Frederick Ramsay_Botswana Mystery 02 Page 11

  “I see and I don’t see. You are in a jam. I get that part. The…what did you call them? The Bratva are threatening you. I get that part, too. What do they want from you, and what guarantees do you have that if you comply they will forget all about you?”

  “That is the hard part. What they want me to do is dangerous. It could compromise many other people, and perhaps end in your having to leave Botswana as well. That is, if I am caught. And the answer to the second part is that I have no assurances at all they will not come after me again if they need something else. It is not a good prospect. I am short on options. And then there is the casino to consider.”

  “You better tell me everything. Then we’ll see if we can un-complicate it. As you say, I do have sources. And I also have options they, and you too, may not know about.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “The Russian on the Permanent Residency Permit spent the best part of two hours in a restaurant with some very shady characters yesterday afternoon. What do you suppose that meant?”

  Modise listened with half an ear. His latest telephone call from Sanderson distracted him and he hardly heard his boss. Kgabo Modise had no idea, but if the characters were who he suspected they were, he could guess. Lenka.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I have a call here from Kasane. It is about that shooting in the park, I think. What were you saying?”

  “Our people reported that the Russian, Greshenko, spent some time in the company of people thought to be associated with the ex-Russian intelligence assets. You know how that works. They would have been his co-workers in the past. At least some of them would have been. It’s hard to draw the line between their mafia types, the former KGB operatives, and the new order. It has become like smoke and mirrors with them. One can’t always tell where one begins and the other ends. Lenka, it seems has his eyes on opportunities in our country. So far it is mostly working the information mill for his contacts in the embassy. Let’s hope it stays that way for now.”

  “Probably not worth the effort to keep them apart, but is his meeting with them so unusual? He is a Russian national living here on a Residency Permit. He has a history with them. Wouldn’t they be interested in his comings and goings?”

  “Yes, that is so but the way he entered the building it seemed odd to our people in the field, so they reported it.”

  “Odd?”

  The director sifted through the reports on his desk and withdrew one. He jerked his head forward which caused his reading glasses to drop from his forehead to the end of his nose.

  “He left his taxi at the mall parking lot and walked the distance to the restaurant which is, as you know a bit of a hike. Why not have the taxi drop him off at the front entrance? He carried a large overnight case with him.” Modise shook his head. “We have to ask, why does a man bring his suitcase to the food court? They also report that they couldn’t be sure, but the case he carried seemed heavier on the way out than on the way in.”

  “With respect, Director, that is a stretch, don’t you think? How can someone fifty or more meters away possibly know if a case is heavier? And even if it were, what significance does that carry?”

  “None at all on the face of it. They also report he received a visitor that night in his hotel room. The person in question is one of the men on our watch list. He is a seller of illegal and questionable merchandise. He carried a roll-along in and left without it.”

  “No idea what the luggage contained?”

  “Oh yes. Ideas we have, evidence of wrong doing, none, you see.”

  “Yes, so you wish me to explore this coincidence with Mr. Greshenko when I return to Kasane?”

  “Yes. With the American Secretary of State arriving soon, it is imperative we confirm what that case contained.”

  Modise’s phone rang again. “Excuse me, Director, it is the police superintendent from Kasane on the line.” His boss signaled for him to take the call. “Yes, Mwambe, you have news?”

  “Indeed, Modise. We have traced this license number you gave to us. The number plates were reported stolen in Jo’berg two months ago. This morning they were turned in to the station by a road vendor who found them behind his shed.”

  “Very good. I don’t suppose anyone has reported number plates missing in Kasane.”

  “Not yet, but I am guessing they soon shall unless, of course, they went to Botlhokwa for replacements.”

  “How would that make a difference?”

  “It is said he has useful numbers for sale. All untraceable. We believe he takes or buys them from abandoned vehicles, and collects stolen plates from neighboring countries. Very hard to track, you see.”

  “Very good. Stay on it. We will find those men eventually. And thank you.”

  Modise couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard a muffled ‘Ha’ on the other end. Well, so be it. Mwambe had issues. Modise didn’t have time to deal with them. Not today.

  “There is another thing. We have identified the victim. He is Congolese and harmless, we believe.”

  “Harmless? What does that mean?”

  “What brought him to the park was not dangerous to anyone but himself, I would say.”

  Modise let that go. He’d get back to Mwambe and that nonsensical analysis later that day when he returned to Kasane.

  ***

  Leo waited for Greshenko to collect his thoughts. There was no need to rush and clarity would be preferable to haste in any case.

  “Perhaps this is not the best place to speak.”

  Leo glanced around the crowded restaurant and shook his head. “Actually, Yuri, I think this may be the ideal spot. I’m guessing here but what I’m hearing, or more accurately, what I am not hearing, is that you are in some deep shit and might be under surveillance. Am I close?”

  Greshenko nodded.

  “Then to be seen eating dinner with your partner in a local, crowded restaurant would seem the most innocent venue for us. If we were to traipse off into the bush or deliberately set up a meet where we could not be observed, it would be a tip-off you were up to something. So, smile and talk to me.”

  Greshenko nodded once and forced a smile to his lips. “Very well. I’ll skip the history lesson. You know most of it already. As I said, I must do this thing and if I refuse, I will be found, best case, missing. Worst case, dead, you see?” He signaled for the waitress to bring another round of drinks and asked for a dessert menu.

  “I met with the unofficial arm of Russian Intelligence you could say. Never mind who they are. They run for my old country the sorts of things your government refers to as ‘black ops.’ Freelance contractors would best describe it. Only not obviously connected to the government, you understand?”

  Leo did, or thought he did. What the CIA and other intelligence gathering arms of his government did or did not do he’d mostly learned from fiction and the internet and in as much as both of those sources were dominated more by imagination than fact, he couldn’t say with certainty if what he knew had any connection with reality. He did understand, however, why the government might purchase toilet seats for seventeen hundred dollars. The money to run those programs had to come from somewhere. What he knew of the Russian equivalents was even vaguer. It didn’t matter.

  “Okay. I meet with these men at a Russian restaurant in the big mall. It is not very busy. No surprise there. I don’t think there is a big demand for Russian cuisine. Chinese, maybe, but not Russian.”

  Leo circled his hand. “Get to the point, Yuri. I don’t need to know about either the restaurant or their problems.”

  “No, of course not. Okay, they lay it out to me. Do this or else.” Greshenko paused and drained his bottle. The waitress reappeared with new drinks and the menu. “I have in my room a suitcase full of highly sophisticated listening devices and another filled with money. I am to place these devices in our rooms where the Arab nationals are staying. Then, I am to bug…is that how you say it? I am to bug the Mowana Lodge where the American Secretary of State will be stayin
g.”

  “Jesus, Yuri, how do they expect you to do that? You heard what that cop said. If anybody tries anything like that, the whole lodge and everybody in it gets hammered.”

  “Yes, well that is what the money is for. They assume that if the offer to allow me in the rooms is high enough, their fear of discovery will be overcome.”

  Leo pushed his plate aside and contemplated the corrugated tin ceiling for a moment. He withdrew his evening cigar, the one he’d been saving for later, and lit up. Greshenko folded his napkin and swallowed half the contents of his beer in a single tilt.

  “You know, of course, you’re being set up. One way or the other, no matter what you do from here on out, you’re screwed.”

  Greshenko stared at the red and white checked, oilskin table cloth. “Of course.”

  “Look, if you’re successful, they will be back for more. If you fail, they’ll leave you twisting in the wind. If you mess it up—a little of both—or worse. You’re in a no-win here, Yuri.”

  Greshenko sighed and waved his hand. “But what are my choices? I am speaking to you as my friend. If you had not arranged for me to accompany you here in the first place my life would be…would not be so good. My only course is to flee. I must dump this stuff, use one of my old passports, and disappear.”

  “That’s one option, surely, but not the only one and maybe not the best one. They found you here, they will find you wherever you go.”

  “You have an alternative for me?”

  “I might and I might not. We’re done here and I need to make a few calls.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Jack and Harvey may not have been the sharpest tools in the shed, but anyone looking at their body of work would have to admit they usually deployed original techniques to separate people from their money.

  “Jack, wait ’til you hear this. I got it.”

  “What? More buyers, sellers, capital? What have you managed to dig up for us?”

  “The way in. A safe, sure, and, I might also say, guaranteed entry into the park. All we need to do is show up.”

  “What’s it going to cost us?”

  “That’s the good part. Nada, nil, nothing. The guy’s going to usher us in and thank us to boot.”’

  “How?”

  “You’ll never believe this. I’m in that little coffee shop getting us our mornings, and I happen to look at the wall and there’re all sorts of posters and notices. There’s one for a meeting. ‘Operation Paradise’ it says. My bell rings. Something I’ve heard about I think. I’m thinking about the orgone energy caper we’ve heard of, so I reckon I’ll check in on those birds. I slipped around there last night to have a peek. Talk about your fanatics.”

  “Here, hand me the sugar bowl and get on with it, Harv. I ain’t got all day.”

  “Steady on. I’m in the back listening, you know, just trying to get the lay of the land, you could say, and this chap in a uniform sidles up to me. He’s suspicious, see, because I’m not a regular, and I guess they get a lot of newspaper people and troublemakers crashing their meetings. So he asks what my business is.”

  “What’d you tell him?” Jack stuck a match and lit a small kero stove and placed a kettle on it.

  “I tell him the unvarnished truth short a few details, of course. Like I said, I’d been listening to these screwballs for a half hour or so and picked up the lingo, so I said. ‘We’re bringing hope and healing to the Chobe.’ Like that.”

  “Hope and healing? What are you going on at, Harv?”

  “Just that. He says, ‘Orgonite?’ And I says, ‘Yes, a great deal.” He says ‘Who sent you? We never had a white man in here before.’”

  “How’d you handle that one?”

  “Oh, I was brilliant. I’d been reading their handouts. All about the worldwide network of saviors, you could say. Some pretty important folks have their names attached to this business. Anyway, one name catches my eye. So I tell him his nibs, TPW, himself is behind our effort.”

  “The Prince of Wales. You’re bonkers. How’d you come up with that one?”

  “You are not paying me mind, Jack. I told you I had their handouts and there in the literature is a reference to Charlie himself, big as life. I figure it can’t get any better than that, so then this chap says he’ll help us.”

  “And how is that going to go down?” Jack filled a pot with hot water and dropped in a tea ball to steep.

  “I mentioned he wore a uniform, right? Okay, so he’s a game ranger and has access to a set up, an entrance through the fence he knows about. Seems there is a fair amount of traffic through there. He said he’d meet us inside but I said no, not necessary. That we have our orders as to where we were to seed—that’s how they describe what they do, seeding the continent with orgone energy—and we could manage. So, after that he gives me directions where this hole is and how to open and close it. Then said to be careful.”

  “Careful of what? He’s the guy in charge. What can go wrong?”

  “Actually, he’s not in charge and is pretty snarky about that, I learned over a beer later, but that’s not the point. He said a week ago one of their people tried to bring in the stuff and someone shot him and took off with the goods.”

  “Wait a minute, some fellow went into the park with this chap’s okay and some other bloke shot him and took the rubbish? That don’t make sense, Harvey.”

  “That’s what I said, and he says…he’s a little paranoid besides being angry about a missed promotion…that there are forces at work to stop the mission. The old colonial powers, he says, want to regain their lost territory or some nonsense, and they can only do it by keeping Africa weak. That’s why he was suspicious of me, see? They think if they get strong with this jiggery pokey…well, the whole enterprise don’t make sense but who cares? I expect he thought I was one of those old colonials come to spy. But he knew about Prince Charlie sure enough. I told you, they’re all missing a few cards from their deck.”

  “But he’s going to let us in and maybe take a bullet. Bloody nice of him, that.”

  “Actually he said it should be safe now, or safer, because the police were on it. I got the impression that the local coppers had an interest in the project somehow.”

  “Interest in the orgone thing? That’s a neat trick. Okay, I accept it for now. Keep checking. My news is I’ve heard from our self-proclaimed general in the north and he has the goods for us. He also has a buyer or two. He thinks of us as the middle men. You know, delivery boys. We’ll disabuse him of that later. We are not in the business of working on commission.”

  “He won’t come after us?”

  “How can he? We’ll sell the stuff and we’re off to where the sun and surf call our names and—”

  “Bob’s your uncle.”

  “Exactly”

  “It still don’t feel right.”

  ***

  “Sanderson, we have identified these pictures for you. You know, of course, that the one man is your associate, Andrew Takeda. The other fellow is called Noga, no first name. He is reputed to be high up in Botlhokwa’s organization. We received some information, a rumor actually, that he has stepped over the line a time or two to work some private deals on his own. That may or may not have earned him in Botlhokwa’s distrust. There is also a report he is overseeing some new actors in the area, but we cannot confirm that either.”

  “Why was he meeting with Andrew?”

  “We are not sure. Can you suggest anything? Takeda works for you, after all.”

  “Nothing. Well, perhaps, but I cannot credit it. I was promoted over him. He had seniority and was Mr. Pako’s choice to take over, but someone in Gabz overruled it and I was chosen. Andrew did not take it so nicely.”

  “And this suggests that he engaged this Noga person to threaten you?”

  “It is all I can think of. What else could it be?”

  “A possibility surely, but there is another. Since we acquired computers and the go-ahead from the President’s office, we h
ave put into place the means to check financial transactions. It appears your Mr. Takeda has received sums of money over the years. He deposits them in an account that he does not acknowledge as his when it is tax time. We believe he is being paid by someone for services he would rather weren’t generally known.”

  “Services? What sort of…he was selling information about the park or the animals?”

  “More, we are guessing. Access probably. If you wish to move something through the park, wouldn’t it be better if the authorities could make that happen?”

  “He let people in? But what is the point? Anyone can enter the park if they wish. There is a fee but it is not so great that a bribe is necessary.”

  “I am thinking of your cinema people, the ones who left their equipment behind. How did they manage that without someone’s help?”

  “They were shooting filthy pictures, weren’t they?” Modise nodded. “He could have done that. And that would clear Mr. Pako because he caught them and sent them packing.”

  “So it would seem. And there are other possibilities. Perhaps they are irregular but innocent, perhaps not. Will you search your records for the last several years and see if you can discover a pattern of instances…things out of the ordinary that might line up with these deposits?”

  “Do I need a list of the transactions?”

  “No, not right now. I prefer you do it blind. I trust you, Sanderson, but I don’t want you to be tempted to connect one thing to another to make a case. If this man is dirty, we will find him out soon enough.”

  “I will speak to Andrew. He must be put on probation pending a hearing.”

  “No, do not do that. Not yet. He is a little fish and may lead us to bigger ones. We can reel him in anytime, but with border activity heating up I would rather have someone in place we know about than have to find a new one which they would recruit. The temptation for riches is too great.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The cargo plane, a refurbished DC 3 and relic of thousands of hours in the service of one suspect owner or another, lifted off the ground and banked sharply left to avoid the Rwandan hills that loomed several kilometers ahead. Below a few natives shook their fists at the plane as it soared overhead scattering their cattle. The pilot, a veteran of the backwoods forays in one continent or another, lit a cigarette from the butt of the one he’d just finished and stubbed the first out on the cockpit bulkhead. His companion eyed the mess on the floor, the accumulated stubs, paper cups, and tissues, and wrinkled his nose. The pilot merely shrugged.