by R G Ainslee
The athletic looking man beside the window, spoke up, "My brother lives in Liverpool—" He was unable to finish. The others, obviously not Liverpool supporters, berated him, and a spirited argument ensued.
"Do you have football — I mean soccer — in America?"
"Yes, we have the North American Soccer League, but I've only seen games on television. Do you support a team in Kenya?"
"Yes, our team is the Kenya Breweries side, we are the best. You have heard of Tusker Beer have you not?"
I chuckled. "Yeah, you might say I’m a supporter of Kenya Breweries."
"Ah, you are one of us. You must come to our match next week."
My cares and worries faded away as we discussed the relative merits of the various English and Kenyan football clubs. I enjoyed talking sports and the young men seemed especially knowledgeable. My anxiety ratcheted back a notch. Barring any problems, the rest of the trip to Nairobi would not be dull.
* * *
The train slowed as we entered Voi and halted at a red brick station. I moved to the corridor for a better view. Several groups waited on the platform. Three men attracted my attention.
A tall man with a black mustache, unmistakably El Jefe the Cuban first seen in Lamu, led a group to the end of train. The other two men, clad like the thin man, could only be described as tough guys.
A new reality came into focus. The trap had sprung, and the prey lay within its confines. They were looking for me and I was outnumbered four to one.
As they neared the last carriage, the thin man stepped out and began an animated conversation with El Jefe. He gestured towards the front of the train as he spoke. The Cuban peered down the line of carriages, snapped his fingers, and motioned for them to board.
Had to act and act fast, didn’t have time to panic, they would be in the carriage in less than a minute. A minute to live or die. Gotta get off this train.
A sense of calm returned as I halted beside the compartment and asked my companions, "Do they have food at the station?"
The man in the glasses gave a look of concern. "Yes, but you have no time. The train will leave soon, only a few minutes."
"Oh, well." I sighted back along the corridor one more time. "Guess I’ll go to the loo." I hurried towards the toilet.
The corridor stood empty and I stepped through the door on the side opposite the station. Out on the roadbed, I crouched and peered under the carriage past the wheels. People walked about on the platform, ordinary travelers. Assuming the men would work their way back towards my compartment, I scurried towards the front of the train, staying close to the car, below the windows.
At the head of the train, I halted in front of the diesel locomotive and surveyed the scene. There was no sign of any other Cubans or tough guys. I needed to get inside quickly and had less than a minute before they discovered my absence. I leapt to the platform, bolted towards the station, glided through the door, and almost ran into a policeman.
Surprised, I blurted, "Excuse me."
The tall thin officer wore black shorts, tan shirt, and carried a sub-machine gun. He frowned and started to ask something.
I quickly inquired, "Taxi?"
He pointed to the front door.
A quick glance back through the window revealed the Cuban and his henchmen in the corridor, about to enter my carriage. I made for the entrance and stepped out on the street.
I scanned the immediate vicinity. A dirt street led away from the station, three cars parked under a stand of trees. The railroad sat on the edge of town, away from the main built-up area. A single taxi parked about fifty yards away offered the only means of escape.
Something else caught my eye, a black Land Rover under a large tree. A Kenyan man, sturdy like a boxer, leaned up against the car. The guy wore dark sunglasses and a safari outfit. I recognized him. He had been with the Cuban at Makowe. He didn't notice me. His attention seemed focused on the back of the vehicle.
I slipped in behind a small truck and searched for a way to get past him to the taxi. There was no open path. He would spot me if I made a move. Thought about going back in the station and quickly discarded the idea. The Cuban would see me for sure. I had one chance and one chance only. Time was slipping away. My stomach churned, I might be dead in the next few minutes.
The guy reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. Before he had a chance to light up, a primal scream filled the air. Frantic shouts in Swahili followed. The man flipped his unlit smoke to the ground, rushed past the truck, and sprinted through an open passageway out to the platform.
I glanced back past the opening. My compartment mates stood in the corridor toe-to-toe with two of the Cuban’s henchmen. The tall athletic looking man landed a roundhouse punch on the jaw of a goon wearing dark sunglasses. The others followed suit. El Jefe dashed up the aisle of the next carriage, pistol in hand. The tall police officer dashed from the station and across the platform towards the train.
I scurried over to the Land Rover, — Okay, key in the ignition — slipped in, turned the key, pushed the starter button, shifted into gear, and backed out to the road.
Gunfire erupted: two pops, closely followed by the rattle of a sub-machine gun, more pops, another burst of automatic fire, all interspersed with frantic screams. Without hesitation, I sped away.
My first thought was to get clear. I wasn't sure if there were other accomplices and didn't know how long it might take them to realize I escaped. My best chance was to drive to Nairobi, several hours away. However, they would be searching for a black Land Rover driving in that direction, a long way on unfamiliar roads. I needed to find a place to park and think it over. The dirt street soon gave way to a paved road and I turned right. A quarter mile later, a sign pointed down a side road, the entrance to Tsavo National Park five kilometers ahead.
I drove at normal speed towards the park. Several other vehicles: Land Rovers, safari vans and sedans passed in the opposite direction away from the game reserve. The park wasn't a good place to hide. Someone at the gate might remember me. I slowed and searched for a place to turn off into the bush. Each promising opening led only a few yards into the thorn trees and tall grass. A sense of desperation began to build. I had to find a safe haven. Too late, couldn't go back.
About a mile further on, I spied a dirt track that seemed to lead off into the brush and pulled over. The park entrance couldn’t be far away. Checked the rearview mirror, opened the door, and stood on the sill to get a better view. Looks unused, no recent tracks. Decision time: running outta road, gotta do something. Shot a glance both ways, jumped back in, and turned off into the bush.
The rough track didn't appear well used. Fifty yards later, dense brush began to scrape the sides of the almost new Land Rover. A thought occurred to me: These guys gonna lose their rental deposit. The next scrape against a large thorn bush wasn’t an accident.
Three hundred yards down the track, I glanced back, no longer able to catch sight of the main road. Slowed to a crawl and pulled up under a large tree in a small clearing.
After killing the engine, I laid my head back on the headrest. Relieved to be out of harm's way, I decided it was time to reassess the situation. Drive to Nairobi in the dark: bad idea, unfamiliar roads. Tomorrow: I would be easy to spot. They would be looking for a black Rover. The vehicle was both an asset and a point of danger.
Let’s see what I have. Maybe they left a weapon or some food, could use a drink. First, check the fuel: three quarters full. The glove compartment: a flashlight and a Shell map of Kenya. Under the front seats: nothing. The rear seat was empty.
I examined the map for an alternate route to Nairobi. The few possibilities increased the potential for getting lost, running out of fuel, or encountering the police.
Unable to decide, I stepped out and checked the area. Nothing unusual, just the big tree and surrounding bush. A few animal tracks were the only sign of life, no sign of recent human presence.
Just to make sure, I walked back through
the brush to confirm the vehicle wasn't visible from the road. Past the edge of the clearing, the vehicle disappeared into the thick undergrowth. I stood and listened, a car passed by unseen on the road.
The location seemed safe. I doubled back and considered what to do. Return to Mombasa. Then what? I would have to improvise, catch a bus or the next train. The gunfire, maybe they were killed or arrested. Maybe there’s no problem after all. Just gotta stay cool, calm, and collected.
The Land Rover sat parked under the large Baobab Tree, known as the tree of life. All it needed was a tent and an elephant gun to create the perfect safari picture. I inspected the area once more. Nothing had changed. Still thirsty, I tried the rear door, hopeful to find some water. The handle wouldn't move — locked.
I went back to the driver's seat and retrieved the keys from the ignition. Lunch only a distant memory, I wondered if the Cubans left any food. Perhaps there was some in the back, behind the rear seat.
I returned to the rear of the vehicle, inserted the key, and yanked the door open. A canteen and a paper sack lay propped against the wheel well. A dark brown blanket covered something behind the seat.
What's this? — I pulled back the blanket.
Chapter 14 ~ The Plains
Monday, 13 February: Tsavo Plains
My knees turned to jelly. I staggered back a step, unable to think or breathe, consumed by an intense and overwhelming sense of dread. Lisette, dressed in red shorts and a colorful tie-died tee shirt, lay curled up. Streaks of dried sweat and grime covered her face and limbs. My world collapsed into a pit of despair.
A torrent of questions cascaded through my mind. Fearing the worst, I leaned in and gently stroked her forehead. Her smooth skin was warm to the touch. She's breathing. I splashed water from the canteen and bathed her face.
She emitted a weak moan and opened her eyes. A blank empty stare offered no sign of recognition. Her eyelids lowered, and she slipped beneath a veil of unconsciousness. She appeared drugged, but at least she was alive.
She lingered motionless, out-cold, shallow breaths, her honey tan complexion reduced to a pale shadow. I kneeled and bathed her face once more with water from the canteen, anxious for a spark of life.
Everything had changed. Earlier, my singular goal had been to reach Nairobi, a struggle to evade the Cubans and stay alive. I left Lisette in Lamu because I didn't want her to get involved. Now, she lay unconscious, in grave danger. If I'd known, would've never left.
Consumed by a lonely feeling of helplessness, I slumped into the rear of the Land Rover, awash in a sea of shame. Trapped in the bush, hunted by enigmatic pursuers, our lives' in jeopardy, my heart gripped with pain.
What am I gonna do? My thoughts, a fusion of anger and sorrow, considered the overwhelming odds. There’s too many of them. There’s no way I can win this fight. Alone, maybe I have a chance, but now… we’re both dead for sure.
It’s all my fault. She’s had enough bad times, now I came along, and… My blood ran cold as despair turned to fear. A flood of possibilities ran through my mind. What did they do to her?
A wave of anger welled up from deep inside as I imagined a string of lurid scenarios The real world returned. A white-hot rage dispelled tears like the sun burning away a mist.
The bastards, they’re gonna pay for this. They won’t get her again — won’t let’em. My focus turned cold and logical: a new reality took shape with two choices — flight or fight.
Lisette became, in an instant, my single focus. I had to do something — anything — to save her. We have to survive. Nothing else matters, we’re gonna make it, one way or the other, gonna make it to Nairobi.
The sun touched the horizon. Soon darkness would envelop the plains. Time had come to decide on a new course of action. Rage powered a renewed sense of purpose: We will survive. I'll do whatever it takes.
Lisette needed all my attention. Leaving our hideout was chancy. Wild animals prowled the game park only a few kilometers away. Human predators, even more dangerous, awaited us back to town. We had no choice but to spend the night in the vehicle. It was too risky to travel with her out cold.
Fearful we left evidence of our exit into the bush; I decided to return to the road. Someone might notice fresh tire tracks and get curious. Didn’t want to have to explain to a ranger, or in a worst-case scenario, fight off the Cubans. Checked Lisette, closed the rear door, and strode down the track.
A faint mark from the Land Rover's wheels marked our detour. Not wanting to take any chances, I swept away the impressions with a broken tree limb, stepped across the road, and examined the scene one more time.
The roar from a defective muffler betrayed an oncoming vehicle. The entrance to the park lay several kilometers around the bend. I retreated into the bush and crouched behind a stand of tall grass. A zebra striped van chugged by with a load of tourists. Minutes passed. No other vehicles appeared. I scurried across the pavement and walked back towards the clearing.
Back at the Rover, I uncovered several large branches and moved loose brush to obscure the vehicle's shape. An impulse caused me to examine the one place I hadn't searched, under the backseat.
My hand touched metal. I pulled out an AK-47 with a short barrel and folding stock, along with four magazines, two loaded and two empty. The weapon smelled as if it had been fired recently. I laid the weapon on the back seat and exited the vehicle.
Darkness closed over us, night comes swiftly near the equator. I crawled into the rear and shut the back door. Primal forces awoke, hyenas laughed in the distance, a noise in the bush, the sound of a hunter taking its prey, we were not alone.
Lisette was still unconscious. I washed her face, no response. A deep sense of remorse came over me. It was all my fault. I placed her in danger. Once more, I prayed: mercy for Lisette and strength for me.
A fearful thought occurred: What if the drugs don’t wear off? She might need medical attention. I had no idea where to go, or how to explain our situation. It would take a maximum effort and good fortune to survive. It didn’t matter. I’d risk everything to save her, even surrender to Kenyan authorities.
There’s nothing else to do tonight, get some rest and hope for better luck tomorrow. Gotta do what I gotta do, no matter what.
The paper sack propped against the rear wheel-well held a crusty half-loaf of bread and two bananas. My last meal had been at the station, but I wasn't hungry. Startled by a noise, hyenas somewhere in the bush, I nervously checked the door.
I snuggled next to Lisette and curled my arms around her. Her gentle breathing and the warmth of her body produced a soothing relaxing effect. I drifted into a fitful sleep.
Soon, a swarm of sounds and images raced through a convoluted dream: a green phosphorus line on a small screen accompanied by a furious buzzing … a sense of flying … a missile … an explosion … falling … surrounded by water. The sea — I jerked upright only to bang my head on the roof. Stunned, with heart racing out of control, I sat bathed in sweat, numb from the revelation. The sea, the dhow. My arm brushed something warm and soft, I flinched — Lisette, its Lisette.
Faint impressions of the recent past began to unfold. I had been in an aircraft and on the ocean, but why? The Ogaden War … Ethiopia … Somalia … the Cubans … the Arab … Why are they after me? Why did they have Lisette? My hands trembled, pulse raced. They wanted her to identify me or make me talk. I tried to conjure up the past: Concentrate, focus, focus, concentrate. The dhow. Why was I on the dhow? I was flying. Why?
I had no answers only questions, but one reality emerged. Saving Lisette is all that matters now.
Tuesday, 14 February: Tsavo Plains
Grey light from an equatorial dawn gave way to a fiery sun. Searing rays, filtered through tree branches, reflected off the back window and immersed my face in a warm glow. I awoke stiff and sore. The tight quarters took their toll. Lisette lay peacefully, still asleep.
I unfastened the rear door and stepped out into the clear morning air. Fresh a
nimal tracks led to and from the bush. The left front tire bore a mark left by a large cat. I gently closed the door, grabbed the AK-47, and walked back down the track to assess our situation. A light cooling breeze refreshed the morning and offered new hope for a better day. Recent evidence of wildlife dotted the trail. A noise startled me. A small creature fled further into the brush. Vehicle sounds hummed in the distance.
Concealed in a clump of bushes, I watched a line of tourist vans travelling towards the entrance. No one slowed or paid any notice to the path. Satisfied nothing had changed, I returned to the vehicle.
Resigned to an uncertain fate, I decided to drive to town and find a doctor. I placed the weapon on the roof and opened the rear door. Lisette let out a weak pitiful whimper. — She's awake.
Ecstatic, I reached out, overcome by an emotional tidal wave. She let loose an agonizing cry, eyes wide with terror, her entire body recoiled.
"Lisette — Lisette — Please."
She stared wild-eyed, her face taut and white with fear.
"Lisette, it’s okay, it's me, Ross."
Her right hand snapped up over her mouth. She frantically gasped for breath and glanced around with a stunned expression.
"It's okay now, the men aren’t here. You're safe."
Her lips trembled, and eyes brimmed with tears.
"It's me, Ross — you're safe — they're gone, it’s okay."
She began to jabber in a rush of French, her tone both questioning and accusatory.
A chill dampened my joy. Does she think I was with the kidnappers? She doesn't understand. I need to… "Lisette, I—"
She screamed, threw the paper food bag at me, and backed against the seat.
The horror in her eyes broke my will. "Forgive me, please — forgive me."
A hint of recognition flashed in her eyes. After a fearful glance around outside the vehicle, she gripped the top of the seat and glared at me.
I asked with a croak, "What happened?"