Zambezi (45 page)

‘My ass. No serial number, Chris, like the rest of your gear. I worked with Company guys – and women – in Afghanistan. Now, give me the truth or you’re going nowhere. One way or another you’re going to tell me about my daughter.’

Jed could see she was angry, was weighing up the need to get moving with the need for secrecy.

‘All right,’ she hissed. ‘Yes, I’m CIA, a non-official cover agent. There, I’ve said it. I used my degree in zoology as a cover for fieldwork in Africa and Asia and ended up head of the Africa desk back at Langley I retired from the Agency in 2000 to do my PhD and get into animal research full-time – turned out I liked my cover a lot more than my real job. After September 11, though, they came looking for me and I volunteered again. A lot of us came back after that.’

He nodded. It was the same in the Army. Plenty of guys had gone back onto active duty after the horror of the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. ‘So where does Miranda fit in?’

‘She was a volunteer on a research program I was running. She’d also been assessed by the Agency as possible career trainee material. I was told to watch her, talk to her, and initially recruit her as a civilian asset. The idea was to put her on the payroll if she did well.’

‘Jesus Christ. An
asset?
So you sent her to this place to do your dirty work.’

‘There were legitimate reasons for sending her, both from a wildlife conservation point of view and for intelligence-gathering reasons.’

‘What’s the connection with bin Zayid? Did you send her up here to spy on him?’

‘That’s a crude way of putting it…’

‘I’m a fucking crude guy when I want to be, Chris.’

‘We’ve been monitoring Islamic fundamentalist groups and certain individuals in east and southern Africa since the bombings of the embassies a few years ago in Kenya and Tanzania. He came up on our radar because of his brother.’

‘Don’t talk to me about his brother.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I killed him in Afghanistan, apparently.’

‘You what? This is too weird. When did you find all this out?’

‘A little while ago, from my reporter buddy inside. As usual they seem to know more than you spooks or the intel people.’ His remark was not as glib as it seemed. More than once in the tactical operations centre in Bagram he’d seen a room full of staff officers glued to CNN to find out the latest about some incident or other. Nothing beat real-time news, and some reporters were as good as or better than intelligence analysts at putting together the pieces of a complex puzzle.

Chris let the insult slide. ‘We were looking for some terrorist suspects that I believed were based in Zimbabwe. I figured Hassan bin Zayid had the money and motive to be the cell’s financial backer.’

Jed took a pace back, easing the physical and psychological pressure on her, and lowered the gun.

He rubbed his eyes. ‘So you set my daughter up to get friendly with him.’

‘It wasn’t like that, Jed. Not what you think.’

‘Not what I
think!
How the hell do you know what I think? The ranger up at Marongora said they were kissing, Chris. Was that
all?
Did she fall in love with the fucking target?’

‘We don’t use the honey trap, Jed. That was for the Russians, and James Bond. Miranda wasn’t sent up here to sleep with bin Zayid. But I’m not sure what her feelings for him were – and that’s the truth. I had my suspicions, but she wouldn’t give anything away when she last came to see me. You found out about her trip down to South Africa a couple of weeks ago. It was a debriefing, both on her lion research work and on what she’d found out about bin Zayid.’

‘And what did she find out about him?’

‘Her assessment was that he was clean. He espoused no fundamentalist Islamic beliefs; he drank alcohol and liked to party; he had had relationships with western women in the past; he seemed genuinely shocked by September 11 and generally had a pro-western outlook on life and politics,’

Chris explained. ‘There was one other thing …’

‘What?’

She looked as though she were weighing up whether or not to tell him. ‘Miranda got hold of bin Zayid’s brother’s phone number. I heard Langley was putting an EW trace on him.’

‘Jesus. So it was probably information gained by Miranda that helped the electronic warfare guys pinpoint Iqbal bin Zayid’s terrorist cell and the surface-to-air missiles in Afghanistan.’ The revelation stunned him for a second. He didn’t know whether to feel proud of Miranda, angry at Chris, or to blame himself for the chain of events that was unfolding before his eyes. The dread pumped through him like snake venom.

‘It’s no one’s fault, Jed. Don’t waste time trying to pin this on someone. Miranda did a job I assigned her and did it well. She also got pictures of two other men who passed through bin Zayid’s place. They were subsequently identified as terrorists and terminated.’

He rubbed his eyes. Chris was right. Miranda had done her job. Chris had done hers, and he had done his. Even the reporter, Luke, had only been doing what he’d been paid to. ‘There were some things at bin Zayid’s place that didn’t add up. Now they’re starting to.’

‘What? You went to bin Zayid’s game reserve?’ Chris asked.

‘Yeah. They said he wasn’t home, but he had a henchman who seemed to be hiding something. The guy had a Land Rover packed with enough guns and ammo to take out an infantry company. There were two of everything – packs and weapons – but only one goon. Maybe he was waiting for his boss to return. Also, someone tried to carjack me on the way out of Zambia – maybe they thought I’d seen too much. If bin Zayid’s turned, then it could have been because of his brother’s death. There was enough information in the media to link me – and Miranda — to the killing.’

Chris nodded. ‘Where are these pictures of Miranda, Jed?’

‘They’re on a photo memory card. I looked at them on Miranda’s laptop, but I don’t want to arouse Luke’s suspicions by viewing them again.’

‘Luke?’

‘The reporter. He tracked me down halfway across Africa, from Zanzibar.’

‘Gutsy.’

‘I told him it wasn’t Miranda, but it was, no doubt about it. I’m not sure he bought it, though.’

‘Why lie to him?’ Chris asked.

‘I don’t want any more publicity about this at the moment.’

‘And I don’t want him finding out about the plane crash yet either.’

‘So, why was Miranda with this bin Zayid guy on his boat? Did she run off with her boyfriend and forget to tell anyone, or has he made the connection between her and the Company?’

Chris pondered the question, chewing on her lower lip. ‘I got our people in the US embassy in South Africa to trace his movements, and Miranda’s. They had records of him leaving Zambia and arriving in Tanzania – in Zanzibar. But there are no records of Miranda leaving Zimbabwe or Zambia, or crossing any other borders, for that matter.’

‘So he got her to Tanzania illegally. The confusing thing is that in the pictures it doesn’t look like she’s being held against her will, and Luke said he saw the two of them kissing.’

Chris spoke her mind. ‘Maybe he wanted her out of the way – out of the Zambezi Valley He didn’t want her dead, but he wanted it to look like she’d been killed by a lion. By presenting himself at customs and immigration he left a paper trail that showed he was in Zanzibar – legally A good alibi.’

‘An alibi? For what?’

‘Nothing.’

‘OK, then how come there are records of him crossing all the borders, but not Miranda? How do you smuggle someone against their will? How do you get in and out of an airport unseen these days?’

‘He has a private plane and a luxury boat. If she’s on board all he needs to do is get her to give him her passport so he can look after the formalities. It happens all the time over here. Tour operators take in a dozen passports at a time, for all their clients, and the immigration guys just stamp away. It’s not like the States, Jed – there’s no retinal scans or electronic fingerprint checks.’

‘Yeah, so I’ve noticed. So, he’s got her, illegally, out of the country, and made it look like she’s dead. That doesn’t sound good to me.’ The pieces started to fall into place in Jed’s mind. ‘This plane crash … who was on board?’

‘I’ve got to go, Jed,’ Chris pushed past him. ‘Time’s wasting.’

He grabbed her again, by the shoulders. ‘Chris, I’m in this up to my neck already. Miranda’s alive and you’re talking about alibis. Level with me. What happened with this plane crash and who was on board?’

‘Please, Jed. Just give me the pistol.’

‘Why? Worried about crocodiles?’

‘I don’t have time for smart-ass remarks.’

He dropped his hands to his side and looked into her eyes. ‘Neither do I. I’m coming with you if it’s dangerous enough for you to need a pistol. I don’t want to see anything happen to you. Not now I’ve found you.’

He couldn’t blame Chris for lying to him – he’d have done the same in her situation. His feelings for her were too deep for him to let her go now.

Chris took a deep breath. ‘Lieutenant General Donald Calvert was on board that aircraft. It was shot down by a surface-to-air missile. There’s a CIA pick-up team – hard asses from Special Operations Group – flying from South Africa to Lusaka by Lear jet as we speak. The Zambian army has scrambled a helicopter to bring them down here. I’ve been ordered to cross the border by boat and see if I can work out what’s going on.’

‘Holy shit.’

‘Exactly.’

And you think bin Zayid’s involved? He’s kidnapped Miranda as insurance and made it look like he’s in Zanzibar.’

She nodded. ‘I can’t be a hundred per cent sure, Jed, but the last thing I heard, when I got the news about the missile hit, was that bin Zayid was on the move again, in his boat.’

‘On his way to where?’

‘This morning he docked at Dar es Salaam from Zanzibar. From Miranda’s early reports we know he’s got a ranch with a private airstrip just out of Dar. He could have flown there.’

‘Was he alone on the boat? Luke saw Miranda with him on his cruiser.’

Chris took another deep breath and put a hand on his arm. As I said, there’s no record of Miranda crossing any borders. Tanzanian customs have a record of bin Zayid entering the country alone, except for …’

‘Except for what, Chris?’

‘Two coffins.’

Jed turned, shaking her hand off him, and stared out towards the river. A row of lights glowed on the Zambian shore. The light of the explosion further upriver had died away. He felt nauseated. ‘Who was in them?’

‘The paperwork said two African males. I’d be surprised if the customs guys inspected the bodies.

There’s a plague in this part of the world, called AIDS.’

He was helpless. His daughter had disappeared again. Maybe she was dead for real this time. He couldn’t stand around all night tormenting himself with myriad gruesome scenarios. What he needed now was to do something. Anything.

‘One thing at a time,’ he said. ‘Let’s go see if we can find Calvert. After that I’m going back to bin Zayid’s safari camp. This time I’m going to get answers.’

‘OK.’ Chris hurried into the lodge to collect the rest of her gear.

Jed followed her. He heard the shower running and was pleased that Luke Scarborough was out of their hair for a while. The last thing they needed now was a reporter nosing about.

Jed, Chris and Moses had assembled in the lodge’s downstairs living room. Jed, who had changed into black jeans, combat boots and a dark-green T-shirt, outlined his simple plan, quickly and quietly, worried that the reporter would catch them. His strategy had more holes than a poster of Saddam Hussein after the fall of Baghdad. Jed had briefed Moses on the crash and told him it was the work of terrorists. He’d also let on that Chris was a part-time US government employee, as well as a wildlife researcher. The tracker had nodded his understanding.

‘Moses, I’ll give you a chance to back out. You know we can use your help, but we can’t order you to break a dozen local and international laws,’ Jed said to the tracker.

‘You are going to look for your daughter. You don’t want to be eaten by a lion or killed by a hippo on the way Without a trained guide you will be blind in the African bush.’

‘OK, you’re in, Moses. Let’s do it,’ Jed said.

They filed out of the lounge room and Jed and Chris paused by the concrete barbecue outside. Jed fished a half-burned stick from the ashes and rubbed black charcoal up and down his bare arms. He smeared more on his face, then anointed Chris with the rudimentary camouflage.

‘I’ll pass,’ Moses said, and they all laughed. It did a little to ease their nerves.

They had decided the quickest way to the crash site was by boat. Moses had told them of a canoe safari operation that was currently set up at Nyamepi Camp, the main camping ground near Park headquarters. The safari clients were not due for another two days and Moses was sure the operators would be in bed early.

Jed checked his watch, and the rising moon. As well as a boat he needed a weapon. Chris had tried to protest and Moses had looked doubtful, but he was not crossing an international border in search of terrorists armed with surface-to-air missiles while they had one pistol between the three of them.

A dull light glowed in the window of the headquarters building. Moses led them in a dogleg behind the building, close to the river, and they came to a wire fence, holed and sagging from past incursions by elephants. They followed the fence until they found a gap large enough for all of them to climb through without rattling the strands.

‘We are in the staff compound,’ Moses whispered.

Jed had a basic memory of the layout of the settlement. He recognised the low tin-roofed workshop building, with two partly disassembled Land Rovers resting on axle stands outside. Moses led them through a thicket of trees to the grey-painted storeroom where Miranda’s possessions had been kept.

‘Well, here goes the first crime of the night,’ Jed whispered to Chris.

‘Second. We’re not even supposed to be out of the lodge after dark,’ she corrected him.

Jed advanced, armed with a long-bladed screwdriver from the Land Rover’s tool kit. He had told them that he alone would break into the storeroom. If he was discovered, then Chris and Moses could at least carry on undetected, while he faced the warden’s wrath. He moved forward at a crouch, pausing behind a low shrub to look and listen. There was the faint sound of tinny music from a battery-powered radio in one of the staff houses. Paraffin lanterns burned warm and orange from a few windows. Chickens clucked somewhere nearby. He smelled wood smoke from a cooking fire and human excrement from the communal toilet block.