by Reapers
Now, Noga sat in the passenger seat of the battered pickup. It had been marked with the logo of one of Botlhokwa’s construction companies. Botlhokwa had several businesses that covered a cash flow that would otherwise raise the eyebrows of the authorities if they were to be made public. In the truck’s bed were a miscellany of tools nestled in among some bags labeled sable and ciment. The truck’s suspension had been sorely tested by the weight of these bags innocently marked as sand and cement. Noga made a point of not thinking about their real contents. He did consider some alternatives and then let them go.
He sat stoically in the cab with the motor idling, one of a long string of trucks and cars in line of waiting to cross the river on the ferry into Botswana. They would have to clear a customs inspection before they did so. He’d timed the crossing so that he’d arrive when the ferry would be at its busiest and its inspectors most harassed. He hoped that would earn them a quick wave through. If there were trouble, whether they managed to get the bags to the other side depended on Noga’s connections with the locals. He had made a crossing of this sort before but usually in the opposite direction.
Noga did not recognize his driver. One of Botlhokwa’s new men. His shirt dripped with sweat. The ambient heat and humidity would normally cause that to happen but not so heavily. They finally pulled up to the inspection point. Noga did not recognize the officer. He tensed and felt for the roll of Euros in his shirt pocket. Would this man accept a bribe?
“What is in the bags?” The uniformed agent said pointing to the cargo behind the cab. Noga signaled the driver to be silent.
“As you can see, we are bringing some supplies in for a job in Kasane.”
“Oh yes? There is no cement and sand in Botswana and you must import it from the Congo?”
Noga smiled. “It is a special job. The rich American, you know the one who builds the casino, wishes concrete to be made with this special sand. He is very peculiar.”
“Special, is it? Please to show me.”
Noga could only hope that what the bags contained would pass for what their labels promised. He stepped from the truck and made a small slit in the topmost bag. Dark, coarse, granular material that easily could pass as inferior sand spilled out from the edge of the cut.
“You see, sand.”
The driver of a large tractor with its enormous trailer behind them revved its engine.
“Can we move along here, please,” he shouted, and tapped his horn.
The border agent waved Noga and his truck through. It would go more easily on the Botswana side of the river. His cousin, Danko, would be there to pass him through, minus a few of the Euros, of course. They disembarked from the ferry on the Botswana side of the Chobe. His cousin leaned on the door and accepted his present, then flagged them through.
Noga had gotten a good look at the “sand.” Although his experience with it was limited, he knew coltan when he saw it. Botlhokwa had been right; it might tempt him to do something rash, indeed. He would have to think about what, if anything, that might be.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Modise left Mwambe blustering about his reputation, his past service to the country, all of which he made clear had occurred before he, Modise, was born. Modise felt reasonably sure that the superintendent had no connection to Takeda’s petty criminal career, but he wanted him to stew a bit about his decision to not pull the little game ranger in earlier. It might not have made a difference, but at the same time it smacked of favoritism, and that did nothing to advance the image of the police. At least they now knew that there were two men involved in the shooting and that Noga was probably not one of them. Painter, the American casino builder, had seen the same two men at his skip. That connected the license number plate, albeit a stolen one, and the two men to the crime.
“Mwambe, when you have finished lecturing me on your history and patriotism,” he’d said before he left, “you will fill out a report with the pertinent facts in proper order for me. I have nothing but respect for you and your long service and I do not want to see it ended prematurely, so you will please indulge me in this. Before you do that, however, this man must be arrested and booked. He can call his solicitor or whomever he requires, but for the next few days I need him under lock and key and out of sight.”
“I do not see the need, Modise. If he can raise the necessary bond funds, I do not see why he cannot return to his home and duties.”
“I need him out of the way because I do not wish this Noga person or any others to have access to him until we can wrap this business up. An open warrant, Mwambe, please.”
He left the superintendent’s in a righteous funk but also with a directive to increase the surveillance for the Toyota and the two men.
His next stop would be with Sanderson to discuss her camera surveillance, and then on to Painter who’d called earlier about some crisis or another of his own. Perhaps he would remember something else about the two men.
Boers!
***
Sanderson waited for Modise in her office. Her aide, Charles Tlalelo, brought tea and sat with her.
“So, Sanderson,” Modise said as he breezed through her door. “I have given your problem some thought and I have brought you some paraphernalia. Do you have your camera equipment available?”
She pointed to the corner where Charles had assembled the apparatus. Modise strolled over and picked up one of the cameras.
“You must place these in service on a tripod with this attachment on the power switch. There is a place for it here, you see?”
Sanderson peered over his shoulder and Charles over hers. “What is this thing?”
“Ah, you will see in a moment. Now I suggest this camera be placed across the road from the gap in the fence.” He opened the tripod, affixed a camera to it, and set it up on one side of the room. “You must disguise it with branches. Also, I have brought a covering for the camera. It is called a ghillie suit, a thing that soldiers wear when they are hiding. Snipers mostly.”
He pulled material that Sanderson thought looked like a limp bush from a paper bag. Charles reached out and took the suit from his hand and flipped open so that it floated onto his shoulders. He grinned at the effect.
“You did that very well, Tlalelo, have you used one of these before?”
Charles grinned some more and slipped the suit off. “No sir. I saw it at the cinema, Mr. Tom Beranger and Billy Zane wore them in it and—”
“Yes, that is very interesting, but—”
“Where can one get these things, Modise? I think we might find them a very useful thing to have with the animals.”
“You can draw them from government stores with the proper paperwork. Here, I will write the number down for you.” He consulted the paper that had fallen from the bag when he’d withdrawn the suit and copied a number on a scrap of paper. “Now, drape it over the camera like this but be sure the lens is clear. You will note this lens has a non-glare coating on it and that is good.”
Sanderson had not noticed anything of the sort about the lens, only that there was a cap on it that must be removed at some time.
“Across the road?”
“Yes, facing the gap. Then you will place this,” he lifted a small box-like device from the assemblage of equipment and held it up, “motion sensor next to the fence aimed along its length. Disguise it as well. I will set it so that it will send a signal as long as there is motion and when there is no more, it will shut down.” He placed the sensor on a table on the opposite side of the room.
“It sends a signal? How?”
“It is a wireless device and this thing I just showed you that you must attach to the camera is the receiver. If there is motion at the fence, the camera will become live and record everything. Your equipment is fitted for night vision and the lenses are very good. Watch.”
He waved his hand in front of the motion detector. Sanderson heard the camera click and thought she also heard a hum.
“You see? Leave it to those peop
le to have the very best equipment for their movie making. We should thank them.”
He did not elaborate on those people but Sanderson knew what he meant. She felt herself blush and hoped he did not notice.
“When there is no further movement after a full minute it will shut down.”
“That is very nice but I am afraid that camera will run all night or until the battery goes flat.”
“Why is that?”
“Animals, Inspector Modise. Night time for people means bed, for the animals, movement. There is a small group of kudu that are making that area their habitat right now. They may be moving about all night.”
“That is why you must aim the beam from the sensor parallel to the fence. If the kudu are on the other side, they will not trigger the device you see, but an intruder must approach the fence, break the beam, drive through it and…well you see how it must be.”
Charles had listened attentively to Modise. He nodded vigorously. “I have it,” he said.
“You are certain, Charles?”
“Yes. I am. Do not worry, Inspector Modise. I have been studying this equipment and I have one of these TV cameras, well one similar to it, you could say, at home. I am familiar with the general principle.”
“Good, then it is settled. Unless you object, Sanderson, Charles will be seconded to oversee this project. After it is in place he can test it, and then we shall see who uses this entrance and perhaps even discover why.”
Sanderson was pleased that Modise handed the task off to Charles. He had promise and needed a chance to shine. Also, these cameras were a thing she did not fully understand.
“One last thing, Sanderson…”
“Yes?”
“Your ranger Takeda is under arrest and in jail for taking bribes and allowing unauthorized persons into the park, very possibly the cinema people who left us this very fine equipment. You will be short-handed, I am afraid.”
“He is arrested already?”
“Yes, Mwambe has already picked him up. Apparently they had a connection.”
“The superintendent also?”
“Yes, but peripherally. Your Takeda is also implicated with the murder you discovered. It seems he guided your dead man into the park.”
“He will lose his job.”
“If he is convicted, yes.”
“I have the report you asked for. Will you still be wanting it?”
“Yes, thank you, it is further evidence if we need it. Who knows what Takeda will say when he has had a chance to discuss his situation with his solicitor.”
Sanderson did not like Takeda and the news he might be less than honest did not surprise her, but the thought of his family and the shame he brought them saddened her.
“So, Sanderson, there is one last thing.”
“I thought you said that Takeda’s arrest was the last thing.”
“Yes, well…I am staying in Kasane for the time being, and I wondered if you might be available for dinner tonight.”
This time she really did blush. “Tonight? I would like to, but my daughter, my son, I must be home to…And the cameras must be placed.”
“If you permit, Superintendent,” Charles said with a grin, “I will be happy to attend to them, the cameras, and your children until you return. If you will call them to expect me—”
“That is very kind of you Charles, but I can’t—”
“It is settled then,” Modise said. “I will meet you at the Marina Lodge at seven. They say the food is excellent.” He left before she could protest.
“You need a break, Sanderson. Be happy. I will set up our surveillance equipment and join you at your house to look after Michael and Mpitle. Do not do anything naughty up there at the Lodge though.”
She smacked him on the shoulder.
Chapter Thirty
Tarq and Rice pushed their way to the mountain’s crest. It had been a grueling trek from the tiny airstrip where they’d been dropped to this point. They’d hacked their way through the Congo’s jungle being careful to avoid the militias that combed this area seeking women to rape, villages to plunder, and children to enslave. Tarq had no assurance that his target would be in place even if they managed to avoid that plague of human locusts. He hated the senseless killing to which the militias seemed addicted. If a person needed to die, it should be clean and quick. These militiamen, some no more than twelve years old, were as savage as hyenas, he thought, and just as ugly, taking pleasure in the pain and suffering they created. It was as if someone had unleashed a battalion of serial killers on the land. He shuddered to think what life would be like if there were a truce. Could these insensate young men ever return to normal living and relationships after participating in years of unmitigated violence and merciless brutality?
The man and woman moved slowly and carefully through the underbrush. They rarely spoke. Rice knew enough English to follow Tarq and he in turn had acquired enough Arabic so that they could, if they wished, converse. But before a job, they spoke only when necessary. They slept in separate sleeping bags, and anyone observing them from a distance would have assumed they were no more than business associates, brother and sister. They would be wrong. When their work ended they would backtrack through the jungle, fly to the Seychelles, and take up residence in their condo on the beach. They would eat, sleep, bask in the sun, and make love until they received the next call for their services.
Rice slipped binoculars from her backpack and scanned the area below them toward the encampment. A kilometer away and perhaps the same distance below she could make out the rough placement of tents and shacks set up near the coltan mine. She motioned for Tarq to look. He lifted his sniper scope to his eye and swept the area. Men milled about, rifles slung across shoulders, apparently preparing to move out. But to where? General Le Grande exited the only decent looking tent on the site. He pivoted and flashed some sort of stick at the troopers. It would be a stretch, but if the little man would hold still long enough, Tarq thought he might be able to make the kill from where he stood. Then they could return to their rendezvous point. It would be risky. If he missed he wouldn’t get another chance, at least not in this venue, and they would have made the long hike in for nothing. The general would hightail it back to his main headquarters, and a wholly different strategy would be required to take him out there. Not an option Tarq relished. He’d wait for a sure thing. They would have to move closer.
He pulled his ghillie suit from his pack and indicated that Rice should do the same. They wrapped themselves in the camouflage and began the slow process of moving downhill toward the camp. Periodically Rice checked for changes. After twenty minutes of cautious maneuvering she held up her hand.
She indicated with her hands that Tarq should look down slope, that the men were moving in their direction.
Tarq lifted his head fractionally and confirmed it.
“This way. Why?”
Was it possible they’d been seen, been betrayed? He closed the bolt of his rifle over a cartridge, patted the holstered 1918 Colt .45 on his hip.
At that moment he heard rustling in the forest nearby. Too soon for the troops and their leader. He swung his rifle around; its scope now secured to its barrel, and scanned the underbrush.
“Gorillas. They are coming here to hunt the apes. We can move faster now. They will be in the forest on their way up the mountain and not expecting to see us or anybody except those bad boys.”
Rice nodded. They crouched and scrabbled down the hillside on an angle that should put them in position to intercept the hunters below the point where the gorillas grazed. Twenty meters further, they entered the westernmost end of a forest glade perhaps ten meters wide and at least fifty long. Perfect. The general and the cockroaches he called his soldats would have to cross this area out in the open to get to the gorillas on the hillside above.
Tarq calculated possible lines of fire and chose a spot that would allow him to draw down on anyone emerging from the tree line. He hoped the general would live
up to his reputation for bravado and be the first one through. Tarq did not wish to shoot any more men than necessary. He understood, but disliked, the concept of collateral damage. A clean kill was best. One shot and then a high speed bug out.
He’d been trained for this life by the United Stated Marine Corps and had it not been for a bad run of luck involving the wife of his CO and a resultant dishonorable discharge for adultery and striking an officer, he might still be in their employ. On the whole he thought the exchange from highly regarded but underpaid grunt to wealthy assassin had worked out pretty well. Whether shooting the Corps’ idea of a bad guy or some other organization’s was, for him, a distinction without a difference. Bad guys were bad guys, period.
Rice switched from binoculars to her spotter scope and lined up distances and elevations while they waited for the general and his hunting party. She told each off as she sighted down the glade. Tarq muttered, “check” each time she called a mark and adjusted his sight settings on the scope. There was no wind. The only possible difficulty he envisioned would arise if the gorillas moved through the glade before the soldiers arrived. He couldn’t worry about that now. He rubbed the palm of his hand down the length of his rifle, pulled gently at the scope to assure it had seated firmly, and readjusted the camo sleeve that covered the whole. He liked this rifle and scope but still missed the one he’d been issued in the Corps. The Mosin-Nagant M-40A3 had good balance, and excellent optics in the scope. As well as it performed, though, it was still a relic of the Second World War. After this payday he would have one of Lenka’s people find him a Sig Sauer SG 550 fully equipped. That was a piece! He lifted his head up to take in the whole of the shooting field, turned toward Rice and smiled. A thin smile. She blinked her response. They were ready.
If the gorillas were aware of their presence, and he guessed they were, they did not seem to care one way or another. They continued to graze their way toward them through the forest floor. Only the old silverback seemed to be aware of something out of the ordinary. He raised up and scrutinized the trees down the hill. Tarq blinked and thought maybe he might have imagined that.