Marjory closed her eyes and clenched her jaw. Suppressing her shock and outrage, she tried to keep her voice even. ‘Yes, you have made your position very clear sir.’
‘Thank you, have a nice day,’ and he hung up.
She put the phone down woodenly, a wave of fear coursing through her and took a few deep breaths. She leaned forward on the desk head in her hands thinking furiously, replaying the minister’s words in her mind. There was a knock on the door. Sandifer, his ready lopsided smile turned to one of concern as he saw her obvious distress. ‘Are you alright Ma’am?Is this a bad time?’
Not raising her head she waved him to a chair with one hand. ‘No. Come in John and shut the door,’ she said wearily, a slight tremble in her voice.
He did as he was told, wondering what had happened.
Marjory leaned back in her chair and looked at him with a vague and unfocused gaze, she then got up and walked slowly over to a sideboard and poured herself a glass of water. She took a few birdlike sips and then returned to her desk. ‘So John tell me what news of Nicholls?’ She invited, her voice once more even.
‘Yes Ma’am. He is being held at the airport over his passport.’
‘But he is a British citizen?’
‘Yes correct Ma’am, they picked him up on a delay tactic. They will send his passport back to us for verification and only then will he be allowed to enter Britain.’
‘Are they aware of the extradition request on him yet?’
‘No Ma’am.’
‘So we can’t have him charged with anything until he enters Britain legally? Now listen to me carefully John. I have just had the Minister Omollo on the phone. He has put us in a real fix, one that only your people can sort out, we can’t go through the normal channels.’ She then repeated what the Minister had said. An hour later, the two of them had worked out a plan.
‘John, you know that I can’t be involved. I’m relying on your discretion, I don’t need to tell you how delicate our position is. If the Ministry of Agriculture even gets a whiff of this scandal, it could have some far reaching and unpleasant implications.’
‘Yes Ma’am, I’m sure it won’t be too difficult, I will get onto it right away,’ he stood up. The Ambassador proffered her hand. They shook, sealing the deal.
‘Thank you John, keep me informed. I don’t need to know all the details.’
FORTY-THREE
At the airport, Brian was taken into the police station, a gate was unlocked by a uniformed policeman, leading to long corridor that smelled of disinfectant, empty cells on either side. The guard opened the last one and invited Brian to go in. A small bed, washbasin and toilet was all the cell contained. He stepped into it resignedly and was locked in.
‘When do I get to see a lawyer?’ He asked the guard.
‘Search me mate,’ he replied, ‘but I tell you what, no shouting from you. I want to watch my footie on the telly.’ He took a clipboard off the wall. ‘Are you a vegetarian?’
Brian shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Good, lunch at one o’clock.’
The guard walked off, the sound of his footsteps receding left Brian in silence looking round the walls. He sat on the bed feeling miserable. He still had the money he consoled himself, they would eventually have to let him out and with that thought he fell into a deep sleep.
He was woken as though from a dream, a pleasant feminine voice calling his name. ‘Mr. Brian Nicholls?’ He looked up from the bed still half-asleep to see a small, pretty woman smiling at him through the bars.
‘Hello, I’m Claire Raynor from the Foreign Office,’ she introduced herself brightly.
‘Oh good,’ He smoothed his mussed hair with his hands and stood up. ‘Sorry I was asleep,’ he apologized.
‘I expect you needed it after all your adventures.’
‘Yes, yes I did,’ Brian agreed waking up and eyeing her neat figure. She wore a grey, lightly pinstriped dress nipped at the waist. Her short hair cut in a bob was very attractive.
‘You said you’re from the Foreign Office?’ Brian asked.
The guard sauntered up, interrupting. ‘Everything alright?’
‘Yes everything is fine,’ she answered, ‘any chance I could have a chair to sit on, or a stool,’ she pointed at the floor.
‘Oh yes,’ said the guard, off on a mission. He was soon back and placed a stool on the floor in front of her. ‘Here you go,’ he then leant against the bars of the adjoining cell.
She thanked him, moving the stool in front of Brian, and sat down arranging her skirt, a quick flash of firm thighs and painted toenails in neat summer sandals. She turned to the guard. ‘You don’t mind if we have some privacy?’
The guard looked uncomfortable. ‘It’s security,’ he said.
‘Thank you, but I think you can see Mr. Nicholls is not going anywhere,’ and she giggled deliciously.
‘Ah, ok, if you need me, just yell,’ he said as he walked off.
‘Back to his football,’ Claire winked at Brian, nodding conspiratorially in the guard’s direction.
He smiled at her, enchanted.
‘Must be a bit grim down here,’ she commiserated.
‘They won’t let me near a lawyer. Is that why you’re here?’
Claire tilted her head to one side, a little frown on her face. ‘Yes and, no. I’m not sure why I’m here except that your passport was issued at the Embassy in Kenya - you know when you registered it. Such tiresome things passports, aren’t they really? Anyhow be as that may, procedures dictate that your passport has to be sent back to our Embassy in Kenya for them to verify that it’s the genuine article.’
She held her hand up to stop Brian’s protest, he noted no wedding ring. ‘Now I know that seems silly and unreasonable, but,’ she grimaced, ‘it’s the rules, you know.’
‘But I could be in here for days. What about my rights?’
Claire said. ‘Actually Brian - may I call you that?’ She looked at him in earnest.
‘Yes of course.’
‘Brian, you’re not technically,’ a small frown, ‘in Britain. You’re in a bureaucratic no man’s land, and being held under the terrorist act, so your rights don’t actually apply in this situation.’
‘But that’s outrageous.’
‘Yes I know,’ she bit her lip. ‘That Hardy is such a bully.’
‘It was him was it?’
‘Yes well, you know, modern times, part of his job.’
‘So you have come here to tell me that nothing can be done until my passport is cleared. Is that right?
‘Yes I’m afraid so Brian, but look on the bright side, as soon as your passport is cleared you will be allowed into Britain officially, and can talk to a lawyer. It’s not as though you’re going to be interrogated, or anything nasty like that.’
The sound of a mobile phone rang, a distant chiming getting louder. Claire frowned and reached for her purse. ‘Sorry I thought I had switched it off.’ She fished it out read the details and stood up turning away from Brian. She walked off down the corridor to speak to the caller. He could make out a series of yes’s and no’s, until she went out of earshot.
The sound of approaching footsteps in the corridor made him look up, expecting to see the guard. It wasn’t, it was the man who had arrested him. Hardy sat down heavily on the stool his pale eyes on Brian. ‘Nicholls you’re a bloody fool.’
‘I’m not saying anything until I speak to a lawyer.’
‘Fine you want to put yourself in more shit that’s up to you,’ he said conversationally and lit a cigarette as Brian watched. Hardy looked around ineffectively for an ashtray and then gave up and took a long enjoyable drag. ‘What Claire hasn’t told you - because she didn’t know - is that the Kenyans want you back in Kenya to face charges to do with exploiting an underage girl.’
Brian started, shocked. ‘What girl? It’s a lie!’
‘Not according to them,’ Hardy flicked his ash on the floor and stared at him. ‘You could spend life in j
ail, actually the maximum sentence is twenty years, but no one lasts that long in a Kenyan jail,’ he took another long drag of his cigarette.
Brian’s voice faltered. ‘It’s not true - none of it.’
Hardy leaned forward blowing out smoke. ‘I’m almost feeling sorry for you Nicholls. You have a solution, but for some reason you just won’t take it.’
Brian’s face went blank.
‘Tell you what; once I finish this fag I’m going to leave. There’s a part of me that thinks I should help people like you, but as you don’t want to talk, then you may as well listen.’
Brian glowered, his jaw set.
‘You know, the Kenyans know, and we know, you have the money. It’s only a question of time before we trace it, but time is what you don’t have. You could easily save yourself, just tell us where it is. The Kenyans will drop the charges. You will spend time in jail here for embezzlement. As you’re a second offender it will be at least six years, but you could be out with good behaviour in four, but at least you won’t be in a Kenyan jail.’
Brian ran his fingers through his hair, his shoulders slumped as he realised he was beaten.
Hardy dropped the cigarette on the floor and crushed it out with his shoe. ‘I don’t know,’ he muttered under his breath, ‘why I bother.’ He stood up.
‘Wait,’ Brian said in a small voice. ‘If I tell you where the money is, you won’t have me sent back to Kenya?’
‘Yes that’s right, save yourself man,’ he encouraged.
‘The money is in an offshore account in the Isle of Wight.’
Hardy waved to someone in the corridor. Claire returned with a clipboard in her hand. ‘Give the information to Mrs. Raynor,’ the detective told him, ‘and Nicholls,’ he pointed a finger at him, ‘you had better be telling the truth, you won’t get a second chance, that I can promise you.’
He turned to Claire. ‘When you’re done use the computer upstairs. I will see you back at the office.’
‘Very good sir,’ she said, as he strode off. She sat down on the stool turned away from Brian. ‘Now give me all the details.’
*
Firdus alighted from the aircraft in Malindi, and gratefully removed his jacket and tie. He waved away the touts plying for trade as he walked over to where Doug had left the Landrover. A cursory walk around the car revealed the tires were still inflated and apart from a thin layer of dust, the car looked as normal. Firdus dusted off the driver’s seat before fishing out the keys from under the mat. One turn in the ignition showed the battery wasn’t entirely flat, he called out to the car park askaris to give him a push. Pumping the accelerator the old car coughed into life a few yards later.
Firdus waved his thanks as he drove toward town, cautiously checking the brakes before he got up to speed. Outside his supermarket, leaving the engine running, he went in to buy provisions for the farm. Pleased to be back to his familiar routine he made a few more stops in town. He topped up with fuel on his way out of Malindi looking forward to the long drive home. Once he had cleared town and was on the familiar dirt road, Firdus had time to think over the recent case. This was the new modern Africa, policemen and leaders who ultimately rotated away from their training back to the fear based methods of chiefdoms. Every successive generation watering itself down to the common denominator of “might is right” and a population lacking any leadership examples, money was right and no money was wrong.
Firdus thought back to those bright eager young faces at the passing out parades when he was an instructor at the police college in Kiganjo, carrying the hopes and aspirations of a new nation in their newly found independence. Where did it all go so wrong? He pulled the Landrover over to the side of the road and walked into the nearby bush to relieve himself. At the car he took out a bottle of water and drank. He looked about him enjoying the vacuum of the open spaces, the blue skies studded with cotton wool clouds, the flat topped acacia trees alive with blossoms and birdsong. Bottle in hand he went back to the edge of the road and studied the finer dust, reading in the spoor of passing animals, the delicate prints of a pair of dikdiks and the pad marks of a silver backed jackal following the miniature antelopes. He took a deep breath shaking off his previous maudlin thoughts. ‘This is where I belong now,’ he said to himself, ‘this evening I will go down to the river and catch a fish for my supper,’ he resolved, climbing back into the car and setting off for home.
*
At three p.m. that afternoon, John Sandifer went to the ambassador’s office triumphantly carrying a e-mail from the London head office. He smiled as he handed it over to his boss wordlessly.
Marjory quickly read it and then sighed with relief. ‘Well done John,’ She then rang the Minister’s office, pointing out an extension to John where he could listen in.
Omollo came on. ‘Ambassador. You have good news for me?’
‘Yes Minister. I have the information you asked for.’
‘You have the money?’
‘Yes. Nicholls has come clean.’
‘Wonderful.’ Omollo said with obvious pleasure. ‘Where is it now?’
‘Does this mean you no longer want Nicholls extradited?’ Marjory asked, looking at John.
‘That depends. You said you have the stolen money?’
‘Yes the funds have been recovered.’
‘How much?’
Marjory gritted her teeth; this conversation was more of an interrogation. ‘According to our sources, it’s just over four million dollars.’
‘Excellent, now I will give you a bank account number where you are to transfer this money. Are you ready?’
‘Sir, I need to clarify some things with you first.’ She stalled him, John raised his eyebrows.
‘What things?’The Minister asked impatiently.
‘Minister, firstly this extradition notice for Nicholls.’
He interrupted her rudely. ‘Wait,’ she heard him speaking to someone else in his office. He came back on the line and read out some numbers to her, a bank account in Switzerland. ‘Did you get that?’
‘Sorry, could you repeat the numbers,’ Marjory agreed reluctantly as she wrote them down, John doing the same.
‘Now, once the money has been confirmed in that account, I will send you an official letter rescinding the extradition.’
‘Sir, and the other issue with the Ministry of Agriculture?’
‘No problem. The tractors will be off loaded as per schedule. How soon can you get the transfer done?’
‘Is this account officially held by the government of Kenya?’ She shot back. John frowned at her.
There was a pause. ‘The recovered money will be held in an escrow account, until the legal machinery in my country is ready to return it to its rightful owners, not that it’s any of your business,’ he said pleasantly.
Marjory took a deep breath. ‘Sir you will have to send me a formal request, signed by you in your capacity as Minister of Security for the Kenya government, before my office is willing to act on this matter.’ John’s mouth was agape.
‘I don’t think you are in a position to demand anything from my office, the money does not belong to the British government.’ Omollo replied, his voice rising.
‘Sir we must follow the correct protocol. I’m not authorized to comply with your request,’ she turned him down.
‘You are being very stubborn and this is not negotiable, as I explained to you earlier.’
‘Sir this is a request from my head office.’ John waved his free hand negatively.
‘So then maybe I should be talking directly to someone there, what do you think?’
‘That is your right,’ she agreed.
John was shaking his head looking at the ceiling.
‘Yes it is, but I’m sure you can save yourself the embarrassment, my dear Ambassador. This problem is growing out of proportion wouldn’t you say,’ he suggested unfazed.
‘Minister I have given you my answer,’ she replied.
‘Such a lovely proper
ty, how can you be so foolish?’
‘Sir this is not my call. If you send me the letter only then can I act on it.’
‘No can do, let me know if you reconsider.’
Marjory felt her face flush. ‘Sir can you wait.’ She covered her mouthpiece and said to John in a furious whisper. ‘We can’t let him get away with this.’
He replied in an equally furious whisper. ‘With respect, it’s not your call Ma’am. My people have it covered.’
Marjory scowled at him as she resumed her conversation. ‘Minister, I will arrange the transfer as you request.’
‘Very good, I knew you would find a way.’
Marjory put the phone down, a minor victory. John put down his extension. ‘Phew, that was close,’ he smiled.
She did not smile back. ‘You got the details of the account?’
‘Yes Ma’am.’
‘Well get on with it,’ she instructed irritably.
FORTY-FOUR
Patel and his family had a wonderful time at Euro Disney, united once more and enjoying a completely new experience; their joy was palpable. Fatima had never seen her husband in such a frivolous mood and she fell in love with him all over again. The children were fearless when it came to the rides. Jitu the eldest pestered his father to distraction until he agreed to come with him on a milder helter-skelter.
Patel kept his eyes shut throughout and his legs were shaking so badly at the end that he could hardly walk straight. The kids found this hilarious and imitated him, falling over themselves with laughter. Fatima was more reserved, putting her arm round her husband telling him how brave he was. ‘Who would have thought you could get people to pay money for that terrible experience,’ he said, shaking his head.
The three days went past at lightning pace and soon they were on the train to Zurich. The bubble burst a little when the children found themselves held captive in a hotel room while Patel went about his business.
‘It’s colder than England mum,’ Gulam the youngest complained, ‘I hope we don’t have to live here.’
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