He tried Lodas number for the fifth time. What the hell was that idiot doing? He didn’t trust him to be left on his own to find Nicholls. He made a decision and sent a backup team to Voi headed by his best man Cyrus, to join in the hunt. ‘Once you locate the mzungu, you must eliminate him immediately - Loda knows what he looks like.’
*
Brian rode cautiously, adjusting to the weight of Doug as pillion. He tried to clear his mind of endless questions, while concentrating on the ride. Doug tucked his head in the slipstream of Brian’s helmet, hiding from the buffeting wind.
About fifty miles from Mombasa, Doug called out for Brian to pull over. He got off the bike, took out his new mobile and called Gem. ‘How are you doing hon?’ he asked. ‘Good, you’re on the bus. My head’s ok. Listen love, we are going to go out of mobile coverage for a while, so don’t be alarmed and I will call you when I can. I love you too,’ and rang off.
Brian took off his helmet. The strain of the past few hours showed on his face. ‘How is your head?’ he asked Doug.
‘It’s throbbing a bit, but I will survive. I think we need to eat. I’m going to find somewhere, get some food then we can discuss what to do next.’ They swapped places on the bike. After a few miles, Doug pulled off at a small roadside village, curious youngsters instantly surrounded the machine. Doug spoke in Kiswahili, and they were directed to a low mud and wattle shack, smoke wafting from the thatched roof. He parked round the back out of sight of the highway and the two of them went inside. He ordered for the both of them, as they sat on rough wooden benches opposite a cracked linoleum covered table.
‘It’s beans only I’m afraid - and sweet tea,’ he told Brian.
Brian said. ‘I’m not that hungry,’ appalled at their surroundings. The flies, dirt floor, chickens scratching, and smoke filled atmosphere, all added up to his idea of an instant case of dysentery.
Doug tucked into a tin plate of red beans. ‘No time to be fussy, you need to eat to keep your strength up.’
Brian tried the tea. It wasn’t bad, too sweet for his taste. Gingerly, he took a spoonful of beans; they were lukewarm and had no flavour. He chewed without enthusiasm.
‘Who knew you were driving down to Malindi today?’
‘Anyone in the bank,’ Brian answered.
‘You were expected to go through the park. Those two guys who carjacked us, knew what they were doing, a professional hit team. Normally, they would have shot us on the spot, but their plans were messed up, that’s why they made the mistake of not checking if I was armed,’ Doug stated.
‘I had no idea you had a gun, is that legal?’
‘Yes, I’m a police reservist, and licensed to carry a gun, something those two didn’t know. Do you have any idea why they wanted the car?’
Brian shook his head, and took another spoonful of beans. ‘What is a police reservist?’
‘Kenya is made up of multiracial communities. I belong to a watchdog organisation that works together with the police. Occasionally we are asked to make a citizens arrest if required. But mainly we are a passive force, keeping an eye out for suspicious characters within our respective communities.’
‘You said the man you shot was a policeman?’
‘That’s what was on his ID card. He was an undercover cop, so whoever is after you, there is big money involved. Those guys don’t come cheap, and my guess is it’s definitely something to do with your bank.’ He sipped his tea.
Brian frowned angrily; this whole thing was getting beyond him. Here he was, sitting in some roadside shack in the middle of nowhere, listening to a man he hardly knew, talk about his life like he was in a gangster movie. He swore aloud. ‘This is all too fucked up for me!’ Pushing the plate of beans away angrily, he wanted his life back, as it was this morning. How did he know if Doug was telling him the truth? His car was missing and someone had been murdered by this stranger, who was now telling him what to do.
Doug said evenly, reading Brian’s face. ‘Bugger you mister. I can get on my bike right now and leave you here. In fact I don’t know why I don’t do just that.’
‘Go ahead,’ Brian, stared back at Doug, challenging him.
Doug looked away and sighed. ‘Have you ever used a gun?’
‘No, I’m an arsehole bank auditor.’ The tension between them was palpable, as they stared each other down.
Doug gave in with ill grace. ‘I guess I’m stuck with you but there’s more to you than meets the eye Mr. Nicholls. It’s a serious question. Do you know how to use a gun?’
Brian leaned back. ‘Yes I do.’
Doug reached into the back of his waistband and pulled out Lodas pistol. The children, who were watching, yelled out and ran away. ‘Seven still in the clip, no other ammo.’
Brian took the gun wordlessly and checking the safety was on, tucked it into his waistband. ‘I think we should get out of here,’ as a curious crowd began to gather around them.
Doug tossed some coins on the table, and got up. ‘We are going to be riding on some dirt tracks, and the blade’s not too stable on loose stuff, so try not to wriggle about.’
‘Ok dad,’ said Brian sarcastically, ‘and where are you taking us?’
‘Some back roads.’ Doug ignored the taunt, firing up the bike. They rejoined the highway, leaving a crowd of excited villagers behind them. A few miles later, Doug slowed and turned off the highway onto a dirt track. The track meandered through the bush, the ruts in the road evidence of heavy lorries. ‘We are following the park boundary,’ he called out, pointing at the barbwire fence that ran alongside the road. In places Brian had to get off as Doug negotiated a particular rough part of the track. ‘This is black cotton,’ he said as they rode through deeply rutted areas, now dried rock hard. The track worsened as they got further into the bush, with frequent detours. It was hot, and the bike ridden slowly, began to overheat. Doug pulled up in the shade of a thorn tree. ‘Let’s rest a while,’ he announced, ‘the bike’s hot and my shoulders are killing me.’
They squatted in the shade beside the motorbike, the silence broken only by the pinging from the overheated metal. Doug picked up a stick and idly began to draw a map in the dust. ‘This is the highway we have left,’ he indicated a straight line, ‘Mombasa is here.’ He flipped a fallen leaf into position on the map. ‘Malindi over here,’ another leaf, and stabbing a wiggly line, ‘we are here. We need to cut down to the Mombasa-Malindi highway,’ he pushed the stick along. ‘If we continue on this road, we will end up outside the eastern park gates, where there is a road direct to Malindi. But I don’t fancy riding in the dark on that road, so we will try to find the track that joins the Malindi-Mombasa highway. Trouble is, I haven’t been on this road for twenty years, so I’m not sure where the turn off is.’
Brian offered. ‘Let me ride, you’re tired and can better see the way ahead as a passenger. What’s the plan, once we are in Malindi?’
‘We can hide out at my uncle’s place. He used to be with the police, he will know what to do. It’s a small ranch alongside the Sabaki River, miles from Malindi, quiet and secluded.’
ELEVEN
A goat herder wandered along the dirt track singing a little ditty. Catapult in hand he scanned the trees for pigeons or doves. He already had two birds on a belt around his waist. The goats up ahead of him had stopped and were staring at something in the bush, stamping their feet and snorting in alarm. He hoped it wasn’t a lion. Cautiously sliding his panga out of his belt, he moved closer and saw a man lying on his back in the grass. A drunk he wondered and called out. There was no response and as he moved closer, he could hear the buzzing of flies. Eyes wide in alarm he studied the lifeless body.
He knelt down and removed Loda’s shoes and tried them on, pleased they fitted. Whistling to his goats, he continued down the road singing happily. He would hide the shoes before he got to his village and then report the dead man to the chief.
*
Detective Katana from Voi police station squatted down besi
de Loda's dead body. ‘He was shot at least three times,’ he told the other policeman with him. Although the goats had obscured most of the prints on the track, he could still see where a small car - probably a saloon - had turned round in the road. ‘Brought here and shot in the chest twice and then once under the jaw probably as he was lying down, this was not done by a professional,’ he added and stood up. ‘Search the surrounding area,’ he told his companion, ‘see if you can find his shoes,’ and addressing the village chief, ‘I want to interview the man who found the body.’
Katana went through Loda’s pockets and found only two pieces of chewing gum and a few miraa sticks. He took a blanket out of the police car and covered the body. There was a shout from the bushes. ‘I’ve found a mobile phone,’ the other policeman said, waving it in the air triumphantly.
Katana said. ’Oh very good corporal, now we can take your fingerprints for analysis, can’t we?’
The corporal looked embarrassed. ‘Oh I didn’t think sir.’
‘Bring it here.’ He switched it on, several text messages beeped though. They were all from the same number urging the owner to call back. The phone rang with loud rap music. Taking a moment, the detective composed himself and then pressed answer.
‘Hello, hello,’ the caller said, ‘can you hear me?’
‘Yo,’ the detective answered.
‘Where the hell are you, and why was your phone switched off?’ The voice demanded.
‘This is police detective Katana, your man is in a lot of trouble.’
‘What! Who? Where is Loda? I want to talk to him.’
‘And who are you?’ asked the detective.
‘I’m a friend of his. Why do you have his mobile?’
‘He is in custody, and refuses to talk to us. His name is Loda, you said?’ The phone went dead. He addressed the blanketed body, ‘Loda is your name it seems and Cyrus is trying to find you.’
‘Put the body in the car,’ he instructed the corporal and the chief. ‘We need to get it to the mortuary and get those bullets out.’ The phone rang again as the car made its way onto the highway. A different caller under the name Bosstard. ‘I wonder who this joker, is. Yo?’ he answered.
‘Hello Loda?’ a voice asked.
‘Loda is not available who is this?’
‘This is Chief Inspector Joe Rubia from the special crimes division. Who am I talking to?’ the deep honeyed voice asked.
‘This is Detective Katana from the ordinary crimes division.’
There was a pause. ‘Ah, inspector,’ the pleasant voice went on, ‘I hear you are holding one of my detectives in custody?’
‘How do you know that?’ asked Katana.
‘One of my junior operatives Cyrus called this number and apparently this is what you told him.’
‘Your operative did not introduce himself, but yes, we have a man in custody. I don’t know if it’s the man you’re looking for, he won’t talk to us.’
‘Listen the man’s name is Loda he is working on a very sensitive undercover case for me and this would explain his reluctance to talk. What charge are you holding him on?’
‘He was involved in an accident and attempted to escape.’
There was a pause. ‘I can vouch for the man. I need you to release him as soon as possible. We can address the accident issue at a later date. I will not allow him to evade justice, you understand, but he has urgent information that is vital to this operation. Was he hurt, is he in any pain?’ Rubia asked.
‘He has not mentioned any pain,’ Katana said, looking at the blanket wrapped body.
‘Ok Detective Katana, release him on my authority, I will take full responsibility. I want to talk to him as soon as possible.’
Katana snorted in derision. ‘Release him, this is not possible! I have no idea who you are. I can only suggest you send someone down from Nairobi, or better still come yourself, and then we can discuss the custody.’
‘Now listen here,’ Rubia said menacingly, ‘Detective Katana, you are unwittingly interfering in a matter of national security. Be a good fellow and do as I say. I can assure you if I have to come there myself, you will regret having met me.’
‘Oh, pity, you sounded like such a nice man,’ replied Katana and switched the mobile off.
He turned to his constable. ‘That was his boss,’ he pointed at the body. ‘A big shot cop. Our friend here was working undercover.’
‘Well now he is under blanket sir.’
Katana laughed. ‘Alright, let’s get back to the station.’
*
Cyrus and his team turned in at the Voi petrol station in a black Landcruiser and spoke to an attendant by a fuel pump. ‘Hey you, where is the cop shop in this town?’
The attendant gave him directions and at the police station Cyrus called Rubia. ‘Hello boss, we’re here in Voi. What do you want us to do?’
Rubia glanced at his watch, they had made good time. ‘Go into the station, introduce yourself and talk directly to this Katana fellow. I have explained that Loda is with us and is on a special assignment. It’s imperative that you talk to Loda and find out what happened. Is the saloon at the station?’
Cyrus looked around him. ‘No, I can’t see it,’ he replied.
At the reception Cyrus handed over his police ID. ‘I believe you have one of our men in your custody. Loda?I need to talk to him, and also to a detective Katana.’
‘Ok, wait here, I will find out.’ In a few moments he was back. ‘Follow me,’ he led Cyrus into an office where a man sat behind a large desk studying the ID. A triangular name board on the desk read, “Detective Katana.”
Cyrus held out his hand. ‘You have spoken with my boss Joe Rubia?’ Katana ignored the hand and waved him to a chair with a dismissive gesture and with eyebrows raised, stared hard at him. ‘So you will be aware that Loda was working with us on a highly sensitive case. I understand he has had some sort of accident and that you are detaining him?’
Katana lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke at Cyrus. He fingered the ID. ‘What’s so special about your case, Mr. Special Branch?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t divulge the details to you.’ Cyrus waved the smoke away trying to hide his irritation.
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m not authorised to do so by my boss.’
And who is the man you call your boss?’
‘Yes sir, Chief Inspector Joe Rubia is my boss.’
‘So there is no point in talking to you then, is there? ‘You may go.’ Katana pointed at the door with his cigarette, tossing the ID at him on the desk.
‘Sir, I have just driven all the way down from Nairobi. It’s vital that I speak to Loda.’
‘That will not be possible,’ Katana said.
‘I will tell my boss you refuse to co-operate,’ Cyrus stood up.
‘You do that.’ Katana, busied himself sorting papers.
Cyrus, barely able to contain his anger picked up his ID and walked out of the office. At the reception he asked. ‘Where do you keep the prisoners? Do you have cells here?’
The cop nodded. ‘Yes, at the back.’
‘Can I see them?’
‘What for?’
‘I’m looking for someone.’
‘They are empty.’
‘Empty? Then where are you holding Loda?’
‘There is no one called Loda here,’ the cop replied. Cyrus studied his face for deception.
The cop returned his look. ‘We have no prisoners today.’
‘You had better not be lying to me,’ Cyrus said darkly as he stalked off to the car. He called Rubia. ‘Sir, Katana will not let me talk to Loda. Perhaps he is injured, maybe in the hospital?’
‘Shit!’ Rubia swore. ‘Get me the telephone number of the cop station. I will talk to Katana myself.’ Rubia called, taking a deep breath as he did so, suppressing his anger.
Katana answered. ‘What can I do for you, Mr. Chief?’
Rubia spoke plainly. ‘This man Loda was pursui
ng some terrorists and now with his incarceration, the trail has gone cold.’
‘I see, Loda has not explained this to us, perhaps you can elaborate?’ Katana replied helpfully.
Rubia paused. ‘It would be much easier if I spoke to him directly.
‘Well you can’t,’ came the flat reply. ‘Tell me more about these terrorists. Perhaps I can help?’
Rubia barely concealing his contempt said. ‘Listen to me, I can’t give much detail, but Loda was in pursuit of three people. An Indian man and woman, and a mzungu man driving a white range rover. He was to follow them and report back to me. I last heard from Loda when he was between Mtito Andei and Voi.’
‘What car did you say Loda was driving?’
‘The white saloon of course,’ Rubia responded.
‘A white saloon, what is the registration number?’
‘Didn’t you tell me he had been involved in an accident?’
‘Just tell me so I can verify your information is correct.’
‘I can’t remember the number off hand. We use many different cars, it was a Toyota corolla saloon. Surely it’s in your custody?’
‘I see, so you can’t remember the number?’
‘No. If you really need to know, ask one of your subordinates, perhaps one that can read.’ Rubia retorted.
‘I might do that. You say these terrorists were driving a white range rover and heading for Mombasa? Loda was following them?’
‘Yes.’
‘Alone?’
‘Yes, it’s vital that we don’t lose these terrorists.’
‘Was Loda armed?’ asked Katana.
‘Yes of course he was, and what do you mean was?’
‘He has no gun on him now,’ replied Katana. ‘Do you have anyone else pursuing these terrorists of yours?’
‘That’s not your business, I have tried to be reasonable with you detective, your obstructive attitude is really trying my patience. I repeat myself. Let me speak to Loda, if we lose the trail due to your idiotic attitude, I will hold you personally responsible. Do I make myself quite clear?’
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