Frederick Ramsay_Botswana Mystery 02 (20 page)

Chapter Thirty-nine

Sanderson awoke to the sound of pots clattering on the range in the next room, Mpitle making the porridge, no doubt. She rolled over to go back to sleep, then jerked upright. What time was it? She would be late for work. She slid out of bed, wrapped up in her worn but still serviceable Chinese robe, and moved to the next room.

“So, Mma, you were very late coming in last night. What were you up to with Mr. Modise, the famous police detective?”

“Up to? I am up to nothing. We had dinner. We chatted about his work. We—”

“Oh, his work. I am sure of that. Tell the truth, Momma, what did Mr. Monkey do?”

“Monkey? Where is that coming from?”

“His name is Kgabo, monkey. Did you make some monkey business last night? You can tell me.”

“You will watch your mouth young lady, or I will take that spoon you are holding in your hand and give you what you deserve.”

“Then, since you don’t answer me a yes or a no, it must be a yes. Michael, you hear? Momma is having monkey business last night.”

Sanderson reached for the spoon in her daughter’s hand. Mptle pirouetted away with a laugh and danced to the door.

“I am off to school. You must hurry with your breakfast or you will be late for your job. Michael, you tell her.”

Sanderson turned to her son who, it seemed, felt stronger this day and was sitting up in a chair by his bed.

“Tell me what?”

“Your daughter is teasing, Mma. Be at peace with that. There is little enough laughter in this house.”

“No, it is just that we are so busy.”

“No, thank you, Mma, it is not the busyness, it is because of me. I lie here day after day. I cannot get better, I cannot die and finish this journey. It drags you all down.”

“That is too harsh, Michael. It is what it is.”

“No, that is not so. I do not want to argue with you, but you have had too much of this dying going on in your house. First my father, now me.”

Sanderson spooned her breakfast into a bowl and sat across from her son.

“Do not speak like that anymore.”

“I will try not to make you sad, Mma, but you know it is the truth. So, no monkey business, how was your date?”

“Date? Is that what it was? I don’t know. It has been so long since I did anything like that.” She pulled her robe closer. She could smell the coffee, but had not poured a cup yet. She would let it cool.

“Michael, you are old enough. Tell me. Was I right?”

“Right? How do you mean?”

“Right to leave you and Mpitle and go out with Kgabo Modise? It felt so strange.”

“Mma you have cared about us so much. You need to find some happiness. Mpitle is almost grown. Soon she will be away at university, or married, or both. I am…well, I am not going anywhere except to either heaven or hell. Not soon, I’m afraid, but there is nothing that anyone can do for me. You must find a life, Mma. If this Modise is serious or even if he is only Mpitle’s ‘monkey business,’ it doesn’t matter. You must enjoy whatever it turns out to be. You cannot stay at home forever.”

Sanderson stood and poured a coffee, her back to Michael. She did not want him to see her tears.

“Ten years of death, Mma. Death, and sacrifice for others, and struggles for you. It is time for you to do for yourself.”

She stood staring out the door at the bright red
bakkie
that she and Michael had salvaged the year before. Across the courtyard that defined her village, Rra Kaleke was lighting a fire. People moved about.

They all had lives. She had work.

Work. The cameras. Charles must be wondering what had become of her. He would be looking at the results of the previous night’s surveillance. She needed to dress and be on her way.

“Michael, you are right, I am sure, but it doesn’t make it any easier for me to do these things.”

“No monkey business then?”

“You are as bad as your sister. And as for what happened last night with Kgabo Modise and me, it is none of your business.”

“That is the way. Good, my mother launches into the future, her sails set, and a great adventure awaits.”

“Be still and eat your food. I am late for work.”

***

As she expected, Charles had retrieved the tapes from the camera surveillance and was waiting for her.

“You are late, Sanderson. Big night last night, I am thinking.”

“Don’t you start with me, Charles, or you will find yourself in the park on permanent census duty counting the kudu. I have had all the nonsense I need from my daughter.”

He grinned but did not press on with his teasing. The fact that he’d noticed Mpitle’s scarf had been in Sanderson’s purse, not around her neck, when she had returned the night before, was all he needed to know about her engagement and its late conclusion.

“Yes, well. I have the tapes and have arranged to view them as soon as you are ready.”

“Have you had a look?”

“I only made a quick run through. There is not too much footage but there is some activity.”

“Well, let’s see them then.”

They watched as the camera flickered on. A truck, a white
bakkie
like hers, pulled up to the fence and two men alit. They paused, unfastened the fencing, drove the truck through, and refastened it. She watched as the men climbed back into the truck and it pulled away. The time stamp put the activity as occurring at twenty-three-hundred twenty hours. Sanderson did a quick calculation. Military time never worked for her. That would be eleven-twenty o’clock at night. The picture went blank.

In a few seconds, it flashed on again. This time the time stamp read zero four thirty-five. Dawn. The same two men worked at the fence from the inside, repeated in reverse their transit through it, and left. The screen went blank again.

“Did you note the number plate on the vehicle, Charles?”

“I did. Shall I call it in to Superintendent Mwambe?”

Sanderson thought for a moment. What with his apparent complicity in the Takeda business, Mwambe might not be the best option.

“Perhaps another cup of tea. While I think about that. No, I think we will show this to Inspector Modise first.”

“Modise? Oh yes, of course, Modise,” Charles said, and flashed a mouthful of very white teeth.

“You stop that grinning, Charles, or so help me…”

He tried to stop but failed. She guessed she had it coming, but it was so unfair. Other women went out all the time. They had lovers and friends and…well, all sorts of reasons and no one wasted daylight commenting on them. What made her one date in ten years so special? Because it
was
one date in ten years—of course. Stupid!

“Just bring the tea.”

Chapter Forty

It was still early when Modise drove over to the American’s casino. It looked like it would turn out to be a bright sunshiny day. Leo Painter stood waiting for him as he drove up. He looked worried. Well, he should be. His project, like a lamp at night, had attracted some very dangerous insects. Modise climbed out and walked toward the door of the nearly complete office complex.

“Inspector Modise, you are looking very chipper this morning. Life must be treating you nicely.”

“It is, Mr. Painter. I have some news for you.”

“Good news, I hope. I’ve enough bad this past week to last me for quite a while.”

“Can we sit outside? I don’t want to risk even accidental eavesdropping.”

Leo led him to his bench, and the two sat admiring the buildings going up before them. At least Leo seemed to be admiring it. Modise had other things on his mind.

“We have a plan for your Mr. Greshenko that should meet the needs of those people who are trying to use him. It is only a temporary relief for him, I am afraid, but it will have to do. What will happen to him with regard to his future is another matter, of course.”

“Of course? Well, I guess one day at a time will have to do. What is the plan?”

“Am I correct in saying you have completed installing the devices in your rooms?” Leo nodded. They had. He obviously did not like the idea.

“Very well. As to your hotel, we have enlisted the help of a friendly Arab country who has agreed to use at least some of the devices to feed disinformation to the intelligence gatherers. In fact they thought the opportunity to best one of the super powers would be great fun. They asked if they could do the same to the Americans.”

“And you said…?”

“Not this time, later perhaps. You must understand how it is with the smaller nations sometimes. So, one room will be used to do this, the others will be on their own. Frankly, and you cannot quote me, but we don’t care what the Russians—we must assume that is who is behind all this maneuvering—what the Russians know or don’t know, hear or don’t hear. So, that is the set-up here. Now, the more difficult question is what about the Americans in the Mowana Lodge. We cannot allow the American Secretary of State to have her rooms bugged. It is unthinkable, for two reasons at least.”

“Only two?”

“For now, yes, two. First, we are very sensitive to them and their position as a world leader.”

“And second?”

“Here again, you may not say anything of this to anyone. If you do, you will find yourself back in your Chicago before you can say Jack Robinson.”

“I understand. Big deal on the diplomatic scene, right?”

“A very big deal, as you say. And my government is playing the middle man here. There may be meetings between the North Koreans and the Americans in a place you do not need to know, that is if all goes well with the preliminary talks we will moderate out in the Okavango.”

“Wow. They’re going to make nice to that pipsqueak dictator?”

“Ah, that overstates it, I think. I am not in that end of government so diplomacy is as foreign to me as it is, I think, to you. But sometimes, we have learned in this part of the world, it is better to accommodate the pipsqueaks than risk them doing something rash. Pipsqueaks crave attention, you see, and our view is it is better to give them some. It is best for all around to try for peace and quiet than rattle the sword. Yes?”

“Okay, not my call. When I was in business, those kinds of egomaniacs were usually shoved under the bus. But it’s your game. So what happens with the Mowana Lodge?”

“Here is all you need to know. The American attaché assigned to this sort of thing will arrive here tomorrow and collect the equipment Greshenko has set aside for that project.”

“They’ll kill Greshenko if that stuff isn’t up and running, soon.”

“Trust us. It will be, as you say, ‘up and running’ in plenty of time. Your Greshenko will not risk homicide just yet.”

“I never thought of your lot being the devious sort.”

“My
lot
is not devious, Mr. Painter. We are careful to protect our country, its reputation for neutrality and fair play. That is all. You should wish this for yours as well, I think.”

“Point taken. Okay. For the time being then, we can breathe a little easier. Now, I have another thing for you. For that last several days, there has been a car parked outside the gate area over there with some guy, maybe more than one, watching the place. I have the license number here.”

“I will look into it.” Modise took the slip of paper Painter handed him and placed it in between the leaves of this notebook.

“I will be in touch if this turns out to be significant.”

***

Sanderson hesitated to call Kgabo Modise. What could she say? She had the information from the incursion into the park, naturally. He would want to hear of that. She wanted to share it, but since the previous night…well, things had changed in their relationship. What should she call him? Should she mention dinner? No, definitely not. This must remain official business. What if he sounded intimate? What if he didn’t? She put her cup down and rapped a pencil against the desk top. She stopped when the graphite point snapped and bounced across the surface and onto the floor. She would make the call.

“Modise here.” Very business like. Perhaps he hadn’t seen her name on the caller ID. Perhaps he didn’t have it.

“Modise. Kgabo, um…Sanderson here. We have had a breach of the park fence to report.” Perhaps he would like to discuss it at dinner? No at lunch? Heavens above, what was she thinking?

“Ah, Sanderson, I hoped you would call. A bright spot in a dull day. So you had a break-in. Good. I will slip by in an hour or two and we can talk. I can bring sandwiches or something for lunch. We could have a semi-picnic.”

“I packed a lunch. I could share.”

“Then I will bring something sweet to build it up.”

“That would be fine.”

She hung up. Something sweet? Her heart rate seemed to be elevated. You are so silly, woman. He is a colleague. No, not quite. Jesus save me, now what? And why didn’t she tell him the number of the truck? So slow you are today, woman.

Chapter Forty-one

Noga spat the blood from his mouth. One of his teeth bounced across the floor. He explored the others still in place. Two moved when he pushed at them with his tongue. Not good. His mouth tasted metallic from so much bleeding. Blood contained iron, didn’t it? He ached in a dozen places. They had beaten him for what seemed like hours but was probably no more than ten minutes. It had been enough. Finally he’d convinced them he did not know anything else about the fate of the coltan shipment that he hadn’t already told them. Now he sat bound to a chair, his chin on his chest, and waited for what came next. At least now he didn’t have to worry about the dog.

He could hear, but not see, the haranguing the two Boers were receiving. Good. They deserved every bad thing that came their way, the bastards. The tall man, who seemed in charge, snarled at them in a mixture of languages. Noga could only make out a word or two.

“You idiots.” He understood that part. “What did you do with these men?”

“We looked in their
bakkie
and saw the trash, as we just told you.”

“Jan broke one of the things. It was just rocks and sand.”

So, one of their names was Jan. The other was who? Dolf, Pieter? They had found the “English” it seemed.

“Kak vui mozhetay byt nastolko glupo?”

He didn’t know Russian but he was pretty sure that was what he heard and it had something to do with acting stupid. At least he hoped so. Noga wondered if all the people who worked for this man were as dense as these two. No matter. He had his own problems to think about. If he could get out of this alive, he’d head across the border. He had friends in Harare. They could help him get a new start. And he had an idea where the coltan came from in the first place. That knowledge should be worth something. The getting out alive would be the difficult bit. He had no doubt that if they decided they were finished with him, he’d be dead in an instant. What could he do to stay alive?

The man in charge shouted something else at the men, in Afrikaans this time. But there were more Russian words here and there. Russian. Botlhokwa had mentioned something about the Russians, and there was the Russian he’d worked with earlier. He tried to figure out if any of them were connected somehow. He couldn’t, but an idea began to come together in his mind, a plan. Perhaps he did have something to offer besides the coltan. In for a penny, in for a pound the English say. He’d never get out of this mess free and clear as it now stood. He needed something to bargain with. So, why not give them Botlhokwa? He would be his bargaining chip. If he had the chance, he’d serve Mr. Big up on a spit. That warthog was probably set to do it to him anyway, so he’d do it to him first.

The two Boers left. Noga waited for what happened next. He didn’t believe this man in charge would be the one who pulled the trigger and no one else seemed to be around, so he had some time to think things through.

Botlhokwa. With any luck today Botlhokwa goes down and I go free.

***

The two “English” had returned the truck to the leasing agency just after nine when the lot gate opened. The “agency” was actually a used car dealer who had come to realize early on that most of his customers had neither the money nor adequate credit to actually purchase the vehicles they desired. Lease-to-purchase more nearly described the transactions. He accepted the truck back into inventory with some reluctance. The right door panel had acquired a new dent and the wheel wells were crammed with mud and branches. He started to say something but Jack made him an offer that made the dent disappear, so to speak. For cash and anonymity, he would purchase an old Volvo sedan. The cash and car exchanged hands, suitable number plates from a wreck on the back lot were affixed, and the transaction promptly forgotten.

There are several lesser known lodges on the Chobe besides the four, soon to be five, internationally recognized hotels. Jack and Harvey booked into the seediest one just off the main road. Jack called his coltan buyer and they waited. Their need for invisibility rose from the need to avoid the Boers who’d they assumed had taken up the search for them, and the inevitable pressure from the men who’d financed the operation in the first place, and who would want to execute a quick payoff. With interest, of course. But, until Jack and Harvey received their money from the sale of the coltan, they could not pay the lenders. So, they hid out and waited for the call. The lodge had no room service and soon they would have to venture out to eat. But they felt safe enough for the moment.

“We should have stocked up on beer and sandwiches. One of us will have to go for food soon.”

“We’ll wait a bit, Harv. There’s water in that fridge thing there. This place isn’t much but it’s in pretty good nick and the desk clerk said there would be some snacks in the lobby area noonish. Right now, I am knackered. I’m for grabbing some kip. As soon as we hear from the buyers, we nip out, grab the loot, and fly away.”

“Brilliant. That is
if
we hear from the buyers before the others ferret us out.”

“Ah, there you go again. We have the GPS, Harvey. They daren’t do nothing to us as long as it’s under the bushel out on the island.”

“But it’s not on the island or even under a bushel.”

“They won’t know that, now will they. Stop worrying. It’s tight.”

Harvey leaned toward the window and peered out. Several cars had arrived since they checked in and were parked near their Volvo. He didn’t like it. Who were these people? What sort of person checked into a hotel in the early morning? People like them, is who. People on the bunk. He didn’t like it at all. Too easy, he’d said. And it had been. Something bad was coming their way and he knew it. No sense talking about it though. Jack wouldn’t listen.

A PT Cruiser pulled up and two men climbed out. Big men in black suits. What kind of men wore black suits in the heat and humidity of the Chobe. Not from around here, surely.

“Jack, wake up.”

“What?”

“There are two big blokes in a sedan just pulled up. They don’t look right to me. We may have to pull out in a hurry. Where are the car keys?”

“What are you on about?”

“Come see.”

Jack went to the window. Harvey pointed out the car. The two men exited the office and stood at the door. They spoke briefly then and glanced their way.

“Criminy, we’re too late, they’ve got us.”

“Who’s got us? Those two? Nah, they’re inspectors or something. You’re as jumpy as a girl on her first go, Harv.”

The strangers stared at their door, nodded, and climbed back into their vehicle and left.

“There, you see. What did I tell you.
No mathata
, Harvey.”