Frederick Ramsay_Botswana Mystery 02 (17 page)

Chapter Thirty-two

The two men Modise had referred to as “Boers” had their SUV headed toward the park. Their orders were to ferret out the men who’d short-circuited Lenka’s purchase of the Congolese coltan. A pickup truck with construction company markings on its door passed them headed in the opposite direction.

“That’s him.”

“Who?”

“Botlhokwa’s man that took our money and sent us into the park for nothing.”

“Where?”

“He just drove past us in that
bakkie
. Turn around and follow him.”

“We’re supposed to be looking for the men who took the big man’s coltan.”

“Never mind that now. I want that
kaffir
. Turn around”

The driver twisted the wheel over hard and cut across the road. As it happens, heavy traffic is a relative rarity in Kasane, and except for a police car approaching from the west, there was none now. The SUV’s tires left a fresh patch of rubber on the macadam as it wheeled around to follow the truck carrying Noga. The police car braked and then picked up its pace and trailed them in turn. The constable who happened to be driving could not be sure, he’d had at best only a quick a glance, but thought the men in the car might be the two men Superintendent Mwambe had mentioned at roll call the day before. They were wanted for questioning in the park murder. The constable leaned toward the microphone on his collar and spoke. Apparently to call in his position and what he’d guessed were the possibilities with respect to the passengers in the SUV. After some minutes, devoted to what may have been an argument, the constable shook his head and keyed off.

The man in the SUV’s passenger seat strained forward. “Where is he headed?”

“You’re asking me? Who knows? We’ll just have to follow and when we find the right pull-off, we stop him and have a conversation.”

The second man grinned and retrieved his rifle from the behind the seat and slid open its breech.

The road swung south and east. The truck headed away from Kazungula toward Nata some three hundred kilometers away. Enormous commercial rigs, diesel engines chuffing noisily, and their trailers lined the west side of the road waiting for their turn to cross the river into Zambia on the ferry.

“As soon as we clear these monsters, pull him over.”

“There is a car behind us. It started following us in Kasane. I think it’s the police.”

“
Scheiss,
what do we do now?”

“I’ll pass the truck. Let that bird see us. I’ll give him a sign to pull up after the police get tired of following us.”

“What if they don’t?”

‘We’ll pull over and take care of the copper. Then we’ll see to the truck.”

“I am not liking this.”

***

Constable Kgobela had a particular and personal interest in chasing the SUV with the two men. He’d suffered through Mwambe’s impatience at the crime scene in the park, his stubborn insistence that the dead man had committed suicide in spite of the obvious evidence to the contrary and the game ranger’s suggestions, and now this reversal with neither explanation nor clarity. Something had happened after the DIS man from Gaborone showed up for sure. Either way, Kgobela would like very much to arrest these two. If suspicion of murder were not adequate, certainly he had reason enough to pull them over for their irresponsible driving. He pulled a bit closer to the SUV as it swung south on the Nata road.

His radio crackled.

“Kgobela, is that you? Are you there?’

“Derek, we have been through this before, you must learn correct procedure. That is not how you are to contact someone on the radio.”

“Yes, yes, I know, it is complicated, but I am learning, I think. Yes, well…anyway, this is urgent. Superintendent Mwambe says you are to pull back and wait for backup.”

“That means he is coming to make the arrest himself?”

“I cannot say. Probably. He has some difficulties with headquarters, I think and needs to show…well, you know how he is. He has left in his car and will meet up with you soon.”

“But he does not know where I am.”

“Oh, yes, as to that, he is on the alternate radio frequency. You are to contact him there and give him your location. Under no circumstances, he said, are you to stop these men by yourself.”

“It is too late for that. They are pulling off the road even now. They have a
bakkie
, I think one of Botlhokwa’s, that they have been tailing. I am stopping now. Tell your uncle, the superintendent, I am four kilometers south on the road to Nata on the east side, if that helps.”

Kgobela signed off and eased his car behind the SUV. The men had already dismounted and were approaching the pickup. One of the men pivoted and watched the police car arrive and then grinned. Kgobela thought that seemed odd under the circumstances. He braked and reached for his baton. He hoped there wouldn’t be any use for it but that grin suggested there might be trouble. Too late, Kgobela saw the rifle at the grinning man’s side.

***

By the time Superintendent Mwambe had deciphered his nephew Derek’s messages and tried and failed to contact Kgobela himself, nearly twenty minutes had elapsed before he pulled up behind the police car. A bit farther along, a pickup truck, the one apparently belonging to Botlhokwa, sat with its motor idling and seemingly empty. A uniformed body lay face down between the two vehicles. Nothing else stirred. Mwambe stayed in his car waiting. A large trailer truck roared north, its air wash rocked the car. Mwambe had drawn a pistol from the gun locker before he’d left. At the time he didn’t know why. Instinct, he’d assumed. Now he realized what the spirits had been trying to tell him.

“Derek, call for backup immediately. I want them armed. Also, I will need a forensic team here. Do this right now.”

The car jumped again as another truck rocketed by. Mwambe eased open his door, and being careful to stay behind its protecting steel, stepped out onto the verge. He slipped the pistol into his hand and peered over the window sill. Still, nothing stirred. He swung his gaze toward the bush. No one but a fool would venture too deeply into it. Most wild animals did not venture so close to the road, but you could never count on that. Elephants might decide to cross at any point. They claimed the right of way and were granted it.

Satisfied he was alone; he stepped out from behind the car door and walked to the body. Constable Kgobela lay in the dust. He’d obviously been shot. The wounds on his back indicated the bullets had passed clean through. With no walls, trees or other obstacles to capture them, there would be none for ballistics to analyze. Too bad about that. He stepped carefully around the body and approached the other vehicle. It had a passenger after all, crumpled sideways across the seat. He too, had been shot at close range by a quite powerful weapon. The chances for ballistics test improved in the shooting within a closed space.

There was nothing more Mwambe could do but wait for his people to arrive. Modise would have a field day with this. He gritted his teeth at the thought.

Two bodies.

Chapter Thirty-three

Noga stared down at the business end of the rifle barrel. He had no illusions whether the man brandishing it would pull the trigger if so inclined. He’d just seen him kill a policeman and the driver. The two men forced him into their Toyota. Then they’d driven a kilometer south of the encounter and veered off and bounced into the bush for another two. They had stopped and shoved Noga out onto the ground. They’d climbed out and now faced him.

“So, Mr. Botlhokwa’s man, you owe us some money, I think.”

Noga recognized the men, of course, and it was true he’d taken money from them but couldn’t be sure why they thought they deserved to have it returned. Well, he guessed he did, but he reasoned his end of the bargain was to identify a possible cargo to steal, not to guarantee its ultimate worth. These men had made it clear to Botlhokwa that that they did not consider that to be the case and Botlhokwa, in turn, had come down on Noga when he’d discovered the truth. That Takeda…if only he’d been clearer about what he considered precious. Now the ranger sat safely in jail while these men threatened to send him to join his ancestors. Noga had long abandoned the Christian notion of heaven but as he contemplated the business end of the rifle, he longed for a reasonable substitute. Clearly, no matter what he said or did in the next ten minutes, that thing might very well go off and he’d be away to some other place.

“The money. You will please give it back to us, now.”

Noga sighed. “I cannot do that. Sorry.” He squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for the rifle’s report and bullet’s impact. Nothing happened. He risked a look at the men. They stood frowning. One scratched his chin through his scraggly beard.

“”What do you mean you can’t repay us our money, boy. You will. One way or another, you will. By Gott, even you must be worth something to somebody. We could sell you dead or alive back to your Botlhokwa.”

Noga’s mind raced. There had to be a way out of this. The English and the coltan might work.

“I have something better for you.”

“Better? How better? You for sure have something we can take back to our boss?”

“I just delivered a very valuable cargo to some Englishmen. If you take me to your boss, I will tell him what it is, where it is, and how to find it.”

“You will tell us now and we will decide if you live long enough to talk to anybody.”

Noga knew he had them. Boers could be so thick at times. “If you kill me, you get no money, no cargo no…well, you will be where you were before you caught up with me only even less likely to find a pay-off.”

“You think that is important to us?”

“I think so, yes. Listen, there are two things you should be thinking about. First, whether I am telling you the truth or not. I might really have something to sell. If I do, and if your bosses are who I think they are and they find out you killed me without checking, you’ll be next on the firing line. Yes?”

The two exchanged looks. Noga knew he’d touched a sore spot.

“Maybe. What is the second reason?”

“You come from the south somewhere. South Africa probably, and you don’t know any better, I guess but—”

“What do you mean, but?”

“But…you have taken us deep into the bush. This is lion country and they are always hungry. A pride of them could come crashing through these bushes any time now if they’ve caught our scent. If so, you will be some big cat’s lunch. We need to get out of here and quick.”

As if on cue, they heard rustling in the bush nearby. All three dove for the Toyota, scrambled in, and slammed the doors.

“Just hurry up, you bastard.” The driver slapped the SUV into gear and they wheeled away, crashing through brush, small trees, and nearly took out their transmission as they lurched across a dry streambed. The gazelles which had created the panic in the first place, bolted in the opposite direction.

Noga had bought himself some time.

***

Modise left Leo Painter and headed back to police headquarters. He needed to give Mwambe a heads-up about the trouble brewing at the American’s casino. He needn’t tell it all just yet; just enough to prevent an investigation if someone were to report suspicious activity at the casino. In fact, he hoped they would. It would be a good sign about the security system he hoped he’d established.

He couldn’t be sure how Mwambe would react to a caution couched as “in the best interest of government security.” The Americans were always finding themselves in hot water when they claimed “national security” as their reason to stifle information.

As he approached the parking area, he was nearly sideswiped by a convoy of official vehicles headed out the gate. He flagged one down by flashing his police ID.

“Where are you going?”

“Is that you, Inspector Modise? Oh, well, there has been a shooting on the road south to Nata. One of our officers has been shot. Two Boers—”

Modise did not need to hear the rest. He braked, reversed, and wheeled around to follow the stream of cars and vans heading back out of the village. A shooting? Boers? This was something for sure. The last time there’d been a shooting involving a Boer had been the infamous Mariotta Bosche, who killed her lover’s wife a few years ago. Big scandal. She’d been hung, much to the consternation of the international press. Could these be the same two implicated in the park shooting? That small killing in the park was growing into something more than a misfired hijacking.

Ten minutes later he pulled up behind a police car and walked toward the scene. Mwambe appeared to be in charge and busy. Modise hung back and watched. He would give the superintendent some space. As much as he disliked this overstuffed policeman, Modise conceded he knew how to do his job when he chose. Today, it seemed, he did so choose. A few meters away, Modise saw the body on the ground—the constable. Evidence techs were at that moment easing a second body from a pickup truck farther along the track.

“Ah, Modise, you have heard?”

“Superintendent Mwambe, I have. Your man is killed by Boers? Our Boers?”

“Possibly, possibly. Constable Kgobela is dead and so he cannot tell us who pulled the trigger on him, but we believe it is those two. He called in that he had taken up pursuit of two men matching the description of the men we sought. The vehicle matched that the American gave us but not the number plate, of course.”

“Of course. I am sorry about your officer.”

“He died doing his duty. He was Rra Kgobela’s son, the man that ran the fruit market, and Mma Carl, his mother. They also lost a daughter, his sister, last year. So much sadness for them, but, if you must die young it is the better way, is it not?”

Modise nodded. It was. “What are the chances for a ballistics match?”

“Too soon to tell, but the man in the
bakkie
died in the vehicle. That means there could be a projectile in there somewhere.”

“Good. When we catch up with these two men we will want it.”

“You believe we will catch them then?”

“Oh yes. They have returned to the area. They are either very stupid, very sure of themselves, or truly believe we have no case against them. Oh yes, we will have them.”

Mwambe smiled and nodded. Poor Takeda was forgotten for the moment.