Azizza took a sip of water and then relayed the conversation that had taken place in Evans’s’ office. Patel listened without interrupting now tucking into a plate of crispy carrot sticks, dipping the ends into a chilli sauce. ‘Did he say how much more money he wants?’ He asked after a moment of silence.
‘No, but why the hell should he get more?’ Azizza demanded her voice rising.
‘Because, as he has pointed out to you, he can bring the scheme to a full stop, if he so chooses.’
‘But it means he can also end up with nothing at all?’
Patel grinned. ‘I would do the same thing in his position,’ his eyes glistening in merriment.
‘But that’s so dishonest!’ She spluttered with indignation.
Patel started to laugh, not his dangerous giggle, but a deep belly laugh. She frowned at him and made as though to get up and leave, she could see nothing funny about the situation.
‘My dear, I find it so amusing that you should be upset about Evans being dishonest.’
She gave him a wry smile saying dryly. ‘Ha ha, ok I get it.’
‘Let’s eat first; we can discuss the details later.’ Their food order arrived and they ate; only glancing at one another occasionally. Patel wiped his mouth with a napkin and got up to rinse his hands in a nearby sink. Ordering tea as he sat down at the table, looking at Azizza, she nodded. ‘Two,’ Patel amended. They went back over the details of Azizza’s meeting.
‘So Evans believes that this fellow Nicholls will vouch for him if it comes to the crunch?’ Patel summed up.
‘It seems so, he is the company auditor.’
‘Hmmm,’ Patel mused. ‘Without Nicholls, Evans would get very short shift from head office. They would fire him anyway, or at least pin the crime on him regardless of whether he was involved - the inevitable banking scapegoat.’
‘But why would Evans give up his cut. It’s more money than he could ever make in a lifetime at the bank?’
‘Evans is watching the hoops we are willing to jump through to accommodate Nicholls. He reasons - if at all - that the only one preventing us from being exposed is him and therefore he should be accorded more respect, i.e. money. We have also shown -it’s always a mistake - that we are able to make concessions to keep him and the scheme going, so we are not about to walk away. I think we should agree to his demands.’
‘What? Give him more money?’
‘No, I didn’t say that, I said agree to. If he wants to keep moving the goalposts, no problem, we can also move ours.’ Patel delivered this last statement with finality, slapping his napkin down on the table as though he was swatting a fly.
‘How can we stop him now increasing his demands whenever he likes?’ Azizza asked.
Patel did not answer, looking grim. ‘Don’t worry about it.’ He picked up his phone and called Evans. ‘Hello It’s me.’
Evans on the other end blanched. ‘Er, hello.’ He said surprised - Patel seldom called him at work.
‘Are you free to talk? I understand you had a meeting with Azizza this morning?’
‘Yes I did. I was going to call you,’ Evans mumbled.
‘Azizza has told me what transpired at your meeting today. You have obviously thought about it. What are your terms?’
‘It’s obvious, I want more money,’ Evans said belligerently.
‘Yes how much?’
‘A larger percentage,’ Evans hedged.
‘I see. Can you put a figure on that percentage?’
‘I want fifteen percent.’
‘Ok,’ agreed Patel. ‘Fifteen percent it is - after all the expenses and only on new loans you process. Do you agree?’
Evans could hardly believe his luck. ‘Yes, that will be fine, thank you,’ and this time added ‘Sir.’
‘Good. Azizza will be round with the NGO papers this afternoon. How is the car, are you enjoying it?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Now I understand Nicholls drives down on Sunday and intends to go through the park. Do you have the car registration number?’
‘Yes he is, and I do.’
‘Good fellow, read it out to me would you.’ Evans read out the number. Patel copied it down using water and his index finger as a pencil on the plastic tabletop.
‘Thanks, and you have his mobile number?’
‘Yes,’ replied Evans.
‘Can you read that out to me too?’
‘Why do you want his mobile?’ Evans asked alarmed.
‘Oh I thought I might introduce myself to your boss,’ said Patel, an edge on the boss. ‘On second thoughts - text it to me will you,’ a command rather than a request.
‘Yes, ok,’ Evans said reluctantly.
‘Now Nicholls will be staying at the same hotel right?’
‘Yes he will.’
‘Let’s meet at the golf club for a drink sometime,’ he offered an olive branch. Patel rang off and sat staring into space for a moment, then with a sigh put his phone in his jacket. ‘He wants fifteen percent,’ and in a notebook he wrote down the car number.
‘That’s almost six times the amount.’ Azizza complained.
Abruptly, he stood up. ‘It’s only on the new loans and he will never be paid it.’ His eyes were cold and flat, ‘can you settle this bill, I have to go.’ He quickly walked out of the restaurant.
Azizza sat there somewhat dazed. What an earth is Patel up to. She shivered involuntarily. He could be so creepy, just another side of the man that so intrigued her.
Patel hailed a tuk-tuk outside the restaurant and gave the driver directions to the house. As he sat in the cab, he switched the sim card in his phone and rang Kamau at the immigration department.
‘Hello Kamau, it’s Patel. I need to see you urgently. Yes, and that new passport you have arranged for me. It’s ready? Good, thank you. Listen, I’m flying in this afternoon, we must meet today, the usual place. I have another job for you.’
Patel glanced at his watch, he could make the one thirty flight if he hurried. He told the tuk-tuk driver to wait as he entered the house, grabbed a jacket, a small pre-packed hold-all and a large envelope from the safe. Back in the taxi, he urged the driver on. At the airport the plane to Nairobi was being boarded. He hurried to the ticket office. ‘Can I have a seat on that flight?’ - pointing at the exit ramp.
The girl scanned the computer, shook her head. ‘Sorry sir, it’s full.’ Patel put two thousand shillings on the counter just concealing it with his hand, but she had seen enough.
‘I’m sure one of your passengers has a problem with their ticket don’t you think? My name is Patel.’
The girl smiled. ‘I think you’re right Mr. Patel. You’re very lucky Sir.’ She put her hand over his, took the money and tapped at the keyboard. The printer whirred and issued Patel with a ticket. ‘That will be five thousand, Sir,’ she said firmly. He grimaced, the real price bumped up by an additional two thousand. He paid without a quibble and hurried to the security desk. As they scanned his bag, he heard over the tannoy, that a Mrs. Farrow should report to the security desk immediately. Patel smiled pleasantly at a worried looking woman hurrying back as he walked out to the plane.
*
It was cool in Nairobi and he was glad of the jacket. He caught a taxi into town and took a room at the New Stanley Hotel. He made calls to a contact in Dar-es-Salaam in Tanzania, and spent the next few hours in his room working, jotting down notes on a legal pad. At four thirty, Patel changed into a new set of clothes, and caught a cab. He arrived at the bar and grill a few minutes after five - he expected Kamau to be late anyway and chose a quiet table away from the roasting meat and settled down to wait.
Kamau arrived just before six. After ordering a beer, they settled down to business. First, Patel asked for the passport and Kamau handed it over. He took a moment to flick through the details, his picture and new identity as Noordin J. Shah. It was an original Kenyan passport.
‘Good well done,’ Patel smiled. He then leaned forward looking se
rious. ‘Kamau my friend, I have a problem. A certain person has become a nuisance to me. He is interfering in my business, and I need to make him stop.’
‘I see,’ said Kamau. ‘Are you looking for a temporary solution to this problem, or a permanent one?’
‘Permanent,’ Patel said confidently.
Kamau leaned closer, his voice quiet. ‘These matters can be arranged, but permanent solutions are very costly and it depends on the circumstances. I think I have heard of someone who can offer solutions such as these.’
Patel slid a piece of paper across the table with a list of Brian’s details on it. ‘This is my problem.’
Kamau glanced at the list. ‘No photo?’ He asked.
‘No, but I know where he will be. He is driving to Malindi on Sunday and must not get there.’
‘Sunday, but that’s only the day after tomorrow!’ hissed Kamau. ‘Are you sure you want to do this, can’t you give him a warning?’
Patel shook his head. ‘I already have, it hasn’t worked. You know how these mzungus are.’
Kamau smiled. ‘Yes if they think they are right, they assume we want to be right also.’
‘Exactly and then they start messing things up trying to fix stuff that doesn’t need fixing and I want this one stopped now.’ Patel slapped his index finger down on the edge of the table.
Kamau scratched his head. ‘Give me a few moments, I will call a man I know, Wait here.’ He got up from the table and disappeared into the throng of patrons.
Patel sat waiting, if he was nervous there was no outward display.
Kamau returned after ten minutes, looking ill at ease. ‘I have called someone; he will meet us here in half an hour.’ The tension round the table was palpable.
Patel said. ‘No, I only want to deal with you. It will be worth your while. What sort of money are we talking about?’
‘My contact said half a million, because it’s a rush job. If you can afford to wait, you can negotiate.’
‘No that’s fine, and I will add another two hundred to you. Would that be ok?’
He nodded uncertainly. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’
Patel slid a package across the table. ‘Half now and half on completion, it must appear to be some sort of accident, and I want it reported as such in the Monday newspapers.’
Kamau digested this information. ‘Yes that can be done, but listen carefully to me,’ pointing his index finger in Patel’s face and putting his other hand on the package, ‘don’t delay the rest of the payment - you don’t fool around with these people.’ Kamau was sweating lightly, his voice tense. ‘You can’t call me up in two minutes and say you have changed your mind, you understand?’
‘No problem, I have made my decision, you just make sure the job is done. You should know that under no account is this contact of yours to know I am the client,’ Patel said a little coldly.
Kamau was upset at the tone. ‘You won’t stay for another beer?’
‘Not this time my friend, besides you have some work to do.’ He pointed at the package and giggled. ‘Better put that away.’ Patel got up and quickly left the bar, as the immigration officer watched.
‘God help me,’ Kamau breathed. I think I just sat with a devil.
Half an hour later a large man sat down at Kamau’s table. ‘I’m Joe Rubia, we spoke on the phone.’ He announced.
‘Oh, how did you know it was me?’ Kamau asked.
‘It’s my job to know these things,’ he replied, snapping his fingers in the air, beckoning another man to join them. ‘Order me one of those,’ Joe instructed pointing at a beer, ‘and some roast meat,’ he added, and turned to Kamau. ‘So tell me, what’s the job?’
Kamau slid the list over, Joe looked through it. ‘No photo?’
‘No. How long have you been in the bar?’ Kamau asked.
‘I got here after you called me,’ Joe replied. ‘Don’t worry, about the muhindi, any idea why he wants the job done?’
‘He said the man was interfering in his business.’
‘This man is a mzungu? Do you have any ideas? Joe asked.
Kamau was surprised. ‘You’re asking me?’
‘Yes I am. I like to hear ideas.’
‘The man is driving down to Mombasa on Sunday. That road is very dangerous,’ ventured Kamau.
Joe spoke fast, the words articulated clear and sharp. ‘Yes, it’s also very crowded on and off the road, not so easy to stage an accident, but, he is planning to go through the park,’ scanning the list. ‘Tsavo East, that’s what it says here. Is that true?’
‘This is all the information I have.’ Kamau replied.
The bodyguard returned and put down a beer for Joe and a soda for himself. Joe ignored him and took a pull on the beer, studying Kamau’s face openly. Kamau was starting to sweat in earnest, this man really unnerved him. ‘There’s a place called Lugard’s falls in Tsavo east, have you ever been there?’ he asked Kamau.
‘No, I haven’t, but what does this have to do with me? I would rather not know.’
‘It’s very interesting,’ Joe went on regardless. ‘Three rivers join up to become one big river which is then compressed into a series of waterfalls. Falling in stages over two hundred feet, the rocks have been carved into caverns over the centuries. It is like a giant washing machine. At the bottom are some of the largest crocodiles in Africa. This would be a bad place to fall into when taking a photograph. Even if your body made it to the bottom in one piece - those crocks…,’Joe shrugged.
Kamau remained silent, just nodding, getting the gist of it. ‘Look, I don’t really need to know any more.’
‘Oh but you do,’ Joe corrected. ‘You will have to get a report to the paper and it needs to be accurate, or I won’t get the rest of my money. Can you get that into Monday’s paper? Tourist tragically found missing at pleasure site etc., car found abandoned. Search party sent out. Crocks spotted that sort of thing? Eyewitness reports man travelling alone, maybe suicide?’
‘Look I’m not a fool,’ Kamau protested.
‘Yes but you’re sweating. Can’t see that on a mobile; just want to know if you have the balls.’
‘Don’t worry, I have the contacts, besides it’s hot in here.’ A waitress interrupted them with a plate of roast meat and sliced tomatoes. The bodyguard tested the food and chewed on it for a while and then served his boss. Joe immediately tucked in, inviting Kamau to join him.
Joe went over the list chewing. ‘Home address, good, Range Rover - NNB markings, mobile number, guy works for a bank? Must be a muhindi with fingers deep in the pie, ehh? Always sex or money, human’s greatest motivators. Eat,’ he pushed the plate at Kamau, ‘settles the nerves.’
He half-heartedly joined in, his beer had gone flat, unattended with the tension.
Joe, at last repleat, licked his lips noisily. ‘That was good,’ he announced and took a swig of his beer, burping loudly.
‘Have you got the money? Of course you have, take your cut and hand the rest over,’ he instructed. Kamau fumbled with the package under the table, his fingers shaking. He took out his half, and handed over the remains. Joe picked up the package, got to his feet and pocketed the list. ‘Thanks,’ he leaned over Kamau, holding him with his eye. ‘Now next time we talk, it will be to arrange the final payment. I will call you to confirm when to put that thing in the paper, and try to relax will you, don’t leave town.’
Joe left with his bodyguard leading the way. Two other hard looking men joined them - Joe it seemed did not travel alone.
Kamau sat there in a daze, realising that Rubia - or at least one of his watchers - had observed his meeting with Patel. He was no coward, but his encounter with the hit man had really scared him. He felt drained and vowed never to go through this experience again.
*
Joe got into the rear of a large black Mercedes parked near the bar entrance, his bodyguard beside him; the two other men got into a silver coloured Landcruiser and followed the Mercedes out onto the highway.
‘You’re welcome, Sir. The boss is expecting you, but you will have to proceed on foot. Don’t worry about the dogs; they are all on leads at this time.’ Rubia entered the compound. An hour later he emerged, and instructed the driver to take him home.
EIGHT
After a restless night, Brian let himself out of the flat at ten and made his way on foot to the nearest matatu stop. As each mini bus pulled up, the tout tried to bundle him into the overcrowded vehicle; with no name boards on the minibuses, and the touts yelling out incomprehensible names, Brian almost gave up.
Luckily, an ageing Peugeot taxi stopped to let out a fare, the back seat was a modified sofa, the arms amputated to fit. He sank into the seat, grateful to get away from the chaos. He gave the taxi driver Doug’s address. The driver muttered. ‘Other way,’ and suddenly pulled out in a wobbling U turn against both streams of traffic, bumping over the central divide and crunching his exhaust. Several cars braked violently, tires screeching as the taxi made it to the right hand lane. ‘Roundabout too far,’ he said chuckling. Brian just shook his head, would he ever get used to the driving methods of Kenyans.
At the garage, he was pleased to see Juma wiping down his Range Rover. Doug emerged from his workshop. ‘Morning captain,’ he announced cheerily, pointing at the car. ‘She’s all yours, ready to rock and roll.’
Brian reached out to shake Doug’s hand and shook his wrist instead, the bandage round the injured digit now oil stained. ‘How’s the thumb?’
‘Oh, I will survive.’ Doug smiled, moving towards the car and lifted the bonnet. ‘There is your new battery. Had to change one terminal -done all the filters, oil and grease.’ He went to the driver’s side, turned the key and the engine leapt to life, settling down to a sweet sounding rumble. Doug pointed at the front of the car. ‘Changed the shock absorber, bushes, and modified the mounting, and of course, the wheel stud and spare. Where are you headed?’
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