Ivory Nation Page 10
Eli pursed her lips.
‘Hotel first, then we’ll call them and make an appointment.’
Gabriel nodded.
‘Better.’
Taylor had packed their materiel in nondescript black nylon holdalls. They hefted the heavy bags onto their shoulders and entered the blessedly cool reception area, making their way to the stairs without attracting so much as a glance from the other guests thronging the marble-floored space.
Sitting in an armchair in their room, Gabriel launched a browser on his laptop and Googled ‘Botswana Defence Force’. He called the main switchboard number.
‘BDF. How may I direct your call today?’
‘Hi. Can you put me through to the Anti-Poaching Unit, please.’
‘Hold the line, please.’
Gabriel smiled at Eli, who was field-stripping her AK-47. The phone clicked.
‘This is Major Edward Modimo. To whom am I speaking?’
Gabriel gave his prepared lines.
‘Major Modimo, my name is Alec Jensen. I’m a freelance journalist. I’m travelling with a colleague in Botswana. We’re researching a piece on the illicit ivory trade. We’d like to interview you about the BDF’s anti-poaching efforts.’
Gabriel heard the major sigh. He held his own breath.
‘A journalist? For which media outlet? The Times of London? The BBC? Buzzfeed?’ he added, with barely concealed contempt.
‘As I said, I’m freelance, but yes, the piece is for the Times. An in-depth report.’
‘Your colleague. He is a photographer?’
Sensing a way in, Gabriel improvised.
‘Yes, absolutely. Although he is actually a she. We’d obviously want some good photos of you and your men.’
‘Do I need to visit my barber?’
Gabriel hesitated.
‘I’m sure, Major, your appearance will be—’
The major laughed.
‘I am joking, Mr Jensen. Yes, come and see me. In three days’ time, if you will. Wednesday. Be here at ten hundred hours. Goodbye.’
Gabriel put the phone down.
‘That was easy,’ he said. ‘We need to buy a camera.’
Eli slotted the bolt home in the rifle and laid it on the bed beside her.
‘Come on then, “Alec”,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘Bags I drive this time.’
The manager of Hi-Tek Electronics began apologising as soon as Gabriel and Eli entered her shop. A slender lady in her late forties, with a sharp gaze behind lemon-yellow glasses, she was immaculately dressed in a pale-grey skirt and white blouse, a string of scarlet beads at her throat.
‘Welcome, Sir, Madam. The air conditioning just broke down. Sorry for the heat.’
‘It’s fine, really,’ Eli said with a smile.
‘How can I help you today?’
They emerged thirty minutes later with a brand-new Canon digital SLR in a white carrier bag emblazoned with the shop’s logo.
Eli laughed.
‘I thought she was never going to let us go!’
‘She was just proud of her shop,’ Gabriel said.
‘I must have looked at ten cameras.’
‘You have to admit, she was a good saleswoman.’
‘Good? She was brilliant. I hope our benefactor doesn’t blink when he sees the receipt.’
‘From what I saw of him, he’d probably find the money down the back of his sofa.’
18
Waiting for the Met Police detective, Gabriel and Eli stood side by side next to the ivory elephant. The arrivals hall vibrated to the mingled sounds of joyous family reunions, excitable children and executives competing with each other to dominate their conversations.
‘There she is,’ Eli said, pointing to a lone white woman dragging a wheeled suitcase across the polished granite floor. ‘Stella!’
Stella turned towards the sound and grinned when she saw Eli, who was striding through the crowds to meet her. Gabriel followed in her wake, eyes flicking left and right, alert to threats.
The two women shook hands, then Eli enveloped Stella in a hug. Stella turned to Gabriel.
‘What’s it to be, a hug or a handshake?’
Gabriel opted for a hug, marvelling, not for the first time at how many badass women he’d met in his life.
We need to get together, Sis. Soon.
‘You’re going to love the hotel,’ Eli said, as she led the trio to the carpark and the Mercedes they’d rented that morning. ‘Fantastic pool, excellent restaurant. And a couple of really cute staff members.’
‘Hey!’ Gabriel said, eyes wide in mock-outrage.
‘Almost as cute as Gabe,’ Eli added, winking at Stella.
‘I can’t wait,’ Stella said, grinning at Eli.
Once they arrived at the hotel, they agreed to let Stella check in and get herself unpacked, then meet at the pool bar for a beer at midday.
Under a rush-roofed cabana, Gabriel, Eli and Stella sipped from bottles of ice-cold St Louis Export lager, the pride of Gaborone’s Kgalagadi Breweries.
Stella frowned, and swiped a hand across her face.
‘Are you all right?’ Eli asked.
‘Just a little jet-lagged. So,’ she said brightly, ‘what’s the plan?’
‘What’s your plan?’ Gabriel asked. ‘Don told us you were out here following up a lead on Princess Alexandra’s killer.’
‘We found a soil trace and an insect mouthpart in the sniper nest. Believe it or not, our forensics guys narrowed it down to here. I’m thinking an Israeli physics teacher would have stood out as much in Gaborone as we do. Somebody might have seen him meeting someone, because one thing I can tell you, he wasn’t acting alone. Someone paid him to do it.’
‘Or forced him,’ Eli said.
‘Or forced him,’ Stella agreed.
‘I just can’t see it,’ Eli said. She spread her hands wide. ‘I mean, even if he was a Mossad agent, why? I mean, what possible reason could the Mossad have for assassinating a member of the British royal family? It doesn’t make any sense.’
‘She’d recently given a speech at an event backed by Hezbollah,’ Stella said. ‘The Palace put out a press statement saying she hadn’t been aware of the connection and was speaking on humanitarian issues, but it was widely reported as a pro-Palestinian speech.’
Eli snorted.
‘Listen, Stella, if the Mossad went around killing every prominent Brit who spoke out in favour of the Palestinians, there’d be piles of corpses in the House of Commons, the media and half the bloody academic world from London to Edinburgh.’
‘Eli’s got a point, Stella,’ Gabriel said. ‘The Mossad go for hard targets. Like we do. Terrorists, gun runners, people financing terror, organisational leadership.’
‘Then give me a motive. Why did Dov Lieberman travel from Israel to London, via Botswana, in order to assassinate a princess?’
‘I don’t know. But I’m going to find out. I know some people who’ll be more than willing to help.’
‘Thanks,’ Stella said. ‘I was hoping you’d say something like that.’
‘You can help us out in return,’ Gabriel said.
‘Sure. How?’
‘We’re going out to the place where the Paras were murdered tomorrow morning. Having a detective along would be really useful.’
They met again in the hotel reception at 7.00 p.m. Beyond the glass doors the hotel’s lights shone out into the darkness, illuminating a few acacias on the far side of the road.
‘Where shall we go to eat?’ Gabriel asked.
‘I’d really like to go somewhere the locals go,’ Stella said. ‘I hate the stuff these hotels serve up. Chicken Kiev, burgers, Caesar salad. You could be anywhere in the world.’
Eli smiled at Stella.
‘I agree. Let’s go and find that barbecue place Phefo mentioned. What was it called?’
‘Koko Loko,’ Gabriel said.
‘How far is it?’
Gabriel checked the distance on his phone
.
‘Mile and a half.’
‘Walk or drive?’
‘Let’s walk,’ Stella said. ‘I love getting a feel of a place.’
Koko Loko occupied a corner site in a busy part of town. The restaurant’s fascia blazed across the street, a backlit riot of orange, green and yellow plastic lettering.
From as far as fifty metres away, Gabriel could smell the smoky, spicy aroma of grilling chicken wafting from its wide-open front door. The sound of laughter and good-natured shouting between tables drifted over, along with the cooking smells.
A sound system set up outside behind the rickety aluminium tables blasted out an infectious, melodic music: guitars, offbeat drumming and a high-pitched man’s voice singing in Tsetswana.
Eli pointed up at the sign.
‘Cute.’
‘Koko means chicken in Tsetswana,’ Gabriel said.
Eli rolled her eyes. She turned to Stella.
‘Gabe speaks a million languages.’
They laughed and Gabriel felt lifted by the good-natured mood.
‘Nyet ya ne! Bù, wǒ bù zhīdào! Nee, ek doen nie!’
Stella’s eyes popped wide open.
‘What?’ she exclaimed.
‘I just said “No I don’t”. In Russian, Cantonese and Afrikaans.’
Eli snorted.
‘Typical of you to research the local lingo.’
‘Which has got us out of at least one scrape since we’ve been together.’
Their banter was interrupted by a smiling man in a flower-print shirt and an apron tied round his waist.
‘Ladies, gentleman, welcome to Koko Loko. I am Jimmy, the boss around here. Table for three, yes?’
Seated outside at a table Jimmy brought out from the interior, Gabriel, Eli and Stella ordered a St Louis each. Jimmy was adamant they should let him choose for them.
‘You won’t be disappointed,’ he said with a grin.
Ten minutes later a waitress, long braids wound up into a glossy coil on the top of her head, brought their food. She wove through the other diners with a huge oval tray balanced expertly on one upturned palm.
‘We have mixed barbecue,’ she said, placing a vast platter of perfectly charred cuts of chicken, pork and lamb in the centre of the table. She pointed at a stainless steel-dish of a fluffy white substance halfway between rice and mashed potato. ‘This is phutu pap. It’s ground maize. Plus Jimmy’s special sauce.’ Next she indicated a brimming jug that released a rich smell of tomatoes and garlic. ‘This is morogo. Some folk call it African spinach. It’s cowpea leaves. Very tasty. Lots of protein,’ she added, winking at Gabriel. ‘Build up your muscles.’
Left to their food, Stella glanced at Eli, then turned to Gabriel.
‘I think the waitress likes you, Gabriel. All that bit about protein.’
‘Yeah,’ Eli added, stripping the flesh from a chicken wing. ‘I’d better keep an eye on you.’
Gabriel pretended to think about what she’d said, staring upwards and stroking his chin.
‘You may have a point, Stella,’ he said. ‘She was very pretty.’
Eli’s eyes popped wide.
‘Bastard!’ she said, punching him on the arm, none too kindly.
‘Hey! You started it.’
‘Yes, but I was joking.’
‘So was I!’
‘What have you been up to since we last spoke?’ Stella asked Gabriel. ‘Tell me about your sister.’
Gabriel finished a mouthful of chicken and took a swig of his beer. He scragged his fingertips over his scalp.
‘Good question. Leaving aside all the boring operational stuff, the main event was that I discovered I had a sister,’ he said. ‘A triad kidnapped her when she was a baby and trained her up to be a bodyguard for the big boss. We were reunited in his office.’
Where she ran him through with a Samurai sword before he could kill me.
Stella raised her bottle to him and clinked the neck of his.
‘Wow! Congratulations! That’s amazing. And, somehow, a very “you” kind of story.’
‘Thanks. I think.’
‘What’s she like? It must have been quite an experience if you’d never really got to know each other.’
He hesitated. Yes, what was Mei like? Stella’s second question was even better than her first.
‘She’s tough, a really good fighter. Smart. Fearless. But—’
‘But what?’ Stella asked, glancing at Eli, who was frowning as she concentrated on Gabriel’s words.
‘I don’t know. In fact, that’s just it! I don’t know. Not really. We spent some time together at my place and started to tell each other our stories, but then I had to get back to the UK.’
‘Did you feel a connection?’
Gabriel nodded.
‘Yes. Absolutely. In fact, there was one point in her boss’s office where I think we were communicating without words.’
‘Well, that’s good, isn’t it? That means there’s something deeper there.’
‘I guess so. And she reminds me of my mum. She has the same eyes.’ He took a pull on his beer. ‘How about you? What’s been keeping you occupied?’
Stella laughed, causing a few nearby customers to turn round in their chairs, smiling good-naturedly.
‘I don’t know if you see much news, but you must have heard about the serial killer in London last year. The media called her “Saint Death” because she was doing her victims in like they were Christian martyrs.’
Gabriel nodded.
‘She was crazy, right?’ he asked.
Stella shrugged.
‘Not for me to say.’
‘Didn’t I read you killed her in self-defence?’ Eli asked.
‘Yup. She never made it as far as a courtroom, though I’m pretty sure we’d have got a conviction.’
‘What did you use?’ Eli asked.
‘A spiked metal fence post.’
Eli pursed her lips and nodded in appreciation.
‘Good riddance to bad rubbish, yes?’
Stella frowned. She swigged some beer.
‘I’m a cop, so I shouldn’t say this. But, yes. Basically. Mim Robey was a psychopath. She killed or helped her brother kill a dozen innocent people.’
While the two women discussed the rights and wrongs of killing psychopaths, Gabriel looked around the restaurant.
For all we know, the people we’re looking for are right here, sucking chop bones.
He ran through what little he knew about the targets.
They’re involved in the illegal ivory trade.
They’re at the sharp end – literally – shooting and butchering elephants right here in Botswana.
They must have a supply route to get the ivory out of Botswana.
They’re making sufficient returns to justify the risks.
They have enough men, weapons and discipline to get the better of a troop of Paras supporting APU guys.
Surely they must have known that hitting the Paras would bring a shit-ton of trouble down on their heads? Did they care? Are the stakes so high they’re willing to go all-out?
The obvious answer to the riddle was that this was organised crime. International organised crime. And where one illegal commodity was involved, he was pretty sure they’d find other flows of ‘trade’, from arms and drugs to people trafficking.
That made him think of some of the unsavoury characters he’d met in the previous few years, from Russian gangsters and triad bosses to corrupt politicians and tycoons with a morality-bypass.
None of it made him comfortable. But of one thing he was sure. Of all the categories of villain Don had sent him up against, or he’d ventured into battle against on his own account, he was enjoying barbecue chicken in a lively G-City chicken joint. And they were all dead.
19
The following morning, Eli knocked on Stella’s door. Stella came to open it, phone clamped between cheek and shoulder. She smiled at Eli and pointed to an armchair.
Eli l
istened to one side of the conversation.
—
‘Yes, boss.’
—
‘Nothing we couldn’t handle.’
—
‘It doesn’t mean anything. Just a figure of speech.’
—
‘I’m making a start first thing tomorrow.’
—
‘I’ll try the big hotels first. Chat up the bar staff.’
—
‘OK, I promise.’
—
Stella ended the call.
‘Hey, Eli,’ she said. ‘That was my guv’nor, back in London. She just wanted a progress report. I had something I wanted to ask you.’
‘Go ahead. This whole trip’s about mutual assistance,’ Eli said with a smile.
‘Is there any way you can tap your old contacts in the Israeli intelligence community to find out more about Dov Lieberman? He’s the one concrete lead I have.’
Eli answered immediately
‘Of course! I’ll call Uri Ziff. He’s my old guv’nor,’ she said, uttering the last sentence with a dreadful Cockney accent that made Stella laugh.
‘Thanks? Coffee?’
Eli nodded, already calling Ziff’s number.
‘Eliyah! How’s my favourite expat? When can I tell our human resources people to find you a flat in Tel Aviv?’
Eli laughed.
‘You never give up, do you? The answer to your first question is, fine. I’m in Africa, with Gabriel. The answer to the second is, not yet.’
‘No? OK then. So why the call? Not that I’m not happy to hear your voice,’ he added. ‘It’s about the assassination.’
Eli had no need to ask which one. Only one recent killing had gone viral so fast it had travelled round the globe before the sound of the gunshot had died away.
‘He’s insane, you know that?’ Uri asked.
‘Tammerlane?’
‘Yes, Tammerlane!’ Uri paused. ‘I’m sorry, Eliyah. It’s been a trying few days, as you can probably imagine.’
‘It’s fine. I get it. But he’s not mad. Just very, very dangerous.’
‘Yes! For Jews! He’s begun kicking us out. First Israeli citizens, but then, who knows?’
‘And I’m ready to go, Uri, believe me. I’m not going back to the UK. Not while he’s in power.’