The Rwandan Hostage

by Christopher Lowery

  The next transfer was into a compartment built in the floor of an ex-US army canvas roofed Chevrolet C/K truck, with Kuwaiti military plates. The lorry was then packed with a heavy load of scrap copper, recuperated from bombed-out electricity stations, and the lorry’s speed was accordingly compromised. The driver had the necessary papers to drive out of Kuwait, through Iraq and into Syria. He set off on the morning of June thirtieth and after leaving the tiny state, headed north-west, averaging forty miles an hour on Route 1 towards Falluja in Iraq. From there he continued in a westerly direction on Route 12, a secondary road, reaching the Al Qaim-Abu Kamal crossing on the Euphrates River belt after another twelve hours drive. He drove into Syria without any problems on the morning of July second and the following evening the merchandise arrived under cover of darkness in the port of Latakia, on the north western coast of Syria. The packages were removed from the lorry and stored that night in the warehouse of MediShip, a small Turkish shipping company.

  The next morning, the fourth of July, the Erzurat came into harbor from Marseilles and offloaded a shipment of French pharmaceutical products and optical, technical and medical equipment. The new cargo of Syrian exports of leather, plastic and rubber articles was loaded, together with the merchandise from Afghanistan. The cargo ship sailed to Antalya that afternoon and arrived on the night of the 6th July to load the sixty containers waiting on the dock. The packages were taken off the ship into the warehouse once the fifty TV sets had been opened up to receive them. Loading of the containers was completed during the following two days. The Erzurat sailed for Marseille on the evening of the second day with a full cargo and had now been at sea for nine days. The whole delivery mechanism up to this point had taken twenty-seven days and it would take another day and a half to arrive in Marseille.

  The price paid to the drug lab in Afghanistan for the two hundred kilos of pure heroin was four hundred thousand dollars. That price is not much higher than unrefined opium, but heroin is easier to smuggle and the sales price more profitable. The drug smugglers and their transport, plus the additional costs of bribing district officials, insurgents and warlords to permit the merchandise to pass their jurisdictions amounted to six hundred thousand dollars, including the organiser’s commission and Captain Yilmaz’s fifty thousand dollars, making a total cost of one million dollars. This was the investment made by the funder, without any additional bribes.

  The price of heroin is typically valued at eight to ten times that of cocaine on European streets, making it a high-profit/low volume substance for smugglers and dealers. The average street price is one hundred dollars per gram with thirty-five per cent purity. One kilo is worth three hundred thousand dollars at the user level, or about one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in bulk to dealers. Two hundred kilos is worth sixty million dollars on the street and has a bulk value of over thirty million dollars, making a profit of at least that same amount to the funders. Erzurat was carrying one of its most valuable cargos ever, uninsured, and it was just a day and a half away from its destination.

  Delmas, Mpumalanga, South Africa

  “Breakfast!” Karen shouted the order, or invitation, from the kitchen. Coetzee was still upstairs in the bathroom and Abby had just returned from walking the two dogs. The house was busy and happy; she felt as contented as she believed was possible. Last night Marius had made love to her; gentle, tender but passionate sex, made all the more enjoyable for both of them after their two years of abstinence. She had felt a change in him, perhaps the two year separation and the difficulties with his business had taken the edge off his rather arrogant macho persona. The hard, disciplined, military side of his nature seemed to have been replaced with a softer, more feeling disposition. She was falling in love with him all over again.

  For once she agreed to put the TV on while they had their meal. It was usually not allowed but he wanted to see if there were any reports about the recent events, he was still nervous that Nwosu would try to cause him problems. Coetzee had learned the hard way that paranoid psychopathic sadists never gave up causing problems for those unlucky enough to be around them. But his fears were wrongly directed.

  They watched a repeat of Hendricks’ press conference in silence, all of them leaving their food to get cold on the plates. Coetzee was trying to work out what part Espinoza had played in the investigation. He was astonished by the revelation of Blethin’s real identity but doubted that the Johannesburg police could have discovered it, he hadn’t even known it himself. All he’d known was that he was French. The Spaniard was obviously a lot smarter than he looked. Short and red-haired, Coetzee had not been impressed by him at first sight.

  What was also obvious was that it was Nwosu who had been murdered and it couldn’t have been by Jamie, the kid wouldn’t hurt a fly. It seemed though, that Hendricks was closing the case with runaway Jamie as the culprit. He can only be in one place, Zimbabwe. That means the Voice sent in another team to grab Leo and get rid of any unnecessary witnesses. Jamie was there and they took him by mistake. The poor kid. He doesn’t deserve to be abducted to Zimbabwe, if that’s what happened.

  “What’s that all about? And please eat your eggs.” Karen and Abby started on their meal.

  He decided to give them a sanitised version of events. “It means that this business was more complicated than I thought. Dr Blethin turns out to be a Frenchman called Constance and Nwosu has been killed by Jamie who has run away to Zimbabwe. The main point though, is that they haven’t mentioned Leo or his kidnapping and the investigation seems to be closed.”

  “So it’s over?”

  “It seems like it. I think we can get back to normal life and forget the whole thing,” Coetzee said confidently and turned his attention to his breakfast. He wasn’t as confident as he sounded. If the Voice had sent down some more gorillas to get Leo and they had failed, then they were likely to come back. They would also be trying to find out what happened to the first pair of goons. And they knew where he and his family lived. He decided to prepare for the worst.

  Kloten Airport, Zurich, Switzerland

  Espinoza switched on his mobile as the Swiss Airbus A340-300 taxied to its bay, fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. Both he and Leo had slept well during the flight and were feeling fresh and alert. There was a message from his friend Mac, in Australia. He had more news and wanted him to call back. He checked his watch, it was just before nine, seven in the evening in Sydney, not too late. There was no queue at security and they were in the departure lounge in less than fifteen minutes. He called the number.

  “Good evening, Mac. I hope I’m not too late in calling.”

  “Pedro, where the hell have you been? I’ve got more information than the seven o’clock news bulletin.” DS MacCallister had been running out of patience. He couldn’t wait to share his findings with the Spaniard.

  “I just arrived back in Europe. I got your message a few minutes ago.”

  “Right then. Get a giant size note pad.”

  It took the Australian twenty minutes to repeat the news from his colleague in Perth, interspersed by Espinoza’s questions. The Spaniard made detailed notes and became more and more animated as his friend finished the report.

  “Thanks Mac. You’ve given me a few new lines of enquiry. I’ll get back to you when I have some kind of confirmation, it shouldn’t be long. If you’ve got a photograph could you scan it and send it to my email address? You have, excellent.” He thanked the policeman and rang off.

  “You look a bit excited, Pedro. What’s going on?”

  “It’s nothing to do with South Africa, Leo. Just another line of enquiry I’m following up.” Espinoza was now wary of what he told the boy. Over breakfast he had attempted to interrogate him further about the circumstances of the abduction, Constance’s death and the reason for the trips to Phalaborwa and the hotel in Vereeniging. Instead, he had somehow fallen into the trap of giving an autobiographical account of his police career in Spain. He had learned absolutely nothing about the abd
uction and he was certain that was Leo’s objective. It won’t happen on the next flight, he told himself. Two can play at that game.

  He took out his jigsaw puzzle sheet, ticked off several more items on his list and drew two more boxes. Then he made two phone calls, one to France and one to Switzerland. He spoke French each time, in case Leo was listening.

  The flight was called and they boarded the plane and took their business class seats. As the aircraft was taxiing away, he sent a text to Emma. On Malaga flight with Leo. Everything OK and on time. See you soon.

  London, England

  The time was coming up to eight thirty as Esther walked from Piccadilly underground station to Lord Dudley’s apartment. It was already a warm day under an overcast sky and she was sweating slightly in her blazer and jeans, pulling a wheelie case along behind her and carrying a large shopping bag. She didn’t want to pay for a check-in bag if she had to take the flight to Belfast.

  She pressed the bell beside the unnamed letterbox at the side of the plain black windowless door. After a few seconds she rang again. A few seconds later she rang once more, keeping the bell pressed down whilst simultaneously knocking with her knuckles. “Arthur, it’s Esther. Please open up, I need to speak to you.” There was no letter box to shout through and the only window on the street façade was grilled so she couldn’t bang on it or look inside. After knocking and calling several times more there was still no response from the occupant of the flat

  Finally, she called his number, but like the previous evening there was no reply. If Arthur Dudley was at home he clearly didn’t want to see her. Esther turned and walked away from the building, her head held high. As she had decided last night, she would take the tube to Paddington and then the express train to Heathrow. Book her Belfast flight on the train journey while she considered what to do with the dossier in her bag and the recordings on her iPad. Her mobile rang and she looked at the caller’s name then replaced it in her pocket without answering.

  From behind the curtain of the kitchen window, Lord Dudley watched Esther walk away from the flat towards the tube station. He looked at her lithe sensual figure and swinging hips with genuine anguish. Realising he would probably never see her again, his eyes welled up with tears. It had taken all the strength of mind he could muster to refrain from opening the door. After her display of affection for him yesterday in the hotel he had nurtured high hopes. She had called him, ‘the most resourceful man I have ever met’ and kissed him and he had almost swooned with emotion. But that was before he had learned that the boy who had been taken to Zimbabwe was not Leo Stewart. He didn’t know who it was, but it was irrelevant. Leo was gone, God knew where, and his reputation, at least with Esther, was gone as well. There was no point in wasting his time, she obviously had a penchant for Frenchmen anyway. He had other fish to fry. He went into his office and consulted his phone list.

  Marbella, Spain

  Emma went out to the terrace and showed Espinoza’s text message to her sister. “They’re on their way!”

  “That’s a great start to the day. We should crack open a bottle of champagne,” Jenny laughed.

  “We will soon. And I’ll be toasting you and Pedro. I can’t begin to think what might have happened if you hadn’t taken charge of the whole horrible business. Thank you for everything you’ve done. I’ll never be able to repay you.”

  “Just try to contain yourself for the moment. Leticia’s coming down with Emilio. I can hear her talking to Encarni. Now,” she continued in a whisper, “we need to get the story right. You simply tell her you’re going along to Nigel’s house in Estepona to pick up your son. In the taxi you explain it all to him and Pedro so they can play the game when they get back. Now that Leo’s safe we’ve got lots of time to talk about it with them later, when Leticia’s not around.”

  Geneva, Switzerland

  “I assume that everything is still on track for tomorrow?” Prince Sam Bensouda was in his suite at the Kempinski Hotel speaking to Claude Jolidon. As the deadline drew nearer he was becoming more and more anxious about his million dollar investment.

  “I’ve just received confirmation from the agent in Marseille. The ship is due in tomorrow evening, on schedule. Everything is proceeding as planned.”

  “And the hand-over arrangements are carefully programmed?” Under no circumstances did he want to be present at such a potentially incriminating event. In his position it would be a risk too far.

  “The merchandise will be available to be picked up in Marseille on Monday morning at eleven. The buyer’s agent is going to meet our agent at the dock and will make the transfer to the escrow account against reception of the merchandise. I will then send it on to your account, minus the remaining expenses and commission.”

  “And the exact amount of the transfer to my account will be?”

  “Exactly twenty-nine million dollars, Monsieur.”

  Bensouda didn’t mention the additional commission they’d extorted from him. It was just an unfortunate extra cost he had to accept. The profit still represented more than twenty times his investment. The best deal I’ve made in a long time, he thought. In fact, the only deal. This will settle quite a few problems.

  “Very well. That seems to be in order. I’ll call you at eleven on Monday just to be sure there are no delays.”

  “Thank you, Monsieur le Prince. Have a pleasant day. ” Bensouda chose another number from his Favourites list. “Good morning, darling. How are you?”

  “Sam. How lovely to hear your voice. I’ve been missing you.” Jenny moved to the end of the terrace away from the others. “Where are you?”

  “I’m in Geneva, just finishing off a transaction I’ve been working on.”

  “When will you be back? I can’t wait to see you.” Jenny had decided to take her sister’s advice. A little out of practice and trying not to sound too eager, she blurted out, “I was thinking we could maybe go off for a weekend somewhere. Emma will be leaving in a couple of days, so I’ll be as free as a bird. I’ve heard great things about the Finca Courtesin. It’s just a half hour along the road. What do you think?”

  “That’s a great idea. I should be back on Monday evening, so I’ll have time to see Emma and meet her son before they leave. Go ahead and book it.”

  “Good, that’s very good.” Jenny felt both relieved and guilty, as if she’d lured an unsuspecting fly into her spider’s web. Never mind, no half measures, she decided. “I’ll call and book right now.”

  Emma looked enquiringly at her as she walked back towards the others. Jenny winked, as if to say, Job done, as instructed. A frisson ran down her spine, a feeling she hadn’t felt for a long time.

  SIXTY-FOUR

  Over France en route for Malaga, Spain

  “I don’t remember anything about the first couple of days. They kept me drugged, in a room on my own. It was like a hospital ward, but without any equipment, just a bed and a table.”

  Espinoza didn’t mention that he knew about the room and had learned a lot from the photograph of it. He had finally got him talking again and he didn’t want him to stop. With a little prodding he learned about the visits from Coetzee, the lies he’d told about his mother and how hard he’d tried to find out about his father. Leo described the moment when Blethin injected him before they left for Zimbabwe, how it had brought back the memory of the abduction, the first injection in the toilets with Lambert holding him. How he’d woken up when they arrived in Polokwane and Coetzee had bought hamburgers for everyone.

  All of these memories Espinoza could believe. They were vividly described and related without hesitation, a pure memory play. Then he noted a more hesitant note in Leo’s voice as he talked about the argument in the car and the death of Constance, as they now knew him to be. He sounded almost as if he was reciting a well-rehearsed script.

  The Spaniard ignored this hiatus in the story and asked about their trip to Phalaborwa. Now the narrative became alive again, his descriptions vivid and detailed in their cla
rity, as if he’d enjoyed the visit to the Kruger and Coetzee had suddenly become his close friend. He talked at length about the beauty of the surroundings, the animals, birds and the river life. It was as if he didn’t want to leave that memory and move onto the next one.

  “And then you drove down to the hotel in … where was it again?”

  “Vereeniging, the Vaal Riviera Hotel. It’s got a bar and restaurant on a barge that floats across the river. It’s really cool.”

  Once again the story didn’t ring true to the Spaniard. It didn’t seem reasonable that they would drive all the way to the south of Johannesburg from the Kruger “It must be at least eight hours drive. Why do you think Coetzee decided to go all the way down there?”

  Leo offered up a very unconvincing tale about Coetzee wanting to take him home to meet his wife and daughter but they happened to be staying at the hotel, so they drove down there to join them.

  “Where do they actually live?” He asked.

  Here, the boy’s story became even more vague and disjointed. He explained that Marius and Karen were divorced, he lived in Johannesburg but she and their daughter lived in Delmas, in a big farmhouse with dogs. The daughter, Abby was adopted, (as Espinoza had of course surmised), and now they were going to live together again and get his security business back on its feet.

  A dozen questions jumped into Espinoza’s mind. How did he know they had a farmhouse and dogs in Delmas? Why were Karen and Abby in Vereeniging? How did he know about Coetzee’s business? How did he know they were going to live together again? What had caused that reconciliation?

  He asked, “Was that the reason for his involvement in your abduction? Problems with his business?”

  “That’s right. He said it was only for the money. He didn’t even know who had organised it all. When we got to Vereeniging he told us that Nwosu was the original contact in South Africa and he hired Marius but it was only because he had the security contract for the stadium so they could grab me. There was this man called the ‘Voice’ who gave all the instructions but they had no idea who he was or what the reason for the abduction was. Everything was done by phone and email and they just had to follow his orders if they wanted to get paid.”