Danger Woman (10 page)

Chapter Twenty

Irena had given in to the heat and stretched out in an all but invisible bikini on the settee on the balcony of her room with a pitcher of vodka martinis and a pack of the Turkish cigarettes to which she'd become addicted. Lenka said he had important business to attend to. That meant he'd be meeting with the men at the warehouse and blustering on about how he'd managed to become an important player in St. Petersburg. That would include boringly detailed accounts of the deals he'd made, the bodies left in his path, and the famous people whom he'd met. Irena knew that his stories were only partly true, but she never interrupted or discouraged these forays into his fantasy world with his cronies. Anything that kept him away and gave her a moment's rest worked for her. Lenka stormed into the room within a half hour.

“Sami Nkola has been shot, murdered.”

“Who says?”

“Cszepanski says. He called to arrange a pickup. We have some people who want to visit Zambia but don't want the bother of visas. So, he calls and the boy at the other end says Sami is dead. He asks, ‘How is he dead?' and the boy tells him, ‘Shot with a pistol.' So, who is shooting our people over there? What does it mean? Have Greshenko's people infiltrated Zambia, too?”

“Calm down. Remember that Greshenko's men only just arrived. I think maybe, this Nkola, he is working for other people. He must have taken a job and it went bad, that's all. So, we find another boat. There are plenty of hungry Zambians and displaced Zimbabweans available for that sort of work. Promise them a motor for their boat, an electric one that doesn't make any noise and you will have plenty of people applying for the job.”

“But, he was shot—”

“Forget Sami Nkola. These people, they are like flies. They die all the time. It is the jungle, yes? Things are shot. Animals, birds, people. It is their way.”

***

She was correct about the pool of applicants, at least. Within hours after the word got out, several men with boats and monetary needs that trumped any moral commitments they must have entertained and applied for the job as a “Transfer Agent” for the famous Russian businessman. Lenka bought two just in case he lost another to the mysterious person who'd dispatched Sami Nkola. They were to stand by. They were free to engage in private business any way they chose but, whenever he called, they were to drop whatever they were doing immediately and make themselves available. For the two men selected, that posed no problem. Lenka, they understood, would need their services primarily at night. Most normal, that is to say legitimate river work, took place in daylight. If a boat operator knew what was good for him and his passengers, he stayed off the river after dark. To work the river at night was dangerous. In the day, you could see the hippos and pole away if they started for you. At night, it might be too late when you saw them, if you saw them at all. Everyone knew that they were the number one cause of homicide in Botswana. And then there were the crocodiles and tiger fish. If one didn't get you, another would. No, you stayed off the river at night.

Cszepanski said the primary boat man had an unpronounceable name, so he decided that he should be called “Bart.” Even Oleg Lenka, who was not known for his sense of humor or perceptiveness, thought a statement from Cszepanski complaining about the difficulty in pronouncing someone's name an example of “the pot calling the kettle black.” Cszepanski did not laugh. Irony does not play well in the world of mobsters. Bart was put to work immediately. Lenka had people and merchandise to move.

***

Mpitle stared at the empty bed across from her own. What had happened to her roommate? Shana's grades were never very good but not so bad she would be asked to leave the University. Had she quit and gone home? She did say she felt homesick once or twice. Shana's closet had nothing left in it but some empty hangers and a lone sock which Mpitle recognized as one of her own. A knock at the door to the corridor and immediately it swung open. A woman lugging two large plastic bags and a suitcase entered, dumped her belongings on the empty cot, waved and left. Mpitle started to say something to the empty room. Minutes later the stranger returned with more bags and a young man who had one arm covered with tattoos. He carried a large box filled with books.

“This is Kimbo,” the strange woman said. “Put the stuff over there, Kimbo, and scoot.”

“I am not invited to the party? We could get something to eat and then…”

“No party, goodbye.”

Kimbo left. The woman sat on the only clear spot on the bed and smiled. “I am sorry. You seem confused. You are Mpitle Sanderson, yes?”

“Yes. Who are—”

“I am Kopano Lekgwamolelo, your new roommate.”

“My new roommate? What happened to Shana?”

“She said to say she was sorry. Nothing personal but, she had a chance to move in with her cousin. She thought you'd understand.”

“That's it? She's sorry?”

“That's what she said.”

“Okay, I guess. So, you are to take her place. You are a student here?”

“A few graduate courses. Just temporary. One term, maybe two. So, Mpitle, what are you studying?”

“Engineering, but I don't know. The math is—”

“My grandpa says to me, Kopano, math is a man's work. He is from the previous century. For that, I took calculus and received the highest grade in my form. Do not let it defeat you.”

“Yes, thank you. Umm…Oh, golly. Kopano, there is something you should know before you unpack.”

“Yes?”

“I received a call from my mother. She says I am to be watched by a police constable twenty-four/seven. I expect there will be some person in a uniform hanging around all the time. If that is a problem for you—”

“Why would that be a problem for me?”

“I was thinking of your boyfriend. He is—”

“Not my boyfriend.
No mathata
. So, we will be great friends.”

“Yes, I hope. Oh, golly, I forgot. I was not supposed to say anything about the constable to anybody. You will not mention it, okay? Besides, once a constable starts following me around, everyone will know anyway.”

“It will be our secret.”

***

Lenka was back to pacing. “We need to know what the police are doing over at that casino.”

Irena rolled her eyes. “They are there?” Irena searched among the bottles on the side board. “We are out of vodka. Send down for some.”

Lenka called the desk and ordered two bottles to sent to the room, “No, but they were.”

“I told you we should have brought the phone man with us when we came up from Cape Town, but you said we don't need him. If we tried to have their phones tapped they'd find out, you said.”

The boy with the vodka arrived. Lenka handed him a tip and closed the door.

“Wait.” Lenka held up a hand and listened. He gripped the knob and jerked the door open and peered out. “No one. I thought I heard…never mind. I said there are almost no land lines in this country and as nearly as I can make out, the police here depend on cell phones.”

Lenka drifted to the door and jerked it open again. He searched the corridor looking for eavesdroppers. He slammed the door shut. “Okay, so tapping mobile phones is not the same as land lines, Renee. Even if we brought him here to set up a…what is the thing called? Ah, set up an IMSI-catcher in this country, it would take time. And if the police phones are encrypted, we learn nothing. For now, we have people eavesdropping. It's the best we can do. Whose phones do you want cloned? Modise the policeman's?”

“Why not? He is the person who most wants you back in Russia. It would be nice to know what he is doing. Also Greshenko. Clone his, too.”

“Sure why not? You are joking. Tell me, how do we get so close to either man that he will give us his phone?”

“That woman, the ranger person. She will do this for us.”

“She will? How? She is not for sale.”

“She will not know she is doing it. You plant the software on her phone while she is busy with something else and then, when she is with the policeman, we turn it on remotely and it is done.”

“Okay, how do we plant this software on her phone?”

“You can leave that to me. Bring in the phone man.”

Chapter Twenty-one

Sanderson inspected the box of ballpoint pens Kgabo Modise had had left for her. His instructions were to divide them into two groups and deliver the one half to Greshenko. She was warned that under no circumstances was anyone to see the exchange. There were no instructions on how that was to be done. She didn't like the pens either.

Apparently, the pens had a message or logo on them at one time. Whatever message had been printed on the barrel, it had been poorly removed with sandpaper or a nail file. Were these police department pens? Modise had said they were economizing, but were they really that stupid? These pens will fool no one, she thought. She shook her head and muttered about the tendency men had to take shortcuts and cause trouble for those who had to clean up after them. She fished around in her desk drawer, the one where she kept the items Charles Tlalelo called her “lady things.” She found a bottle of nail polish remover. Why she had that particular item in the drawer, she could not say. She did not use nail polish. She applied a thin coat to the scratched portion. When it dried the barrel was smoother, the scratches and scrapes certainly less noticeable.

It wasn't easy ignoring the reek of acetone but, she managed to coat all of the pens. She let them dry and then put half of them in an envelope which contained copies of the park rules regarding vehicular traffic. Modise had enclosed his first message in one of the pens. She put all but that one of the remaining half in the desk with the nail polish remover. The one with the message she tucked in her pocket and set out for her appointment with the new safari guides and, incidentally, Greshenko.

So, now she had an official position as a police operative. She didn't know whether to be excited or afraid. It is one thing to talk about how things should be done, another to do them. Modise said these Russian gangsters could be very violent and brutal. What if they figure out what she is up to? Modise said he was deputizing her. She was not sure what that meant either. It sounded official. Should he have given her a badge? Perhaps a set of shoulder flashes would be better. Either way, she thought she needed some sign that made her new position official. She would ask him the next time they had their picnic. She ought to have a ribbon at least.

As arranged, Greshenko waited for her at the casino office. She handed him the fat envelope and made sure he knew he was to distribute the contents to his drivers. He nodded and gestured toward four women in khaki uniforms standing off to one side. He handed her a clipboard and she made a show of scanning the form attached to it. She signed at the bottom, and returned the clipboard to him with her pen slipped under the clamp. He took it, placed it on the desk, and turned to the women whom he introduced. Sanderson took them into a side room set up as a classroom and began her instruction. If anyone had been watching, however closely, they would have neither seen nor heard anything that could possibly link Sanderson and Greshenko.

After the session ended, Greshenko stopped her as she was about to exit through the door.

“Here, Mma Michael, you forgot your pen.”

She smiled at that. She thanked him, pocketed the pen and left. An hour later, she had lunch in the park with Kgabo.

It had begun.

***

Tumelo Carter was one of the four drivers hired by the casino and enrolled in Sanderson's training class. Tumelo had a brother, Jik, who was, in a word, broken. Drug addiction is not the great problem in Botswana as in its neighbor, South Africa, but it exists and those caught up in it have fewer sources to sustain their habit. Tumelo's brother had been found out by Lenka's people. He thought he had won a lottery when they approached him and offered him a job. The supply of drugs now seemed endless and the cost fair. Fair meant he became a dealer. His newfound friends asked only one favor in return. It was a small favor. He was to persuade his sister to do a job for them. If he agreed, his position in the organization would be secure. If not…what would become of him or his sister should he refuse was never stated. It didn't need to be. He hesitated. There were problems, he'd said. He hadn't any contact with his sister for nearly a year. His contact shrugged and left. When his supply of drugs ran out, he had to face the reality that soon he would have no money and no chemical support. He agreed to talk to his sister. Yes, he would see to it she did as he asked. And really, what possible harm could come from simply borrowing someone's phone for a minute and exchanging the SIM card? Nothing, that's what. He doubted it would even be considered illegal.

When Jik finally tracked down his sister, she was less than happy to see him. Tumelo recognized the signs. Her brother had found a new source to feed his addiction. Any hope he might come to his senses and find his way back home were lost. So sad. He dismissed her lecture and told her he needed her to do something for him. It was really important; he'd said Tumelo asked who he was working for. He said it didn't matter.

“If I do not know who I am doing this favor for or I am not doing it.”

“It is for me, Tumelo.”

“No, Jik, it is not for you. It is for the people who supply you with the
moshutele
you are shoving up your nose, or is it in the veins this time?”

He pleaded, he begged, he threatened. She only came around when he told her he would die if she didn't do this thing. Yes, she would try. She emphasized the word, try. She would try to get her hands on Ranger Superintendent Sanderson's phone and switch the card.

“Then, I never want to see you again. You have disgraced your family, the village, and the tribe. You are
tshedisa molewane
, Jik. Nobody will speak to you. Look at what you have become. You live in that place with those terrible people. If you promise to go to a rehab program, I will do this. Will you?
”

He promised he would and then he'd be out of her life forever if she did this one last thing. She knew that would never happen. He would be back to beg, to steal, or do whatever his habit demanded of him. That night she wept for her lost brother.

The following day, at her training session, she asked to borrow Sanderson's phone. Her phone, she said had a flat battery. Sanderson gave it to her without questioning why. Tumelo stepped from the room, cracked open the phone and removed one card, inserted another. After the card was exchanged and the phone returned, Sanderson made a call. She frowned when she did so and Tumelo feared she'd been found out. Nothing happened. After the training session, Tumelo called and reported the switch had been made to her brother who in turn passed the information on to his contact.

When the news made it up the chain to Irena that the game ranger's phone was set to clone the policemen's, she said that they were to reward the boy. They were to give him something special in his ration of drugs. One good deed deserved another, she said.

The next morning the Kasane police found Jik Carter dead of an apparent overdose. His body lay sprawled in the tin-roofed shack he shared with his girlfriend. The needle was still in his arm. The girlfriend was not dead, only nearly so. Jik, for all his faults, was a sharing person. His girlfriend would be a sharing person, too, but in a different way when she came out of her coma. It wouldn't help much in the investigation at the time, but when the file on Lenka was finally closed, it would be a useful addition.