Elephant Dropping (9781301895199)

by Trzebinski, Bruce

  ‘But, but there are title deeds!’ Brian protested.

  ‘Have you seen them?’

  ‘No but, there is no way any manager could pull this off, he would have to involve most of the members of staff in his bank. It’s, it’s impossible!’ Brian shook his head.

  ‘So if the title deeds exist? How would you know if they are real?’

  ‘I don’t know, it was something I was going to check on.’

  ‘The penny drops!’ Firdus exclaimed clapping his hands together loudly, the sound startling Brian and Doug.

  ‘It’s clear to me that the people involved in this fabricated Sabaki farmers scheme, are the ones that have been trying to prevent you from getting access to the files in the bank. You had been given a clear warning,’ Firdus concluded.

  ‘Warning?’ Brian asked

  ‘Yes, the trouble with the cops - no access to bank files - your passport in Nairobi. The message is stay away from Malindi.’

  ‘It certainly explains a few things, but how do they think they can get away with it by just removing me?’

  ‘You don’t know who else is involved, apart from the obvious manager and the directors of Golden Palm. I’m willing to bet the NGO organisation is a fabrication also.’

  ‘Yes, but the scam will be exposed at some point, even if I’m prevented from seeing the files.’

  Firdus ventured. ‘You may only be a temporary nuisance. Do you think the man in your head office is involved?’

  ‘Njenga? No it was he who proposed I go down to Malindi. Why would he do that if he was part of the cover up?’

  ‘Yes that does seem strange,’ agreed Firdus.

  Doug had remained silent up to this point. ‘I think we have found a motive. My head is beginning to throb and I’m going to turn in,’ he stood up.

  Firdus responded. ‘Quite right my boy, we all could get some sleep, the beds are made up in the guestroom. I’m mighty glad to see you, and don’t worry, no one will find you here. Breakfast at seven, but if you need to lie in do so.’

  ‘Do you know the nearest point where I will get a signal on my mobile? I need to find out if Gem is ok.’

  Firdus said kindly. ‘It can wait till tomorrow. I would suggest you head towards Malindi until you get within range.’

  *

  After his intense meeting with Kamau, Patel spent the night in Nairobi and then caught an early flight to Dar-es-Salaam in Tanzania, with his new passport as Noordin Shah. He booked into a hotel in downtown Dar.

  He then hired a taxi and toured all the second hand car outlets, specifically the ones that stocked four wheel drives. He was looking for an identical model to his Landcruiser and found one. It was more of an off-white colour, but the interior was identical. He left a hefty cash deposit and arranged to collect it on Monday morning.

  He then went in search of a good metal workshop; the taxi driver found one on the outskirts. Patel walked up to the yard gate and rapped on the sheet metal door. ‘Hello!’ he shouted, ‘hello!’A small window at head height slid open and an African face stared at him. ‘Yes, what you want?’

  ‘Hello,’ said Patel, ‘I need some work done on my car, who should I talk to?’

  The man looked doubtfully at him. ‘Where is your car?’

  ‘It’s not here I want to bring it tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Ok, you come tomorrow,’ he moved away from the window to slide it shut.

  ‘No wait, I need to discuss the job with someone now, is the foreman here, or the owner?’

  ‘Ok you wait.’ Presently a low door in the gate opened and the gatekeeper motioned Patel inside. ‘Get in,’ and as Patel stepped through and straightened up, he pointed to a corner of the yard to a shipping container converted into an office. ‘Over there, the boss is there.’In the yard there must have been half a dozen workers, cutting, spraying and welding three or four vehicles at feverish pace, there was no doubt in Patel’s mind that this workshop was one that handled stolen cars - perfect. His presence brought all work to a halt as they stared at him. A figure appeared at the office door and barked an order to the workers.

  Patel picked his way across the yard stepping over pieces of metal. ‘Hello,’ he said as he shook hands with the boss, a tall muscular African in his early thirties.

  ‘Yes muhindi- you want to buy a car? My name is John.’

  ‘Mine is Noordin,’ replied Patel. ‘No I already have a car but I need modifications made to it.’

  ‘Ok step inside,’ John instructed. Patel explained how he wanted the car modified and handed over drawings. John studied the A4 sketches. ‘Yes we can do this job, but your fuel supply will be greatly reduced.’

  Patel smiled encouragement. ‘What do you suggest?’

  John worked on a sketch pad on his desk and then handed the drawing over. Patel studied it. ‘Can you get me another spare tyre to cover the boot?’

  ‘Yes,’ John nodded. ‘Now the front tank will no longer contain any fuel; you only want an inspection hatch under the front seat?’

  ‘Yes, you’re right,’ Patel smiled.

  ‘I see, so you would like us to paint the inside of the tanks?’

  ‘Yes,’ Patel said enjoying himself, ‘with red lead paint, four coats,’ holding his fingers out, ‘no rust,’ he smiled.

  John chuckled. ‘Mr Noordin, this job is going to cost you,’ tossing the pencil on the table he leant back in his chair.

  The two of them negotiated a price. Patel knew he was paying over the odds but was confident that the conversion would be done properly. The deal struck, they shook hands, and Patel made his way back to the hotel.

  *

  When Brian woke, Doug’s bed was empty. He took a moment to orientate himself. With no change of clothes he had to dress in yesterday’s clothing. His unshaven face added to the feeling of discomfort as he splashed water on it in the bathroom. He peered at himself in the small mirror and decided he needed a coffee before he could begin to think straight.

  He made his way through the house, passing by the kitchen to a cheerful smile from the maid. ‘Good morning sir,’ she said brightly and giggled. ‘Would you like bleckfast? Coffee or teas?’

  Brian returned her smile and gratefully said. ‘Coffee please, first I must have coffee.’

  ‘Ok you go, I bring,’ she said shooing him along. Brian entered the sitting room. It looked completely different from the night before; a well-kept garden spread out from the front steps of the veranda over a wide green lawn. Sunlight flashed miniature rainbows off a rotating sprinkler.

  Beyond the garden was a breathtaking view of the open bush for miles with low smooth hills in the distance. ‘Wow,’ he said, ‘I could live here for sure.’

  Margaret interrupted his rapture. ‘Coffee sir?’ He poured himself a steaming mug, slid into an easy chair on the veranda, and marvelled at the view. It was quiet and peaceful with only the sounds of the birds and an occasional whispering gust of wind through tall trees on the side of the house. He idly wondered where Doug was and when Margaret came to take his breakfast order he asked her.

  ‘Mr Douglas, he went out on his pipipiki,’ she informed him.

  Brian smiled and frowned. Margaret thrust her hands out in front of her, and made a thrumming noise with her lips, a passable imitation of the Honda. He grinned. ‘Oh the motorbike!’

  She smiled. ‘And the Bwana, he go to Malindi,’ before Brian could ask where Firdus was.

  ‘Ok thank you,’ said Brian as she took his breakfast order. He was tucking into a hearty breakfast, the eggs done to perfection, piercing the yellow orange yolks so that they richly soaked into the toast, grinding black pepper over them. He heard the sound of a bike approaching the farm. Doug soon joined him on the veranda. Eyeing the bacon and eggs, he called out to Margaret to bring him the same and slumped into a chair beside him.

  ‘Did you get through to Gem?’

  ‘Yup she is fine, found a spot about twenty miles from here where I picked up a signal.’

 
‘How is your head?’ Brian asked pointing with a fork at Doug’s bandage.

  ‘Throbs a bit, might ask you later to help me change the dressing? There is a clinic on the farm, but the medic here is a firm believer in injections - the more painful the better - and I don’t need a pain in the arse as well.’

  ‘Sure. Any chance you can lend me some clean clothes?’

  ‘Help yourself from the cupboard in the guest house. My uncle has gone into Malindi.’

  ‘Yes, the maid told me,’ Brian said through a mouthful.

  Doug got up to get himself a coffee. A brightly coloured bird landed on the veranda rail, and cocking it’s head to one side, eyed Brian and his plate, it was soon joined by another. Brian held his breath enchanted as it’s iridescent plumage caught the sunlight. The birds hopped closer along the rail. Then hastily fluttered off, alighting on the lawn as Doug returned.

  Brian pointed at the two birds. ‘What are those? They were right here on the rail.’

  ‘Superb starlings,’ Doug answered sipping his coffee, ‘they are after your toast.’

  ‘You scared them off.’

  ‘Don’t worry they have short memories, bird brains.’ Sure enough, the two birds came back, only to flit off again as the maid brought his order. Doug tore a piece of toast in half and crushed it, sprinkling the crumbs on the floor. In a flash the two birds were back, they took comical two footed hops, watching the humans closely, heads cocked to one side for any trickery. They were about to reach the crumbs when Doug leaned forward to get at his plate, they retreated and studied him. Brian sat perfectly still willing the bird’s forward. Doug laughed at the expression on his face; he looked like a little boy.

  ‘Don’t worry mate, there will be ten of them here just now.’ Sure enough, three more arrived and the pecking began in earnest. This busy band suddenly scattered on the arrival of a larger bird with a powerful looking beak, white coloured body and a bright red rump. He took over proceedings bossing the others as he gathered up the crumbs. ‘White headed buffalo weaver. There is the origin of the expression “pecking order”.’

  Brian tried his hand with sprinkled crumbs, leading to some heated squabbling as more and more birds joined the fray. The buffalo weavers despite being out numbered were in charge. A shadow crossed the lawn and all the birds scattered in a rush. Doug leaned forward looking up at the sky. ‘Falcon,’ he said.

  ‘Magic, pure magic,’ Brian said in appreciation of the show. ‘Now what’s our next move?’

  Doug looked at him as he finished his breakfast. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly, ‘I suppose it is our move. I’m up on a possible murder rap, while someone is trying very hard to murder you - a sobering thought,’ he said as he looked off into the distance.

  Getting up from his chair with a sigh, he said. ‘Let’s take a walk, it helps me to think.’

  Brian followed him down the veranda steps. The two of them walked out of the garden and round the fence joining a worn red earth path that snaked off into the bush. Walking in single file he asked. ‘Where does this go?’

  ‘Down to the river,’ Doug replied over his shoulder. ‘Let’s go and see all the non development your bank has paid for.’

  Brian wished he had changed his clothes, his T-shirt wafted body odour at him. They were soon at the river’s edge, brown slow moving water about two hundred yards across with only the occasional eddy marking its smooth surface. Dead trees half in the water lined both banks. Doug turned and gestured back the way they had come. ‘Sometimes the river really floods,’ and he pointed to a discoloured embankment behind them, ‘right up to there.’

  Brian turned, and as he did so, saw what looked like a log on the opposite bank detach itself and side into the water with a quiet splash. ‘What was that!’

  Doug pointed. ‘A crocodile, look, there’s about four of them sunning themselves.’

  He looked but could see nothing. ‘Where?’

  ‘See by that over hanging branch in the river? Just underneath that is one, and two others about fifty yards down from there. There’s a fourth, you can just make out his tail behind that bush, and two in the water. I make that six.’

  Brian thought Doug was having him on, until a movement on the sandbank revealed a crocodile opening it’s jaws, when a tick bird obligingly hopped into the bright yellow mouth and started cleaning the crocodile’s teeth. Brian stepped away from the river edge in alarm. ‘Yes I see one,’ he said excitedly, ‘what is that bird doing?’

  ‘Mobile tooth pick,’ replied Doug.

  ‘Really? Dangerous job!’

  Doug sat on a dead branch in the shade of a large fig tree a few yards from the water’s edge. He took out a cigarette and lit up, waving at Brian to join him. ‘Come on, let’s make a plan, as you can see for yourself,’ Doug moved his arms, ‘there is no development here.’

  Brian frowned. ‘I can hardly grasp the scale of it, it’s so, so blatant. How can they think they can get away with it?’

  Doug blew smoke in the air. ‘That’s Kenya for you, anything is possible if you have enough money, and the whole of the civil service is rotten from the head down.’

  ‘Are there no checks put in place at all? The government must adhere to some laws?’

  ‘Oh yes, there are laws. The popular view of them is that they are for foreigners only, meaning you and me.’

  ‘But you are a Kenyan?’

  ‘Yup, but essentially, I’m a second class citizen, let me be seen to be breaking a law and the administration will self righteously come down on me like a ton of bricks. In essence it’s pay up or go to jail.’

  ‘So how does Patel get away with it?’

  ‘He will be spending money, keeping people sweet.’

  ‘Evans the manager in Malindi, will be in Patel’s pocket?’

  Doug nodded and crushed out his cigarette with his boot heal. ‘Your boss may be involved also.’

  ‘Njenga?’ Brian puzzled. ‘I find that hard to believe.

  ‘Who hired you, Njenga?’

  ‘Yes and no. It was decided by the directors of the bank - of whom Njenga is one - essentially to upgrade the bank’s capabilities, train the staff on computers to an international level.’

  ‘So you weren’t brought in just for this Sabaki project?’

  ‘No, the Sabaki project, i.e. Golden Palm was new and highly successful. I wanted to examine it and see how the bank could develop it into a country wide interest earner.’

  Doug grunted. ‘Hmmm, Njenga may not be involved in the scam, but you can’t rule that out.’

  Brian frowned. ‘Jesus what the fuck am I going to do?’

  ‘Stay out of sight for the moment, there are some very nasty people out there that want you dead. My uncle used to be on the police force and he still has contacts. We had discussions on this topic this morning and he has gone into Malindi to make some discreet enquiries. For instance, the cop that kidnapped Gem and me is from a unit he has not heard off before. It must have been formed after the bombing of the American Embassy in Nairobi, counter terrorism etc. He will find out what he can.’

  ‘But what’s the use? If the government is all so rotten, who can anyone trust?’

  ‘There are a few good people out there, I’m sure my uncle will know what to do.’

  ‘What if I just turn myself in to the British Embassy and explain that my life is under threat?’

  ‘Yes you could do that, but first you will have to prove that is true. Let’s assume that you are now on a missing persons list. Maybe not yet, but if you don’t show up at work you will be. Your bank is duty bound to inform immigration, they in turn will inform your Embassy, who will then pressure the police for an answer. You pitch up and say “here I am,” they are pleased to see you, but now have to inform the police. The police of course, will want an “interview” and then you’re back in the shit. What we don’t know is what they have done with the car. This unit is a counter terrorism unit, they could have used your car in any number of nefarious activities,
implicating you and thereby explaining your sudden disappearance.’

  ‘Jesus! Like what?’ Brian exclaimed.

  ‘A hit and run accident for example would necessitate a country wide hunt for you wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Oh fuck! This is crazy!’ Brian swore, standing up.

  Doug nodded. ‘Yup, but let’s see what my uncle has to say, he knows better how these things work. Let’s go back up to the house. I need a hand with my dressing.’

  They walked back up the path. Brian a frown of concentration on his face, stopped. ‘What if I flee the country, get out of here?’

  Doug kept on walking. ‘You will need a passport.’

  Brian’s shoulders slumped. ‘It was in the range rover.’

  ‘Well, you can be sure the police have it now.’

  *

  On Monday morning Patel was eager to get a copy of the Kenyan daily newspaper, but the room steward said the papers would not be available before nine o’clock.

  He collected his new landcruiser, completed the payment and paperwork and drove straight round to John’s yard. The two of them went over the modification. John already had the spare tire. Patel got John to drop him in the centre of town and they arranged to link up at four that afternoon.

  Patel could hardly contain his excitement as he bought the newspaper from a vendor. Standing in the street and quickly scanning it, he failed to find the item and anxiously scuttled into a coffee house to sit down and look over the paper more thoroughly. He found the item on the back page under the headline. “Abandoned car at Lugard’s falls.

  “Yesterday a range rover, belonging to the NNB bank group was found abandoned at the tourist site of Lugard’s falls in Tsavo East Park. A spokesman for the Kenya Wild Service said that rangers were investigating the matter. The car appeared to be in working order, the keys still in the ignition. It was entirely possible that the occupant or occupants had met with an accident at the falls, which would explain this mystery. A member of the NNB bank said the car was assigned to an employee of theirs, but declined to give the name.”