Time of the Assassins (12 page)

Massenga shook his head then looked down at the telephone. 'What am I supposed to tell him?'
'The truth,' Gubene replied then crossed to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a Scotch.
'That we failed?' Massenga said then slumped back on the sofa. 'He'll crucify us, you know that.'
'You couldn't have anticipated what happened. She'd be dead now if that man hadn't intervened when he did. It wasn't your fault.'
'You want to tell that to Ngune?'
'You're the only one with his number,' Gubene said with a shrug then left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
Massenga dialled the number he had memorized. Ngune answered it immediately at the other end. Massenga told him what had happened at the hotel.
'So she's still alive?' Ngune concluded once Massenga had finished.
'Yes, sir,' Massenga muttered.
'And who was this knight in shining armour?'
Ngune asked sarcastically as he struggled to control his temper.
'I didn't get a good look at him, sir,' Massenga replied. 'It all happened so quickly.'
'You disappoint me, Thomas. I thought you were the one person I could rely on to carry out an order.'
'I couldn't have anticipated his intervention, sir,' Massenga replied defensively, remembering Gubene's words.
'I want results, not excuses!' Ngune snarled angrily. 'And if you can't get them for me, I'll find someone who can. Do I make myself clear?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Find out the identity of the man. Then call me.'
'Do you want him killed?'
'If it's not asking too much,' Ngune retorted facetiously.
'I'll see to it, sir.'
'I hope so, Thomas. If I have to send someone else to Habane it could seriously jeopardize your chances of becoming the new head of the Security Police once we're in power. Remember that.'
'Yes, sir, I realize..." Massenga trailed off when he heard the dialling tone. He replaced the receiver then crossed to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a Scotch. He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.
Sabrina was studying a map of the city when there was a knock at the door. She picked up the Beretta off the bedside table and peered through the spyhole. It was the man with the wire-framed glasses. She opened the door.
'Inside,' she said, beckoning him into the room.
He entered and she closed the door behind him. His
smile faltered when he saw the Beretta in her hand. 'You won't need that, I assure you.'
'Not if you're really Joseph Moredi. But I don't know that yet, do I?'
He swallowed nervously and nodded hesitantly. 'Did you speak to Jamel Mobuto?'
'Not personally. I had one of my colleagues do it.'
'And did he set a question for me?'
She nodded.
'Could we get on with it?' he said anxiously, his eyes darting towards the gun aimed at his stomach.
'While you were at Oxford you once went to a rugby match together. Who was playing?'
'I've never been to a rugby match in my life. We once went to a football match together. Arsenal was the home team. Who were they playing?' he mused thoughtfully. 'They weren't from London. Black and white striped shirts.' He suddenly snapped his fingers together and pointed at Sabrina. 'Newcastle.'
Sabrina lowered the gun. 'I'm glad you got that right.'
'Not half as glad as I am,' Moredi said, indicating the gun in her hand. 'But why did you say rugby...' he trailed off with a knowing smile. 'Of course, a trick question.'
'An added precaution,' she replied then indicated the armchair in the corner of the room. 'Please, won't you sit down, Mr Moredi.'
'Thank you,' he said and eased himself into the armchair.
She replaced the Beretta on the table and sat on the bed. 'One thing still puzzles me. How did Massenga
know I would be on that plane?'
'He was obviously tipped off, but by whom I couldn't say.' He shrugged. 'Was I right about your investigation being linked to the Mobuto brothers?'
'Yes, but I can't go into details.'
'I appreciate that.' Moredi suddenly sat forward, his arms resting on his knees. 'Jamel and Remy Mobuto have been friends of mine for over twenty years. And now they're both in danger. I'll do anything I can to help them, anything.'
'You said earlier that Massenga tried to kill me to prevent me from stumbling on the truth. What exactly did you mean by "the truth" ?'
'I only know part of it. Remy's the only one who knows the whole truth. And he was kidnapped earlier today.'
'By Massenga?'
'By him, or on his orders. Massenga's been Ngune's right-hand man for the past five years. An anonymous caller telephoned me at the newspaper to say that the rebels were holding Remy.'
'Do you have any idea where he's being held?'
'I have it on good authority from one of my more reliable sources that he's being held at the Branco prison in Kondese, in the south of the country, a couple of hours drive from here.'
'How much did Remy Mobuto tell you before he was kidnapped?'
'Only that he was onto a story about a plot to assassinate his brother. It was something big, or so he claimed. It involved Ngune, Massenga and a third man, the man who would pull the trigger.'
'Did he mention a name?'
Moredi shook his head. 'He knew who it was but he wouldn't tell me. Not until he had the proof he needed to publish the story. Remy was like that. He always played his cards close to his chest. He went to a rendezvous with an informant who had that proof. That's when he was abducted.'
'And the informant?'
'Blood was found in his car but there was no sign of him.'
'So Remy is the key to this whole affair?'
Moredi nodded. 'Not only does he know who will pull the trigger, he also knows where and when the assassination will take place.'
'Does the name Bernard mean anything to you?' Sabrina asked.
Moredi bit his lip thoughtfully then shook his head. 'No, I can't say it does. Who is he?'
'That I can't tell you,' Sabrina replied apologetically. 'At least not for the moment.'
'I understand.'
Sabrina bit her lip thoughtfully. 'Why don't the army check out this Branco prison to see if Remy Mobuto is being held there?'
'Kondese is rebel country. The army won't go there. They're waiting up here, in the north, for Ngune to make his first move.'
'So it's a stalemate.'
'At the moment, yes. But Jamel intends to get his generals round the table for talks when he gets back from America. He wants to crush Ngune and his rebels before they set out for Habane. That's certainly one of
the reasons why Ngune wants Jamel dead. He believes it would throw the army into disarray.'
'Would it?'
'Yes,' Moredi replied bluntly. 'But then the army's already in disarray. Many of the soldiers had friends and relatives in the Security Police, Now they're on opposite sides. But will the army try and stop Ngune's men if they do march on Habane? Or will they join them? Nobody really knows the answer. That's what makes it all so uncertain. Zimbala's a powder keg waiting to explode. All it needs is a single spark to set it off. That's why Jamel wants to stop Ngune in his tracks. If Ngune does march on Habane, then the sparks will fly. And whoever does win will have inherited a country bathed in the blood of innocent people. Jamel doesn't want that. He saw enough bloodshed under his father's regime.'
'I still don't see why Massenga tried to kill me this afternoon. If Remy Mobuto is the only person who knows what's going on, then how can I be a threat to them? They've got him. They're holding the aces, not me.'
'They obviously think you're out here to find him. That could ruin everything for them.'
Sabrina propped a pillow against the wall and leaned back against it. 'How long have you had Massenga under surveillance?'
'How did you know that?'
'Why else would you have been at the hotel when he tried to kill me?'
Moredi smiled. 'You're very astute. I don't know how long he's been in Habane. An informant con-
tacted us two days ago and said he'd seen Massenga. We checked out the story and I've had a team of reporters watching him ever since. He won't know he's being watched.'
'Why don't you tell the police about Massenga?'
'Two reasons. Firstly, if they did arrest Massenga it could put Remy's life in danger. And secondly, there are policemen who are sympathetic to Ngune. They would tip him off and Massenga would be pulled out. This way he could still lead us to Remy. I know it's a long shot but we've got to take it.' Moredi paused to wet his lips. 'I've been watching him ever since he went to the airport this afternoon. Actually, it's the second time he's been to the airport in the last two days. He met someone there yesterday off a flight from Beirut. Around noon. They spoke for about an hour. Then the man flew out again. I couldn't find out his name. Only that he'd taken a Pan Am flight to New York via Morocco and Bermuda.'
'Describe him.'
'He was pretty distinctive: tall, good-looking, black hair, black moustache.'
'And a scar,' Sabrina added, tracing her finger down her left cheek.
'Yes,' Moredi replied in surprise. 'How did you know?"
Sabrina swung her legs off the bed. 'I've got to make an urgent phone call. In private.'
'Oh, of course,' Moredi said, getting to his feet. Til go down to the bar and get a beer. Would you like anything?'
'A Diet Cola.'
Moredi left the room.
Sabrina rang Kolchinsky at UN AGO headquarters and briefed him on what Moredi had told her.
'So Bernard met Massenga in Habane,' Kolchinsky said once she had finished. 'I don't see anything suspicious in that. He is supposed to be working with them, remember? It's part of his cover.'
'That may be, Sergei, but it seems a bit of a coincidence that Massenga tries to kill me the day after he meets Bernard.'
'You're reading too much into this meeting, Sabrina.'
'It would certainly explain the attempt on my life this afternoon. How else would Massenga know I was due in Zimbala?'
'It's a possibility, I agree,' Kolchinsky conceded.
'And what about this third man that Remy Mobuto mentioned? It has to be Bernard.'
'Why does it have to be Bernard?' Kolchinsky retorted. 'What do the CIA have to gain by assassinating Mobuto?'
'Who says it's on CIA orders ? He could have made a private deal with Ngune to kill Mobuto.'
'And double-cross Bailey? He wouldn't live long enough to spend the money.'
> 'Put yourself in Bernard's shoes, Sergei. Bailey's sure to have promised him a new identity once this is all over. But Bernard's no fool. He knows the CIA will never use him again. So what's he got to lose by contracting himself to Ngune?'
There was a pause while Kolchinsky pondered her words. 'So you're suggesting that Bailey would have
him killed rather than give him a new identity?'
'He knows too much.'
'But you don't have a shred of evidence to back up this elaborate theory of yours.'
'Remy Mobuto has the evidence. I'm convinced of that now.'
'Remy Mobuto has been kidnapped.'
'And he's being held in Kondese.'
'Don't even think of it, Sabrina!' Kolchinsky snapped sharply. 'You've been assigned to find Michael, not to poke about in rebel country looking for Remy Mobuto. Stay away from Kondese. That's an order!'
'Yes, Sergei,' Sabrina muttered through clenched teeth.
'I think it would be better if you caught the next available flight back to the States. After all, if Moredi's right, then Bernard's here now. And Michael's sure to be close behind him.'
Til make the necessary arrangements.'
There was a knock at the door.
'I've got to go, Sergei. Moredi's back. I'll call you if there are any new developments before I leave. Otherwise I'll see you back in New York.'
'Fine. Goodbye, Sabrina.'
She replaced the receiver then crossed to the door and peered through the spyhole. It was Moredi. She opened the door.
'Finished?' he asked.
'Sure,' she replied and stood aside to let him in.
He handed her a can of Diet Cola. 'What happens now?'
'Nothing,' she replied, opening the can. 'At least not until I've heard from my partner.'
'Where is your partner?'
'I haven't the faintest idea,' she replied then moved to the window and looked down into the street. 'But he'd better contact me soon. We're running out of time. Fast.'
'Not another roadblock,' Graham said tersely, seeing the army patrol ahead of them. 'This is the third one in as many miles.'
'It is the airport road. They're obviously taking no chances,' Laidlaw replied, bringing the white Toyota to a halt behind a rusty blue Fiat.
Graham looked out of the passenger window and counted eight vehicles ahead of them. He threw up his arms in despair. All they could do was wait.
It had been Laidlaw's idea that they both dress as priests. He had borrowed the costumes from a friend, who ran a small theatre in West Beirut, on the pretext of needing them for a fancy-dress party the following evening. They had changed into the costumes before leaving for the airport that morning where they had caught a direct flight to N'djamena, the capital of Chad. Laidlaw had hired the car at N'djamena Airport and they had driven the eighty miles to the Chadian-Zimbalan border where the.Zimbalan authorities had issued them with ten-day visas, like Sabrina. They were stopped regularly by army patrols on the main highway into Habane but each time they were waved on when the soldiers realized they were priests. And, judging by the size of the military presence around
them, they assumed that this would be the last roadblock before the airport.
The Fiat was waved through and Laidlaw drove up to the boom gate and cut the engine. An armed soldier approached the car and peered through the driver's window.
'Passport,' the soldier said in a thick English accent.
'I speak your language,' Laidlaw replied in Swahili and handed the passports to him.
The soldier was surprised to hear his native tongue and smiled at Laidlaw before opening the passports to compare the photographs with the two men in the car. 'What is your business at the airport, Father?'
'We are meeting a friend,' Laidlaw replied then glanced at his watch. 'His flight is due in twenty-five minutes.'
The soldier closed the passports and gave them back to Laidlaw. 'Thank you, Father.'
'Thank you, my son,' Laidlaw replied.
The soldier was about to give the order to raise the boom gate when he saw his commanding officer standing at the entrance of the small Nissen hut at the side of the road. He immediately snapped to attention.
The colonel, a dark-skinned African in his early forties, told him to stand easy then crossed to the Toyota and looked through the passenger window. 'Your passports,' he said to Graham.
'Father Grant doesn't speak Swahili,' Laidlaw said with an apologetic smile. 'He's only been out here a few days.'