The End of a Lie (The Amy Mohr Chronicles Book 1)

by M A Moore

  Reynolds was smart enough to know he had to deliver the goods on a regular basis before he could gain the trust of major players in the contraband animal parts game. Only a very few knew he was the good guy in all this. David Como was one of them. But Reynolds didn’t care if the rest of the world considered him a bastard.

  Chapter 3

  "Johannesburg is a World Class African City of the Future. – Its vibrancy is strengthened by its diversity. It is a city that provides real quality of life. In it resides a resilient and adaptive society." –From Office of Tourism, South Africa.

  "Hmm," Robert Widdon smiled with an air of a man that oozed self-confidence, but there was no one in the room to notice. He landed in Johannesburg, South Africa, in early evening after an eighteen-hour plane ride from Dulles airport outside of Washington. His contact expected him in Kasane, Botswana, by the following afternoon, but there were no available flights out until mid-morning. He had managed a few hours of sleep in a nearby hotel, but woke up before dawn in anticipation of what was to happen in the next few days.

  He collected his razor and toothbrush from the bathroom and admired himself in the mirror. Watery blue eyes stared back at him. He liked what he saw. He would be forty-eight in September, but good genes ran in his family. The gray at his temples blended in with blond crew cut he sported for low maintenance. He felt the stubble along his jaw, but decided shaving was a waste of time. He stuffed his kit into a duffle bag.

  He traveled light. Waiting at baggage carousels for checked luggage annoyed him. Sensitive papers he had spread out on the desk for last-minute study were already shredded. His informants avoided communicating via computer. Too easy to trace them was their concern, not his. However, the lack of either a paper or electronic trail connecting them pleased both sides of this business arrangement. He made sure he had the correct passport -at least the right one for this leg of the journey. Widdon was the name he traveled under for this assignment. His alternate identities weren't needed until later. In fact, if discovered, they could cost him more than just a bit of difficulty. He packed up his alter egos in a manila envelope and addressed it to himself in care of a postal box he rented at a nearby FedEx center. He would drop it at the front desk on his way out to the airport. He could retrieve them when he returned from Botswana the following week.

  He consulted the elaborate timepiece his mother had given him as an early birthday present. The link with his cell phone made it vibrate when there was an incoming call. Not only did it identify the caller, he could turn the device off with a tap on the watch screen. It also told the time. It was 3 a.m. on the U. S. East Coast. He hadn’t bothered to reset it when he arrived. Adding six hours was easier to do in his head than figuring out how to change the readout. Besides, the manual was at home. His mother was still asleep, he hoped. He liked to keep her informed when he went off the grid. This assignment meant no cell phone contact with her for a week or more. She was getting on in years, so with his dad gone now, he tried to be a considerate son. His real job made that difficult.

  His mother believed he was an external auditor for a large law firm based in Washington. He was, in fact, much more than that. His true employer dabbled in industrial espionage, and doing a bit of industrial sabotage was not out of the question when deemed profitable. None of his relatives needed to know that. He was an only child and although he had lots of cousins, he was not very close to any of them anymore. In his line of work lack of familial responsibilities was an asset. His mother kept after him to maintain contact with family on her side so he wouldn’t be alone once she died. She had no idea how much better off they were not being close to him.

  He headed to Botswana to audit the books of a local lithium mining company and he needed to arrange some other business before he headed back to the States. The plane left for Kasane at 11:30 in the morning. The flight was short -less than two hours. His contact promised to meet him at the airport with information and the necessary tools of his trade. He phoned the front desk for a taxi to the airport, grabbed his duffle bag and headed out of the hotel.

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  The humid air assaulted Robert the moment he exited the aircraft. The airport was small as were the planes that traveled here. No jet-ways led passengers from the cabin into customs and emigration. The tarmac was hot, and the air was thick. Robert walked the few hundred feet to the terminal rather than wait for the shuttle bus. Several others made the same decision, and they plodded in the water-drenched heat under a hazy sun. His khakis and shirt were already damp from perspiration that could not evaporate, and he tugged at his uncomfortable collar. It was February, mid-summer, but that was a relative term in the tropics. Rainy or dry were more appropriate ways to describe the climate. When he left D.C. two days before a snow storm was predicted to close down the metro area and send temperatures into the single digits. The seasons switched here in the southern hemisphere. It was 1 p.m. and already miserably hot. The atmosphere smelled of wet rotting vegetation. Robert could see dark cumulonimbus clouds gathering on the horizon for the daily afternoon thunderstorm.

  A single story building served as the terminal. A small space -no larger than his living room at home- held a few chairs and posters on the walls extolling the luxury of South African Airlines' travel. Two bored airport officials sat at desks that handled arrivals, departures, ticket sales, emigration and customs. No air conditioning relieved the stuffiness of the place. When it was Robert’s turn in line, the uniformed officer stamped his passport without much more than a token glance at it. For Robert, Kasane was only a convenient stopping point and not even the closest airport to his final destination. However, it was here that his contact chose to meet him. Chobe National Park was within walking distance, but this was a business trip, not a safari. The park was not on his agenda. Not many tourists came during the rainy season anyway. Roads tended to flood in afternoon downpours, and the bridges were often washed out. Even a four-wheel drive vehicle had trouble in the high waters when bush trails got muddy. All he had was his carry-on bag, so he pocketed his passport and headed out the door back into the relentless heat and humidity to look for his contact.

  He rounded the corner of the terminal and spotted a black man dressed much like himself in khakis and an open-collared shirt. The large grin on the man’s face grew even wider when he saw Robert. He flashed a piece of cardboard with R. Widdon scrawled on it in Robert's direction. Robert knew his contact, and this person wasn’t him. Robert feigned indifference and walked past the man.

  Deliberately slowing his pace he headed out to the gravel parking lot that could have held ten vehicles at most. There were no taxis waiting. This in itself was no surprise. He spotted two jeeps with Chobe Adventure Lodge painted on the side. He could ask one of the drivers for transportation into Kasane proper knowing from experience that it was only a couple of miles down the road. Too many wild animals prowled this close to the park to make walking to town a safe option. As he approached his intended ride, the man with the grin came up behind him. Robert turned and met his eyes with insolent distain. His own heart started racing as he felt the pressure of cold steel pressed into his ribs. An adrenaline rush fueled his body's flight or fight response but his outward countenance remained impassive.

  “Please, Mr. Widdon, you are keeping our driver waiting.”

  Robert nodded once in resignation as he forced himself to stay calm. The dark tinted windows on the black van prevented Robert from seeing who was inside. The rear door slid open and a white man in a brown suit and tie grinned at Robert. He felt a draft of cool air from the vehicle’s interior. The corner of his lip turned up in a sarcastic half smile. The weather was already hotter than he cared to deal with, and this trip was not going as planned, but maybe things weren’t as bad as he once thought.

  Chapter 4

  “To truly experience southern Africa, one must go beyond the typical wildlife safari. The diverse landscapes and cultures make this one of the most fasci
nating regions of the world.” - Tourism in South Africa

  Three months later:

  Amy Mohr rolled her eyes in resignation as she checked her watch yet again. She had plenty of time left on the plane to reconsider her decision. Nineteen hours from JFK to Johannesburg was time enough to cast a thousand doubts into her head. Her cousin Robert had left three months before while on what his mother insisted was just another routine business trip to South Africa.

  His company represented interests all over the world, and international travel was a regular part of his job. But his mother became concerned because she hadn’t heard from him in three months. Even when he was out of the country on business he phoned her at least once a week. But there had been no calls since February and it was now May. Aunt Martha was in a panic. She was eighty-five years old, but Amy had seen women in their sixties look older than she did. Aunt Martha lived alone now that her husband of fifty-three years was dead. She and Amy were close. Amy got her moved out of the homestead into a nice senior's apartment. The change required a lot of effort on Amy’s part. Martha’s son traveled for his job, and was helpful when he was around. But he wasn’t there much and his mother annoyed him considerably with her inability to make quick decisions. Amy and her aunt had always gotten along, but Amy understood the frustration. Martha refused to give up her car although Amy prayed that the next time her license came up for renewal the authorities would make her take a road test. She had been driving for over seventy years and her reflexes were…. Well, Amy made excuses not to get into a vehicle with Aunt Martha behind the wheel.

  Amy had retired after the fall semester. Retired from it all, she adamantly insisted to anyone with the temerity to ask. She had been a physics professor at a small liberal arts college for years, but at age sixty she had had enough of it. She was a lab rat rather than a high-brow theorist. This meant that she was good with her hands, and she had an arsenal of skills that would surprise many people, especially those in her field of study. She had spent her summers for the last decade doing research at various places, at least part of it physics related. She traveled the world giving papers on optical phenomena, and always, had a hidden agenda.

  She amazed her colleagues when she announced her retirement that fall. They wondered how anyone could afford to so early on an academic’s salary. Her other income was none of their business, and now she passed her time as she pleased –at least for the most part. For the past five months she had lived a rather peripatetic existence. She still did some consulting work as an expert witness, but only when an interesting case intrigued her. The money was good, the lawyers not always ethical, and she chose her assignments carefully so as not to offend her own personal sense of justice. Nine months ago her abilities were tested to the extreme and she realized she didn’t have what it took to play with the big boys anymore. The experience still haunted her.

  She had traveled all of the continents except for Antarctica, but her house in the mountains, surrounded by birds, deer and the occasional bear was the place she called home. She had visited many exotic world locations: Europe, Australia, Egypt before it fell into chaos, China and Tibet, East Africa, Central America. In retrospect her European travels seemed almost too civilized. She felt the closest sympathies with the non-human populations she met along the way. Human behavior baffled her sometimes. It was so unpredictable. This trip was business in the guise of pleasure.

  Amy hadn’t always been a loner. Her marriage had lasted for more than ten years, but that had ended decades ago. She had no serious romantic entanglements since. After most men found out she was a scientist with a doctorate in physics, they lost interest very quickly. That was okay with her. Relationships required so much energy. Stephen was different. He had been a mentor, a confidant, a sharer of adventures, but not a lover. And now he was gone too.

  Amy looked young for her age. Good genes ran in the family. She kept her blond hair short these days and the silver at her temples blended in. The darker roots elsewhere on her head gave the impression of a stylish coiffure, but convenience was her primary concern. She did yoga every morning and swam a mile a couple of times a week. She hiked in the mountains near her home when weather permitted with her binoculars around her neck and a bird guide in her pocket.

  The plane hit a small patch of turbulence bringing Amy out of her reverie. She wriggled in the uncomfortable seat. Checking her watch, she sighed again in resignation -another four hours before they reached Johannesburg.

  A lawyer from her Cousin Robert’s firm contacted her with a proposition. Robert had been missing for three months and they needed someone to find out what happened to him. She was sure more qualified people for the job existed. Robert’s colleague disagreed, saying that Amy would be far less conspicuous to the wrong elements than anyone else. She had been useful to the company on a case in the D.C. area few years back. They thought that there was little danger and a considerable benefit to both the firm and her cousin if she took the assignment. They knew she had been in eastern Africa on a previous occasion and they wanted to make this look like just another vacation adventure. Someone, an undercover operative, would contact her during her trip and pass on vital intelligence. Her only task was to bring that information home with her, along with, if possible, her cousin.

  More sleep eluded her. She gave up trying and began the meditation practice she had learned so long ago from Stephen. He was her first yoga instructor at the Indian gurukulum. “Feet firmly rooted in the earth,” she heard his voice speaking in her mind with complete calm. She smiled as she put her soles flat on the cabin floor beneath her. Five miles above would have to do.

  “Sit erect, shoulders down, eyes shut softly, looking ahead as if to a distant, imaginary horizon." Amy's gaze reached out into the heavens beyond the bulkheads of the plane.

  "Fold your hands in your lap or set them on the thighs, whichever feels more normal to you.” Amy rested her wrists on her knees, palms up, thumb and index finger lightly touching. She sat as upright as her safety belt and airline seat would allow.

  “Concentrate on each body part and command it to relax -toes, feet, ankles, calves, shins, knees, thighs, pelvis, groins.” Her lower extremities obeyed as Amy complied with the instructions.

  The litany proceeded in her mind in Stephen’s voice. “Abdomen, chest, shoulders, arms, wrists, thumbs, fingers.” Trained by long years of practice, her body knew what to do. Her breath slowed to match the serenity of her thoughts and the tension melted away.

  “Neck, face, temples, eyes, top of the head. Be with yourself. You are with yourself.” The tranquility of Stephen’s voice filled her with calm. She set the memory of their last day together in a place that could not be reached.

  “Move your awareness to the breath. Imagine yourself watching from a spot just past the tip of the nose. Feel the cool air enter as you inhale, and the warm air as it leaves the nostrils. Do not force it, only observe.” Her breathing deepened. Her inhalations became long and slow. Her exhalations removed all the spent air from her lungs.

  “Now watch your thoughts. Don’t try to control them. Let the thoughts come; let the thoughts go. Don’t act on any thought; don’t try to make it go away.” Amy acknowledged the concern she had for Robert and then the memories of Stephen, but she refused to focus on a particular one. Much to her amazement, they did not linger.

  Stephen’s voice continued guiding her meditation. “Repeat the phrase after me in the space past your mind that goes beyond words and is only total awareness, ‘Om ishaya namaha.’ I surrender unto the Lord.”

  Amy echoed Stephen’s mantra, listening to the silence between the phrases. She became less aware of her physical body and more attuned to the passing of her thoughts. She glimpsed at what Stephen would call her true nature -apart from body and mind and space and time. Although the jet still flew at thirty thousand feet above the ground, and traveled at a speed of over five hundred miles per hour, a part of Amy’s awareness was no longer in the plane. She was with hers
elf in a place both familiar to her and completely alien.

  A grassy knoll overlooked a field of yellow wildflowers. The sun was warm, but filtered by high clouds. Birds sang in the trees, and water trickled over the rocks in a small brook near her feet. A breeze ruffled the Indian kurta that reached past her knees. She climbed to the gazebo set on the rise to watch the sunset.

  She turned and saw him smiling at her. Stephen looked much as he did when she had first known him. No, she reflected, that wasn’t right. He seemed younger and stronger. His hair was no longer streaked with grey. Waves of black curls fell past his shoulders. His beard was dark and full and wild. He wore a white linen shirt and loose trousers that rustled in the wind.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” Stephen said with a smile. “What took you so long?”

  She didn’t answer him. Stephen's gaze was tranquility itself, his brown eyes alert and alive. “I’ll always be here when you need me, Amy. Remember, time is just an illusion. Now is what we have. Live each moment. The past is gone, and tomorrow is not yet revealed.”

  She reached her hand out to touch him, but his image faded.

  Her head jerked, and she again found herself sitting on the plane. The steward announced that they would serve breakfast in fifteen minutes and landing in less than two hours. It was all just a dream she mused -a comforting one, but it also reminded her of a more disturbing time.

  Chapter 5

  Africa has something for everyone: From pristine beaches, wild animals and vibrantly colorful cities. It is a region that any adventurer can appreciate.” South African Tourism Monthly