by Peter Riva
Pero knew what those were for; he’d bought some on location in France years before. The garbage had turned up Schneider lens’ boxes, telephoto boxes, 400mm stuff. Pero suddenly thought of a use.
Back on the satellite phone: “Baltazar here, police turned up four hundred millimeter Schneider telephoto boxes from Canon man’s room at the Holiday Inn, from the garbage thrown out. Someone needs to check every cable or other news camera setting up here. Okay?”
“Roger that. We’re on to it ASAP. Message from Heeper, we have been keeping him and JT up to date on your progress. He wants you to know he thinks that Baylor may have been sending you the message, you’re the only one, other than Mbuno, who he knows was up there. Also to quote Heeper: “Produce this thing all the way through, Pero.” Heeper message ends.” And the double clicks. Lewis was gone.
Pero pondered another reminder from Heep. Heep was like that when they were filming—anything that he thought was moving too slow made him impatient. He prodded, he pushed, he asked for your best. It had served them well as a team.
“Come on, Mbuno, we need to get over to Agip. And let’s find Jack and Joshua.”
Jack and Joshua were drinking Cokes from the machine in the Agip office. They seemed glad the two were back, but the blood on the two men’s trousers didn’t please them overmuch. Pero explained that someone got hurt and they left him for the police to deal with. Well, it was a half-truth, and there was no point in causing too much alarm.
The Agip people had been removed to the temporary holding area in the Aero Club. Jack wanted to know what was next. “How many sailors can you round up, Jack?” He started to call the captain on his radio. Pero told him to slow down. “How many are here at Wilson, that you can rely on?”
“Well, they are six, but three are busy, patrols and guard duty for your prisoners. I did tell them they could shoot anyone who got out of line. That still right?”
“Yes, marshal law prevails.” Pero faced Joshua, “Joshua, how many Securicor guardsmen do you have here now at Wilson?”
“Well, Sah, I have called the company and they told me they called the Nairobi police and the police told them to do anything you said, but they were too busy to be coming over shortly. So they will be calling Langata Police Station for help. So, I told my company boss to send six more men. Just now we have six to equal his.” He pointed to Jack. “They will be at the tower just now.”
“Good, get them over here, fast, with big flashlights.” The Securicor man picked up his little hand radio and started speaking.
Pero turned and said, “Jack, tell your boys to come running with flashlights, plenty of light.”
“What are we looking for?” Smart man, Jack, flashlights could only equal a search.
“A bloody big bomb, as the Brits would say.”
“Oh, great. Easy duty, they said . . .” and he walked out to make the call across the base for reinforcements. Pero went over to the vending machine and saw that it was unlocked, well, broken was more accurate. Pero swung open the door and removed two Fantas, orange flavor. Kivoi and Pero popped open the cans and they drank. From inside his trouser pocket Kivoi extracted a piece of cheese. One look told him Pero was amused. He shrugged and kept eating.
CHAPTER 18
Gas Depots
The search of the kerosene and avgas depot would take a while. But with help on the way, Pero was hoping it could be completed in four or five hours. Now, what he had to consider was whether, if they found anything, it would be a time bomb or remote detonator. In either case, they would need a bomb squad. Pero was sure the captain would have one. And yet, if it were radio controlled, how would he discover who had the detonator? The more he thought about it, Pero knew it had to be a radio detonator because the Meeting might be late and if the enemy were planning this catastrophe for maximum media effect, the enemy would need to control the timing of any explosion and almost holocaust fire as a live event.
Pero looked at Mbuno and said, “Mbuno, I have begun to think of these people we’re after as the enemy not merely murderers. Do you feel the same?”
“Ndiyo bwana. A murderer is someone you must catch or stop. An enemy you must oppose while you are alive. These Arab Mau Mau will not be stopped, they must be killed like an enemy.” Pero simply nodded. His face at the boma had shown Mbuno that he did not relish seeing anyone killed, let alone killing anyone. So Mbuno added, “It is not easy taking a life, even a bad life, except when taking that life saves so many others.” Pero nodded. “So let us see if we can find this bomb of yours and save those people down there.” He pointed to the twinkling fire lights stretching for miles down the hill in Kibera.
So, where would they locate the transmitter? It was a large airport. And, there was always the sky that would be filled with aircraft in the late morning, early afternoon. The country would not be allowed to grind to a halt simply because there was a possible threat. If that were the case, the present threat would have halted everything. No, Pero and Mbuno needed to find the bomb, if there was one, and render it safe.
Awaiting the extra help, Pero and Mbuno studied the picture Balaji Mahavir had faxed over from the Holiday Inn. The man’s name was Altair Smythe. Altair Smythe . . . the name was very British, but the picture was in a passport from Morocco. If the police had this, they would be checking it out. Time to call State.
“Baltazar here. The fax from the night manager at the Holiday Inn is the Moroccan passport copy for registration, number seven eight four seven three niner zero one, called one Altair Abdul Smythe, age thirty-five, born in Casablanca. One meter, seventy-five centimeters high, blonde hair, brown eyes. Originally given to the Nairobi police yesterday. Also, the man’s laundry list will be faxed over later. I will advise on that. Any idea who and what this Smythe is?”
“We had his name and image two hours ago. No matches and the Moroccans, who are very keen to help, assure us it is a forgery. No such name exists. They’ve tried combinations, no luck. I will keep trying. Keep a look out.”
“Will do, anything else?”
Nothing, just two clicks.
“Mbuno, I’m going to leave you to start the search for the bomb, if there is a bomb. Anything that looks disturbed, anything that looks like it shouldn’t be there, don’t touch it, just call me—use one of the sailor’s walkie-talkies, okay?”
“Ndiyo, Pero,” he was fine with that. No point in discussing tracking prey with Mbuno, he knew what to look for, even if he might not know a bomb from a carburetor. The unusual, the out-of-place, the track left by prey—that was his expertise.
The Securicor crew showed up, followed by the Navy personnel. Joshua told Pero the police were going over to the makeshift Brig at the Aero Club. They did not seem happy when they learned Pero, a civilian, had arrested people. Jack and Joshua got their teams sorted out. Some of the Securicor men didn’t like Jack taking charge. Jack pulled his pistol, Joshua explained who’s who, and they calmed down. Jack turned to Pero and said, “Ready when you are, Sir.”
“Thank you, Jack. Okay men, Mbuno will explain what we’re looking for and how to look. You will not go anywhere without Mbuno, is that clear? He’s the best tracker in Kenya, so don’t think you can do better. I want you, Jack and Joshua, with two men each to come with me. The rest of you do exactly what Mbuno says, exactly when he says to do it.” Pero shined his flashlight on Mbuno’s badge and a few of the Navy boys said “wow” and “gee.” They were that young. But Pero didn’t need experience, he needed fresh eyes, so they should do well.
“But what are we really looking for, Sir?” It was a young, tussled-haired kid, with freckles.
“See these tanks?” Pero pointed up the largest forty-foot side of the curved steel next to them. “There’s a bomb on one of these, a bloody great big bomb.” They all took an involuntary step back.
Jack and the two men he pointed to walked away with Pero. Joshua took a few seconds to decide and then chose two and followed, quickly. They all piled into two trucks, one a lit
tle more beat up than the other. Securicor must be short of trucks tonight, Pero thought. They started at the BP station. Pero posted a Navy man there with a Securicor helper, both shook hands and sorted out who stood where. The manager of the BP fueling depot took offense and Pero told him, well showed him, that Pero had authority. The guns and the small army convinced him. Pero told him he could continue to supply avgas and kerosene, but each driver must be an old hand, no one under two months of employment. If there was a new one, that person was to go to the brig. Anyone else could continue as normal, but each load, each tanker, had to be checked by their boys. Anybody takes a runner or attempts to leave without authority, signed on each clipboard, for each load, would get shot, that simple. He blanched but got the idea. They weren’t shutting him down, something they clearly had done to Agip, so he was, in a way, relieved.
The tussled-haired boy took Pero aside, outside, “Sir, shoot? You want us to shoot someone if they simply make a mistake?”
“Use your judgment, sailor, but get this, there’s a chance that these tanks,” Pero pointed to the brightly lit BP on the side of the tank next to them “will be used to kill two hundred thousand people down there.” Pero pointed down the hill to the slum of Kibera, faintly shimmering in the moonlight. “What’s your opinion? One accidental shooting of somebody who doesn’t do what he’s told in a situation like this? Is it a fair trade?”
“Aye, aye, Sir. Got it.” He looked down the hill at the human anthill. “Grew up in one like that in Mississippi. Smells the same too.” It made Pero wonder. But Pero knew the sailor would protect those below as best he could.
The Mobil station was next and went pretty much the same way. By the time they were done, Jack, Joshua, and Pero had been gone about forty-five minutes. Daylight would be coming in a few hours. They checked on the search.
Mbuno reported that there were tracks everywhere. The avgas men had been using the backside of the tanks as a latrine. One side looked modern, the other side looked like “a water closet, not very good.” Still, Mbuno said that the tracks were one way back and one way forward. There are no tracks all the way around. It should make the search easier. He had completed the first tank, the avgas one, and was starting on the kerosene (jet fuel). One of the sailors was a mountain climber and volunteered to climb the tall ladders to check the top. He had reported there was nothing there, not even a bump. Pero didn’t expect anything there, but it was safer to check. To flood Kibera, you need to break the tank down low. Mbuno said that; so far, all was clear.
But at almost an hour per tank, this was going to take longer than they had. The problem was that Mbuno did the searching; the men just followed him. “Mbuno, is there danger if they search, with you, not after you?”
“Bwana, I was just about to say, I will go round each tank and make sure, very fast. No traps, no pits, nothing I can see that they will not. Then they can search the ground all round.” And he gave instructions for the second tank and started his famous low, fast, reconnoiter. Pero was watching when the cell phone in his pocket buzzed and rang.
“Pero?” She sounded breathless, frantic.
“Yes, go ahead, Mary.”
“Priit has been stabbed, in the thigh, it is serious. He found a man loading a cart with JT’s mid-show refreshments, you know something to keep his throat wet, and Priit started to question him. Ruis says the man panicked and took out a knife and lunged at him. Priit did this dance thing to get away into the kitchens, but the man stabbed him in the leg as he was running. Ruis called for help and two Special Forces caught the man who suddenly stopped struggling, went limp, and died. He killed himself Pero, they don’t know how, but he’s dead, all blue. I came down to help Priit after I heard it all on their sailor’s walkie-talkie, in my room. The call came out “Man down, kitchens.” Pero, he was bleeding badly.” She was almost hyperventilating on the phone; the words were coming tumbling out.
“Will he be okay, has a doctor seen him?”
“No, no, not yet. But Ruis saved him, Pero. The sailors had applied a pressure dressing and a tourniquet, but Ruis saved him. He pushed them aside. He said he knew the femoral artery had been cut, he’s seen it in a bullfight gouging. Ruis grabbed his tool kit and pulled out these little tweezer-plier things and a Swiss Army knife, a little one. He made a cut down Priit’s leg and opened him up, stuck in the little plier thing and squeezed. Then he asked a sailor for a rubber band. They took one off an ammo clip and he doubled it around the pliers handles. The bleeding stopped, Pero, it really stopped, except just a little from the large cut Ruis had made. The sailor dusted it with a white powder, antiseptic I think.” Priit just looked down and said, “What do you think I am? A camera you get to fix?” and then he passed out. They’re waiting for the ambulance now . . . oh, Pero can hear it . . . I’ll take him to the hospital.” “No Mary, it may be what they wanted. It could be a trap. Give the phone to a sailor.”
“No, Pero it’s . . .”
“Mary, do as you are told, I beg you.”
“Oh, all right . . . here . . .”
“Who’s this?” A male voice, monotone.
“Baltazar, State Department. Do not, repeat, do not allow Mary Lever to accompany Priit to the hospital, nor Ruis, that’s an order. Lever stays in the hotel under your care. Oh, and thank you for saving my friend.”
“I’ll check. One moment.” Pero heard a muffled part of an exchange, military clipped phrases, acronyms and a clear “Aye aye, Captain.” He picked up the phone again. “Seems you have the authority. I will comply. Actually, I was already arguing the same, glad to have the right to restrain the lady if necessary.” Pero hadn’t given him that right, Mary would be furious with Pero. She came back on.
“You have no right . . .”
“Yes, Mary I do. Priit saved JT and you, but I need your mind working there Mary. We’re not out of danger yet. Two men died here at Wilson this evening. There’s a whole army of the enemy working against us here tonight. Be on your guard. Now, take control there and order the sailors to have the whole, and I mean whole refreshments’ tray—tray, wheels, glasses and all—impounded—the whole tray understand?”
“Oh, fine Pero. Oh, I know you’re right. Time for poor Priit later. They are tending to him now. His eyes are open and blinking. He’s in shock, I think, but looks better. They are putting in a drip feed . . .”
“Mary, where’s Heep and why isn’t the Nigerian with you?”
“Kweno is right here. He is staying with me. He even comes into the bathroom; he turns his back like a little boy. He’s marvelous, that’s why I felt it was safe to go with Priit.” Pero started to interrupt . . . “No, no, I won’t. I agree. I’ll go back upstairs. Oh, and Heep? Heep’s with JT, they are like mad scientists, analyzing clues. That man Lewis has called every time you’ve called him—Heep says Lewis refers to him and JT as his “Nairobi think tank.” He’s hoping they can see something everyone else has missed—something you’ve missed.”
“I wish they’d tell me! What I have missed I mean. We’re clutching at straws here. Still, that’s two attempts they’ve foiled. Like the eleven Madrid bombings, they are not counting on a one-two Nine-Eleven punch anymore Mary, they have a whole line up to hit us with. I do wish JT would delay, just for a day, give us more time.”
“Pero, have you seen the Hill, have you seen all the people already there? There are over two hundred thousand and they are still coming. You cannot let the word of God be thwarted.” Pero knew that came from JT and so he told her to take care and call if there was anything, anything at all, no matter how small, to report. Pero pushed the red off button and sighed. Time to call Lewis.
“Baltazar here. There’s been a stabbing . . .” and Pero gave him the whole story. “Will you coordinate the examination of the tray, cart, and contents?”
“Affirmative.”
“Nothing else, avgas tanks being inspected, will report more later.”
Two clicks.
Mbuno returned from his search,
shook his head, and they watched as the men fanned out to conduct the rest of the search. Pero explained what had happened to Priit and Ruis’ quick surgical action. Mbuno told Pero he had seen a man bleed to death from a rhino horn in the thigh that way. “Mr. Ruis is a very good doctor, bwana. It is what my wife Niamba has learned, it is called First Aid.” Pero agreed.
The night ground on. Pero kept the police waiting. Pero wanted something concrete to show them. Kenyan police are a bullyboy lot, asking questions later, after they’ve made up their minds. It’s a power thing left over from the reign of President Moi. Pero’s mind analyzed the typical Kenyan power play, Give them power and they corrupt easily. And the judges are not much better. Only good Nairobi judge anyone has ever heard about is a woman. It figures.
Hours later, Mbuno found the bomb in a pile of trash up against the largest Mobil tank, stinking of urine and feces, wrapped in plastic—a small wire antenna played out, running up the tank about two feet, held with plumber’s epoxy putty. It wasn’t the wire that told him, it was the feces: “It was put there, not made there bwana, it is a fake.” The stench wasn’t.
In the early morning sun, Pero arrested the Mobil crew. On the Navy radio Pero reported to the captain and asked to obtain a bomb squad. He also asked to have them save the radio detonator if possible or at least get the frequency. Pero asked the captain to attach a radio detonator, one with an identical frequency or the original al-Qaida one, to a large gas can of avgas with just a little C-4 explosive. “Captain, I think we can set off a Hollywood special effect, doing no damage, say at the end of the runway, and these guys will think they have succeeded. It may help us to catch them later on.” The Captain agreed. “And Captain, that’s four attempts down, but who knows how many more to go?”
CHAPTER 19
Aero Club
It was time to brief Lewis again. “Baltazar here. The Navy is over defusing the bomb Mbuno found up against the largest avgas Mobil tank. I will know soon how they fare.” Pero explained his conversation with the captain and the idea of the false bomb. Lewis agreed, it may mean nothing or it may make the enemy show their hand at a critical moment. Pero told him it would, at least, give them the al-Qaida kick-off time.