The Ethiopian Intercept: A Ross Brannan Thriller (The Secret Cold War Book 2)

by R G Ainslee

  "Yeah, let's wrap him up and stuff him in back of the car. We can ditch him down the road somewhere."

  "Don't you think that's kinda cold blooded?"

  "I don't care. What you want to do, report it to the ranger?"

  "Look, we can't—"

  "If we report this, how are we gonna explain me not having a passport? I'm here illegally, not to mention the security ramifications. Besides, King and I are armed. They might not take kindly to that."

  The sergeant intervened, "Sir, this didn't happen, we don't have to report it. Let's get outta here."

  Barker paused for a few moments. "Okay, I don't like it, but we got no other choice. Put him in the back."

  We loaded the man into the Peugeot, left the Met Station, and inched along the road without lights. A kilometer down the way and out of sight, King pulled over and we dragged the body into the forest. Barker wiped the pistol clean and chunked it deep into the woods.

  King turned to me. "Are you some sort a spook, CIA?"

  "No. Like I said, I'm full-time civilian. Was in the Army Security Agency years ago, none of that snake eating stuff for me."

  "You made one helluva shot, right in the eye, can't get much better. You didn't learn to shoot like that in the ASA."

  "I learned to snap shoot when I was a kid on my uncle's ranch, shooting rattlers from the saddle with a .22 pistol."

  "You a cowboy?" asked King.

  "No way, too much work."

  Barker said, "You sure seem calm, having just killed a man."

  "He's the third man I've killed in less than a week." Barker glared, the Marine seemed impressed. "But they've murdered a bunch of people in their efforts to grab me, so I don't care how many of ‘em I kill. When you're fighting for your life it puts a whole different perspective on the situation."

  "It doesn't bother you?"

  "Hell yes, it bothers me. Bothers me even more to have seen what these guys have done. Did you hear about the attack on a bus down on the coast a few days ago?"

  "You mean the shifta attack?"

  "Shifta attack. — Hell no. — These thugs massacred those people thinking I was on the bus, and the crew of the dhow, the ones who rescued me. They've murdered a dozen or more because of me. This is personal now. I have a long way to go before the score is even." I purposely left out any mention of Lisette's kidnapping.

  Barker grabbed the handle and opened the door, "Sergeant King, let's get the Hell outta here."

  Half way down the road to the Moru Lodge, a baboon scampered out in front of the Peugeot's headlights. King swerved to avoid the beast, bounced off a pothole, and slid off into the ditch. The only damage was a flat tire.

  Barker leaned back in the seat. "Sergeant King, sure hope we have a spare tire. You never know about these rentals."

  "Yes sir, first thing I checked when I picked up the car."

  We moved the vehicle to a flat part of the road and changed the wheel. The car's headlights reflected glowing eyes peering from the tree line and gave all the incentive we needed. A buck thundered across the road behind us. We threw the wheel into the back, piled into the car, and drove off.

  "The damn tire is ruined. I’ll have to file a report with the embassy to justify the added charge from the rental agency." I could tell he wasn't a paper work Marine.

  "How do you suppose they knew you were on the mountain?" asked Barker.

  "Been wondering about that."

  "I'm sure we weren't followed," said King, "Stopped several times and checked. They must have found out after we got here."

  I agreed, "You’re probably right, doubt if it came from the Met hut, had to be from the lodge."

  Barker enquired, "Why the lodge?"

  "A couple days ago, a guy at the Tsavo River Lodge acted suspicious. Suspect he was trying to keep me occupied for some reason."

  "The same outfit owns the Moru Lodge. Come to think of it, the desk clerk took a keen interest in our embassy group. I'll check with the CIA station chief when we get back. The Russians may have some of these hotel people on the payroll."

  "Makes sense, what about tonight. Do you plan to drive straight back or stay at the lodge?"

  King said, "Sir, it's too late to head back to Nairobi. We'd be stuck if we had another flat driving in the dark on those potholed roads."

  "I agree, we’re dead tired and need a good night's sleep." The adrenalin had finally worn off and I was ready to crash. "I'd kill for a soft mattress."

  "Remind me not to get in your way," the sergeant said sarcastically.

  Barker said, "Okay, when we arrive at the lodge, stay in the car, I'll go in and get us a room. I'll tell him I got sick and had to come down early. We don't need to take any more chances."

  * * *

  We pulled in late and the night clerk told Barker no rooms were available, only the climber's huts down by the river. Fifteen minutes later, we were asleep on hard wooden excuses for beds with no mattresses. At least we had our sleeping bags.

  In the middle of the night, I awoke with a jolt, my body bathed in clammy sweat. A dream, a nightmare actually, played out a re-run of my fight with the Arab. Strange and disconnected, I felt the knife slide in, strike a rib, the expression on his face when I twisted the blade, the smell of fear, his and mine.

  The past few days raced through my mind: screams as the Cuban tried to swat away the sea snakes, the surprised look of the man I shot. I felt no guilt. His death didn't bother me. Did what I had to do … killing become routine … should be bothered. Killing without remorse? My life had changed.

  Chapter 18 ~ Lara

  Friday, 17 February: Moru Lodge - Mount Kenya

  A bright morning sun spread across the valley, the air crisp and refreshed. The three of us plodded up to the Lodge for breakfast, famished, worn-out, and grubby. We would deal with the famished part first. Rest could come later. Grubby — we didn't care.

  To avoid the desk clerk's prying eyes, we sneaked around back and slipped into the dining room through the veranda entrance. The white-jacketed waiter greeted us with a haughty air of disapproval and seated us at a corner table away from other guests.

  We guzzled down a large pot of coffee well before the waiter arrived with double orders of omelets. They were soon demolished, a testament to our ravenous appetite. Two more pots of coffee followed a second order of toast and marmalade. We relaxed and agreed the meal had been a rare treat. Halfway through our last cup of coffee, someone called my name.

  Kara dressed in tight fitting black climbing pants and an equally snug ski sweater, bounced over to our table, hugged my shoulders, and planted a passionate kiss on my lips that ignited a testosterone rush. "What are you doing here?"

  King and Barker stared, their eyes wide open and locked on Kara.

  I struggled for words. "We've been up the mountain." My heart rate zoomed.

  "You climbed the mountain and come back already?

  Got that old tingly feeling and gasped for words. "Ah… had a quick trip."

  "But we were together in Nairobi two days ago."

  At a loss for words, I contemplated the possibilities.

  She glanced around. "Where is Lisette?"

  "Ah…" —Lisette — "She couldn't come."

  She shook a finger at me. "You naughty boy."

  Is she reading my mind? "What're you doing here?"

  Kara gestured over to a tall, tanned, blond, athletic young man dressed in traditional climbing attire at a table across the restaurant. "Wolfgang and I will climb the mountain tomorrow. I am so excited."

  My expectations crashed like a mountain avalanche.

  She fixed me with a penetrating and inviting gaze. "Will we meet again?"

  I eyed the lucky Wolfgang out of the corner of my eye and spoke with genuine regret, "Afraid not. Gotta go home soon."

  Her eyes echoed my disappointment. "Too bad." She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. "Must go now. — Bye, Bye, you naughty boy."

  After she left, King gaped at me
with disbelief. "Let me get this straight. You've been hunted all over creation by these Cubans and you had time to chase women?"

  "It's a long story."

  Barker was still ogling Kara.

  * * *

  A half hour later, the Peugeot sat at the intersection of the Nairobi highway waiting for traffic to pass: two police Land Rovers zoomed past, headed towards the Met Station.

  "You thinking what I'm thinking?" asked King.

  "Yeah, hope they don't get too curious about witnesses to the crime," I answered.

  "Probably take the police a while to bring those guys down from the mountain. We should be back in Nairobi by then," offered Barker.

  King spoke as he kept his eyes on the road. "Ross, tell me, where did you meet her? She's a knockout. And how’d you find time to make such an impression on her?"

  "I met her on the bus from Lamu."

  "Is that all? Just a bus ride?"

  "No, we met at the Hilton couple days ago."

  "You were shacked-up with her at the Hilton?"

  The image aroused thoughts of what might have been. "No, I was with someone else."

  "How many women you got stashed away?"

  "Only two others besides her." The expression on King's face was priceless.

  A jumbled vision of the past few days wheeled through my mind. If the Cubans found us on Mount Kenya, they had the resources and the will to find us again.

  Kara’s presence intrigued me. She had a propensity for turning up at just the right, or was it wrong, time. Coincidence or by design? Good grief — getting paranoid, she's just an innocent traveler … maybe not that innocent.

  King asked, "Do you still believe the hotel clerk ratted on us to the Ruskies?"

  "Dunno, but I've been wondering. It’s a possibility."

  Barker agreed, "Same here. Sergeant, do you think you might have been tailed?"

  "Like I said, kept a close look-out on the way up here," answered King. "Pretty sure we weren't followed."

  "These guys are good. They always show up wherever I go, like sharks circling a life raft. The Soviets must have a first-rate network in country." I related to Barker my escapes on the coast and in Nairobi and repeated suspicions about the man at the Tsavo River Lodge.

  Barker said, "You may be right. A vehicle followed us when we drove the Cuban defector to the airport. Sergeant Machado, one of the Marine escorts, hustled over to confront the occupants, but they drove off."

  "That's correct sir, he told me one guy in the car wasn’t Kenyan, thought he might be Puerto Rican, like him. The others appeared to be local thugs. They were lucky not to have tangled with Machado. I've seen him in action."

  "Bet the vehicle was a blue Peugeot."

  Barker twisted back and gave me a surprised look. "How’d you know?"

  "Think I've seen it several times in the last few days."

  "When we get to the embassy, I'll speak with the CIA station chief."

  * * *

  We were dog-tired, hadn’t slept well at all. Bad dreams resulted in a long night of fitful and unsatisfying sleep. Barker and I tried to nap along the way, but the traffic and bumpy road kept us awake.

  We entered the busy city and Barker said, "Sergeant King, we'll go by my house before we head to the embassy. Want to let my wife know I'm back and we can clean up. Okay with you, Ross."

  "First I need to make a quick stop at the French embassy." I wanted to check on Lisette.

  King laughed. "That’s where I picked him up the other day." He glanced back in the rear-view mirror. "Is that where you got your women stashed?"

  "Yeah."

  Barker turned. "Seriously, why do you want to go to the French embassy?"

  "Like I said, need to meet a lady friend."

  "Seriously?"

  "Yes, and it's important to me."

  "What's her name?" asked a now curious Barker.

  "Lara, she works at the embassy."

  "Lara… You don’t mean Lara Dumont?"

  My expression gave me away.

  "Are you kidding me? — Wait a minute, how’re you acquainted with Lara Dumont?"

  "Uh… she's a friend of a friend."

  "Another lady friend, I presume," interjected King.

  "What's the big deal? Just met her a few days ago, and she helped me out."

  Barker obviously disturbed, turned and leaned back towards me. "Lara Dumont is the number two intelligence officer in the French embassy." She's SDECE. Do you understand what that means?" He didn't wait for my answer. "Service de Documentation Extérieure et de Contre-Espionnage, in other words, the French CIA. — What's going on?"

  Now I understood why Lara could recognize the Soviet pistol. It also explained how I was able to get an overseas line so easily. I might have a lot of explaining to do. First, I needed to make sure Lisette was safe.

  "Okay, here's the story…" I told them about meeting Lisette in Lamu and her kidnapping by the Cubans. How I accidentally rescued her and our escape to Nairobi. My problems with the embassy jerk. In addition, how Lara had saved the day by letting me call Mack and Santini.

  "How does this Kara chick fit in?" asked King.

  "Like I said, we met on the bus."

  * * *

  Outside the French embassy, the receptionist recognized me and picked up the phone before I had a chance to ask for Lara Dumont. In less than a minute, an obviously agitated Lara swept past the door, grasped my elbow, and steered me down the hall.

  "Everything okay?"

  She didn’t answer and led me into her office. Lisette sat in a chair.

  Lisette rushed over and wrapped her arms around my waist. I embraced her shoulders and pulled her to me. She trembled, the rhythm of her heart beat against my chest.

  "What's the matter?"

  "Lisette shot a man." Lara's voice developed an emphatic chill.

  Lisette inhaled a long breath, her eyes filled with tears. I started to speak, but Lara cut me off.

  "A man came to my apartment this morning. Lisette was alone. He defeated the lock and entered. We suspect he was searching for Lisette. She heard noise and when he opened the bedroom door — she shot him."

  "Is he dead?"

  "A bullet between the eyes results in death."

  "The police." My pulse quickened. "Did someone hear the shot?"

  "No … the silencer. The police will not be notified." Lara's response was cool, clinical, and pro-forma, as if she was accustomed to making unconventional decisions.

  "Lisette, thank goodness you're safe." She tilted her head, and slightly parted her lips with a faint artificial smile.

  Lara spoke to Lisette in French. Lisette answered in the affirmative and hugged me tighter.

  "What do we do now?"

  "This is a difficulty with my chief. I cannot be involved with you any longer. You must go. And I am sorry, Lisette must go too. Take her with you — now."

  "Is Lisette in trouble with the Kenyan authorities? Will there be any problems? What about the man? Do you know his identity or why he was at the apartment?"

  She reached over to her desk and produced a Polaroid picture: a dead man, the one who followed me into the bookshop. A small red hole stood out, right between his eyes.

  Lisette stared at the picture. I felt her tense.

  "This is the guy I took the gun from. He was shot with his own pistol."

  Lara sighed.

  "What will you do with the body?"

  Lara paused and stared at the floor. "It is not your concern."

  I grasped Lisette's hand and started to leave.

  "Wait, take this with you." She placed the gun in my hand. I stuck the pistol in my waistband and covered it with my shirt.

  "Lara, I'm sorry about his. Thanks for your help. I wish we could…"

  She replied with a disarming grin. "Do not worry. We have persons who can handle the details and perhaps our Canadian friends will assist with the body."

  I gave her a puzzled look. She snapped, "Aller, v
a-t’en — go, now.

  At the door, I turned back. "What about her uncle? When can she—"

  "He will be notified." Her features relaxed slightly. "Do not worry."

  We sailed through the front door and hurried to the car parked outside the embassy. Barker's face had that Oh-No Look. I opened the door to the back seat and Lisette and I slid in. A knowing grin from King reflected in the rear-view mirror.

  "This is Lisette … Lisette, please let me introduce you to Sergeant King and Captain Barker from my embassy. Lisette needs a safe place to stay. Any suggestions?"

  Without looking back, Barker told King to take us to his house.

  Lisette settled back into the seat, tears gone, fingers fidgeted on her knee. I wasn't sure how much the turn of events affected her. She had been through a lot the past few days. She killed a man in violation her vows. But she was safe, that's all that mattered.

  Barker, obviously irritated, asked, "Is there anything else you haven’t told me?"

  I took a deep breath and glanced over at Lisette. "She shot a man this morning. That’s why she can’t stay at the French embassy."

  King gave her a wide-eyed look in the rear-view mirror.

  Barker exploded, "Shot a man. — What do you mean?"

  "She killed a guy that broke into Lara Dumont’s place."

  "What’d she shoot him with?" asked Barker with a skeptical expression.

  "This." Pulled the pistol from my waistband and held it in my lap. Lisette grasped my left arm.

  King, still looking back through the rearview mirror, said. "Is that a silencer?"

  I yelled, "Watch the road." King almost sideswiped a parked car.

  "What’s she doing with a pistol?" Barker was incredulous. "Brannan, what are you involved in? First, Lara Dumont and now another French lady-friend running around packing heat with a silencer. Is she some sorta SDECE assassin?"

  Lisette gasped and tightened her grip on my arm.

  I stifled a smile at the thought of Lisette as an assassin: a nun with a gun. "No, I gave her the pistol. I stole it off a man who followed me from the embassy, the same guy she shot this morning."

  King said, "What the… Boy, you are full of surprises today."

  "Sergeant, the road," shouted an exasperated Barker.