his chair and sipped mint tea from a delicate Royal Doulton cup. He waved his hand absently in Noga’s direction and shook his head.
“So that disagreeable man, Sczepanski, tells me. But you are not to be found, or rather the culprit who did the double deal is not to be found. It is very confusing. But you knew that, of course. And so, this odious man approaches me. This man with a strange name is a small fish, it seems, in a very large pond. A pond, I might add, filled with many such fish and a few dangerous and hungry crocodiles.”
&nb
sp; Botlhokwa rose from behind the table and walked to the window where he paused staring out into the afternoon sun. Noga could not see what held his attention. Perhaps there was nothing, this was all to create an effect. He lit a cigar but did not offer one to Noga. A bad sign. He spun and faced Noga, and blew a plume of smoke in his direction. The grit on the warehouse floor scraped and ground as he pivoted.
“So, now I have a predicament, thanks to you. You did not find the double dealer, naturally, because you are the double dealer.”
“Rra Botlhokwa…” Noga began. Again he was waved to silence.
“What am I to do then? I could turn you over to those men. I don’t mean the Boers to whom you sold the information. I mean the men at the top.” Botlhokwa shook his head and drew on the cigar. “If I did, they would gut you alive, Noga, and before you passed out from the pain they would remove your eyes from their sockets with their thumbs. They are not nice people, I have discovered.”
“Rra, I—”
“Be still. But I must also see to my reputation. I do not collapse for these people so I cannot turn you over so quickly. I will have to rectify my position with these men and it will cost me. While I do that, you will remain out of sight and try to remember whose hand it is that feeds you. Here is how you will redeem yourself with me, at least for now. You must leave the country for a day or two and see to this shipment. I will negotiate with these men. You will bring in the cargo and deliver it to the consignee as I direct. What happens to it and to you after that will depend on whether they, and I, are satisfied with the outcome of some complex negotiations. It is best you do not know what you are bringing in. Temptation might trigger some rash action on your part that could only compound my problems. It is enough to know that it is very valuable, and therefore very dangerous to be in your possession. There are men who would kill to get their hands on it, you see? What you don’t know cannot hurt you. In the meantime remember this, you are alive because I permit it, and only so long as I permit it.”