by Ron Sewell
“My guess is someone requires her special talents.” “Somalia’s full of pirates,” said Cisse.
“Compared to her they’re amateurs. She hunts the big beasts, and that’s the last we see of them. Experience tells me she’ll raise her lovely face somewhere.”
“Excuse me, sir.”
Rono glanced at Police Superintendant Husain’s assistant Tazmin. “Are you lost?” This is where the peasants work.” She stood with her hands on her hips. “Don’t get comfortable. The boss wants to see you in his office. Don’t annoy him. Remember, I work for him.”
“You can come and straddle my lap, anytime.” He gathered his notepad from the desk and trailed after Tazmin.
She allowed Rono to enter the superintendants office and shut the door behind him.
The large air-conditioning unit kept the room cool. The superintendant, wearing a short-sleeved white shirt, sat behind his desk. His mouth and lips formed a smile. On the wall, to his left, hung a large print of President Uhuru Kenyatta. Rono recollected having stood in this room many times to receive a reprimand. Usually for approving overtime for his team.
The superintendant, much to Rono’s surprise, smiled again and told him to stand easy. He held his thin hands together and leant back. “How many prostitutes died this week?”
“One. With luck I’ll have a confession by the end of the week.”
“Hand your case notes to Sergeant Cisse. I’ve promoted him to Inspector. Those above me want you transferred. You will have to make do with being a Chief Inspector attached to Interpol.”
Stunned by the remark and his promotion, all he could mutter was, “Why me?”
“You are an officer with a degree in mathematics. You write and speak several languages. Those at the top selected you as the best man for the job.”
“But you don’t believe that.”
The superintendant’s gaze was ice cold. “Chief Inspector. You will clear your desk and in the next hour, you'll leave. No doubt, you’ll be part of a security unit.”
“My job is here. I’m familiar with the rat runs, the pimps and the drug dealers.”
“Your problem is you’re unconventional but I admit you achieve results when others fail. Refuse and you’ll be handing out parking tickets for the rest of your life. Take the opportunity of a quiet life. For once, do what they ask and retire on a good pension.”
Ten minutes elapsed before he eventually shook the superintendant’s hand and left the office. His mind buzzed from the meeting and he still wondered, ‘Why me’? On entering the main office, he saw a white man wearing an expensive suit seated in his chair. “That’s my chair.”
“I know.” The man gave a boyish smile, straightened his tie and stood with his right hand extended. “Peter Long, Interpol. Congratulations on your promotion, Chief Inspector. I’m here to escort you to your new office. Your flight for South Africa departs in five hours. Plenty of time. I’ll discuss your appointment in private. But for starters you will be part of a team investigating terrorism and piracy.”
Rono shook the offered hand. “My boss doesn’t know so I’ll ask you. Why me?”
He gave Rono the once over and grinned. “Not my decision but I’m sure those in charge chose you because you’re good. For the most part Interpol consists of pen pushers. It has a job to do and does it well. You will be on the periphery. Outside looking in so to speak.”
“I tend to bend the rules,” said Rono as he emptied his desk drawers into a metal rubbish bin. “Will they transfer my pension?”
“Yes and add a bonus. With regard to the rules, those who can bend them do. Hand your warrant card and badge in to the front desk on your way out. We use our own.”
Rono clasped his pen and shoved it in his jacket pocket. “I’m ready. I’ll drive to my flat.”
“Not necessary. I hired a car.”
“I must garage my truck. If I leave it here, the wheels will vanish in less than a week.”
“I recommend you put it up for sale. I doubt if you’ll see this office again. Chop chop and I’ll follow you.”
The officer at reception took Rono’s warrant card. “Good luck, sir.”
They stepped out of the station and strolled to the car park.
Rono was an officer whose style made others uncomfortable. His questions were to the point and his manner often harsh. He wished to go without a fuss but his team and other station members had gathered in the car park.
Inspector Cisse stepped forward. “Congratulations, sir. We didn’t have time to buy you a present so we haven’t. Those who worked with you want to shake your hand. We have seen arrest rates surge because of your hard work and determination.” He grinned. “May God help those who have to work with you.”
“Thanks for such kind words, Cisse. I’ll miss you.” He strolled along the line of men and women and shook their hands. “We did okay, didn’t we?”
Peter grabbed his arm. “Sorry to break this up but it’s time to leave. The hired red Mercedes is mine.”
“Before I garage my truck, I must drop in and tell my ex-wife and speak to the kids. If I don’t she’ll go mental.”
“Don’t be long. We have a plane to catch.”
“Ten minutes. If I take any longer rescue me.”
7
Cape Town – South Africa The flight from Nairobi to Cape Town landed after midnight. Once through the airport formalities Peter, followed by Rono, took a taxi into the centre of town.
“Where are we going?” asked Rono.
“To the office and your flat.”
The car raced around a roundabout with a fountain
at its centre. With its brakes screeching the vehicle halted outside a tower block fronted with mirrored glass. Peter paid the fare and ushered Rono through the glass entrance doors.
The security guard raised his head, smiled and tossed Peter a bunch of keys. “Is he the office manager?”
“Yes,” said Peter as they paused at the third lift. “This takes you straight into the office.”
Together they stepped into a stainless steel box. Peter pressed the number one button. “You’re on the top floor”
Before Rono said a word, the doors opened and he stepped into a huge room. He smiled at the magnolia painted walls, which complimented the spotless ivory tiled floor.
Peter pressed a button on a remote and the slatted blinds opened. “Best view in town. To your left, the Atlantic, and to the right, Table Mountain. In case you have any doubts the mirrored glass is bulletproof.”
A single print, The Fighting Temaraire by Turner, hung from one wall.
Tired, Rono stared at a state of organized chaos. Four grey desks with drawers along with chairs. Flat computer screens and a mountain of printing paper. Filing cabinets and a water dispenser. Close to a window, a long wooden table with six chairs.
“Everything a man needs. Do I share the accommodation?”
“It’s all yours. This used to be two flats, but we bought the complete top floor. Our builders demolished the walls and improved the security. The flat is yours for a small rent. The firm will deduct it from your salary each month.” Peter checked the time. “It’s late and it’s been a long day.” From his trouser pocket, he pulled a set of keys and tossed them to Rono. “I ordered food for the fridge and the bed made. Tomorrow you’ll have plenty of time to get your brain into gear. Once you start hunting for Linda Liu., things will be different. I guess you’ll have the job of retiring her.”
Rono shrugged. “I’m knackered and need a shower. Show me my flat and where you shoved the bed.”
“For this part of town the accommodation is large. You have three bedrooms, bathroom, lounge and kitchen, and panoramic views. It’s the black key.”
Rono unlocked the door and paused before entering. His keen eyes scanned the spacious flat. “Not bad. Much better than my last place.” He inspected the interior of the large stainlesssteel fridge and chuckled. “A man filled this. Beer, bread, sliced cooked beef. One carton of
milk.” He seized a bottle of beer. “Want one?”
“No thanks. I’m off home to my wife. Take my card. Any problems, so long as they don't refer to your job, call me. I can direct you to the best clubs in town. Your boss, partners and a secretary will be here in the morning. Have fun.”
Rono followed Peter and noted which button he pressed. In seconds, the lift doors opened and closed.
He opened his bottle of beer and slumped into an armchair. Interpol gathered evidence, exchanged data and worked alongside other countries. Few of their staff worked in the field and did not operate in this manner. The office and flat were new and expensive. His mind worked overtime but his enemy tiredness remained close. With a large gulp, he finished the beer and decided a hot shower might help a good night’s sleep.
Refreshed, he towelled his short hair and slid between the sheets. Wonderful, he thought, switched off the bedside light and slept.
***
With his body clock out of sync, Rono awoke at seven, showered and dressed. With nothing to do, he proceeded into the kitchen, and made a pot of coffee. On the table, he placed a packet of cigarettes with a lighter.
On the dot of nine, the security screen beside the lift doors flashed and buzzed. He wasted a few seconds before he figured how to operate the device. A man and a woman stood in clear view.
He stared at the tiny screen. “Yes.”
The thin man smiled. “Major Eric Johnston, we spoke on the telephone. This is Anna White, part of our team. Can you let us in?”
“Sure.”
“Press the green button,” said Eric.
One minute later Eric strode straight across and shook Rono’s hand.
Anna, a tall, blonde woman with an intellectual face, let her gaze wander. “We’ll need a day or two to sort this place out.”
“I gather you’re our secretary,” said Rono.
Her eyes sparkled and nostrils flared. “Bollocks, I’m with you. Not that you need to know but you’ll soon find out. My last job put me in a world where every day we talked about terrorists and radicalisation. You know of them; they produce nail, car, and chemical bombs. There are plenty of reasons to be afraid. It sometimes keeps me awake at night. It’s a nasty old world. We’ve got bad things going on out there and we have to deal with them.” She parted her jacket to show a holstered Browning automatic. “British MI6, Special Operations, or I was until I was reasigned.”
“I’m glad someone knows why they’re here.”
The entry screen flashed.
“Use the remote,” said Eric, as he tossed it across the room.
Rono caught it. He stared at a tall, grey-haired man wearing a plain dark suit, his face calm and eyes unreadable. In his right hand, he grasped a tan briefcase. Next to him stood a small, plump, dark hair in a bun, officious-looking woman in a red trouser suit. “Are you part of the team?”
A smile passed across the man’s face as he held up his Interpol identification card. “Be a good chap and open the door.”
Eric smiled. “I’d let our director of operations in if I were you.”
He pressed the green button.
The lift door opened, and a man built like a boxer strolled to the table. “Good morning everyone. Anna, coffee black. The name’s Fred Kendall. Eric, as the leader of this team, you’re promoted to Lieutenant Colonel.”
“Permanent or temporary?”
“Depends on you.” Fred placed his briefcase on the table and from it removed four thin files. “Eric, Rono, you’re making the place untidy. Take a chair and be quiet. Georgina, you’ll work for these people. You understand the score.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Georgina, please tell me, are you here to help, or feed information back to Fred when we make cockups?” asked Rono.
"Fred and I go back to his time as a marine officer. He has the reputation of getting the job done," said Georgina. "I understand the game you people play. Fred’s methods are never by the book but he impressed his superiors by results. Now he rids the world of undesirables."
She smiled and took a tape recorder from her bag and placed it on the table. “I'll manage the office, pay expenses and extract you alive from sensitive situations. Before we sally forth, those who work with me call me George.”
Anna placed a steaming mug on the table. “One coffee as ordered, sir.” She pulled up a chair and sat at the far end.
Rono attempted to speak but a wave of Fred’s hand silenced him.
Fred handed a file to each of them. “Read these and memorise their contents. The first page lists the principles on which I chose you as individuals. They provide information on your strengths and weaknesses.” He grasped the mug in his right hand and sipped at its contents. “I hate instant. George, before my next meeting buy a percolator.”
Within ten minutes, the files languished on the table.
Rono spoke first. “You have your team. Now tell us what you want from us?”
Fred nodded. “Straight to the point. Like you, I have my orders. There are those who live across the Atlantic who want Linda Lui dead. The good people of our world would scream for our heads on a plate if they read our minds. The plan is we won’t tell them. She’s killed American citizens and stolen thousands of tons of oil and more than a few tankers. I gather they’re pissed off. The CIA chatter is, she’s involved in taking terrorism to an unprecedented level. Nine-eleven shrinks in its shadow. She’s intelligent and educated in China. Some say she’s a master of disguise, speaks and writes several languages like a native. Like it or not, she’s a valuable asset to her masters. She has declared war. You will unearth her latest goal and close her down forever. Some of you may remember an old poster. It said careless talk costs lives. Discuss what you like in here but never outside of this room. Keep your eyes open and watch your backs, she doesn’t take prisoners. One other person knows of this operation.”
Anna glanced at the faces of the three men. Her eyes gave nothing away.
Rono’s eyes travelled over her body admiring her large breasts.
“So we are an assassination squad,” said Eric.
“An assassin might cost less but we’d never receive approval.”
“You said tell no one,” said Anna.
Fed ran the fingers of his right hand through his grey hair. “That’s right, Eric reports to me. As a team, you’re part of Interpol, but you do not show on the books. You will utilise your extensive skills to locate her. You have a limited budget but I believe it's enough to do the job. Between the four of you, I expect results. The first rule in this business is there are no rules. I lie, the number one rule is don’t be caught.
Rono stood and placed his hands flat on the table. “Do I call you Fred or Mr Kendall?”
“I’m sure as time passes you might call me many names but unless I’m giving you a roasting, Fred will do.”
Rono smiled inwardly. “Okay, Fred, I give information to Eric. He collates and reports to you. Can you tell us who you work for?”
Fred chuckled as his eyes bored into Rono. “My job is not that straight forward and I pull many strings at the same time. Trust me and we’ll get along fine.” He turned to Anna. “Your specialised computer equipment will arrive this morning. If you have any questions, ask George.” He lifted his briefcase, “Good luck and make it happen,” He turned and marched to the lift. The doors closed.
Rono suffered the scald of Fred’s stare, but said nothing.
***
Within a few hours, George had the office tidy and the new equipment working.
Eric handed his information regarding Linda to Anna. “I need everything you can uncover on her life. Where she tends to hide. I know her; she’ll have her next target carefully planned.”
Anna worked her way through airline passenger manifests. Her priority, countries where terrorists operated without question. Where appropriate she sent photos of Linda to airport security teams. With each, she included the instruction, inform but do not apprehend.
&nbs
p; ***
At the rear of the office, a bank of computers monitored terrorist communication networks, emails and telephones. They checked words and phrases related to their day-to-day activities.
Every day Rono tried to wake before the sun rose and go for a run. The security guard waved as he left the building and said, “Good run, sir?” when he came back. Head down, he pounded the uneven paving at a steady pace. Each one of his one hundred strides was the same length, and then the sudden spurts of speed to stretch his limit. On the beach at the water’s edge, he stood still and witnessed the sun as it rose above the horizon. He loved empty beaches and observing the freshness of a new day.
Invigorated, he showered and dressed in clean jeans and a white shirt. Breakfast was always scrambled eggs on toast and a glass of fresh orange juice. With the kitchen clean, he sauntered into the office, and sat at his desk before the others arrived.
***
Each morning the four of them posed the same question. Where is Linda? Who’s paying the money and what is she doing with it? Each day the questions remained unanswered.
Rono sipped his third cup of coffee. “This is a waste of time; we should be out there raising stones.”
“There are a million stones in Africa,” said Anna. “And two million possible terrorists in Turkey about to invade Greece. No one checks them. It’s time I merged with the flood engulfing Europe.”
Eric glanced up from a pile of documents. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. Come, there’s a place where you can relax and let your thoughts gather momentum.”
“Perhaps you’re right.”
“Grab your coat and we can enjoy the walk. Anna, you’re more than welcome to join us.”
She peered over the top of her computer. “Sorry boys, busy, busy. Maybe next time.”
“We must visit a pet shop.”
“I’m intrigued,” said Rono.
“Duck food. The last time I fed them a little girl told me that bread is not good for them. I checked on the net and she’s right. I now buy feed pellets from the pet shop.” “We live and learn. What’s in it?”
Eric smiled. “Dried worms and other goodies. They prefer it to bread.”