by Ron Sewell
With a bag each of food, the two men strolled to Eric’s favourite spot. In seconds, a dozen ducks waddled towards them.
“Why are we doing this?” asked Rono.
“It allows me, us, time to think. I’ve solved many a crime feeding my ducks.” He paused as a squadron of ducks circled and landed. It gave him the chance to scan the area to see who was there.
Rono glanced at the trees shielding the large pond and muddy bank. “I still think we should have someone on the inside. The CIA may have heard mutterings but we’re still stuck in the office.”
Eric stared into Rono’s eyes. “Without training, you wouldn’t last a day in an Isis camp. The trouble is they take a long time poking knives into you before they hack off your head.” His voice was compelling.
“What do you suggest?”
“We activate our travel budget. I have a contact in Egypt who has people inside the Islamic Brotherhood camp. They will have heard more than whispers on a soft breeze. Bullies love to brag on how their enemies will suffer. From your report, I guess our Linda met with someone of importance. We must focus our attention on locating her. And there’s the money. The money trail always leads somewhere.”
“You said we.”
“I mean you, and on your own. Forgive me but your skin colour will blend in far easier than mine.”
“Unfortunately, you’re right. White South Africans and blacks are still a volatile combination.”
“Apartheid was wrong and my country will pay the price for a few generations. One day this will be a great country again.”
Rono gave a sideways glance at Eric and shrugged.
“I need you to go to Egypt and follow your nose. If you have a hunch run with it but be careful. Write no notes or reminders. Commit everything to memory and if you can unearth a secure phone, inform me of any progress. You’ll like Abu Hamadi; he’s one of the good guys.”
Rono stared at Eric. “Okay I’ll ask. Who is he?”
Eric laughed. “A rather senior police officer who has contacts in every African country. If Linda is planning anything, he might have heard rumours. If he doesn’t he’ll ask the right questions. Let’s leave it at that.”
“And I need to know I can trust him.”
“I trust him, is that good enough?”
“I suppose this is where my life gets interesting.”
Eric winked. “Have a safe flight.”
8
Cairo – Egypt
Rono, his eyes shifting from left to right, strolled into the airport arrival zone. It looked more like a shopping centre. The tiles under foot gleamed white and everywhere people milled around the public space. Elevators lead to an upper floor, which appeared to be a food mall.
“How is my friend Eric these days?” asked a plump, smiling man, wearing a brown suit, and a white open-necked shirt.
Rono grinned and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “You must be Abu Hamadi. He still feeds the ducks and sends his regards.”
“If I’m not , you’ll be dead by this evening. I’ve done favours for the South African police over the years but we never discuss the details.”
“Are things that bad?” Abu shrugged . “We have our problems. Did you have an enjoyable flight?”
Rono slapped him on the back as if he were a long lost friend. “As flights go it was okay. One day I’ll travel first class and eat good food.”
Abu glanced towards a taxi. “Our transport. Drop your bag in the boot, hop in and remain silent.” Once seated, he ordered. “The City of the Dead, western entrance.”
The man drove at breakneck speed through the busy streets of Cairo and entered the vast area of monuments enclosing the burial chambers of the deceased. With a screech of brakes and in a cloud of dust, the car stopped. Abu hopped out with Rono. “Leave your bag.” With a glance left and right they made their way along a dusty narrow path, where Cairo’s homeless survived. Abu paused as he inserted a key into a lock and led him inside the ancient chamber. He jammed the door shut with a wooden post.
Rono peered into the dark as his eyes adjusted to the gloom.
“This way.” Abu stepped into an alcove dragging Rono with him. “Be careful, these steps are hundreds of years old and dangerous.”
“You could have brought a torch.”
“My contact is a moderate in the Islamic Brotherhood. The reason he talks is, like many, he prays for peace. You will not see him and I will translate. Place your right hand on my right shoulder. To become lost in these tunnels is fatal.”
Rono gripped the cloth of Abu’s jacket.
Minutes later, they halted. His face covered and concealed by the gloom a man waited.
“Ahmed, I have asked you here to help me pay a debt to a friend.”
The man spoke and Abu translated. “Ask your questions.”
“I’m hunting for a woman named Linda Lui. She may work for Isis.”
The man chuckled and answered in perfect English. “I have not heard of this name. This may come as a surprise but I understand Isis plans to destroy Israel. They net billions of dollars from the sale of oil and aim to buy many weapons of mass destruction. A country not that far away will supply them. Libya, Iran, Russia, and many more have a surplus of weapons for sale.”
“When will this happen?”
“When they are ready.”
“Can you be more precise?”
“Stop wasting your breath, he’s gone,” said Abu. “He told me nothing I haven’t heard.”
“You’re wrong. You must listen with both ears. Where you go next is up to you. Grip my shoulder. We’re leaving by a different route.”
As they ascended, a faint light filtered through ventilation holes high in the roof.
Moments before they passed through a metal-studded door the ground shuddered. Dust from the aged structure filled the air and enveloped their heads.
“That was a bomb,” said Rono.
“Forget it ever happened. Today, this week, next year are dangerous times and it will not be over until it’s over,” said Abu. “Keep moving.”
“There may be casualties.”
“We are not here. In the City of the Dead people do not care or matter. I’ll take you back to the airport.” “Can you arrange a flight to Tripoli?”
Abu raised his eyebrows. “You’re mad.”
“My ex-wife often said that about me.”
“She understands you.”
“I don’t suppose you have any contacts in Libya?”
Abu shrugged. “I wouldn’t dream of interfering with your operation.” From his jacket pocket, he took a card. “He might befriend you but there are no guarantees in this business.” He pressed a button on his mobile.
A long silence followed until the same shabby taxi arrived.
“Believe it or not this is bullet proof.” Abu bounced into the front passenger seat while Rono slid into the back.
The driver spoke while driving as high speed through the maze of narrow streets.
“The man we met is dead,” said Abu. “A radical faction blew up his car. For the moment no one has claimed responsibility but they will.”
“Did they realise who he was meeting?”
“No. They have wanted him out of the way for many years. He was a good man, and they murdered him to deter others.”
“On that premise, I’ll live forever,” said Rono. The driver parked in a restricted zone and Abu leapt out.
Rono slid from the back seat, removed his bags from the boot and sauntered towards the entrance.
Abu caught him up and seized his left arm. “If you must go to Libya come with me.”
“You said I’m mad.”
“You are but I can arrange a seat on the first flight out of here. The sooner you’ve gone the better. All I see is another dead man walking.”
“And I thought you liked me.”
Abu spoke to the manager at Egypt Air and booked Rono on a flight due to leave in three hours.
“I’ve
booked you into the Palma hotel. It’s clean. I don’t think you’ll be staying long. When you see him, offer my regards to Eric.” He bowed and left.
Rono chose a quiet corner to sit and do what he did best, people watching. There were parents with teenage and noisy children. A young man and an attractive woman lost in each other. Those compulsive shoppers who flitted in and out of every airport shop. Miles away in his own world he almost missed his flight announcement. He stood, stretched, and followed the line of passengers towards the departure gate.
9
Libya The short flight to Tripoli was unexciting. At arrivals, Rono cleared customs fast when he produced his Kenyan passport. Outside the airport buildings, a refreshing breeze blew from the west. The driver of the sun-damaged white Mercedes laughed when he told him the name of his hotel.
In passable English the unshaven but cheerful driver said, “For a few dollars I take you to a better hotel. My uncle’s friend is manager. I get you special price.”
“ Thank you but my company booked and paid for my room.”
The driver shrugged. “You’re the boss.”
The hotel was convenient to the city centre. The entrance was drab and the reception area plain. He checked in and took the lift to the third floor. On entering his room, a musty odour invaded his nostrils. Doubtful, he strolled to the bed and pulled back the top sheet. To his surprise, it was clean and smelt fresh from the laundry. The tiny shower room and toilet met his needs. Tired, he laid on the well-used mattress. The noise of crumpling paper made him shove his right hand under the pillow. The buff envelope contained a note. Meet me in Green Square at sunset. There was no photo and no name.
He operated his sat-phone and pressed a memory button.
“George speaking, Rono. Where are you?”
“Can I speak to Eric?”
“He’s busy. Talk.”
“I’m in Tripoli chasing a lead.”
“Not a safe city and you’re unarmed. Be careful, it’s a difficult place from which to recover bodies.”
“Thanks. That I needed to know.”
She laughed relieving the tension. “I’ll send you a text in one minute. Memorise the address and then press delete. It’s a safe house. Go there as a last resort.”
“You’re a star, George. See you.”
Drained, there was nothing left but to sleep. ***
In Cape Town Eric and Anna divided a large pile of telephone conversation printouts. It was painstaking work. They read each sheet, flagged those of interest with a selfadhesive tag or fed it to the shredder.
“There’s a lot happening,” said Eric.
Anna, her brain in top gear, scanned each sheet. She understood speech patterns. To her a word could mean something different to its literal meaning.
Eric frowned. “Could be the start of a major strike. These are troop movements and include Hezbollah massing within a mile or so of the border. We should inform Mossad.”
George glanced up from her work. “Mossad have eyes everywhere and they gave us those transcripts. From the reports, I’ve read Israel has doubled the army units on the border. You must concentrate on unearthing Linda.” Her mobile rang. “Okay, I’ll tell them.” She raised her head towards Eric. “Rono is on the phone. He’s in Libya meeting one of Abu’s contacts.”
“He has all the fun.”
George gave him a sideways glance. “He’s taking a big risk. Libya isn’t the safest place in the world. He’s a renegade but being black is great cover. You cannot plan an operation like this, you gamble. If it works, you live, if it doesn’t your bones end up picked clean by desert vultures. The world is changing. We must combine resources to defeat a common enemy.”
“Hezbollah are not the originator. Isis is using them. They are in a word, expendable.”
Anna shook her head. “What if Hamas rushes the southern border?”
“They wouldn’t stand a chance. Israel’s reservists could defeat them without thinking. We’re investigating something far bigger, and different in every possible way.”
George’s mobile rang.
“Eric, Anna, great news. Linda emptied her bank account in Cape Town five minutes ago. Our director of operations has a team following the money.”
Eric leant back in his chair and churched his fingers. “So little Miss Muffet has emptied her piggy bank. What does that tell us?”
“It might prove she’s alive and requires money for her next job.”
Eric frowned. “I don’t believe she finances her piracy. Let’s see where it takes us. Back to the treadmill. You never know, there could be a map with an arrow pointing to the target.”
Anna grinned. “Droll.”
***
Rono checked the time again. Sunset was half an hour away. Still wearing his travelling clothes, he stopped at reception and asked for directions to Green Square.
The bearded man said, “At night, Green Square is not a safe place for tourists. Stay in the hotel and go tomorrow.”
Rono glanced towards the door and back at the man. “I need a map or directions.”
“Out the door, turn left, go to the end of the street and left again. You cannot miss it.”
“Thank you.”
Ten minutes later, he wandered with his hands in his trouser pockets through the square. After one circuit of its perimeter, he was bored. On the fourth orbit, he strolled towards the street that led back to his hotel.
“Mr Rono. Follow me,” said a young boy.
Rono studied the boy’s face and took a moment to consider. “Give me one good reason I should?”
The boy grinned and handed him a mobile. “It will ring.”
It rang and Rono lifted it to his ear. “You’re brighter than I thought Mr Rono. You want information and I may have it. Please follow the boy. If I wanted to harm you, I could have had you shot the moment you arrived.”
“Who are you?”
“A friend of Abu Hamadi.” The connection ended.
“You lead and I’ll follow,” said Rono.
The boy turned and walked away.
They rounded the next corner and stopped behind a battered white Ford Transit. The boy thumped the side three times. The rear doors burst open and two men dressed in long dark robes grabbed Rono’s arms. In one swift movement, they heaved him head first into the back and held him face down on the metal floor. The boy slammed both doors shut, and the vehicle drove away.
The van made a series of sharp swerves until Rono lost track of direction. It shuddered to a halt forty minutes later. One man appeared and gestured for him to jump out.
They were in the desert. Rono peered at a tall, lean man. His eyes were deep-set and peered from a face burnt by the hot desert wind. His straight nose was large, and his features stern. He shifted his position and pressed a pistol into Rono’s ribs. His expression dour. “Were you followed?”
The driver grinned. “The way I drive no one can follow.”
He lowered the weapon and held out his hand. “The gun, a necessary precaution.”
Relieved and with a sigh, Rono shook his hand. “You had me worried.”
In a jovial tone he said, “You risk your life chasing shadows, Chief Inspector.”
“I’m trying to find a woman named Linda Lui.”
The man chuckled. “If you need a woman, tell me. Tall, thin, black or white, I’ll supply as many as you can handle.”
“I need to find Linda Lui. Is she buying weapons? Is she in Libya? But much more important, what's her target?”
His eyes narrowed. “Do you know something I don’t?”
Rono smiled a humourless smile. “Weapons of mass destruction.”
“That’s dangerous?”
“From the information I have. Very.”
“And if I can tell you where she is, what happens next?”
Rono hesitated and crossed his arms. “I shoot her between the eyes and run like hell.”
“You have no weapons.”
Rono shrugged. �
�This is Libya. If I can’t buy what I need here, I’ll go home to my ex-wife.”
“Is she beautiful?”
“Most men think so, but she has a sharp tongue and hates my guts.”
The man laughed. “When the sun rises, I will show you a camp with a woman in charge. This is an enigma as it’s obvious she is not a Muslim but she drives them to their limits.”
“If it’s her, I’ll tell you.”
“We will drive through the night and be in position at sunrise. Stay close.”
“Why are you helping?”
“You are a friend of a friend who wishes to rid the world of these people. I don’t wish for Libya to go back to the days of tribal wars and starvation. I have friends in America who have the power to eradicate these vermin. In my world you would not recognise me.”
“If we can kill my target, I don’t care who you are. I’m a policeman with two kids and an ex-wife.”
The noise of two battered old Land Rover Defenders killed their conversation.
“Courtesy of the British army a long time ago but they are reliable.” He pointed. “Hop in the second vehicle. We have a long journey ahead of us.”
“You still haven’t told me your name,” said Rono.
He smiled. “You may call me David.”
“That’s not your name, is it?”
“No, it isn’t but today David frequents Goliath’s lair. Rather fitting, don’t you think?”
“If you say so.” Rono vaulted into the rear of the second vehicle with David and four well armed men. A few minutes later, their journey began.
The vehicles halted at their destination as the morning twilight lit the sky.
David, carrying an AK47, waited for Rono as he slid to the ground and stretched. “We plod the next four miles. Sound travels across the desert so no talking. Keep your eyes open and keep moving.”
Rono followed David but after a mile, the effort of trudging through soft sand became arduous. Sweat soaked his shirt as he dropped behind a stonewall not far from an abandoned village.
What remained of the buildings was not much. Sand filled the entrances of the roofless structures. In the distance, many large tents dotted the dunes. Men in black outfits darted between them. His guide surveyed the scene through a pair of German binoculars.