Boss Takes All (8 page)

An invitation was a must for anyone who wanted to think of himself or herself as a member of the social elite on the Nairobi scene. Alfred and Mrs Shimba had requested the presence of the company of Daniel and Ann Komar and Paul and Marion Miller out of reluctant respect to the founders of the latest in a line of insignificant protest parties with delusions of grandeur. Their places were far back in the nave, but they were happy to be present at the marriage of two young people they had never set eyes on before that day.

The ceremony over, the celebrations continued further up the hill at the Nairobi Club. The buffet lunch was followed by entertainment in the great lounge, cleared of its solid oak tables and its leather chairs. A heavily pregnant lady soon tired of the noise and the exuberant behaviour of the young set of Nairobi socialites. When she stepped outside to take the cool afternoon air with a stroll around the boundary of the club's cricket pitch, she had company.

Sally Rubai had not seen Ann Komar for at least twenty years, since the days when they had worked together at Neisland, Kapper and Reed, the city accountants. She was excited to have met her former colleague and the bond of friendship was instantly renewed. Ann introduced Marion and the three women ambled happily towards the pavilion, at ease with each other and filling the minutes with unbroken conversation.

‘Ann, you haven't changed one single bit.'

‘Nor you.'

Sally let out one of her gravelly chuckles. ‘Where did you learn to tell nice fibs like that? This is all me, you know.' She wobbled her body briefly to prove her point. ‘This remind you of something? Like the jelly they used to sell in that cafe at the top of Kamathi Street.'

‘The place we went to for lunch on a Friday.'

A shadow passed across Sally's face as she stared for a moment out towards the line of pine trees sheltering the club grounds from the Ngong Road and its Saturday traffic.

‘You two are lucky, you know. I can't do that any more. Just wander where I please. Is that place still there?'

Ann shrugged. Marion was able to clear up the mystery. ‘It's a bar. Yes, another one. Rough place. Paul had a case about six months ago. Somebody hit somebody over the head with a chair, or was it a table? I forget.'

‘This used to be such a beautiful city. I remember the day when Abel and I moved into our first house. On Wiaki Way. A palace. Then Julius came along and I finished work.'

Sally noticed the exchange of anxious glances between her companions. She reassured them. ‘It's all right. I'm getting over it. Well, you never do, I don't think, but you know …'

She sighed and made an effort to lighten the mood. ‘Anyway,' she caressed her belly. ‘My new baby. My Julius. Yes, I know it will be a boy. We talk a lot! Crazy?'

‘No. Beautiful.'

‘Thank you, Marion. Look, if you don't mind, I think I ought to go back. Go home. I enjoy this blubber, but I'm not so happy with the walking these days.'

Ann had a deep affection for Sally and this made the pangs of guilt bite more deeply. Daniel and Paul would have to look for some other way. And at that precise moment, Sally paused and laid her hand across Ann's arm. She had an idea.

‘Listen. Come to lunch tomorrow. Bring a man, your husbands if you have to. Alfred and Molly, the bride's parents, are coming ‘round. I could do with some help. Cheering up poor Molly. The nest is empty. She's very weepy about the whole business.'

* * *

Paul drove the four of them back to Langata. The mood in the car was gloomy on the feminine side.

‘Daniel, she's such a good girl. I always thought she was better at the work than he was. I feel a bit tainted, dirty, using her like this.'

‘Sweetheart - dirty. That's the perfect word for this kind of business. But, to be blunt, she must have switched off somewhere along the line. You say she was bright with figures. Yet there must have been dozens of times when she couldn't make two and two add up to four.'

‘Typical man's answer. She loves him.'

‘And love is the coverall.'

‘And, do you know, I think he loves her so much that he makes sure that she never gets a sniff of all the, the stuff he gets up to.'

‘So the big butcher has a tender side to him. I could be cynical and suggest that he uses her as a kind of front in some inexplicable way.'

The remainder of the journey passed in an uncomfortable silence. Ann Komar's discomfort was born out of an acknowledgement that her husband's take on reality was stronger, braver than her own. He had no hiding place. He had to make uncomfortable choices and stand or fall by them.

For his part Daniel, and Paul, too, was fighting hard to keep a firm hold on anxiety. Their plan was outrageous and very risky. They would be heavily dependent on the element of surprise. They would be up against a formidable and ruthless opponent, fighting a battle on his territory. But the adrenalin rush was already beginning. They were excited and had not the slightest wish to back off and settle for some safe and useless compromise.

* * *

The food for Sunday lunch in the Pink Palace was delicious, but Paul Miller and Daniel Komar had no relish for what Sally repeatedly described as ‘La cuisine francaise', prepared by Marcel, some famous French cook from some even more famous French restaurant. To have said that they had no stomach for the delights on offer was literally true. Their insides were churning with uncomfortable thoughts. Their digestive system was temporarily out of order. But their conversation was sparkling, witty yet inoffensive. There was plenty of laughter in that elegantly designed but garishly furnished dining room.

But Abel Rubai, recovering fast, was feeling particularly good-humoured. Perhaps that was why he made a miscalculation about why these two unwelcome luncheon guests looked anxious and uncomfortable. He saw plainly that they were a little too manic in their conversation pieces. They were fine, eloquent speakers. He had seen both of them perform in court. Perhaps they were overawed. Perhaps they were conscious of the aura of power that hung about the place. He surprised himself with his feelings of sympathy for them. When Alfred had been forced to leave the little party early to take his inconsolable Molly home, Abel decided that a display of his resources might be a good idea. Might help these two lightweights to understand what they were up against when they started playing politics.

‘Gentlemen, come and have a look at this.'

As he led the way down a wide corridor towards the east wing of the house, he affably explained something of what they were about to see.

‘I call it the green heart of the house. Don't usually bring visitors here.'

He stopped by a pair of double doors and, using a remote control, caused what sounded like a heavy bolt to be released. He led the way into the windowless room and, again using the remote, brought to life a bank of screens that stretched the length of the facing wall.

‘Green, you see?'

Abel was purring with self-assurance. The elegant city lawyers exchanged looks of wide-eyed amazement. Abel was beginning to think that Sally's idea of inviting these people to lunch was doing him a favour. These potential election rivals were getting the message in the clearest possible way. KANU versus Serena, what a joke.

‘Awesome, don't you think?'

Paul searched his mind for a reply that would not give away his real opinion. He settled for a limp, ‘Most impressive, sir. Don't you think so, Daniel?'

‘Never seen anything like it. Man, this must cost you a mighty lot of shillings for the electricity alone.'

Abel narrowed his gaze. Why was he getting the feeling that these two punks were far from impressed with what they were seeing?

He pressed another button on his remote and the two lines of six screens directly above his desk were no longer blank. Faces in close-up appeared on each of them and, behind these faces, more banks of computers. Abel was eager to explain.

‘Each of these screens is linked to stock markets all over the world. I call these the big twelve - London, New York, Tokyo and so on. They never shut down. I want to tell you something else.' He hesitated briefly before making his big statement.

‘You know that it's a common insult put about by those who don't know the facts that the people who help to look after this country are on the take, have their hands in the till, say it how you will. Well, this man,' and he pointed both hands dramatically towards his heart, ‘has never taken a single shilling out of the money that belongs to the wananchi. Not a shilling. This is where I make my dollars, my pounds. I go out there into the global marketplace and compete.'

‘That is a wonderful thing to be able to say.' Daniel, though tempted, did not go on to pose the supplementary question about the rest of the big man's colleagues and their financial habits. Instead he shifted the conversation to where he and Daniel wanted it to be.

‘Can you pick up other things here? Films, newspapers, books. You know.'

‘What do mean specifically?'

‘Well, take newspapers. You could save money …'

‘For one thing, I don't need to save money on newspapers.

I never read them. Too full of crap.'

‘Not even
The Nation
, with all the local news?'

‘That rag. Sally's got an addiction that I can't cure.'

‘So you didn't see the article by Laurie Patel?'

‘That communist!'

‘He's no communist.' Paul was ready to move in. ‘Did you know that his wife is a Catholic?'

‘She could be a transvestite gorilla for all I care.' Abel was rapidly becoming bored. He realised now that he had made a big mistake in inviting these two smart-arsed pygmies into his inner sanctum. ‘Time we rejoined the ladies. I'll just switch off in here.'

Daniel could feel his heartbeat racing. The moment had come.

‘Sir, can I quote you something? Very brief.' He did not wait for a reply before reading from a small square of paper. ‘Here it is, about law and order in this country: “I have heard a rumour that one of our big boys is about to feel the heat of the blowtorch. Now, that would be a case worth watching in court! What would the charge be? Would it be a police prosecution? What judge would be ready to put himself forward to conduct the case, knowing the risks involved in a failed prosecution, or even a successful one?”'

Abel shrugged. ‘So?'

Paul made sure that he was standing directly facing his host when he dropped the bomb.

‘You, Mister Rubai, you're the big boy.'

Abel went for his mobile, but as he moved to turn it on, Paul added a caution.

‘Before you call your boys to begin the process of turning our two wives in there into widows, just hang on a moment.'

Daniel continued. ‘Hear us out. We've taken a few precautions you ought to know about.'

‘Let's be honest with you here. We know your style. You don't like somebody, pouf! Instant history. But if we do disappear rather suddenly, then some pieces are going to appear in some pretty important places.
The London Times, The Washington Post.
How does that grab you?'

Abel moved forward until he stood toe to toe with Paul Miller, so close that Paul could smell the flavour of the wine that Abel had taken with his lunch.

‘You do not have a single thing on me that would stand up in a court in this country. Got it? You are committing delayed suicide.'

‘Is that a threat?'

Abel roared with laughter and mimicked the restrained tone in Daniel's voice. ‘Is that a threat?'

Paul moved in quickly and confidently. ‘We've got a day picked out. We've got a judge and we've got witnesses, one of whom will be Reuben Rubai.'

Before Abel could let rip with his next burst of anger, Paul continued. ‘And we are not stupid.'

Daniel, smarting after Abel's little dart of mockery, picked himself up and resumed the attack. ‘We don't go along with the Rubai way of doling out punishments, but we know that, for the moment, we can't knock you over.'

An amused Abel interrupted. ‘Is that a threat, Miller, Komar, whichever the hell you are?'

‘The name is Komar, Daniel Komar. And, no, we don't go in for threats, just promises.'

‘So if you have got the sense to see that you cannot “knock me over”, what are you two idiots who claim not to be stupid actually after?'

‘Bertie Briggs out on the street by tomorrow morning, at the latest, all charges dropped.'

Abel was stunned and turned his red swivel chair and sat down heavily.

‘Unbelievable! Unfucking believable! That bastard shot me, damn near killed me.'

‘You have no witnesses, no proof. It could have been your American friend.'

‘American friend?' Abel sat forward, incredulous.

‘Friend, hired gun, whatever. Strange man, but a real pro. Had every reason to get rid of you. Do you want a name? Alfredo Rossi, Alfred Ross.'

‘Now, Mister Bertrand Briggs, back in Naivasha by tomorrow, early enough to take his son breakfast in bed.'

Abel had been caught off guard. He was shocked that anyone but himself had known about Rossi. He was inwardly furious that these two nobodies had managed to manipulate him into a position where he might be vulnerable. He could tough it out, get rid of them even, but he was shrewd enough to see how easy it would be to make a bad situation worse. He hated the idea, but it was time to go on the defensive.

Paul was becoming impatient. Rubai's hesitation was a worry. Time to press the issue.

‘At six pm this evening we shall telephone the duty officer at Nakuru police station to check that you have sent a message telling them to release Mister Briggs into the hands, custody if you prefer, of two officers of the Naivasha force. We will contact these two people and they will escort him home. Sorry to be so formal. By the way, I think you should know that we have been making a recording of …'