African Pursuit

by David Alric

After she had left Luke put his carefully thought-out plan into action. He took his dressing gown into his small bathroom, put it on and then let out a cry of anguish as though he had suffered some serious injury. The guard rushed in (the door had no lock) to find the room empty. The tiny barred window, a few inches wide and large enough only to admit a cat, was open. The guard ran out and unlocked the main door to Luke’s room in order to call for assistance. He did not feel Luke brush past him. As the guard spoke frantically into his mobile and sounded a general alarm Luke casually removed an axe from the fire cuboard and split open his locker door. With trembling fingers he opened the secret compartment in the false heel of his shoe. To his unspeakable relief the little memory stick that contained everything he had ever stolen or discovered about invisibility still nestled securely in its hiding place. He slipped the precious gadget into his pocket, retrieved his house keys, wallet and other possessions, put on his shoes, then walked round the corner, past the guard frantically phoning for help at the nurses’ station, out of the ward through a door fortunately propped open for ventilation, down the stairs and out of the hospital.

  The professor had to get back to the crater if he wanted to be sure of future supplies of photogyraspar. The problem was that, as far as he knew, only two people knew where the crater was: the criminal pilot Biggles who had first taken Luke and his gang there, and Julian Fossfinder, the amateur pilot from the family Luke had tried to take hostage.

  Biggles was now dead, killed in the crater, and Julian was obviously not somebody who was going to tell the professor how to get back to the scene of his crimes. Luke knew, however, that Biggles had given some samples of ore to Lucinda’s boyfriend, Peter Flint, a geologist at the university, and hoped that Flint might have established where the crater was, to obtain further samples for his own research. Luke had spent a great deal of time in hospital considering this problem and had decided that his best – possibly his only– chance of finding out the location of the crater was to explore Flint’s office for information. After leaving the hospital he returned to his flat which was, as he had suspected, under constant police surveillance. Still invisible, he smashed a window at the end of the corridor leading to his apartment and when the policeman went to investigate he slipped through his front door and quickly retrieved the keys to his university department. He then went to the university and from a concealed compartment in his desk removed the keys to Flint’s research laboratory and the password to his computer which he had stolen from Lucinda. The password wasn’t really necessary – the professor was an IT wizard who could hack his way into almost any computer system – but it would certainly save him time.

  Soon he was sitting, invisible, at Flint’s computer searching for any reference to the pilot and the crater. Within moments he found found Inspector Colarinho’s e-mail to Flint informing him that the crater was now a prohibited zone.

  Luke slammed his fist on the desk and swore in frustration. Now he could never get back to the crater. He felt all his dreams and aspirations ebbing away. As for the postscript asking how Peter was coping with the situation concerning Lucinda – well personally he couldn’t care less about the effect Lucinda’s death had had on Peter Flint. As he scrolled down further through Flint’s correspondence, however, he read, with a flood of relief, the letter that Flint had received from London concerning a possible alternative source of the ore in Africa.

  No sooner had Luke printed off this page with its vital map reference than his attention was caught by a final outgoing e-mail to Julian Fossfinder, copied to the Bonaventures:

  Hi Julian,

  Thanks a million. You’ve saved me a great deal of time, money and trouble.

  Peter Flint.

  What in heaven’s name was Flint thanking Julian for, Luke wondered. If he had happened to walk ten yards along the corridor into Flint’s lab he would have found out and saved himself a great deal of trouble for there, in the middle of the floor, stood the very box of concentrated ore samples that Luke had himself laboriously collected and saved back in the crater. With those samples, and the priceless information he already possessed in his USB stick, the professor could have fulfilled all his evil ambitions and the world would have been a very different place. But the course of history turns on the most trivial of circumstances and the professor didn’t go into the next-door laboratory simply because he was unaware of any reason to do so.

  He closed down the computer, put his hands behind his head and sat back to think over what he had learnt. The Congo. Of all the places on earth. What an extraordinary stroke of luck for the location to be the one place where his cousin could help him – a cousin, moreover, who owed him a favour. Well, he told himself, he was certainly due a lucky break. He looked at his watch and did a rapid calculation of time zones. It was early evening in Central Africa. Perfect. He picked up Flint’s phone and rang international directory enquiries. A few minutes later he was through to a number in the Democratic Republic of Congo.

  ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Please may I speak to Mr Moriarty; you can tell him it’s Luke calling.’ There was a short pause, then Moriarty came on line.

  ‘Hi Luke.’

  ‘Hi Hans.’

  ‘What news?’

  ‘Good – for both of us, I think,’ said Luke. ‘Do you remember the favour you asked of me some time ago?’

  ‘I certainly do,’ came the reply.

  ‘Well, as you know, I was unable to help at the time because of my accident. Can I assume that you still need a great deal of money to solve your little problem?’

  ‘Yes, I…I need it more than ever.’ Luke was pleased to hear the note of desperation in the man’s voice; it would ensure his full cooperation.

  ‘Well, by a curious chance my money-making operation has been switched to your part of the world. I should be able to give you what you need within a couple of months. Oh, and just to remind you – we’re talking millions here.’

  ‘That’s fantastic,’ said Hans.

  ‘There’s just one problem,’ Luke continued. ‘I’m going to need your help. I need you to bend a few rules and bribe a few officials. I’ll need some mining and extraction permits and some mineral export licences. Oh, and I may need some visas if I use helpers. All these documents will have to be fake because we’d never get approval for real ones – even if we had the time to wait for them. Are you OK with that?’

  There was no hesitation on his cousin’s part.

  ‘That won’t be a problem,’ came the quiet reply. ‘I’ll fix anything you need, whatever it takes, as long as you can give me the dough as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Good’ said Luke, ‘We’ve got a deal. I’ve got a few arrangements to make and I’ll ring you back as soon as I know what I need.’

  ‘Luke…’ Luke thought he heard a stifled sob on the other end of the line. ‘…Luke. Thanks. You’ve really saved my bacon.’

  ‘Auf Wiedersehen, Hans!’ came the brief reply.

  After he put the phone down Hans (or John as he was known to his local associates in the Congo) poured himself a large drink from a cabinet on his office wall and sat back in his chair. Maybe, at last, this miraculous phone call would bring an end to the nightmare that had haunted him for the last six months. John held a very responsible position but had one secret weakness which was gambling, a vice which had recently put him into a position from which only a large sum of money could retrieve him. Although he and Luke had only met on a few occasions, the cousins were linked by an indissoluble family bond. Towards the end of the second world war Hans’ father, a senior German naval officer, had managed to arrange a passage to Brazil on a naval ship for his sister, Luke’s mother, and her husband who was anxious to leave Europe before the allies charged him with war crimes. Over the years the families had kept secretly in touch and the young cousins, though not knowing the details, were always acutely aware that Luke and his family owed Hans’ family a great deal.

  When Hans had faced ruin through his gambling habit h
e had rung Luke in Rio and pleaded for his help. As it happened he had rung at a most propitious time, for it was just after Luke had stolen Lucinda’s invisibility robe with the intention of making himself a fortune from her discovery. To bail out his cousin and repay the family debt of gratitude using a tiny part of the prodigious wealth he expected to possess was no issue and Luke had readily agreed.

  Reading of Luke’s crater accident in the news had been disastrous for Hans who saw his hopes of escaping ruin shattered. Now, however, it seemed as if Luke was still on track for saving him: and this time he could return the favour. Bribing some corrupt local officials to fiddle a few mining concessions, and issuing some fake export licences were all in a day’s work for Hans.

  He finished his drink and returned to work with renewed vigour. He couldn’t wait for the next communication from his cousin.

  9

  Planning a Rendezvous with Renegades

  Back in Peter Flint’s office the professor was already planning his next move. Now he had cleared the way to obtaining the necessary documentation from his cousin for mining the photogyraspar he faced the problem of actually extracting and processing the substance; the last time he did this, in the Amazon, he had enlisted the services of a bunch of greedy criminals to help him. As he pondered, the thought struck him that he might do exactly the same thing again. He suddenly remembered that Chopper and Sam Sawyer, his erstwhile companions in crime, had mentioned that their twin brothers Sid and Fred, on release from jail, had gone to Kenya to start up a poaching business. No sooner had the thought entered his head than Luke went into action. First he removed any evidence of his visit from Flint’s office, locked the door and, still invisible, slipped out of the university building. Outside, as luck would have it, a cab driver had left his taxi with the engine running while he helped an ageing lecturer up the steps with her suitcase. Hearing his cab suddenly roar off down the street the driver ran into the road and was astonished to see that nobody was driving it. Twenty minutes later Luke arrived at the city prison. This was the jail from which Chopper and the criminal pilot Biggles had escaped to help Luke on his previous mission. He knew it well, for it was here that he had first made contact with Biggles, concealed in the same prototype invisibility robe that he was now wearing. In the robe he slipped easily through the security guards at the prison entrance and made his way to the records department. He soon located Chopper’s file and there, under “next of kin” were listed his brother Sam of “no known address,” and his twin brothers, Sid and Fred. Their last known address was Manaus prison in the Amazon. Luke returned to his taxi and drove back to a street near his flat where he dumped the car. Returning home to his own computer he then hacked into the Manaus jail records and within moments had located the files on Sid and Fred Sawyer and noted their release date. He then established which airlines flew from South America to East Africa and an hour later had hacked into the computer system of the largest operator. He scanned through the passenger lists for the dates following the twins’ release from jail and there, just two weeks after their discharge, he found Fred and Sid Sawyer, destination Nairobi. He now had enough to go on to plan his own expedition to Africa. His first act was to hack into the airline booking system and within moments a bewildered airline clerk seemed unable to fix a computer glitch that insisted on a first class seat to Nairobi the following day remaining empty and unreservable. The next morning, invisible, the professor went to a large department store and stole all he needed for his journey. In a nearby bank a clerk spent the rest of the day trying to explain to his manager how an immense pile of banknotes had disappeared from under his nose, and a clerk at the passport office failed to notice that the new passport for a Senhor Luz was missing from a pile of passports due to be posted to their owners. Two hours later, at the airport, a check-in computer seemed magically to switch itself on, and the glitch that had been blocking a first-class seat suddenly corrected itself. A few moments later a distinguished-looking gentleman carrying an expensive new suitcase emerged from a nearby toilet, asked if any first-class seats were still available and was, apparently, pleasantly surprised to find that there was just one left. An interested observer (there was none) would have then been perplexed to see that the immaculate Senhor Luz, having paid for his ticket in cash and checked in his main luggage, returned to the toilet with a small hand bag but never came out again. Another observer, on the other side of security control, would have been equally perplexed to see a Senhor Luz carrying a small bag emerging from an apparently empty nearby toilet.

  After a relaxing flight and another uninterrupted passage through security control in Nairobi, the professor checked in to a posh hotel, then headed for the Kenya Wildlife Service Offices. There, once again invisible and unaccosted, he perused the files on poaching. Soon he found what he sought:

  “Mara, 12 October 2008. A further report came in today concerning the murder of Mushina Jangili, a well known poaching baron whose remains were found last week on the border of the Masai Mara Game Reserve. The torso of the man had been partially consumed by hyenas, but was still readily identified by his widow who was accompanied to the mortuary by a younger associate of Jangili and who seemed to be bearing her sudden loss with remarkable fortitude. The lower half of the body was intact and the words “Sid and Fred” had been branded onto the buttocks with a red-hot iron; an injury almost certainly inflicted, according to the police doctor, before death. The chief suspects are two white men, apparently identical twins. It is believed that the men, known locally as “the twins from hell,” have established a rival poaching business and are responsible for the recent massive increase in the loss of valuable wildlife species in this locality. They were described by the police as being stupid and vicious, and possibly called Sid and Fred.

  Luke smiled to himself and walked back to his hotel. Soon he emerged from his room in bush kit carrying a small bag and went over to the concierge. ‘Can you find a taxi that wants to go two hundred miles?’ he asked. The concierge glanced at the professor’s hand resting casually on a thick wad of notes.

  ‘There’s one waiting outside, sir,’ he replied.

  10

  A Pestilential Pair

  The crash of a heavy rifle shattered the still afternoon and was followed by the alarm calls of myriad birds and animals in the surrounding bush. The rhino sank to her knees then, following a second shot, rolled over onto her side. Her calf trotted round her, perplexed at his mother’s behaviour.

  ‘Nice shootin’ Sid,’ said Fred to his brother.

  ‘Pity it’s a female though,’ Sid replied.

  ‘Yeah – the horn’s so much smaller,’ agreed Fred. ‘Never mind though. It’s better than nothin’ an’ it all goes in the booze and fags fund.’ He raised his rifle and casually shot the calf which collapsed beside its mother’s lifeless corpse. ‘Talkin’ of which, you owe me a beer – I got the kid in one shot.’ They both laughed as they watched their gang of African helpers hack off the mother rhino’s horn with axes. The ‘helpers’ were virtually slaves as they were all criminals wanted by the police on various charges and Fred and Sid had acquired them by the simple expedient of murdering their previous leader.

  Sid, older than Fred by five minutes, was the natural leader of the two and also marginally brighter. More accurately, perhaps, he was slightly less stupid. As they strolled back to their camp he decided that they should move on. He and Fred had spent a great deal of their lives in prisons in Europe, Asia and South America and Sid had no particular wish to repeat the experience in Africa. Their last jail spell had been for capturing and killing protected species in the Amazon jungle and on being released from jail over a year ago they had moved to Africa, where they were unknown to the authorities, to resume their poaching skills on a new set of animals, principally rhinos and elephants for their ivory. In recent weeks Sid had been aware of increasing activity on the part of the anti-poaching wardens and reports were circulating among the poaching fraternity of plans for a major
crackdown on their activities. Though he was not overburdened with brains, Sid’s criminal antennae were beginning to twitch and his animal cunning warned him that the police were beginning to close in on their prey.

  At the camp fire that night he shared his thoughts with Fred over roasted impala and beer.

  ‘It’s only a matter of time before they get us,’ he explained, ‘an’ with all these new ‘viromental laws it’s gettin’ harder and harder to flog the ivory.’

  ‘Wot else can we do?’ asked Fred. ‘Killin’ an’mals is our professhun, innit?’

  ‘We just gotta move our operation,’ said Sid. ‘They say you can get a fortune killin’ chimps an’ gorillas for their meat and skins.’

  ‘Where are these g’rillas?’ asked Fred.

  ‘Out west in the Congo,’ said Sid. ‘It’s all a bit dodgy out there with rebels an’ such like but I expec’ we’ll survive – we usually do, eh?’ They both laughed. ‘There’s also talk of diamon’s in them parts,’ Sid went on, ‘so we could move in on a bit of that action if we need to top up the funds.’ As he spoke two of the gang appeared with a young boy between them. He looked terrified. His nose was bleeding and a large bruise was rapidly developing around his right eye.

  ‘Found this kid creeping round the camp, boss. Shall we waste him?’

  ‘No,’ said Sid. ‘Not before we know what he’s doing.’ He turned to the boy.

  ‘Whaddya want?’

  ‘I seek,’ he faltered, ‘the… the Ndugu Shetani. The villagers said they were near here.’

  Sid turned to one of those clutching the boy.

  ‘What’s he saying, Mgosa? What’s this “unduggy shite” rubbish?’

  The henchman looked embarrassed. ‘He seeks the devil brothers,’ he said. He paused, then decided he had to explain. ‘That’s what they call you and Fred in the village. It’s like saying “the twins from hell”.’ Sid frowned and then, much to Mgosa’s relief, burst out laughing.