Sam Harris Adventure Box Set

by P J Skinner

  ‘I can supervise her spending if the board agrees.’ Dirk had stood up and was waving his hands around in his habitual manner.

  ‘There’ll have to be a cap,’ said Morné. ‘So she can spend small amounts without having to ask permission for every damn thing.’

  ‘What about five thousand dollars?’ said Dirk.

  ‘What about one thousand?’ said Paul, looking to Devin for support.

  ‘I’d agree to that,’ said Devin, ‘But I’ve never seen a woman do a job like this before. I can’t imagine that she’s capable.’

  ‘She says she is,’ said Dirk, ‘and I agree. How will we ever know what women can do if we don’t give them a chance? Anyway, isn’t a failing project the perfect place for an experiment? If she can’t recover it, there’s no harm done, and she takes the blame, and if she succeeds, it’s a win-win for us.’

  ‘You have a point,’ said Morné. ‘Okay gentlemen, can we agree to try her? Say, a one year rolling contract?’

  ‘Six months,’ said Devin.

  ‘Hear, hear,’ said Paul.

  ‘Okay, six months.’ Morné’s exasperation showed on his impassive face. ‘A show of hands please.’

  ***

  Sam perched on the edge of a chair in the reception, tapping her foot.

  ‘How did it go in there?’ said Miriam who appeared carrying a tray of coffee which she offered to Sam.

  ‘Oh, um, not bad,’ said Sam, fiddling with her necklace.

  She accepted a cup on autopilot and swigged a large gulp. It was strong enough to trot a mouse across the top and she had to prevent herself from spitting it back out. She longed for some milk but was too polite to ask.

  ‘Compared to what? You’re brave, going in to the lions’ den like that. They’re a difficult proposition,’ said Miriam, putting the tray on a small hall table.

  ‘It’s lucky I had no warning of what was planned or I might have wimped out.’

  ‘You don’t fool me. I know a backbone of steel when I see it. Did any of them question your suitability for the job as a female?’

  ‘There were two directors with their arms folded who didn’t engage, even with my best jokes. I was so nervous I don’t remember being introduced. They seemed to think women belonged in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant.’

  ‘What did they look like?’

  ‘One was plump with pink cheeks and a bald head, and the other was younger, with lots of hair and a sharp face.’ He had the face of a rodent, and the other man resembled a serving of blancmange, all pink and wobbly.

  ‘Devin Ryan is the sharp faced man and Paul Hogan is the plumper one. Be careful. They can be dangerous apart but if you unite them, I don’t fancy your chances.’

  Sam was about to ask for more details when the intercom buzzed. Miriam picked it up and listened. She replaced it and smiled.

  ‘It looks like you were a hit with the boys. Dirk Goosen wants to see you in his office.’

  Sam felt her chest tighten. She played for time.

  ‘May I go to the bathroom first? I’ve had a lot of coffee,’ she said.

  Miriam laughed and pointed.

  ‘It’s across the hall over there. I’ll wait for you and then take you to his den.’

  The toilet was small with two cubicles separated with plywood covered in graffiti scrawled in blue and black ballpoint on the thin paint. Sam read some of it while she sat on the toilet composing herself for the next meeting. D. is a complete bastard. Watch out for D. and his wandering hands. She couldn’t make out the lettering Could that be Devin Ryan? Would he be that unprofessional?

  A large cockroach lumbered across the floor, staggering left and right as if drunk. As she watched it, the massive insect keeled over beside her foot and remained on its back wiggling its feet in the air. She tried to poke it upright but it was hopeless so she pushed it into a corner with her toe. What a dump. Was the men’s bathroom like this?

  Washing her hands in the cracked basin, she dried them on a scrap of toilet paper. She gave herself a quick once over in the mirror. Her mousey hair, cut for the interview into a severe bob, and destined to spend the next six months in a bun, sat on her shoulders like a curtain of shot silk. It framed her brown face with its sprinkle of freckles and her bright green eyes which gazed back at her without judgement. Come on Sam, you’ve got this.

  ‘Sorry Miriam. I got distracted,’ she said, coming out to find her sitting on a chair in the corridor.

  ‘That’s okay. It’s nice to take the weight off. Did you do any reading in there?’

  ‘Um, I noticed a few scribbles on the wall.’

  ‘Graffiti never lies,’ said Miriam, avoiding Sam’s inquiring glance. ‘Come on. Dirk’s a busy man.’

  ***

  ‘Charlie? It’s me.’

  Urbane, handsome, deadly, Charlie Okito occupied the position of country manager in Lumbono and he reigned supreme in the Consaf office in the capital City, Goro. He had little time for sympathy as he was taking his new secretary to lunch in an hour, and she didn’t know it yet, but she was the main course.

  ‘To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?’

  ‘We’ve got trouble.’

  ‘Hang on a minute.’ He put the receiver down, lit a cigarette and put his feet up on the desk, taking a couple of puffs and exhaling before he picked it up again. ‘‘Come, come. My dear chap, it can’t be that bad.’

  ‘They’ve chosen a new manager for the project at Masaibu.’

  ‘Big deal. Will he be based in Johannesburg?’

  ‘It’s a woman. And she’s insisting on living in camp.’

  Charlie Okito choked on his cigarette.

  ‘They’re sending a woman?’ he said, taking his feet off his desk. ‘A woman? Are they mad or desperate?’ His sinister laugh echoed down the telephone line but it didn’t side-track the speaker.

  ‘Both. But she’s no pushover, Charlie. She has bigger balls than any of the board.’

  ‘Ha! That remains to be seen. She’s just made my job much easier.’

  ‘So, our plans won’t be affected?’

  ‘Of course not. If she resides at Masaibu, even better. She doesn’t stand a chance. I’ll deal with it.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll leave it with you. Bye then.’

  He sounded doubtful. Charlie Okito replaced the receiver. It was not true that the idea of a woman running Masaibu hadn’t fazed him. Women were dangerous. He shook his head and smoothed his tight curls onto his regal skull. He adjusted his tackle, shook out his trousers and smacked his lips. Thinking of women, where was that secretary?

  ***

  Dirk sat behind a big mahogany desk littered with files and photo frames and dirty coffee cups. His head rested in his hands as he read a document with studied concentration raising an eyebrow from time to time. His thick hair sat on top of his craggy features which were wrinkled by years of chain smoking.

  When the two women came in, he sucked in his stomach which had expanded since he had given up cigarettes.

  ‘Sam, sit down. Do you want a cup of coffee or something?’ said Dirk.

  ‘Just some water please,’ said Sam who was still high on caffeine from the last cup.

  ‘Thanks Miriam.’

  Dirk waited until Miriam had shut the door before speaking.

  ‘Tough audience?’ he said.

  Sam smiled. ‘I’m here all week,’ she said.

  ‘You’re quite a girl,’ said Dirk. ‘Are there any more like you at home?’

  ‘I have a sister,’ said Sam.

  ‘I think one will be enough.’

  The telephone rang and Dirk picked it up.

  ‘Morné? Yes, just a minute.’

  He gestured at Sam to stay where she was and took the receiver out of the room. She examined Dirk’s sanctum. Large pieces of hardwood furniture gave it a masculine air accentuated by the oil paintings of elephants and photographs of men standing in front of large pieces
of machinery which lined the walls.

  Good job he hadn’t asked her more questions about her sister, Hannah, now living with Sam’s ex-boyfriend, Simon. It was hard to remain neutral on the subject even though the initial pain had waned. The galling thing was how content they both were, something she had never managed to achieve with the cheating bastard. Maybe it was fate. Anyway, it was all over now, and they had baby Jack, the balm that had healed the open wound between the sisters.

  Sam had consoled herself with the hope that her latest flame, Fergus would choose to commit to her instead. His work also involved extensive travel to remote sites making it difficult to schedule any quality time together. But that was not the only reason they only seldom got together, and reluctant to force a decision from him, she bided her time and stayed single.

  Dirk returned and dropped heavily into his chair. His jaw was clenched but the news was good.

  ‘Sorry, about that. Where were we?’ said Dirk. ‘Oh yes, that was Morné Van Rooyen. The board are offering you a 6-month rolling contract as general manager of the project. Does that suit you?’

  How had Van Rooyen persuaded the board? He must have the passing vote. Their obvious resistance to her appointment made her uneasy but she would be insulated from their interference in Lumbono. They might even change their mind about women running projects if she did a good job. How often would she get a chance like this?

  ‘That sounds perfect. When do I start?’ she said.

  ‘Can you start on the first of the month? That makes it easier for our accounting department. You need to give them your details,’ said Dirk.

  ‘Um, how much will Consaf pay me?’ said Sam, blushing.

  Dirk slapped his hand to his forehead. ‘I forgot to ask. They’ll know in accounts. If it’s not satisfactory, come back and tell me.’

  ‘Will I get any training?’ said Sam.

  ‘Not as such. I’ll be supervising you, so you can call or email me any time you’ve a problem. The senior guys out there should be of help with any company protocols you don’t find in the on-site documentation.’

  Sam felt the buck being passed but she’d just have to wing it. Anyway, the less bureaucracy the better as far as she was concerned. How hard could it be?

  ‘What rotation will I be on?’ she asked.

  ‘Most of our managers on remote sites work ten weeks in and then take three weeks out.’

  ‘Do we have travel days?’ said Sam

  ‘We pay them out, you pay them in.’

  Miriam reappeared as if by magic and beckoned her outside. Sam hesitated, but Dirk was already reading the document again and didn’t see her wavering, or didn’t want to. Anyway, it was a sign she would have free rein at the project. His attitude shouted hands-off management. She got the hint.

  She followed Miriam out into her office, her head swimming with the speed of developments.

  ‘Can you use email?’ said Miriam.

  ‘I haven’t tried. Is it difficult?’ said Sam, hoping it wasn’t.

  ‘No, it’s simple. We use a company called CompuServe. I presume you can use a word processor?’

  ‘Yes, I learnt to use WordStar in London,’ said Sam.

  ‘We use Lotus Notes but it’s almost the same thing.’

  ‘Can you show me?’

  ‘Sure, come with me to the tech department and we’ll get you set up before you go to HR.’

  ***

  Paul Hogan and Devin Ryan met in the pub down the street from Consaf, a faux old-world mock up that shouted dated from every corner. They made themselves comfortable in a walled booth, facing each other across a battered oak table. Both ordered large sirloin steaks which almost covered their plates in succulent meat. Hogan trowelled the food into his mouth, his head bent low and his serviette tucked into his shirt.

  Ryan observed him without comment, his lip curled. He pushed back his own plate with its half-eaten contents. Hogan glanced up from his trough and eyed the plate with something approaching lust. Ryan signalled to the waiter to remove it and Hogan’s face fell. Ryan, who had done it on purpose so as not to have to watch Hogan plough his way through another plate of food, gloated at the small victory. Disgusting old man. How does his wife stand him?

  He waited for Hogan to clean the plate with a piece of bread stuffing it into his mouth. The waiter removed his plate, revulsion on his face replaced by servile attention.

  ‘Dessert anyone?’

  ‘We’re on a diet,’ said Ryan, before Hogan, who had turned to the waiter like a begging dog, could answer. ‘Can you bring us a pot of filter coffee?’

  The waiter shrugged in faux empathy at Hogan and glided off into the shadows at the back of the restaurant.

  ‘I’m not on a diet,’ said Hogan.

  ‘You should be,’ said Ryan. ‘What do you want, anyway? Couldn’t we have talked in the office?’

  ‘Not about this. You should know how dangerous it is. There are PC spies everywhere.’

  ‘You’re being paranoid.’

  ‘I resent Morné forcing the vote. No good can come of it,’ said Hogan.

  ‘She doesn’t stand a chance. I don’t know what you’re worried about,’ Ryan retorted.

  ‘Hormones.’

  ‘Hormones? For God’s sake, Paul. They’re not poisonous. Anyway, no woman can survive out there. Look what happened to the last three managers.’

  ‘I blame Dirk. I can’t understand why Morné agreed to it.’

  ‘They’re as thick as thieves. Best not to reason why. Let’s have a coffee.’

  Chapter IV

  The four-seater aeroplane sat on the tarmac in the intense heat. Its wings shimmered in the sunlight and a man sprayed water at the fuselage with studied concentration. Sam waited in the shade of the wing of a large aircraft parked beside it, her cheap sunglasses fighting to dull the glare that bounced off the concrete. The man turned to face her. He had a large head with a straggly beard, which balanced on a skeletal frame.

  ‘Sam? I’m Mad Mark, your pilot.’

  How to make your clients feel relaxed, lesson one, failed. He struck her as the kind of scary nutter she would avoid by crossing a road or exiting a bus. But there was no next bus. She painted on a smile.

  ‘Hello. Nice to meet you.’

  He approached her and stuck out a bony hand with nails chewed to the quick. Sam took it without enthusiasm.

  ‘Let’s go then. Time’s a wasting,’ he said, jerking his head towards the plane.

  Sam dragged her massive suitcase nearer the hold. Mad Mark raised an eyebrow and shook his head.

  ‘We can’t take that,’ he said. ‘This plane has a weight limit.’

  ‘There’s just me and the suitcase,’ said Sam. ‘Isn’t your plane a four-seater?’

  ‘We have another passenger.’

  ‘Someone from Consaf? They didn’t tell me about that.’

  Mad Mark frowned and peered at the ground.

  ‘He’s not from Consaf.’

  ‘So, how come he’s on the charter?’ said Sam.

  Mad Mark scratched his head and his eyes flicked from side to side.

  ‘I’ve got to make a living,’ he said. ‘If I don’t bring the odd local official back and forwards, they won’t let me land in Lumbono.’

  ‘I need to bring my suitcase,’ said Sam, arms folded, jaw set. ‘And how heavy is he? We should be all right with just the three of us and a suitcase?’

  ‘He’s bringing his niece.’

  ‘His niece? Are you serious? I don’t mind you bringing a local official if that makes life easier, but this is ridiculous. I insist you take my bag instead. If not, I’ll call head office and ask them to choose.’

  ‘Head office? You can’t.’

  ‘I don’t want to interfere with your business but I must bring my luggage. I’m not leaving it behind,’ said Sam.

  Mad Mark’s shoulders slumped. ‘Wait here,’ he said. He marched off stamping o
n the tarmac with his large feet and disappeared into a nearby hangar, leaving Sam standing in the blazing sunshine with her suitcase.

  Five minutes later, he emerged with a short dapper black man who was wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase. The man inspected Sam with the air of a connoisseur. Whatever he was looking for, she passed the test. He held out his hand.

  ‘Victor Samba, enchanté,’ he said. If his niece being left behind had annoyed him, he betrayed no emotion. Sam took his hand and squeezed it.

  ‘Également. Je m’appelle Sam Harris,’ she said.

  ‘You speak French? Great,’ he said, in guttural French. ‘Let’s go then.’

  ‘I’m sorry about your niece,’ said Sam, ‘I can’t survive without my luggage.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Victor. ‘I have more nieces.’ And he winked.

  They took off from the main runway.

  ‘How long is our flight?’ said Sam.

  ‘Two hours, all being well. There’s a newspaper in the pocket in front of you if you want to read it,’ said Mark

  She didn’t but reached over and removed it out of politeness. The front-page shouted porn. Naked women posing with petrol pumps, vegetables, each other, adorned each article. A glance at the headlines gave her all the information she needed about their content. Sam almost dropped it in shock and folded it shut shoving it back into the seat pocket. Victor didn’t appear to have noticed.

  Had the pilot done it on purpose? She examined his thin arms on the controls and watched him to see if he glanced back at her. Mad Mark was oblivious, humming and nodding his big head like one of those novelty dogs her aunt Lottie kept on the dashboard of her ancient Morris Traveller. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and he didn’t seem as erratic as his name. Perhaps these scandalous rags were the norm.

  Sam relaxed and marvelled at the view. The flight path took them over a black lake with choppy waters buffeting the small boats littering the surface. Sam gazed out of the window at the scenery, but her mind soon wandered to Fergus, her favourite daydream. She’d had a fleeting but passionate relationship with him in Simbako but he had bailed out just when things started to get real between them.

  He had called her when she got back to London but only to put their relationship ‘on hold’. It was unfinished business as far as she was concerned. Given his history, she had been expecting the outcome, but it didn’t stop her feeling miserable. She remained convinced their relationship had legs, and she planned to try and get through his defences again one day.