Murder on Safari

by Peter Riva

  The phone asked, “Acknowledge.”

  “Hold on State, you have to wait.” Now his crew knew whom they were talking to. Mbuno knew it was Baylor’s bosses, that much was sufficient. Pero lowered the phone but didn’t cover the mouthpiece. “Well, that’ll piss them off. Mbuno? Answer?”

  “Yes, bwana, interesting way. We can make it, but the tires, it has been raining, they will help in the lowland, with the red mud, but on the slopes, there is no track, the thorn bushes will shred them. If we make it to Moshi, we could borrow a Land Rover truck, could we not?” Pero suddenly knew whom he was thinking of. Pero nodded.

  “Ah, not a Land Rover, Mbuno, Alistair’s tourist truck, the Unimog. Right?” Mbuno nodded.

  Pero raised the phone. “State, cancel the evac, we’re making for Nairobi on our own. Answer, now, real time the following: One, has Tom Baylor been appraised of our thoughts? Two, have you discovered identity and connection of man in Holiday Inn, Nairobi who Salim and Nadir were reporting to? Three, have bottling plant and printing press been located? Four, has Reverend JT been appraised? Five, has Meeting on the Hill been canceled? Six, will need armed help and equipment and full diplomatic support Nairobi, status priority one, repeat priority one, can you confirm?”

  “Standby.”

  “No standby State, get someone higher up to talk to me and talk to me now.”

  “Standby, Director coming online.”

  A little surprised, Pero explained, “The director is coming online. Maybe we can get some answers. Heep, come closer and listen with me, I don’t want to miss anything.”

  Mbuno kneeled down and placed his fingers on the rail, “Bwana, hurry, there will be a train coming in ten minutes, maybe more.”

  Heep and Pero stood there, their heads together, listening. “Thanks Heep.”

  “You are welcome friend.”

  “Standby. Director coming online.”

  “Acknowledged, standing by, but hurry, rail traffic incoming within ten minutes.”

  “Acknowledged, Director Lewis here. Interesting open mike there Baltazar. Your situation seems, at best, perilous. Your logic sound, perhaps. You need to forfeit anything and everything to keep Mary Lever safe, can you comply?”

  Heep nodded, Pero said, “Yes, they all agree.”

  “This isn’t a committee decision—you are now a field agent. I need to classify you as such to provide you the items on your list. Do you agree with State Department Articles thirty-four and thirty-five, confirm.” There was a pause, then he added, “You can read them later.”

  “Okay, I confirm, but it’s temporary, I may resign when this is over.”

  “When this is over, as you put it, you can either have a medal or you will be forced to retire in disgrace for having failed. Your timetable has accelerated everything to the point where we have no effective agents in the region until tomorrow a.m. Eastern standard time, sorry evening your time. Do you agree?”

  “Well, what option do I have? Yes, proceed.”

  “None, of course. Okay, item one, your question: Has Tom Baylor been appraised of your thoughts? No. Tom Baylor is unconfirmed dead, sorry, yesterday your time, about the time your Mbuno, wasn’t it, killed Nadir. Congratulations on that, one less to worry about. Baylor made no transmission after arrival Ramu. He went down,” meaning his whereabouts went unknown shortly after arrival. “Bus of birdwatchers was blown up. He’s known to have survived that, but one Chief Methenge, your acquaintance, claims to have his body for collection, found at Park HQ, dumped. We’ve sent Phillip Arnold with Kenya soldiers, for an official reclamation of a US tourist, simple police matter. The place is now crawling with police and soldiers. No sign of any encampment. Bulldozer has been identified by synthetic aperture radar, buried, and covered—approx location you gave. When they have a confirmation about Baylor, we will pass it along to you, when you call. Don’t raise your hopes. Expect Methenge is accurate about Baylor, the description fits. Sorry.”

  Pero repeated the news, “My old friend Tom Baylor may be dead.” Mbuno looked at Pero and shook his head, and touched his left hand to his head and raised it up towards the sky, “Kuaga” (farewell). It was a gesture of parting.

  “Item two. Have they discovered identity and connection of the man in the Holiday Inn, Nairobi who Salim and Nadir were reporting to? Answer: Yes, he’s in custody of Kenyan authorities and is in Trade House for interrogation.”

  Trade House is a well-known interrogation center for Kenyan police. It is also known to be a torture center. Heep and Pero had once interviewed a man who escaped, for PrimeTime Live, ABC TV. His tales were chilling.

  “Salim was found dead, in the Nairobi market, a single stabbing. Suspect Ranjeet family. Ranjeet family are agents for the Indian government and a sideline with Mossad. We have no contact directly with them, you do. We have intercepted traffic from them indicating they have identified you talking to Baylor at Wilson Airport. Mossad is being asked to secure Ranjeet support for you on this. Awaiting that decision any moment. Will advise. But I suspect they would do it for you anyway.

  “Item three. Have bottling plant and printing press been located? No. This is so far a blank. Man from Holiday Inn was commercial agent for Canon office products but was renting multiple rooms. Don’t know the occupants of the other rooms. Canon products Kenya owned by Pakistani firm. They’re investigating and getting cooperation from Kenyan authorities. They will stop distribution all Tusker products, all Kenya, and analyze batches. Their sources say the anthrax notion is probably not method. Tusker delivery van with bomb maybe. Also the concept of bomb with anthrax being looked into. They’re stockpiling antibiotics in case you are right. I don’t mind telling you, you’ve scared the shit out of everyone here. Oh, and that site in Iraq? It was one of six, German mini-brewery truck trailers, all unused, thank God. No such mini-brewery tractor-trailer was imported legally into Kenya, Uganda, Sudan, Somalia, or Ethiopia that we can trace. One was sold to Yemen last year, which has been diverted to Zimbabwe. Mugabe deals with al-Qaida operatives, it’s a possibility. But how would it get from there to Kenya and where is it, if it did? There may not be enough time to find out before tomorrow.

  “Item four. Has Reverend JT been appraised? Negative. We cannot reach him, he’s in seclusion, prayer seclusion. We need Mary Lever to contact him. Believability is critical, his profile suggests. His number is—get ready to copy—zero two five four sixer sixer one two three two two. Get that?”

  Pero held up the phone, Heep took out his pencil and notebook, “Say it again.” The Director did so, more slowly.

  “Yes, I repeat zero two five four—Kenya—sixer sixer one two three two two, Mary to call Reverend JT ASAP.”

  “Good. They suggest Mary calls him now, when we hang up.”

  Mary interrupted and spoke loudly, loud enough for Director Lewis to hear, Pero was sure: “No Pero, I don’t have to call him. They can. Tell him to call the number and use the following sequence of words: ‘Trust in the Lord,’ then say ‘Mary says Proverbs are the center’ and repeat the words Trust in The Lord. He will immediately talk with you. Tell him everything.”

  “You get that Director?”

  “Got it, repeating: ‘Trust in the Lord, Mary says Proverbs are the center, Trust in the Lord. Will call when we hang up. Suggest Mary also call when possible.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Now, item five. Has Meeting on the Hill been canceled? No. They cannot cancel that. The Kenyan authorities say they do not have the political or public support to cancel the service. It’s not practicable, seventy-five thousand are already there, camped out. Seventy-five thousand are en route and perhaps as many as one hundred thousand more from Nairobi area tomorrow. No security, no screening, it’s a logistical nightmare.

  “Item six. You will need arms and equipment and full diplomatic support in Nairobi, status priority one. Well, this is a dangerous situation for you and your team there. Arms are useful if you know how to use them. Our files indicate that
Ruis and Mbuno are the only ones qualified other than you, and your armory scores are low, short range you’re okay, but be careful where you aim. “

  Heep gave a little laugh. Pero wondered how they knew his private shooting club scores for that’s the only place he ever fired a gun, except for hunting with a rifle, of course. He shook his head to clear his thoughts as the Director was still speaking, “When you get to Nairobi, call us here and I will have contact for you. Side arms for three and thin Kevlar vests for six, I think. Maybe seven if Reverend JT doesn’t cancel. Diplomatic support is being worked on, you can count on the Embassy, but stay clear, it may be watched, the embassy will contact you, this line if they need you. Suggest you stay at the Karen Duka, it’s a safe house, our man downstairs, when you arrive in Nairobi. We can have delivery of the equipment there. An anthrax sniffer is incoming this morning off the aircraft carrier Kennedy, via Kuwait on a commercial flight.”

  “Yes, that’s fine, I’ve shopped at the duka, oh and by the way, a niece of the Ranjeets is employed at the cleaners next door.”

  “Interesting. I’m always fighting for outside assets to send in more information, however useless, to build a better picture for moments like this. But now you are on your own, you need to calculate everything, and Pero, I mean everything. It’s the only chance you—and they—have.” He paused. “Anything else? Oh yes, we have no idea what you are going to try and achieve, but given the situation, even if it’s not the Tusker, all here feel that the death of Simon, death of Baylor, and especially the swift movement of al-Qaida or al-Shabaab operatives to dog your location, there is definitely an urgent, speedy, schedule here and it does, our analysis shows, point at Reverend JT, if not also the Meeting on the Hill.” He paused and said, “Turn off the speaker, comply.”

  Pero looked at Heep, who nodded. He pushed the button and motioned to Heep to listen in.

  “We further suggest there may be a Reichstag motive here, which may involve elements of JT’s staff. I will not tell him that if I speak to him. You must analyze that on site—and we will continue to ramp up all, repeat all, agency resources on this mission. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.” Pero said and Heep nodded. “Heeper agrees and I’m sure the team will do their best. Will you personally stand by?”

  “So you let Mr. Heeper listen in? Your call.” He meant Pero’s responsibility and the enormity of the task facing them came into clear focus, not helped by the Director who was perhaps a little angry, “Oh yes, I’m only Lewis here, Mr. Baltazar, at your service.” He was being a bit sardonic. Heep and Pero heard the Director’s sigh, even across a crackling phone line. “Oh well, it’s going to be a long night, well, day coming up, for you. Anything else?”

  “Yes. What about Commissioner Singh? Is he a threat?”

  “Our analysis says yes and no. Yes, he wants you as bait to sweep the al-Qaida operatives from Tanzania, that’s clear. But he’s rabid anti-al-Qaida. They’re leaning on him to cease and desist using you, but Singh may not be reachable quickly.”

  “Oh, yes, he is . . . wait a moment.” Pero reached into his pocket and extracted a slip of paper, Pangani Camp notepad from beside his bedside. “His satellite phone, Navistar, green button model, is zero sixer sixer four three five sixer eight niner two. Only he answers. If you can’t get him, call his brother, Virgi, the Toyota man in Dar.”

  “A car dealer, you want me to call a car dealer?”

  “Yes. But first, try the Navistar.”

  “Okay, computer here says it’s an Interpol number. Got an Interpol scramble phone huh? I will make the call immediately—see if we can give you a clear shot out of the country. Okay?”

  “Yes, thanks. And ask Singh about the passport pages—the visa entries—I stupidly didn’t photograph those. Can you call and ask him?”

  “Sure, will do. And I’ll call when there’s something to report. If you hear static, push two one one and it’ll connect the cryptology program. Good luck, end.” And it signed off with the two clicks.

  A light appeared, coming from the northwest. In the morning mist, the light settled down into three beams, an international sign of a train headlight triangle. The tinny sound of the rumble cadence of the diesel began to bounce at them along the tracks.

  “It is coming, slowly, bwana. We have to move. They have a radio.”

  “Okay, everybody in the Land Rovers, Heep go with Ruis, Priit ride with me, and review everything we heard, I’ll do the same with Mary and Priit. Agreed?” Heep yelled yes over his shoulder as they scrambled to get in and away before the train spotted them.

  For fifteen minutes the train diesel lumbered past. They watched from the bush, lights out, with a few snaps of small trees, hiding their shapes. Pero was about to pull out when the engine was already a quarter mile away when Pero remembered there was a caboose, American style, on these Tanzanian freight trains. The guard in there was usually in radio contact with the driver.

  They waited. Priit counted, like a child, “Forty-one, forty-two, forty-three, forty-four, and the brakeman’s car.” Priit spoke English, not the American “caboose.”

  “Let’s wait a moment here till it rounds the bend.” Pero opened the window. Mosquitoes, smelling their carbon dioxide, crowded in. “Mbuno, you lead, I’ll follow, okay?” Swat, smack, steer with one hand. Keep the bugs at bay, it was going to be tropical Africa all the way.

  “Ndiyo bwana, but it will get very rough after one hour. We have to cut over country to get to the road to Alistair’s by Moshi. Maybe an hour. It is better to get off the road. I know a hunting camp trail that will make it not so hard. We will be all right there.” He was leaning out the window, looking down at the fat tires.

  “Okay, but when we do leave the road I will need to stop to have Mary call JT, get that Heep?” He heard, nodded. “And if I stop, you stop. This phone will ring, but I can’t answer moving. Okay?” Everyone said they understood. Mbuno nodded. “Priit, get the walkie-talkies hooked up, receive only until needed, okay?”

  They started off.

  Priit got to work, made a test call and Ruis answered right away. There would be questions, and now was the time to drive, talk, think, and plan. Later on, things might get too busy.

  In the early pre-morning light they drove quickly, Mbuno setting a constant, reliable pace. Pero talked and they reviewed what they had heard and what it meant—or what they thought it meant. After an hour they rounded a bend, Mbuno slowed and inched the Land Rover off the road. In driving off-road here, you let the vehicle in front get a lead of 100 yards. The track wasn’t hard to follow, but if the lead car got in trouble you would be on firm ground to use the winch if needed. As Mbuno forged ahead Pero inched his way as well. Pero could see Mbuno was driving around everything that could possibly puncture the balloon tires—three feet forward, two sideways—it felt like. It was slow going. When they were 200 yards off road, Mbuno stopped and got out. Pero inched forward, wondering if he needed a tow. He walked back and said, simply, “Clear sky here, bwana.” He was right, they were in a clearing, around which was dense, solid vegetation.

  “Mary, time to make that call. Use Heep’s satellite phone, we need to keep mine,” Pero patted his breast pocket, “free in case they call.”

  While Mary made her call to JT, her voice imploring and desperate, they all ambled about—taking turns behind the Land Rover furthest from Mary, fertilizing the plants. When she was done all she would say was “I did what I could, he refuses to cancel but he’s already agreed with Director Lewis to allow US Special Forces to give him protection. They arrive this afternoon off the Kennedy. He’s sure that is enough. He was shocked at the Tusker idea, Pero, thinks you and Heep are way too dramatic, no way they would kill that many people just to get him. Doesn’t see the point. He made me wonder as well.”

  “Okay, so let’s load up and discuss it, we’ve a long way to go.” But then Mary reminded Pero it was her turn to “disappear behind the bushes.” They all turned away.

  She sighed, mu
mbling, “Men.”

  When she was finished, they piled back into the Land Rovers and ambled off down the scrubland, inching around the thorn bushes and baobab trees in this land of the southernmost Maasai. The driving was slow, slow, quick, quick, slow, like a dance.

  The early day grew brighter, hotter, and dryer as they left the lowland costal humidity behind. Now and again small antelope called the dik-dik appeared, all nine inches of them, and scurried out of their way. There were hyenas of course, and once they had to wait while a family of giraffe neck-walked across their path. They came to a complete stop on a short plain when a herd of some thousand wildebeest, zebra, and antelope trotted by, kicking up so much dust they couldn’t see a thing. It took only moments to clear. This is Africa, Pero was thinking, a tourist’s dream, and today they only wanted to hurry on, past, forwards. It was strange seeing beauty as an obstacle.

  Some questions went back and forth. Nothing concrete, they were all busy thinking. Pero felt over-tired and besides, he was fighting the Land Rover to keep up with Mbuno and not shred a tire. The conclusion of JT’s reluctance to believe the Tusker anthrax danger was that it didn’t matter. Experts would soon be able to deal with that danger. If it was real, it would turn up soon enough. If it was false and the Meeting on the Hill went off without a hitch, it still didn’t mean they were wrong to be worried. Although, as the Director said, Pero might be out of a job. Pero had used the priority one signal—there was no backing down from that.

  Two hours hard driving later the cars popped up onto the highway again, this time a solid surface. They pressed on faster, and at least now in a straight line.

  Twice there was a single engine small plane that flew directly overhead, following the road. It happens frequently in East Africa, visual flight rules for farm pilots often means the best map from farm to town is to follow the road, cut straight by bulldozers fifty years ago with foreign aid funding. The plane was the same, going in each direction. Nothing suspicious. When it appeared a third time just as they were approaching Moshi, Pero radioed Mbuno to keep driving straight past Alistair’s turn-off, until it was out of sight. As soon as it was, they doubled back to Alistair’s turning, two miles back. It was eleven o’clock already; the sun was full force.