by Andrew Smyth
I was too impatient to stop. ‘We couldn’t work out where the fake drugs were coming from. I thought it was through the logistics company, Comar, but now I realise why Ansaar had never heard of them.’
The door opened and Brent was shown in by one of the runners from the front desk. ‘This better be good,’ he said, sitting down next to me. ‘Okay, run it up the flagpole.’
I brought out the folder that Sally had given me. ‘This has the details for the inoculation programme. Vaccinations against malaria, measles and meningitis. If I’m right then I think whoever is responsible for the night shift at Mumbai will be gearing up to supply this.’
‘Night shift?’ Brent asked, taking the documents. ‘You dragged me here to tell me they’re working overtime?’
‘Philip thinks that the fakes are produced in the same Bakaar factory in Mumbai but by a separate team operating a night shift. It seems a bit far-fetched to me.’
Brent flipped through the pages. ‘Perhaps you’re not so stupid after all,’ he said finally. ‘It’s been known before but generally in smaller production facilities. Not one as big and sophisticated as Bakaar’s Mumbai operation.’
‘That’s the beauty of it,’ I said. ‘They told me that their machines could make almost anything and to the highest standards. They can produce antimalarials containing only what they want to put in. With no active ingredients, the cost to make them is virtually nothing while they can sell it for millions in profit.’
‘So what about the distribution?’ Ken Maxwell asked. ‘How does that work?’
‘We saw that they’d set up a parallel distribution operation. What I didn’t realise was that there was a parallel manufacturing operation as well. That’s why both the genuine and the fakes were made in the same factory and collected by the same transport company and put in the same shipping container for export. It was the perfect cover – nobody could have worked that out. There was no sign of anything wrong. We only got to find out about it when we tracked that consignment and discovered that it was effectively hijacked in Zanzibar. They took the container off the plane, removed the counterfeits and sent the rest on its way.’
‘It still seems a bit far-fetched,’ Ken Maxwell said. ‘Knocking off substandard copies at night of products they make properly during the day.’
‘If you think about what you’ve just said, it makes perfect sense. Where better to make fakes than in a factory that makes the real thing?’
‘That still doesn’t explain how they’re ultimately distributed.’ Brent put down the papers. ‘What’s your great theory saying about that?’
I ignored his habitual sarcasm. ‘That’s why they need the Ansaar operation, because it supplies the whole of East Africa, not just Kenya. The supplies sent from the Mumbai factory to Kenya and then to the Tau facility in Mombasa are completely clean. If anyone carries out an investigation they’re not going to find anything wrong. The fakes have to be sent in the same shipment so that no one knows they exist.
‘I went round that factory myself and investigated the transport company. They knew they were being investigated and tried to warn us off by beating up the driver. We realised that we’d stumbled on something but I couldn’t work out how they were doing it. It was the perfect cover. By diverting them to Zanzibar they can operate in near secrecy and there’s no danger of getting them mixed up. The real drugs have been laundered and are sent on clean while the fakes are offloaded in Zanzibar and then sent onto wherever they’re going on the mainland. It’s almost fool proof and they can carry on doing it for weeks – or even months – until the vaccination programme is finished.’
‘Maybe.’ Maxwell was still making heavy weather of this. ‘But why couldn’t they separate them out in Mumbai and send the fakes directly to a wholesaler on mainland Africa?’
‘Because of the risk of discovery. They’re concealing the independent night shift, because the despatches are collected by the same company and are sent as a single shipment. No one would think to look into the Mumbai operation and by the time the consignments reach Mombasa they’re still clean. It’s the diversion to Zanzibar where the switch takes place – they keep back the fakes while sending on the genuine ones.’
‘You still haven’t answered me,’ said Brent impatiently. ‘How does the Zanzibar operation distribute them?’
‘I haven’t worked out all the details yet, but I suspect that it’s another parallel operation once it reaches the mainland. The fakes are taken by dhow to various points on the east coast and then to warehouses in Kenya, Tanzania and probably Mozambique as well. But if you study the documents detailing this new programme, the vaccines have to be delivered directly to the local clinics so they wouldn’t even get to the warehouses. No one would find out. Even if they were delivered to local distribution points they probably keep supplies of the genuine article so if they’re tested they’ll pass. My guess is that, if you look into it, you could find this is the result of Jamaal Bakaar’s fanaticism.’
‘That’s absurd.’ Ken Maxwell was shaking his head. ‘The Bakaar family is one of the most respected families in India. There’s no way that Ajmal Bakaar would get involved in this. Apart from anything else, he doesn’t need to – he’s got more money than he could ever want.’
‘I don’t think Ajmal Bakaar knows anything about this. I don’t think his cousin Ahmed Bashara knows anything either, even though he’s running the Mumbai operation. When I asked him he didn’t know anything about this vaccination programme which I thought was odd. I think there must be someone above him who’s organised this second night shift. Someone closely associated with Jamaal Bakaar.’
‘But Jamaal Bakaar is a pillar of the Kenyan establishment.’
‘That’s a cover. I’ve met him and he’s a dangerous man – he had the driver half killed in Mumbai.’ I turned to Brent. ‘If I’m right, then that programme would be too good for them to miss. There aren’t many people who are able to supply a contract this big so my guess is that Jamaal Bakaar sets up a fake company to put in in a high bid, leaving the field open for him to submit a lower tender price to win the contract. They then source the contract from the fakes made by the night shift in Mumbai that have cost virtually nothing. He not only cleans up with a huge profit but furthers his warped view of jihad.’
‘But why should they need to take such a huge risk? If they got found out it would be the end of them.’
‘Not necessarily. They would simply blame it on some of their more junior managers, which I think is probably the case with the Mumbai operation. You’re also assuming that they might get found out, but there’s no reason why they should. Once the vaccines are sent out and used, no one would be any the wiser. Until now there’s been no suspicion that there could be anything wrong. We’ve only found out ourselves by accident. From their point of view, it probably seems safe.’
‘Even so, why would Jamaal Bakaar be involved in anything like that?’ Maxwell was clearly not going to accept my theories without a fight. ‘The family’s got all that money. Why would he get involved in something criminal?’
Brent turned to Ken. ‘You know, the kid could be right but don’t let it go to his head. After he told us about his meeting with Jamaal, I had him looked into in more detail. We’ve had reports that Jamaal might be an Islamic activist – albeit behind the scenes. There’ve been reports that he might have been bankrolling some of the Al-Shabaab units.’
‘That would make sense,’ I interjected. ‘I introduced myself when I went to his compound in Mombasa and he brushed me off. I saw some of his collection of Islamic art and some of it must be priceless.’
‘Just because he collects Islamic art doesn’t make him a supporter of terrorism,’ Maxwell said.
‘But it puts him pretty close to them,’ I countered. ‘He’s a noted ascetic and told me he disapproves of much of the West’s influence. He thinks we should go back to simpler ways.’
‘Like Sharia law?’
I couldn’t tell whether M
axwell was being sarcastic. ‘Why not? It’s not so far-fetched. It’s possible, isn’t it, Brent?’
‘This is your show, but I think Phil could be right,’ he said and once again I winced, but said nothing. ‘We haven’t got anything concrete on Jamaal but it adds up. What worries me though, is this.’ He held up the tender documents. ‘According to the date on these, deliveries have to be started in the next few days. Let me make a call to my office. They keep a register of all these programmes.’ He brought out his phone, and started to dial.
‘That won’t work in here,’ Ken said. ‘All non-service mobiles are screened. You’ll have to use the landline.’ He reached over to his phone and dialled a code. ‘Here. You can dial now.’
Brent took the phone and checked the number from his mobile. After being transferred a few times, he read out the reference number of the vaccination programme and waited. ‘They’re checking it,’ he said to us with his hand over the mouthpiece. We all waited. ‘Yes,’ he said into the phone. He made a few notes on the pad. ‘Okay, got that. Thanks.’ He hung up and looked at us. ‘Looks like the kid might have hit the bullseye. They’re running behind schedule and they’re due to make their first deliveries any time now.’
Ken Maxwell wouldn’t give up. ‘But I still can’t believe that someone in Jamaal Bakaar’s position could be involved in this. Why would he be instrumental in putting potentially thousands of children at risk by supplying worthless vaccinations? Why would he do it?’
‘One of the reports I read was from a rare interview he gave some years back,’ Brent said. ‘He suggested that immunisation was some kind of western plot to influence people. But when the interviewer asked him to repeat it, he waved it away as though he’d said more than he meant to.’
I thought we were starting to wander from the point. ‘Whatever crazy views he has, we have to put the Bakaar facility under surveillance. Ken, you need to get hold of Ranish in Mumbai. He knows the place and the set-up with the transport company. If you explain that it’s the night shift he should be looking at then we might get some notice if they’re sending anything out.’
‘Why don’t we raid the Tau warehouse in Kenya?’ asked Ken Maxwell.
‘Firstly, because they haven’t delivered the drugs for this immunisation programme yet. They haven’t had time. Secondly, the tender states that the vaccinations have to be split up into individual packs for delivery directly to each of the immunisation stations and there are dozens of those and we can’t track them all.’ I looked across at Ken and it was clear that he still wasn’t convinced. ‘What have we got to lose?’
Finally he nodded and picked up the phone. ‘Get me Ranish in Mumbai.’
Brent turned to me. ‘Did you work all this out yourself? I wondered about you at the outset, but you seem to have come good.’
That was unusual praise from Brent, but I’d learnt not to take him at face value. ‘So now I can come back on board and return to Zanzibar.’ I said. ‘There isn’t enough time to brief anyone else.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ Brent said. ‘If you’re right, then Jamaal Bakaar will have you in his sights. Last time it was the driver, but this time it would be you he’d go after.’
‘I’d be going in and out fast. He wouldn’t have time to do anything.’
‘You didn’t do too well with Ansaar, did you, kid?’ Brent said. ‘Not your finest hour. The cavalry had to rescue you.’
Ken came off the phone. ‘Okay. That’s sorted. Ranish will set up surveillance and keep us informed. I told him to pay special attention to any early morning collections by Comar, which are likely to be the fakes and that was the one he should follow.’
‘Meanwhile I’d better get out to Zanzibar,’ I said quickly, hoping they’d see it as the next logical step.
‘There’s plenty of time,’ Ken said. ‘It takes at least a week by sea to Zanzibar.’
‘That’s if they send it by sea,’ I said. ‘They didn’t last time. But however they send them, we can’t afford to wait. My guess is that they’ll still send them via Zanzibar because they haven’t had time to set up an alternative. I think I need to get out there.’
‘It’s getting dangerous now,’ Brent said. ‘Jamaal Bakaar is ruthless and if he’s really Al-Shabaab then they don’t take prisoners.’
I sensed they were trying to head me off. ‘Look, I’ve called it right most times so far. Work it out for yourselves. Apart from the fact it’s on the way to Kenya, they need to separate the fakes from the full-strength deliveries. My bet is that they’ll still send a small consignment of full-strength drugs so that they can show them to anyone who investigates. Meanwhile, the much bigger consignment is being diverted to Zanzibar and I think with a contract this big they won’t need to take them to the Kenyan warehouse; they’ll make them up into individual packages for each inoculation station. Once they’re landed in Kenya, we’d never find them.’
‘Why don’t we go to the vaccination stations and check them there?’ This was Maxwell again.
‘From what I read about this programme, the whole point is that they’re being taken to the individual villages, rather than asking people to go into the towns. It’s difficult enough to persuade people to take the injections without asking them to travel for a day to the nearest town. Programmes often fail because people simply refuse to go that far and so this time the programme’s being dispersed to each village.’
‘Can’t they test them first?’ This time it was Brent who appeared to be doubting my plan.
‘They’re always supposed to test a trial, but from what my ex-wife told me, most of these local health centres don’t have the right equipment and even if they do, they don’t necessarily know how to use it.’ I stopped and looked at both of them, but they finally seemed to have run out of questions. ‘Can I go now?’
Ken Maxwell sighed. ‘Okay, but I’ll send Dickson out to look after you.’
I went back to the boat to throw a few things into an overnight case, but as I was about to step onto the gangplank I realised that something was wrong. I looked over the boat carefully. At first I couldn’t see anything different, and then I realised that the forward hatch was open. Perhaps Sally had opened it before leaving but that didn’t seem likely – she’d locked up and left the keys in the mail box. Anyone who’d been watching would see where to get the key so I shouldn’t have been surprised that someone had got on board – the question was: who?
I took a lump of wood from my wood pile and instead of taking the gangplank, I used a foothold on the bows to swing myself up. Fortunately the heavy boat barely moved as I climbed on board. I waited for a moment and listened out for any sound, but beyond the rushing of the water past the hull there was nothing. I hoped it would cover any noise I made as I carefully lowered myself down the forehatch. There was a drop of about a foot down to the lower deck but that would make too much noise so I swung myself across and jumped onto a foam mattress, irrationally holding my breath.
At that moment there was a thump against the hull – probably a piece of driftwood, but I heard the saloon door open and hoped they had gone to take a look. It meant one less to deal with. I reached down and took off my shoes and padded quietly along the companionway and pushed the door slightly open so I could look in. A man was standing with his back to me looking up to where I saw the shadow of another man out on deck. This had to be my moment. I pushed open the door and ran at him swing my bock of wood up at his head. If it had been cricket, the ball would have cleared the stadium roof. He fell into a rumpled heap at my feet and I stepped over him and went out on deck.
The other man heard me and turned back to face me and immediately went into a crouch, balancing lightly on the balls of his feet and watching me warily. I realised that these weren’t simple thieves, they looked and acted like professionals. I feinted to his left and he tried to hit me with his right hand but I stepped back and prodded him with the wooden club. He backed away against the saloon windows, leaving him nowhere to go. We
sized each other up and then I feinted again but this time pulled back and as he parried the air, I rammed the wood into his stomach. He gasped and tried to grab it but I pulled away.
‘You want to tell me who sent you?’ I didn’t expect an answer and didn’t get one. Instead he launched himself at me suddenly and his weight pushed me over onto my back. He jumped on top of me and immediately grappled for the club. I kneed him in the groin and managed to roll away but caught my foot on a stanchion and lost my balance and he jumped on me again but I held the club in both hands in front of me and jabbed at his throat. He grunted again – obviously a man of few words – but I was able to get to my knees and swing the club at him. He backed off and I stood up facing him again. This had gone on too long.
I kept prodding him and he backed off again until he was against the railings. ‘Can you swim?’ I asked him. He glanced backwards and I took the moment to ram him again in the stomach and as his head came forward, I hit the side of his head as hard as I could and he fell onto the deck unconscious.
I didn’t have much time and ran to my rope cupboard and managed to get both of them trussed up before they regained consciousness. I debated whether to phone Ken Maxwell, thinking it would only make him more concerned about sending me out there, but I couldn’t see I had any choice. Nor could I work out how they’d found me so quickly until I remembered that I hadn’t used my burner phone to call. I kicked myself for my stupidity – they must have hacked it which explained why they got here so quickly.
I pulled out my burner and called Ken and asked him to get some of his heavies over and I stood guard until they arrived.
They carried both of them ashore and if they were surprised at the state of them, they didn’t show it. I rang Ken again and told him to keep them both in isolation. ‘We don’t want them reporting back to whoever sent them. If it’s really Jamaal who wanted me out of the way, then we don’t want him to find out what happened.’