Frederick Ramsay_Botswana Mystery 01

by Predators

  “We would like to help you, Mma Michael, but to do that is a waste of our time,” Naledi said.

  “But you will be hunting legally. Who knows what you might stumble on while you look for the tau?”

  “Ah, you think we may have to remove some beasts from this area that could be considered a problem? You think by reducing the possible food supply, this bad lion will have to show himself, if, of course he is still here?”

  “You never know, with lions,” she said.

  The men smiled. They had not hunted in many years. Fresh meat would be a blessing.

  “We will help you out in this undertaking for a week, Missus,” Kaleke said. “That should keep that Pako satisfied.” The others nodded in agreement.

  CHAPTER 19

  “He’s not here.” Brenda sounded angry. Had the boy actually done something? No, not likely. She added that she didn’t know where he was and didn’t care, either. Of course not.

  Leo hung up, put on his jacket, and headed out the door. He patted his jacket pocket where he’d secured Farrah’s documents, neatly folded into thirds. Bobby would be in the restaurant or the bar, more than likely. He’d find him soon enough. But first he had to go to Barclay’s Bank and retrieve the check, spelled cheque, as the message from the desk had it, from the wire transfer he’d arranged with Chicago’s First National. Leo had anticipated the need for a bank to work with in Botswana, especially with the project he had contracted Greshenko to spearhead for him, so he’d opened an account at the large international bank earlier. Transferring the funds had been simple enough.

  Farrah had convinced him to change his mind about the dates on the documents and had him leave them blank. Probably just as well. The more he thought on the maneuver he and the boy were about to make, the more he wondered if he shouldn’t slow down, take a step back, and rethink the whole thing. He didn’t like the boy, and he was angry at Travis for playing Brutus, but that didn’t mean he had to destroy them, not yet, anyway. He found his car and driver waiting for him at the hotel’s entrance. He slid into the back seat with a grunt and gave the driver his destination. The Volvo pulled away and headed downtown. As often as he’d visited London and other drive-on-the-left countries, he still had a hard time getting used to it. He settled back in the seat, flinching every time the car turned into what his instincts told him was the wrong lane. He retrieved a cigar from his inside pocket, studied it and put it back. It held no appeal. He was tired. He didn’t sleep well the night before, or anytime for that matter, and he felt old. His workload was killing him. That’s what the quack said. Hell, he probably had it right.

  If only…

  How many men whose hearts can no longer be relied on and who, therefore, face a possible early and unpredictable end had uttered those words over the years? If only.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket. It was not the Blackberry that he required all his employees to use, but one he’d purchased locally and which he used only for communicating with Greshenko.

  “It’s about time I heard from you. What have you got for me?”

  “Several things you need to think about before we make any more moves.”

  “Go ahead, and please don’t tell me we have trouble already. I just wanted you to make some contacts, set up appointments with the people who can make this project happen.”

  “No trouble in that department, at least not yet, Mr. Painter. That’s not it.”

  “What then?”

  “First, I spotted what I think must be a policeman on my tail. He was with me from the time we arrived and ever since. He knows where I’ve been and to whom I’ve spoken. Is that a problem for you? It is for me. Police, any police, make me nervous.”

  “I don’t know. Should it be?”

  “We need to find out what he’s after us for, I think. He was in Kasane waiting for me after I drove up here.”

  “He followed you?”

  “I don’t think he followed. He was here when I arrived. He must have flown up.”

  “He knew where you were headed?”

  “Apparently. He must have talked to some of the people I met in the city, and they must have told him enough to figure out what my next step would be. But that doesn’t explain why he’s on my tail in the first place.”

  “I can’t help you there. Use your contacts and find out. I want this thing to go through without a hitch. What else?”

  “I’m having trouble meeting with Botlhokwa . He has layers of people around him, and getting through to him is difficult.”

  “I thought you knew him. What’s different now?”

  “That was a long time ago and before he slipped to the dark side, you could say.”

  “Do what you have to do, but be careful that if you spend money, you get value received.”

  Leo closed the phone and stared at the scenery as it flashed by. He was in an emerging country, that much was certain. The contrasts amazed him. He admired a shiny new glass and steel multistory building and noted the herd of goats grazing near its entryway. An enormous tractor trailer, larger than anything he’d seen in the States, a twenty-six wheeler, if he’d counted the axles correctly, blew by a crudely assembled wagon drawn by a troika of donkeys. Slick Japanese cars vied with battered pickups for parking spaces. And the road was lined with shacks, sheds, and rickety tin constructions in which entrepreneurs plied their trade—roast chicken for sale, haircutting, even a car wash that consisted of a man and a bucket of soapy water. Amazing. And all this juxtaposed against new high-rises and modern stores and shops. Every nation should have that sense of willingness to work at whatever was available. His country, he thought sourly, had too many people who were addicted to entitlements. They should see these people. He could work with them. He could build something with them.

  ***

  Superintendent Mwambe tried hard not to show his annoyance. He did not like this member of the Gaborone establishment poking around in his jurisdiction. This man from the Directorate of Intelligence and Security, this Kgabo Modise, asked too many questions about his situation. What did he want? Mwambe had been at this post for many years. Longer than Modise had been a policeman or with the CID, he suspected. Too often these officials from the capital came to Kasane to inquire about things—things he could handle without their help. Now this man sat across his desk with an open notebook in his lap.

  “What do you know about the Rra Botlhokwa?” Modise asked.

  “He is a resident of this city in the winter. I believe he summers on a wine estate near Cape Town, or possibly it’s a condo in Mauritius. We have reason to believe he is connected with some illegalities, but so far we have nothing to report. I have a man watching him.” Superintendent Mwambe sat back and graced the man from Gabz with a superior smile. He knew his job.

  “He is more than that.” Modise flipped though his note book. “I assume you know he started out as a bright light in the country. Went into business instead of government. He has played fast and loose on the fringes of the diamond trade, perhaps dabbling in the darker markets. He has interests in hotels and casinos and some across-the-border enterprises that we are looking into. The Directorate on Corruption and Economic Crime has been closing the noose on him for some time. He was the first man in the country, black or white, to own a Rolls Royce. Of course you know all of this.”

  Mwambe didn’t, but he was not about to admit it to the man from Gabz.

  “The man you have watching him, he is good?”

  “He is being trained by me personally. Yes, he is good.”

  “I found him asleep in his car this afternoon. He missed an important visitor to the chalet.”

  Mwambe straightened up. “What visitor?” There would be no reason to dispute the inspector’s finding. If he said Derek was asleep at his post, it was so. He’d been given that assignment precisely because he was rubbish at everything else.

  “We are interested in this man.” He slid the photograph of Yuri Greshenko across the desk. Mwambe squinted at the p
icture. He did not recognize him.

  “Reason?”

  “He worked for the Soviets, which is what they were then, as a commercial attaché at the Russian embassy. That was when their presence in this country was highly problematical.”

  “Problem…what?”

  “The Soviets provided a safe haven for the ANC/SA Communist Party. Gaborone was their listening post for the whole area, and Greshenko’s countrymen provided a springboard for the Eastern Bloc which supported MK Freedom Fighters to infiltrate into South Africa. It was not a good time in our history.”

  Mwambe nodded. He remembered vaguely the bombings and Botswana Defense Force having to deal with insurgents from across all of its borders, particularly south and west. He’d been a young man then, but he remembered.

  Modise went on, “So, now he returns as a member of an American party that is consulting the ministry about minerals. We do not think he has any interest in minerals.”

  “What then?”

  “That is what we desire to find out. Interpol has identified him as a possible agent of the Russian criminal consortium. He had dealings with Botlhokwa in years past. Now he seeks him out again. If this business is to combine his American connections with the corrupt ones here, then we must take steps to see to it he leaves this country in pretty short order. If, on the other hand, his presence in an American delegation is something else, we need to know what that is, as well.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Put your nephew, Derek, on traffic duty or some task he cannot turn into monontsha.”

  Mwambe flushed and started to reply, then thought better of it. This man was from Gabz, after all. Mwambe had no interest in being reassigned to a lesser station like his friend Pako, and Derek’s lack of competence could not be made into something it was not.

  “I will put a detail on the house immediately.” Kgabo Modise seemed satisfied. But was he?

  “No mathata,” he added with more confidence than he felt.

  CHAPTER 20

  Bobby was still not in his room when Leo returned to the hotel. He would have liked to have the paperwork transferring the stock completed before they flew to Kasane, but it could wait. Patience was the one virtue that had sustained him over the years, and he would not press. He’d discovered in his years of running a company as complex as Earth Global that delay worked to his advantage more often than urgent action. His grandmother used to say things had a way of working out. For her it was an excuse to do nothing. For Leo, the axiom meant wait until the time was right, until all the other players had tipped their hand, until he knew beyond any doubt that he possessed a real chance for success, then act.

  He called Sheridan Baker. It would be late, but he paid him a great deal of money for his services, and he assumed Baker would be there for him. Leo had him repeat what he’d told him about his son’s condition. He needed to be sure.

  “You’re positive about the power of attorney? This Cavanaugh guy can execute business transactions on my son’s behalf? If I wire money to him, he can pay the boy’s bills, write checks, any kind of decision about expenditures and so on, all that?”

  “Yes, sir, he can.”

  “Good, here’s what I want you to do.”

  Leo laid out a series of steps he wished Baker to take, papers he wished to be drafted, signed, and next-day mailed to his private box in Chicago with copies faxed directly to him, and finally an admonishment that absolute secrecy cover the whole business.

  He sat back. He felt better. He called room service and asked for a pot of coffee and some pastry to be brought to his room. He then called for valet service to come and help pack his bags. He smiled for the first time in weeks. He could enjoy that cigar now.

  ***

  The Gulfstream V seemed empty with the reduced passenger load. The engineers and technical staff had all been sent home to Chicago, Denver, or Phoenix to prepare reports about what they’d learned and recommendations they might suggest if and when Earth Global determined it needed or could offer a presence in the country. The group traveling north to Kasane consisted of Rose Hayward, one of the engineers, Travis Parizzi, the Griswolds, Leo, and Henry Farrah.

  Leo let his gaze roam over them all. Brenda had made a point of sitting away from her husband and was seemingly rapt in a fashion magazine. It was French, and he doubted she could read it, but then her only interest would be in the pictures. Bobby dozed in his seat, looking a little worse for wear. Farrah seemed nervous. He should be. Leo insisted he remain in the party, primarily to make it difficult for him to stay in contact with his coconspirators. As long as Leo kept him under his thumb, his actions were limited. Time enough to drop the hammer later. Let him squirm. Travis stood and worked his way forward to take a seat opposite Leo.

  “Leo, what happened to that consultant you hired…what’s his name, Greshenko?”

  He knew the name very well. Leo waited for what came next.

  “I don’t mean to tell you how to run your business, but—”

  “Travis, you understand I pay you a great deal of money as my chief operating officer precisely because I want you to tell me how to run my business. What is it you’re bursting to tell me?”

  “Greshenko, did you know that he’s Russian mafia?”

  “I hope you didn’t spend a lot of money to obtain that information.” Leo was sure that he had. “I could have told you, if you had asked.” The lines around Travis’ eyes tightened marginally. Good, Leo thought, he realizes he’s been trumped. There is still some hope to salvage this guy. “Why is that a problem?”

  “Sir, it seems odd. Well, what can he be doing? I mean he’s a crook.”

  “Ah, you are worried our reputation might be compromised if we are seen cavorting with alleged criminals?”

  “Something like that, and I’m not sure alleged quite covers it.”

  “Travis, something like one third of the companies and CEOs we’ve dealt with in the past twenty years have been investigated or indicted by grand juries and a few even convicted of felonious behavior involving various borderline practices, insider trading, and outright consumer fraud. And that’s not counting the misdemeanors and back door deals with regulators. Do you really think having a Russian with a wonky past temporarily on our payroll will remarkably change our public image?”

  “Sir, I—”

  “Rose Hayward is back there yakking to the stringers from all the press news services about all the wonderful things we might do for Botswana. Most of the public remembers what happens to them when there is an energy crisis, when the price per barrel of crude skyrocketed, and assumes we are robbing them blind and ought to be put in jail no matter what we do now or who we have on our payroll. They see us as predators, no, make that scavengers, hell, either or both will do. It depends on whether we’re tearing up new land or reworking the old.”

  “I see but—”

  “They may be right, by the way. We do make a lot of money exploiting resources we had no hand in creating. They think if it’s in the ground or comes from the Almighty and they ought not to have to pay through the nose to acquire their fair share. You have a problem with that line of thought?”

  Travis started to reply and then must have thought better of it. He nodded. Leo couldn’t be sure if he nodded because he agreed with the line of thought, with his overarching assessment, or just to be polite. It didn’t matter.

  “He’d know about ActiVox, of course. We could say something about that.”

  “We could. Very shrewd, but that’s not why I brought him along. That process has departed this country and is buried deep in the Russian bureaucracy for the time being. There are problems in the economy, difficulties in distribution, and so on, and the Russians have taken it home for now.” He shifted in his seat. “Enough about our Russian employee. As my COO, give me your thoughts on our move to acquire or license ActiVox. It is the scavenging end of the business, you see.”

  Travis scratched his chin and frowned. Leo studied h
is face for a sign. Oh, please, do not turn out to be a weasel, talk to me.

  “I gather you think there is money to be made in some of the depleted mines we operate.”

  “Possibly, yes.”

  “It would be an undertaking with low profit margin.”

  “And the problem with that is…?”

  “We normally work on a minimum of 15 percent net return on investment. This would be more like five, maybe less. The demand is not there, as you just noted. The bones may be picked clean.”

  “I grew up in the world that believed in two simple maxims, Travis. First, there is no such thing as a free lunch, and second, you’ll never go broke taking a profit. Fifteen or five, money is money.”

  “Yes, surely. But if we were to put the funds we’d commit to the mines to some other venture, one with a better return, wouldn’t it make sense to follow that?”

  “It would, except for one thing you haven’t thought of.”

  “And that would be?”

  “The miners, the employees we have, the subs, the suppliers, and the whole array of resources we use to make money from those mines. If we shut them down and go haring off after some short-term cash-out, when it comes time to reopen the mines, the whole infrastructure will be gone. We’d have to rebuild it. That will cost. But if we continue to operate at some level, then when the demand for minerals returns, and it will, we will be ahead of our competition. It is not part of the corporate ethic anymore, but I still would like to think we owe the people who provide us with large profits in the good times a chance to stay above water in the bad. Especially if we can make some money when we do.”

  “I never figured you for a sense of altruism, sir. You’re worried about the miners and their families? That comes as a surprise.”

  “I see. You might just find I am full of surprises.” Leo shrugged, graced Travis with a crooked smile, and continued. “And then, don’t forget there’s the real estate involved with the mining operations. I want to keep our options open on the lands whether we eventually close the mining operation down or not. Now, go back to your seat and think about what we just talked about. When we get to Kasane, we will talk again and discuss where you fit into the big picture.”