He said weakly. ‘The case, it’s hers.’
‘Not anymore,’ he gave Brian a told-you-so-look.
Doug started the Landrover. Alphonse pointed at Evans’s Mercedes. ‘The benz?’ He asked a little hopefully.
‘Someone will collect it,’ Doug replied and putting the car in gear, drove off. There was a strained silence between the three of them as he drove through Malindi and out to the airport. Brian held Lucy’s hand.
Doug broke the silence. ‘That was a close one, that guard could have made serious trouble for us.’
‘Like what? He was the one renting his boss’s house illegally.’
‘You don’t know that, and there would be no way to prove it in a hurry. If he had called the police, which he was threatening to do, we would have been in deep shit.’
‘He took my sweetcase,’ Lucy complained.
Brian chuckled. ‘Suitcase, not sweetcase love.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘I will get you another suitcase.’
‘When it comes to her you’re a basket case,’ Doug offered.
Brian laughed at the pun, the tension between them easing as they turned in for the airport and he spotted his range rover parked under a tree. ‘There she is,’ he exclaimed.
‘Phew,’ Doug breathed. Time to get out of Dodge. He parked beside it and slipped the car keys under the floor mat of the Landover for his uncle. Brian walked around the range rover checking the tyres; apart from needing a wash, the car looked fine.
‘Thises your car?’ asked Lucy, impressed.
‘Yes, my company car,’ Brian pointed at the logo.
‘Muchi better,’ she sneered at Doug’s Landrover.
A man dressed in blue overalls walked over. ‘Mr. Douglas?’
‘Yes that’s me. You are from Voi police station?’
‘Yes, I’m Edward.’ They shook hands, as he gave him the keys.
‘You want to drive?’ Doug asked Brian.
He shook his head. ‘Maybe later, you know the way.’
Doug turned to Edward. ‘Do you have means to get back to Voi?’
‘I thought I could get a lift with you.’
‘Sorry, I can’t do that, but I can give you money and you can catch a bus from Malindi.’
‘It’s late I will have to spend the night here, and I have not eaten.’ Doug gave him some cash. ‘There’s no petrol,’ he added helpfully as Doug opened the door and got in. They drove to the nearest petrol station. He checked the oil and water, as Brian got out and took a closer look at the tyres, walking round the car.
Doug paid the hefty bill. ‘I hope you have more money,’ he said as he got back in, ‘I’m almost out.’
Lucy leaned forward and put her arms around Brian. ‘He richi man, not maskini gowan like you,’ she told Doug.
‘Yes I have enough cash,’ said Brian hurriedly.
Doug raised his eyebrows and grunted. ‘Good, this motor is a thirsty bitch,’ he glanced at Lucy, she gave him a fuck off look.
Doug drove fast, but confidently, the big V eight motor emitting a deep throaty growl as it ate up the miles. An hour later they were on the outskirts of Mombasa. ‘Ok decision time,’ he said as they crossed a bridge and pulled into a service station. ‘I have to call my uncle. Question is, do we stay the night in Mombasa or keep driving? We could get about half way to Nairobi before dark.’
‘I’m happy to keep going,’ Brian said, ‘we could pick up water and snacks. What do you think?’
‘Alrighty, let’s hit the road. I will call and find out if there have been any changes. You get the food,’ he told Brian. Doug used the coin box to call his uncle, he left a message and stood by the phone and waited. Brian and Lucy went into the shop.
‘I want thisi,’ Lucy said fingering a fashion magazine. Brian smiled his consent, pleased to keep her distracted, aware of the tension between her and Doug. They sat and waited for him in the car.
Lucy asked. ‘What he do? He no phone.’
‘He has to wait for his uncle to call him.’
‘No mobile? Whati usless man,’ and crunched on crisps leafing through her magazine.
The phone rang and Brian could see Doug talking.
Doug finished his call, paid the attendant and got in the car.
‘So what did your uncle say?’ Brian asked.
‘He’s glad we are out of Malindi and is expecting us this evening.’
They passed through several police checks without incident. Brian visibly relaxed as they drew away from Mombasa. Doug noticed a quiet smugness in him not there before as he concentrated on driving into the waning afternoon.
THIRTY-TWO
Firdus put down the phone after speaking to his nephew and went back to the conference centre. ‘Get ready,’ he told Katana, ‘you will be leaving soon.’
He then rang Omollo the minister on his secure line. ‘Good news sir, we are moving Brian Nicholls.’
‘Very good Fernandez, where is he?’
‘He’s on his way and will be here in the next few hours.’
‘Excellent, shall I let the British ambassador know?’
‘Sir, I think it would be best to do that after I have interviewed him, we don’t want the press to get the wrong end of the story.’
‘Hmmm, you could be right,’ the minister agreed.
‘Now Sir,’ Firdus went on, ‘I have my team ready to fly to Malindi to arrest Fimbo and Evans.’
‘Fimbo is the policeman?’
‘Yes sir, OCS in Malindi.’
‘And Evans? Remind me.’
‘He is the manager of the local NNB bank. We believe that he has been involved in the fraud with the Indian.’
‘I see and where is that Indian, Patel?’
‘We don’t know exactly sir, but are confident these two suspects will be able to shed light on his whereabouts.’
‘Very good, you have enough people with you?’
‘Yes sir. I would like to request a helicopter to fly the team to Malindi. We will also need armaments Sir.’
‘Very good, what time do you want to go?’
‘We should be ready in about half an hour.’
Omollo gave instructions. ‘I will need you at the airport, to identify your team to the pilot.’ Firdus could hear rustling papers. ‘His name is Lieutenant Peter Kinanjui. Let me know how it goes; let’s clear up this mess as soon as possible. There will be an official funeral for Rubia tomorrow at 4 p.m. The government has asked the British ambassador to attend as well as other envoys. It would be good to get this all over by then.’
‘Yes sir, we will do our best.’ Firdus was tired and rubbed his eyes but managed a smile for the anxious looking Katana. ‘Your flight leaves in half an hour. Who’s on the team?’
The detective slid a list across the table.
‘You’re taking Cyrus? Can you trust him?’
‘I think so, and he knows what Fimbo looks like.’
‘Ok don’t arm him unless you think it’s absolutely necessary.’
‘Yes sir, but what about guns?’
‘The guns will be on the helicopter, let’s go.’ The police Mercedes cut a swathe through the downtown Nairobi traffic, siren wailing. A taxi with the rest of the team followed in hot pursuit.
As the entourage cleared the security barrier at the airport, a helicopter flew noisily overhead and landed on the tarmac in front of them. It sat rotors spinning, decked out in military camouflage - a helmeted pilot in dark glasses peered out at them from a small high window.
Firdus crossed to the aircraft. Ducking under the rotor wash he pulled himself up to the window using the grab handles in a single step and shouted. ‘Kinanjui?’ Holding up his ministerial ID.
The pilot shouted back. ‘Yes sir.’
‘This is my team.’ Firdus pointed at the assembled group. The pilot nodded and turned, shouting something to his co-pilot. A large side door slid open, and a set of steps swung down.
Firdus waved the team forward; they jogged across and scrambled up the st
eps in an untidy and nervous rush. He gave the thumbs up to Katana who was sat wild eyed in the helicopter, as the co-pilot flicked the steps up and shut the door.
Firdus walked back to the waiting Mercedes where the driver stood and watched. The rotors spun faster and the aircraft lifted off with a deafening roar. It turned and steadily gained height, tilted forward, the noise receding as it progressed across the sky.
‘Ok.’ said Firdus to his driver, ‘back to the hotel please and no need to use the siren.’
Katana had planned to brief his team on the flight as they still had no idea what the objective of the mission was, but the noise made that impossible. After he got used to the motion of the aircraft he relaxed a little, he had only seen the ground once through a small porthole as the craft banked, and was not encouraged to look again. Instead, eyes shut he visualised how he was going to make the arrests.
The flight took just over an hour, he opened his eyes as he felt a bump, surprised and relieved to see they had landed; a red painted sign over a low grey building read Malindi Airport.
The co-pilot slid the door open, humid air wafted into the cabin with a faint smell of the ocean. He swung the steps down and stepped onto the tarmac, beckoning his passengers to follow. The team trouped out one by one and stood about curiously examining the helicopter and their new surroundings, grinning at one another. Katana moved forward to talk to the pilot, his official ID in his hand. ‘I’m Detective Katana,’ he announced.
‘Yes sir,’ said the pilot, taking off his helmet and glasses.
Katana was astonished to see how young he was.
‘The minister said you would brief me on what to do next.’
‘Yes alright, I want you to wait here and I will call you.’
‘Very good Sir, do you want me to refuel?’
‘Yes, yes, that would be a good idea. Now I was told you would have guns for me and my team?’
The pilot reached over, undid a latch on a concealed compartment and slid the door open. ‘Help yourself,’ he said. Katana looked in at a well stocked armoury, helmets, flak jackets, assault rifles, grenades, teargas, machine pistols and even a rocket launcher. He fingered the jackets and with regret chose only two pistols and three machine guns. The pilot watched him, an amused look on his face.
‘Are they loaded?’ The detective asked.
‘Of course sir, spare bullets in the corner,’ he helped him select the right ones.
Katana sat on the steps and distributed the guns to his team, when it came to Cyrus he said. ‘You stick with me.’
Cyrus frowned and said sulkily. ‘Ok sir.’
The detective turned to his team and addressed them. ‘We are here to arrest two people or possibly three. One of them is the senior police inspector of the Malindi Station. I’m not expecting any trouble, but we must be alert at all times. The objective of this mission is to take these prisoners back with us to Nairobi, not to shoot them. Is that clear?’
They nodded eagerly. He then gave out individual instructions. Cyrus was told to find two taxis to transport the team to the police station.
The rest of Katana’s team followed him across the tarmac into the airport building, the guns and serious looks causing an already curious public to stop and stare. Cyrus returned with an ageing Toyota corolla, with tinted windows, and a yellow painted tuk-tuk with “chao amigo,” emblazoned on the cabin roof in multi colours.
Katana eyed the choice. ‘Is there nothing else?
Cyrus shrugged. ‘The others refused. It’s not far to the cop shop, but these two want to be paid up front,’ he waved at the watching drivers. Katana handed him the money.
‘Let’s go,’ he called out to his team, he pointed at Cyrus, ‘with me,’ and got into the front seat of the Toyota.
Armed policemen in the tuk-tuk, guns poking out of its plastic flaps, followed the corolla. The driver sped through town, headlights blazing and all hazard lights winking. Katana sat in the back and made no comment; he either didn’t notice or didn’t care still feeling nauseous after the helicopter flight.
THIRTY-THREE
Patel and the manager met Fimbo as he arrived in the hotel car park with two other men in the car. Fimbo looked awkward dressed in a tight fawn coloured suit. He had swapped his swagger stick for a rolled up newspaper.
David’s eyes narrowed. ‘Your VIP?’
‘Yes. OCS from Malindi, don’t worry I will cover expenses,’ he waved a cheery greeting at Fimbo. The other men stood deferentially beside the inspector. Patel could see a woman still sitting in the car as he walked across to shake the inspector’s hand.
Fimbo shook and held on. ‘Jambo muhindi,’ he said.
‘Welcome to the Royal Hotel Inspector. Will you need more rooms?’ Patel eyed the two men.
‘No, I was just giving them a lifti.’ Fimbo barked out orders, the men turned and made their way to the gate.
Patel noticed their police issue boots; the inspector it seemed had brought some insurance with him.
‘Meeti my wifi muhindi,’ Fimbo said, still holding on and tugging Patel over towards the car. A short buxom woman gracelessly exited, sliding out, her skirt rucking up untidily, a large black plastic handbag impeding her progress.
She stood beside Fimbo, a full head shorter despite her heels and looked unsmilingly at Patel, tugging her rumpled skirt back into shape. ‘My wife Susan,’ said Fimbo.
‘Mary,’ she corrected him.
‘Yes Mary, Susan, that’s what I say,’ Fimbo stated.
‘Very good Mary Susan,’ Patel smiled. Fimbo released his hand and he presented it to her. She barely touched it.
Patel then turned and introduced David. ‘He has given you the best rooms,’ he said breezily.
Fimbo scanned David’s face for criminal intent, slapping his leg with the rolled up newspaper. Satisfied, he turned and looked round the car park. ‘I see no cars,’ he announced.
‘You have come a little early,’ Patel agreed, ‘the cars will be here soon, why don’t you go with the manager and relax in your rooms. There is a fridge there with beers and a T.V.’
‘Ah good.’ Fimbo’s attention turned to the manager. ‘Let’s go,’ he instructed pointing his newspaper at him.
David asked. ‘Do you have any luggage sir?’
‘No.’ Fimbo stared at him.
David led the way followed by the inspector and his wife clacking along behind them in high heels.
Fimbo, turned and looked at Patel. ‘You come muhindi?’
‘Yes, Sir, I will join you in a few moments.’ Patel then turned to his driver. ‘Everything ok?’
‘Yes sir,’ said the driver.
‘Now you know what to do. It’s very important that you get down to Dar-es-Salaam today.’ Patel reached into his pocket and handed the driver some money, ‘a little something extra for you.’ The driver gratefully took it and thanked him. ‘No problem,’ said Patel, ‘have a safe trip and I will see you back in Malindi.’
As Patel watched the car go out of the gate he spotted one of Fimbo’s men leaning on the wall of a building opposite. The other man must be round the front of the hotel Patel reasoned as he crossed the car park. ‘Shit’, he muttered to himself, this was an added complication he didn’t need.
He met David at the reception. ‘That one,’ pointing an index finger at the ceiling ‘is trouble.’
‘It’s only for one night,’ Patel reassured him, ‘and I am paying your premium rate.’
‘Yes,’ nodded David, ‘and I will add any breakage’s to your bill,’ he announced with feeling.
‘Don’t worry, he has enough booze and you can expect that he will hole up in there with room service and the TV.’
‘I hope you’re right, what was his talk of cars all about?’
‘I have arranged for him to see some cars.’
David frowned. ‘You know, I don’t condone corruption.’
‘This is business and it’s my business.’ Patel stated.
‘I just do
n’t want any trouble in my hotel.’
‘You won’t have any, what room number is he in?’
‘The suite 501.’
‘Thank you,’ Patel said and walked towards the lift.
He knocked on the door and waited, he knocked again.
Mary opened the door a crack and peered out at him. ‘Who is it?’ Fimbo’s voice boomed behind her.
‘The muhindi,’ she shrieked back over the noise of the TV.
The door opened wider. Fimbo stood in the doorway in a vest, holding a beer in his hand, Mary beside him, now more dwarf like without her heels.
‘Are the cars here?’ He asked, burping loudly.
‘No not yet, can I come in?’
‘You want a beer muhindi?’ Fimbo stepped back into the room and turned the TV down.
‘No thank you, I wondered if you have my passport?’
‘Yes I have.’
‘I see. May I have it?’ he asked timidly.
Fimbo chuckled, waving his beer bottle around. ‘The cars, muhindi. Where are the cars?’ Mary laughed with him, enjoying Patel’s discomfort.
‘They will be here soon, I will call you,’ Patel said and backed away. Fimbo turned up the TV and Mary shut the door. Patel clenched his fists in anger as he went back down the hall to the lift, without that passport, he couldn’t put his escape plan into action.
He rang the dealer to hurry him along and waited in his room, half an hour later the phone rang. ‘Ok I will come right out,’ he told him. In the car park a silver coloured land cruiser and a black Mercedes were parked alongside Patel’s car. Two men, one of them the dealer, leant against the back of the Mercedes.
Patel walked up and looked over the cars. He called Fimbo.
While he waited for him to appear, he had a good look at the silver Landcruiser. It was a newer model, with a more rounded shape. He decided he preferred his own.
Fimbo appeared in shirtsleeves, still carrying his rolled up newspaper, a faint flicker of a smile on his face as he looked at the cars. Mary trotted along behind him.
Patel introduced him to the dealer. Fimbo held onto his hand and leaned forward pushing his face up close. ‘muhindi these cars, they are good?’
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