The Rwandan Hostage

by Christopher Lowery

  “I’m sorry that you find yourself in this situation but unfortunately I am unable to give the appropriate instructions to the agent.”

  There was a pause, then Jolidon said, “In that case give them to me and I’ll send them to our agent. This is urgent so that nothing goes wrong tomorrow morning. The agreed identification codes will be exchanged, the transaction will be executed and we will receive our commission.”

  “M Jolidon, I have been confidentially advised that information about the cargo has been notified to the French customs authorities. The ship will be apprehended, the merchandise impounded and there is nothing we can do about it. We need to stay as far away as possible from the matter to preserve our integrity.”

  “Putin de merde! How did this happen? Where did you get this information?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t reveal my source, but I am absolutely certain of the truth of the information.”

  “That means our agent will be arrested. Do you know what the penalties are for bringing in this material?” Even on a secure line he didn’t dare use the word heroin.

  “I am painfully aware of them and I agree that the poor man will not be well treated. That is the bad news and it is most regrettable. However, the good news is that we still have two hundred and fifty thousand dollars under our control, which means that you have just earned one hundred thousand dollars. What do you think of that?”

  Dudley heard a sharp intake of breath. From Esther Rousseau, he had learned the exact amount of Jolidon’s debt to the Casino de Divonne. It was seventy-five thousand Euros, about ninety thousand dollars. The Swiss man would now be able to throw away another ten thousand on the tables.

  “That is most generous, Monsieur. But what shall I tell Favre?”

  “You have had no written contact with him, as I recommended. Is that right?”

  “Everything was done by telephone and he knows me as M Valentino, but I don’t see what…”

  “Then, M Jolidon, I suggest that you simply replace the SIM in your US phone and he will be unable to contact or find you. This will save you a disagreeable conversation which would, in any case, be of no value to either party. What will be, will be.”

  “And the Prince Bensouda?”

  “The Prince took a gamble, M Jolidon. A risky gamble that unfortunately hasn’t succeeded. We have fulfilled the terms of our contract and deserve to be paid. Regrettably there will be no remaining funds to return to the Prince. As you know better than I, that is the unfortunate downside of gambling.”

  The two men talked for a few minutes more and agreed to say nothing to Bensouda. He would find out about the aborted shipment soon enough. It was better for them to remain out of the picture, wait for his call and then commiserate with the loser.

  Dudley reflected on the conversation. He had said nothing that could incriminate him in the forthcoming apprehension of the cargo and the identifiable perpetrators. Most important of all, he had not disclosed that there was no purchaser for the drugs shipment and never had been. He disapproved of drug abuse and would not contribute to the distribution of heroin on the streets of European cities. The whole transaction had been concocted by him with the assistance of various contacts in Afghanistan, Syria and Turkey. Contacts whose fees had been paid from Bensouda’s funds, along with the other costs of the operation.

  According to his own contrary personal moral compass, Lord Arthur Selwyn Savage Dudley had acted correctly. He approved neither of drugs nor of gambling and he felt vindicated for the actions he had taken. Apart from the agent, who had been an unfortunate victim of collateral damage, every person involved in this month long transaction had been properly remunerated. But the gambler had lost. This so-called Prince Bensouda, who had been willing to destroy an unknown number of lives by delivering a supply of deadly drugs worth sixty million dollars on the street, in a risky gamble that he could obviously afford to lose.

  The end had also justified the means. The escrow account with the balance of the money was under his control and the additional commission was in his bank in the Bahamas. The generous payment to Jolidon would buy his loyalty for the foreseeable future and encourage him to recommend more of his clients at Ramseyer, Haldemann.

  He finished shredding the documents from the Bensouda file then burned the remains in the grate and raked the ashes. The transaction had never existed and if it had, he had not been involved. The weather was fair and he decided to go for a walk and have a coffee at the Italian café near the park. He had done enough work for a Sunday morning.

  Dublin, Republic of Ireland

  Esther Bonnard-Rousseau was working on her laptop in her bedroom in the Liffey Landing pub. It was foggy and pouring with rain outside and she felt warm and secure in her room. She reread and modified the emails she’d prepared, double checking the addresses of the two recipients. She wouldn’t send them until after she’d seen the transfer from Slater in her account on Monday, but she couldn’t sit around doing nothing. She wanted to be ready for the next steps in her recuperation plan.

  Marbella, Spain

  Pedro Espinoza called Jenny in the afternoon to say he was following a promising trail, but still had nothing definite to report. He would call her if he had more information on Monday. She didn’t mention her suspicions about Patrice, time would tell if there was anything in it. For Leticia’s sake she hoped it was only her suspicious mind and there was a simple explanation for his peculiar behaviour and the promise of expected funds.

  London, England

  “Identitity of Joburg and Polokwane murderer revealed.”

  The news headline screamed out from the Africa Online News item. Dudley had consulted the site several times since the disappearance of Leo Stewart and was already aware of CS Johannes Hendrick’s claim to have solved the murders of Lambert and Blethin. The doctor’s real identity had been a surprise to him but he didn’t consider it of any importance. When he saw that a murder had been committed in Diepkloof, he had immediately assumed it was Nwosu and now it seemed he was correct.

  He had no idea who had been abducted in the place of Leo Stewart, but it was no longer relevant, he was in Zimbabwe and likely to stay there. The deaths of Lambert, Blethin and Nwosu marked the end of any possible links between him and South Africa. Coetzee, he assumed, was either in hiding with the boy, trying to negotiate a ransom, or the boy had escaped and was perhaps reunited with his mother. In either case the South African was in no position to cause any problems for him, since he knew nothing and was himself a potential target for the police, either as a principal or an accessory. Esther Bonnard had paid herself off and disappeared and it was too dangerous for her to reappear and the same applied to Slater. The circle was completed; Lord Arthur Dudley was, as usual, in the clear.

  Marseille, France

  The Turkish cargo ship Erzurat tied up in the Port of Marseille’s Northern Terminal at seven o’clock in the evening. The port authority was closed on weekends and no work was carried out. Unloading was scheduled to start at seven am the following day.

  Shortly after the docking, two unmarked Peugeot 308 police cars from the DCPJ, the French Serious Crimes Division, arrived alongside the ship together with a Citroen Jumper bearing the insignia of the DGDDI, the French Customs and Excise Directorate. Eight passengers emerged from the vehicles, three DGDDI officers, three policemen in uniform and two more in plain clothes. One of them, wearing a leather jacket and cap, asked a seaman at the gangway to call for Captain Yilmaz.

  The captain was a short, burly man with a scruffy beard. He had donned a grubby officer’s jacket and cap before coming down to the dockside which made him look even more unscrupulous. Before anyone could speak, he announced that he spoke no French then burst into a long monologue in Turkish about the cargo of TV sets, fridges, etc. The visitors listened for a few moments until the leather jacketed man interrupted him in his own language, introducing the group as a joint task force from the DGDDI and the French National Police. He was Alexandre Treboux, Divis
ional Superintendent of the DGDDI, responsible for the Marseille area and he described the visit as a routine inspection of goods coming from the Middle East in view of the ongoing strife in the whole region.

  After some discussion they went up to the captain’s quarters-cum office and he produced the bills of lading from Syria and Turkey. One of the DGDDI men installed himself at his desk and started going through the paperwork. Superintendent Treboux asked Yilmaz to assemble the crew in the canteen. Eighteen crewmen arrived in the room and he instructed the captain to order everyone to surrender their mobile phones. No one would be allowed to go ashore until unloading was completed the following day and that three customs officers would be stationed on the ship that night and three policemen would guard the gangway and the dock.

  By now Captain Yilmaz was looking extremely nervous and unhappy. He confirmed everything to his crew, giving the example by placing his phone on the table, then left the canteen and went into the lavatory. After locking and bolting the door, he took another mobile phone from his inside pocket and called a local number. Speaking French now, he said, in hushed tones. “C’est foutu! Les douaniers sont là. It’s fucked, the customs people are here.”

  He listened for a moment then said, “I don’t give a shit about that. I’m getting off this ship tonight and on my way back to Antalya. They’ll never find me in Turkey.”

  The other person spoke again and Yilmaz said, “OK. I’ll meet you there in the early morning. I’ll call when I’m out of the port.”

  He put the phone back in his pocket and went to join his crew, trying to look unconcerned.

  Geneva, Switzerland

  Prince Sam Bensouda had stayed away from Divonne Casino yet again, having convinced himself his gambling and drinking days were over. Now he had regained a substantial part of his family fortune, or so he believed, he was determined to change his ways and start a new life. He wanted that new life to include Jenny Bishop. It was time for him to settle down and she seemed like the ideal partner to keep him grounded. In addition to being a very lovely looking woman, she was sensible, charming and apparently independently well-off. His family would applaud a union with her and the black sheep would be welcomed home with open arms.

  He poured himself a Chivas Regal and consulted the Room Service Menu.

  DAY NINE

  Monday, July 19, 2010

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  Marseille, France

  Captain Bahadir Yilmaz slid hand over hand down the rope he’d cast over the port side of the Erzurat and slipped into the oily, murky water of the Port of Marseille. It was two o’clock in the morning but the water was still warm. He was wearing only his jockey shorts and carrying a set of clothes in a waterproof rucksack on his back. In a slow breast stroke, without causing a single splash he swam across to the side of the harbour furthest away from the ship. On the dock he dressed in a dark outfit and pulled a balaclava over his head. He walked towards the charging station of the railway that served the facility, alongside the high metal fence with CCTV cameras and other electronic security devices that surrounded the fourteen hectare property. It was a cloudy night and the area was deserted.

  Keeping under the line of cameras he found the point he was looking for, the break in the fence where the rail track went through. There were control posts on both sides of the track, but they were unoccupied at that time of night. He slipped around the fence and crawled under the sliding gate then walked away from the dock, as free as a bird.

  * * *

  From inside the southern control post, Superintendent Treboux looked out the darkened window as Yilmaz, speaking on his mobile, walked across the periphery road towards the A55 heading west. He went down to the waiting unmarked police Peugeot and they drove just near enough to watch for the car that the captain must have called. There was no hurry. It would be interesting to see who came to pick him up and where they went.

  Malaga, Spain

  Espinoza was watching the morning news on TV when Marcel Colombey called back from Paris. Whilst they were talking he sent through a scanned photo. Espinoza compared it with the two photos he’d sent over then exclaimed, “How did you obtain this?”

  “I arranged for an agent to go round to her apartment building yesterday afternoon. He talked to one of the neighbours then waited until she came out with her boyfriend. His name is Harry Slater, he’s English and apparently they’ve been living together since she came back from Australia, eighteen months ago.”

  “That means I got hold of the wrong end of the stick completely. Now I’m totally confused. Let me think about it and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

  He prepared a quick email to DS McCallister and sent it off with the photograph attached. It was four in the afternoon in Sydney and he asked the policeman if he could turn it around quickly. It was time to close this case. He found the number given to him by Chief Superintendent Hendricks and called DI Dewar in London.

  Marbella, Spain

  “Good morning Patrice. You’re just in time for coffee.” The Frenchman had arrived without warning and Leticia was in the garden with Emilio. Jenny took him out to the terrace. “You know Emma of course and now you can finally meet Leo. He came back from his friend’s house on Saturday. I’ll go and call Leticia.”

  Patrice sat opposite Leo, seeming to scrutinise him carefully. “How was the match, Leo? It must have been quite exciting, waiting for over two hours for a single goal right at the very end.”

  “The whole trip was exciting actually. Mum and I had a great time, but I’m really happy to be back in Europe, to be perfectly honest. Especially here in Aunt Jenny’s house. It’s fabulous.”

  “It’s a nice coincidence having a friend living just along the road. What was his name again?”

  “Nigel Dean. He’s our head boy. Brainy but rubbish at football. It’s not their house anyway, they’re just renting it for a month. It’s on the beach but not half as nice as this one.”

  Emma had tightened up imperceptibly at Patrice’s first question, but she was impressed with her son’s performance. “Tell Patrice about the day out at Lion Park,” she said, to move him onto safer ground. He didn’t need to invent that story.

  As he started his account of their trip, Jenny came back with Leticia and Emilio. “Chéri, what a lovely surprise.” They embraced and he lifted Emilio up in his arms.

  “I’ll have to wait for the rest of your story, Leo. My next appointment is at ten so I’ve only got a few minutes,” he said. “There’s something important I need to tell Leticia and it can’t wait. We’ll go by the pool where we can talk quietly. You don’t mind, Jenny?”

  She shook her head and looked quizzically at her sister as he took them into the garden, speaking to Leticia in French in an animated fashion. “What was all that about?”

  “It started off as a bit of an interrogation, but Leo was more than a match for him. I’m not sure what’s going on with that man.”

  “I sometimes wonder that myself.”

  London, England

  Detective Inspector Dewar was cleaning up his desk. He picked up the dossier on Lord Arthur Selwyn Savage Dudley. The email from CS Hendricks had thanked him and advised him that the murder cases were closed and he didn’t consider the phone tapping to be relevant to his investigation. Dewar’s last information from Simon Pickford was that Dudley had apparently made contact with the targets and didn’t need any further tracking. He had a lot on his plate and was about to send the file back to records when he received a call from Pedro Espinoza.

  The Spaniard introduced himself as an ex-Chief Superintendent of Homicide who had been assisting Hendricks in the South African murder hunt but had been intrigued by the phone tracking story. He asked if Dewar had any information on Lord Dudley.

  “I’m afraid I can’t comment on that, Mr Espinoza. I don’t know you and in any event as an ex-policeman you know that such information is restricted on a ‘need to know’ basis. I’m sorry but I can’t help you.”
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br />   “I applaud your caution Detective Inspector, but perhaps you can do two things for me. Firstly, if you would like to check my credentials with CS Hendricks that may allay your worries, and secondly, I doubt that the name of your contact at EzeTracker would qualify as ‘need to know’ information and I would be very interested in learning a little more about the technology involved.”

  Smart approach, thought Dewar. There’s no reason not to assist his technical education. He replied, “I’ll contact Hendricks and I’ll also call EzeTracker. If my contact wants to speak to you I’ll give him your number in Spain.” He read Espinoza’s number from his phone. “That’s the best I can do. OK?”

  Dewar rang off, wondering if this might somehow lead to a new angle on Dudley. It would be nice to finally get something more than circumstantial on him, the man was obviously a nasty piece of work. He would help Espinoza as much as he could within the rules. He put the file back on his desk and called Simon Pickford.

  Port-de-Bouc, South-West France

  Superintendent Treboux and Lieutenant Grandville were in Port-de-Bouc, a seaside commune of twenty thousand inhabitants on the south-west coast of France. The Peugeot was parked at the side of the Quai de la Liberté, on the east side of the slipway from the marina. From the car they looked straight across the water to La Leque, the central tourist area on the other side. More importantly they looked directly at the Ancre de La Leque, a small three story hotel with a brasserie on the ground floor. It was ten in the morning and Captain Yilmaz and the man who had picked him up had been in the hotel since arriving there at three o’clock. The two customs officers had taken turns to catnap in the car, and Grandville had walked across to the brasserie to bring back coffee and croissants at eight o’clock. The town was still quiet at that hour and they had an uninterrupted view of the hotel entrance.