The Rwandan Hostage

by Christopher Lowery

  “Did you give Nwosu this address when you were being interrogated?”

  “No. I always give my publishing address. It’s the one that’s on my visiting cards and website, everything. My private address is my only refuge from the publicity of being a writer.”

  “So, the abductors know a website address that’s not public knowledge. That could mean that they have some connection with you, or some way of finding this personal address.”

  “Actually, it’s not uncommon to have an address like that, first and last name only. I have one myself, jenny@jennybishop.com. You certainly wouldn’t expect them to send such a message to Emma’s publishing address, it’s too risky for them, considering the subject matter.”

  “Perhaps. But I still think there may be a connection there somewhere. Look, the message was sent from an account called args@ipsend.ph. That’s the Philippines if I’m not mistaken.”

  “The Philippines?” Emma gasped in incredulity.

  “Don’t worry, it doesn’t really mean anything. It’s just a very difficult place to find out who or where the actual users of the site are. It’s like the old fashioned Mailbox addresses, the user could be anywhere in the world, just using it as a communication base without giving away their true location. The Internet isn’t just a tool for innocent users like you, it’s very valuable to fraudsters and criminals of all kinds.”

  “But it does tell us that the people involved are sophisticated enough to set up a CCTV monitoring system and this anonymous message service. They also seem to have expert medical staff looking after Leo.”

  “Yes, it’s more professional than amateur, but we are still far from understanding what’s going on. I’ll check the ISP but I don’t think it will tell us anything.” He looked up International ISPs and chose a site then narrowed the list down to the Philippines. “There’s no site called ipsend. It’s a private address using a Philippine provider but we can’t tell where it originated.”

  “It probably wouldn’t help if we did, just another link in a long chain I suppose.”

  “Exactly. A needle in a haystack.”

  “And who are ARGS? It sounds like a company or an organisation of some kind.”

  “What about a group? If our theory is right the R could be for Rwanda or Rwandan, and then Group and so on. It could actually mean anything.” Jenny racked her brain, trying to guess the acronym.

  “I’m sure we’ll find out in due course.” Espinoza was still writing his notes. “What about the message itself?”

  “Well, it was written by someone with a very good command of English. Look at this phrase; Do not inform the authorities or take any untoward action as you will endanger him unnecessarily.”

  “Not many people write like that anymore.” Emma intervened. “Inform, rather than contact, untoward, a very old fashioned word and endanger, rather than harm or hurt. It’s almost as if it was written by a foreigner with a very good command of English.”

  “Since we have no idea of the identity of the sender, you could be right. It’s certainly not the average message you get by email.” He pointed at the ‘Sent’ panel. “The time tells us something, too. It was sent at one thirty-eight pm, Spanish time. It’s the middle of the night in Asia and Australia and only seven-thirty in the morning in the US, so the message was probably sent from Europe or Africa, where it’s daytime. I’m not sure that tells us very much, but it probably confirms that the Philippine address is a subterfuge.”

  “So it could have been sent from South Africa?”

  “I don’t know, Emma, but my instinct tells me it probably wasn’t. Even though we have a lot of evidence pointing to an African motive, it just seems to me to be a red herring, as you would say.”

  “In what way?”

  “Perhaps you didn’t notice in the announcement of Lambert’s appointment, that it mentioned he was English and came from the Sheraton in London. He was hired by someone in the UK, in my opinion.”

  “You mean that the Packard is an English hotel?”

  “Not the hotel itself, but the management company is. Packard Hotels Ltd, in London. It may just be a coincidence, but ...”

  “We don’t believe in coincidences,” Jenny completed the phrase for him.

  Espinoza nodded in agreement then continued. “And the style of writing of the message is definitely not South African, they just don’t talk or write like that. It’s very European.”

  “Shouldn’t we reply to the message? We might discover more information. I think we should do something.”

  “Normally in this situation, I’d agree with you Emma. We’d send a reply and ask for what’s called ‘proof of life’.”

  Jenny saw her sister’s reaction and took her hand. “It’s alright, Emma. It only means that we need a photo to prove that Leo is still there and in good health.”

  “Yes. A photo of Leo taken with evidence of the date, so we can see he is alive and well and possibly discover more, as we did here.”

  “But in this case we already have a photo, so that wouldn’t be a convincing line of enquiry.”

  “Exactly. I know you’re feeling helpless and desperate to do something, but what is needed now is patience. Let them make the moves, we keep up the detective work and wait for them to make mistakes. They will send another message within a short time and then we must decide how to react to their demands.”

  Before either woman could reply, Espinoza’s mobile rang. He looked at the number and responded in French, “Bonjour Marcel, quelles nouvelles? What news?”

  He listened for a while, making notes in his neat handwriting, interjecting questions from time to time. “Bien, merci Marcel. Je te tiendrai au courant. Salut. Thanks a million, I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Bueno.” He addressed the two women. “We are starting to catch up on those sixteen years. This is what we know about Dr Constance.

  “Apparently he left Rwanda in 1997, rather hurriedly. It seems there was some kind of incident and he left without ceremony and returned to France, where he got a job with a hospital in Toulouse, l’Hôpital des Sœurs de Miséricorde. He was there for three years as a Senior Consultant in Aesthetic Surgery.”

  “So it’s true that he was a reconstructive surgeon and he returned to his original speciality?”

  “Apparently. But then in 2001 he was fired from the hospital.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “I don’t have that information, but with doctors it’s often negligence or inappropriate behaviour, in my experience.”

  “I find that hard to believe. He was a very competent doctor and never showed any signs of behaviour of that kind. Where did he go from there?”

  “After that he had two more positions with smaller hospitals and ended up in 2007 at the Clinique Saint Christophe in the South of France, as Senior Consultant in Reconstructive Surgery. It’s a very expensive private hospital in Nice.”

  “Is he still there?”

  ”Bad news, I’m afraid. He left France again in September last year and my source tells me that there was an ongoing enquiry at the clinic but it was abandoned when he left France. And that’s where the trail goes cold. He is reported as leaving on a flight for the UK, but there’s no record of his arrival. European passports have not been stamped at UK immigration for many years and the open border system means that we have no idea of where he might be now. He could have been in transit, either to a European destination, or elsewhere in the world.”

  “But if Tony talked to him about Leo, he could be involved in the kidnapping?”

  “We keep coming up against the same problem, Emma. How could Constance know about your trip to South Africa? How could anyone who knew about Mutesi and Leo also know about your trip and organise this abduction in time? Who could plan and fund what is obviously a major conspiracy. Certainly not a French doctor who’s been in and out of four jobs in the last ten years.

  “And I still can’t understand the motive. I suppose it has to be money in the end, it alwa
ys is. But it’s puzzling, because you’ve made it clear that you’re not a wealthy woman.” Espinoza sighed. “I find it all very confusing for the moment.”

  London, England

  “I can confirm that the first message was sent off to Ms Stewart at twelve thirty this afternoon.” The Voice sounded pleased with himself.

  “Good. You sent a photograph with it”

  “Of course. He’s a very good looking boy, expressive and intelligent features. It’s a rather amusing photograph. He is eating a banana. I thought it was quite a nice touch, after having been abducted in South Africa.”

  “This isn’t a game. Just concentrate on moving him to a safer place and executing the rest of the programme.”

  “They’re already on their way to Beitbridge, hopefully arriving this evening. The remaining connection with Johannesburg has been neutralised. Everything is proceeding according to plan.”

  “I’ll feel a lot more comfortable when they’ve left South African soil. There’s going to be a hue and cry there now that the Bishop woman is involved. She’s a very determined person. Don’t underestimate her.”

  Slater rang off then selected his partner’s name from his Favourites list and relayed the message in a few brief words.

  “When do we make the next contact?”

  “Tomorrow morning. Things will be moving quickly now.”

  “About time. Are you sure the banking arrangements are in order?”

  “Everything’s in place. The accounts and standing instructions have been tested. The funds flow in series from Dubai to Nassau in six easy steps. After tomorrow’s message it just depends on the negotiations, but she lives for that boy and she knows where to find the money. It won’t take long.”

  “Call me tomorrow when it’s started.” The speaker put the phone aside and lay back on the sunbed by the hotel pool in Nice. A waiter came over with a whiskey. A single malt on ice.

  In London the Voice called a number in Marseille. “ Tout va bien? Everything’s OK?” His French was more than adequate, but he usually preferred to keep that detail to himself. He listened for a moment then said, “So Sunday the 18th is confirmed? Right, please make the call to Geneva as agreed tomorrow afternoon. Call me if there is any other news.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  Pretoria, South Africa

  The trip wasn’t going well. There had been a nasty accident on the N1 to Pretoria, just south of Centurion. Two lorries had collided, with several cars joining the smash, causing a massive pile up on the northbound carriageway. It was almost four o’clock before they got to the Pretoria Eastern Bypass, leading to the N1 toll road to Beitbridge.

  By now, Nwosu and Coetzee were on very bad terms. The policeman blamed him for the delay. He should have been on the R101, the Old Pretoria Main Road, and not the M1. “There’s always accidents on the M1,” he said. “Everyone knows you should take the R101 up to Centurion. There’s much less traffic and there’s no tolls either. It’s a complete waste of time and money.

  “We’ve got at least five hours more driving and it gets dark in just over an hour. We’re going to have to stop somewhere if we don’t want to drive all night. And we’ll have trouble with the kid if we’re not careful. He’s going to wake up and I don’t want to be ferrying him around in the dark, he’s too valuable.”

  “Let me worry about the driving and the kid, he’s in my hands. I’ll decide when and where we stop, or if we do. Just shut up and sit there and be ready to be useful at the border crossing.” Coetzee’s patience was already wearing thin, since he’d been forbidden to smoke his cheroots by both Blethin and Nwosu and he became more and more aware of how much he’d come to depend on the nicotine fix. He bit into a spearmint Chiclet and drove towards the first toll booth at Stormvoël.

  Marbella, Spain

  Espinoza seemed preoccupied. He turned to Jenny. “Could we have a word in private?”

  Emma said, “I need to go upstairs anyway. You can talk as much as you like. I hope it’s nothing bad.”

  Espinoza smiled. “Don’t worry, Emma. I’m a little confused and I need to ask Jenny something.”

  When she had left the room, he said, “Jenny, as you know, my skill in detection is in identifying the motive and then working from that to find the culprit or culprits. It’s the only way I know how to work. On this occasion, I’m faced with conflicting facts which are confusing the motive. Let me explain.” He began pacing the room, his spectacles in his hand, a frown of concentration on his face.

  “Firstly, we know, or at least we believe, that the threat of publicising the details of Leo’s birth is the kidnapper’s prime stock in trade. It means that Emma can’t go to the authorities and will be obliged to negotiate his return. It’s a very clever trap.

  “We also know that only someone who had knowledge of that fact and also knew about the football trip could have planned and carried out the abduction.

  “Because of the number of participants, the complex arrangements needed to kidnap Leo and the sophisticated communications set-up, the perpetrators must have invested a considerable amount and will expect a large return on that investment. That’s where the motive doesn’t stand up. Emma isn’t in a position to pay any kind of reward and she can’t go to anyone to find the money, because she can’t disclose the reason.

  “Finally, we are very short of suspects. In fact, I have really no confidence in progressing in that direction until I clarify the motive clearly in my mind.”

  He stopped walking and faced her. “Do you agree with my précis of the facts?”

  “Of course, but I don’t know how to help you clarify the motive if that’s what you expect. I’m just as confused as you are.”

  “Then you’re going to have to trust me completely. Can I ask you a very personal question?”

  “If it helps to get Leo back, of course you can.”

  He paused, trying to find the best way to phrase his interrogation. “When we met two years ago, I believe you and Leticia had inherited a very large amount of money, some of which was stolen from you by the murderer, d’Almeida.”

  Jenny just nodded and he continued. “Are you still a very wealthy woman?”

  She reflected a moment. “By most people’s standards, I suppose I am.”

  “So, can you see what I am getting at? The reason for this abduction?”

  When she still didn’t respond, he said, “We know that Emma is, what do you call it? ‘A starving writer’. At any rate she doesn’t have a fortune that could be targeted by criminals of this kind. Criminals who have obviously done their homework and discovered an interesting combination.”

  “What combination?”

  “That Emma has a secret that must be kept silent, the truth about Leo’s birth. And that she has a sister who has a fortune that could pay for that silence.”

  Jenny sat up in shock. “You mean you think Leo was kidnapped to blackmail Emma so I would pay a ransom to get him back?”

  This time it was Espinoza who said nothing. He looked intently at Jenny, waiting for her to join together the dots, as he had done.

  “But that would mean there’s someone who knows about Leo’s birth, their trip to South Africa, that she’s my sister and about my inheritance. It’s absurd.”

  “Why is it absurd, Jenny?”

  “Because we’ve got precisely two suspects and neither of them could possibly have known I even exist.”

  “Not necessarily, but that’s a different question, opportunity. What we’re trying to identify right now is motive and there’s no doubt in my mind that the motive is money, a lot of money. And the only person who has a lot of money is you.”

  He waited while Jenny sat quietly, putting together his jigsaw puzzle in her mind, finally coming to the same conclusion as him. Then he asked, “Has anything occurred recently that has affected your fortune, Jenny? Any change of circumstances or event that would change your wealth or bring it to the knowledge of a wider group? A new person or persons?”

>   Her thoughts jumped back to January and her trip to Geneva; The twelve million dollar settlement with Klein Fellay, her visit to Ramseyer, Haldemann for the first time in two years, the new accounts with the Banque de Commerce. She moved nervously in her chair.

  “So there is something. Do you want to tell me about it?”

  She explained the year-long lawsuit and the eventual settlement, without giving any further details. Leticia had signed the documents for the Trust account, a little reluctantly, it had appeared to her, and their new individual accounts with Mme Aeschiman were also now operative. She didn’t mention the diamonds, although she had fleetingly thought about them when she read the first message confirming Leo’s abduction. But it was fleeting, because the diamonds were not hers to sell or barter and would never be disclosed unless some kind of disaster struck Leticia’s family. She merely said, “You’re right. There’s a lot of money involved and it has already caused us many problems.”

  “And I’m afraid it will cause further problems, to Emma and Leo and yourself, until we resolve this matter.”

  Jenny frowned. Silly woman, she berated herself. It should have been obvious to me. Those cursed Angolan diamonds. This inheritance has already caused deaths and tragedy for so many people and now it’s caused the abduction of my nephew. Poor Emma. Leo was taken just because I came into a fortune.

  Aloud, she said, “You’re right. I should have seen it before and I didn’t, but it’s the only explanation that makes sense. Pedro, I have to resolve this. We have to resolve it. It’s my responsibility and you’ve got to help me get Leo back for Emma. Whatever it takes.”

  “And we will, Jenny. Between us we’ll get Leo back, preferably without making a pauper of you in the process.”

  “So, what’s the next step?”

  “We’ve got to explain this to Emma and see if it throws up any other possible suspects. Let’s call her back down.”

  THIRTY-FOUR