Danger Woman (15 page)

Chapter Thirty

Sanderson awoke with in a panic. Her heart pounded like she had run a race with a cheetah and lost. She could feel the pulse in her neck without touching it. She fumbled to switch on the light, nearly knocked the lamp over, caught it before it crashed to the floor and managed to get it lit. She looked at her clock. It read 22:00 hours. That might not be inordinately late by many people's standards but, for a game ranger whose day began at dawn or near to, ten o'clock at night is like three in the morning. She swung her legs over the edge and sat on the side of the bed. She took several deep breaths. Her heart slowed to near normal. She sipped some water from a glass on the bedside table and wiped her brow.

What had made her jump out of sleep like that? Her grandmother would have said the “crocodiles had eaten her soul.” Sanderson never understood what she meant by that. She assumed it had something to do with premonitions or fear of the unknown or that someone had her on their mind and not in a nice way. She had plenty of unknowns popping up in her life at the moment. Kgabo Modise, for one. Where did she believe that relationship would go? So much separated them, geography chief among them. Should she have doubts or fear about Kgabo and her possible future with him? Also, those Lenka men could easily shoot him dead. What then? Policemen live dangerous lives. Being made a widow a second time didn't sound like something she would like to go through again. And he lived in Gaborone. Would she move? Would he? What was she thinking? Modise had never said anything about marriage, had he? He hinted at lunch that he spent time thinking about
us,
didn't he? So what did that mean?

Michael and Mpitle had to be considered, didn't they? Would Michael's HAART last or would his AIDs force him to return to his bed? She had stopped reading about his disease when he suddenly lost the symptoms and returned to health. What happens if the clock stops and then marches backward? And Mpitle is so far away. She missed her daughter the most. When she believed that Michael would die, she had grown calluses on her brain about that and had turned to Mpitle. Now what?

Nagging at the back of her mind, however, was the thought that quite possibly her grandmother's “crocodile” was not after Modise, or Mpitle, or Michael, but it was coming for her. Some very bad person had her, Game Ranger Sanderson, on his mind and it had nothing to do with nice things, no.

Hours would pass before she drifted off to sleep again.

***

Mpitle's new roommate was a mystery. She said she had classes to attend but, every time Mpitle turned around, there she was. Sometimes she read a book or tapped away at her tablet. Sometimes she talked on her mobile phone and sometimes she just stared at it and then at the surroundings. It seemed very strange. She doused her light. Kopano's remained on as she surfed the web on her iPad.

“Every time I turn about, there you are, Kopano. Don't you ever go to class?”

“Oh yes, of course I do. But you see my classes are either tutorials or on-line. For the tutorials, I meet with my instructor for a short time and then I go about my day. Almost everything I need, I have downloaded onto my tablet. So, I find a nice place to sit and do my work there. Technology is changing education in many wonderful ways, don't you think?”

“So this is how graduate work is pursued?”

“Definitely.”

“I think I will like graduate studies better than these undergraduate ones, for sure.”

“I'm sure you will. Good night, Mpitle.”

***

Irena managed to bring Lenka back to center. It hadn't been hard. It never was. A few slipped buttons, whispered suggestions, and he became as docile as a newborn. Actually, she didn't know if that was the case. She had no experience with newborns. Her life on the street, forced on her at an unacceptably young age, had removed any possibilities in that department. Lenka slept and she watched.

When he reached the point in his snoring she recognized as the moment of deep sleep, she rose and began her post-coital routine. She emptied his pockets of change and bills. The larger denominations she counted, reduced the stack by thirty percent, and placed the remainder on the dresser for him to find along with the coins. She checked his notebook and memorized any new numbers he had written down. His mind worked like a sieve when it came to details so he wrote things he thought important down in his book. Some of the numbers were for bank accounts; some were phone numbers with St. Petersburg area codes. They might be useful. Most of them she already knew by heart, but maintaining this routine strengthened her ability to recall them if and when she would need them.

She removed his nine millimeter from its holster, dropped the clip and ejected the shell from the chamber. It was a precaution she always followed since the night in St. Petersburg when he'd been roused from deep sleep by a backfire, or perhaps it had been an actual gunshot. In any event, he rolled to the floor and come to a crouch firing his pistol at anything that moved. He'd nearly blown her head off. Lenka had issues that even she could not erase. So, she unloaded the gun.

There did not appear to be anything else of interest in his pockets or his briefcase. She tucked the stolen bills in the secret compartment in her purse with the previous day's haul and surveyed the room. Satisfied she hadn't overlooked anything, she slipped a robe over her naked body, turned out the lights, and went out on her balcony.

Time and tide, someone said, waits for no one. She couldn't remember who. Time and tide. She had the impression that her tide and time had caught up with her, were at the point where the process reversed. She realized that for her, time had begun to run out. She needed a plan and whatever she decided to do, it needed to be done in the dark. She knew if Lenka discovered what she had in mind, he'd probably kill her and dump her in the bush with the half dozen others he'd sent there. Not all of them had been dead when they had made the trip to the park. They'd been dumped helpless with their limbs and mouth duct-taped. She shivered at the memory.

Even thinking about being abandoned in the bush at night with ferocious and hungry animals prowling about terrified her. Lenka, she knew, could be managed. Wild animals were another story. The best plan would be for him to die first. Who could she get to kill him? If she were in St. Petersburg, she knew at least a dozen men who would be more than happy to do that for her. Africa is a long ways away from that mostly frozen country. With Grelnikov dead, there was only one person locally who was available, smart enough, and tough enough to do it. But, could she seduce Cszepanski right under Lenka's nose? She poured vodka into a glass and drank it neat. Cszepanski was the sort of man who did not need her help or anyone's help. Perhaps she could put a pillow over Lenka's face and sit on it. Would that work? Lenka might be slow in the brain but he was very strong and fast. He would reach around and toss her across the room and have her in a stranglehold before she bounced. No, killing Lenka wouldn't work. So what to do?

It took three more visits to the vodka bottle before she could finally return to bed and sleep.

***

Danger Woman slipped from her lair and this time took a course away from the river. The hunting would be better in the bush. Hunting by day had been necessary at first and she might have to do it again, but night hunting came naturally to her. Her hunting range could be larger which meant better. The cubs were sufficiently developed and intuitively she knew that she could leave them for longer periods of time now. Even if they left the burrow, they would not wander very far and the darkness would protect them from any predator except the cats. She moved off at a fast trot, sniffing the air and getting her bearings. She made a point to skirt the area her nose told her carried the distinct scent of lion. She paused, listened, and headed south.

Chapter Thirty-one

Joseph Ikanya had doubts. Modise asked him to do something he'd never done before in his life. He expected him to perform actual police work. Well, that didn't quite cover it. He'd been a policeman for two decades and had put in his time in uniform patrolling village streets. But his job for at least fifteen years of those two decades he'd spent sitting behind a desk or attending meetings and issuing policy directives. Traffic control did not involve him in the things people usually think of when they speak of police work. If you needed a parade organized or a diplomat protected, you called on Joseph Ikanya, but gun-toting and confrontations with gangsters, maybe not. Yet, here was Modise asking him to risk his life in this gang war business.

Superintendent Mwambe had warned him about Modise. “Meddler,” he'd said. “Always butting his Gaborone nose into local policing.” Apparently Mwambe had no equal reservations about Joseph's Gaborone nose. Yet, when Modise had pressed the two of them into service as voices on the phones that were supposedly cloned, both he and Mwambe had enjoyed themselves immensely. It had been exciting to be part of this “sting.” Still, it is one thing to play at the business while being well out of the way of any kind of real peril, quite another to be in the middle of what could become a very dangerous situation. He reminded Modise that he would soon be a father and his poor wife would not want him to take such chances. Her condition was very delicate, he'd said.

Ikanya wanted to beg off, and Modise said he understood, of course. Perhaps he would have to call the director and ask for someone to be sent up to take his place. Joseph worried about that. What if the director asked why he'd refused to participate and Modise said it was because Inspector Ikanya had scruples, had worried about his safety? So there was no avoiding it. He would risk his life. He would perform his duty for his country. He hoped his wife, soon to be his widow, would forgive him.

Modise wanted him to go “undercover.” Well, not undercover precisely. He wanted him to pretend to be a bookkeeper at the casino. All he had to do was sit at a desk and if anyone asked where Rra Greshenko was, he was to say he had left for Gaborone, and if they asked about the other men, to say they were going to the Okavango. There were other things he had to be prepared to mention as well. Modise gave him a script to read. He'd said that he was to grasp only the gist of it and then improvise. “It must not sound rehearsed,” he'd said. Joseph said he could do that. He had been in the Dramatics Club in the last year of his schooling and he was often asked to be Father Christmas at the church. So, yes, he was prepared, and not only could, but he would do it, he'd said, but not with great conviction.

When he'd agreed to it late the night before, it had all seemed simple. Sit and pretend to be a bookkeeper auditing the casino books. Answer a few questions and they would leave. Modise thought they would head west. At least they would not bother him. When they'd gone, he would be free to return to his room at the government house or continue his contact with Mwambe. Furthermore, Modise said he should not worry. They had planted listening devices in the room and if any trouble started they would break in and arrest them. He would be perfectly safe at all times.

Now, sitting at the desk with the possibility of some murderers dropping by, Joseph was not so sure. His eyes scanned the walls in search of the hidden microphones; he wanted to be absolutely sure he spoke into them.

“Here they come,” a voice which seemed to come from the ceiling said. “Get ready and good luck.”

Too late to back out now.

***

Lenka had risen early. He'd staggered into the shower. His memories of the previous night, that is the last few hours of it, had seemed muddled. Showered and shaved, he'd popped half a dozen aspirins and studied the contents of his closet. The Armani sharkskin fitted best when he wore his shoulder holster. He pulled it off its hanger, donned a black shirt and white tie, slipped on the suit. He always made it a point to be well dressed when he intended to kill someone and today he intended to settle with Greshenko. He'd called Cszepanski and told him to bring the men up to the lodge. They were to be armed and ready. They were going to the casino and finish with Greshenko. He hung up before Cszepanski could respond. Lenka had no interest in hearing one of his cautionary lectures. This time they would do as he was told.

Lenka and his crew arrived in three SUVs. He headed to the casino's offices and pushed through the door. He expected to catch Greshenko by surprise. But the only person in the office was nervous little man in a rumpled suit and wearing an old-fashioned eye shade.

“Where is Greshenko?” he demanded.

“Excuse me?” The little man mopped his forehead.

Lenka grabbed him by the necktie and pulled him forward. “Are you deaf? I asked where is Yuri Greshenko?”

“The executive manager of the casino? That Yuri Greshenko?”

“Are you stupid? There is more than one Yuri Greshenko?”

“I wouldn't know about that. I am the auditor here to check the books. The casino is actually owned by a holding company and I have been sent by the accountancy firm to—”

“Shut up. I don't care about that. Where is he?”

“Greshenko?”

“Have I mentioned any other names since I arrived? Greshenko, Greshenko, G-R-E-S—”

“Greshenko, yes, I understand. You wish to know where he is. It is my understanding that he had business in Gaborone and left last night to drive down there.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “I expect he is in Francistown by now. I believe he said he would be gone for several days. Would you like me to take a message?”

Lenka's face had achieved his signature beet red color that meant someone was close to being fed to the crocodiles. “He is gone? What about the others? The men who work for him, where are they?”

“You mean the staff? I suppose they are at their posts. Shall I call them? The kitchen will be preparing luncheon by now, of course.”

“No, you idiot. I mean the men who are his gang members.”

“He has a gang? Oh, dear. Are you sure? That doesn't sound like Rra Greshenko. I think my superiors will not be happy to hear that. Ah…could you let me loose? I am having difficulty breathing, sir.”

Lenka let the man go. He slumped back in his chair, and swallowed. Lenka drew his gun from its holster and pressed the business end of the barrel against the auditor's forehead. “Listen to me, imbecile, there are six men who arrived here three days ago. They wear black suits and ties and white shirts. They are his enforcers. I want you to tell me where they are or get me someone in here who can.”

“Ummm…please don't pull that trigger. I have a family. I will tell you what you want to know.”

“Good. Where are those men?”

“Ah, so sorry, but I think you might be mistaken about the men you mentioned.”

“Just tell me where they are. What? Why am I mistaken?”

“Those men are missionaries and they are gone, too.”

“They are…? You said, gone? What kind of missionaries? Do you think I am stupid? You are the stupid. Missionaries?”

“The suits and ties, sir. It is a uniform of a sort. They have come from America. They are called Jehovah's Witnesses. You know them. They work in pairs and knock on your door and give you a pamphlet. Here, they gave me one, see?”

He handed them a dog-eared copy of
The Watchtower.
Lenka slapped it out of his hand.

“You are a fool.”

“No, really. I spoke to them just this morning. They were checking out of the hotel portion of this facility. They wouldn't be party to the gambling, of course and—”

“Checked out? Where do they go?”

“I believe they said the Okavango. It was part of their tour, they said. There was a mini-bus and—”

“No one is here? No Greshenko, no men in the suits?”

“I'm afraid not. Sorry.”

Lenka spun on his heel and strode toward the door. “Come.”

The men filed out and gathered around their vehicles.

“Now what?” It was times like this that Lenka needed Irena. She would know what to do next. The thought did not make him happy.

“Something about this doesn't smell right,” Cszepanski said. “I think we need to get our asses back to the warehouse.”

“I want those men and Greshenko. Call our people in Gaborone. Tell them to pick him up.”

“I don't think he's there, Boss.”

“He's not there? Then where is he?”

“He and those men are somewhere in the area. That man in the office has no idea where because he was paid to say those things and they aren't stupid enough to tell him where they really are.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because they know you would beat it out of him if he did. He's nobody.”

Lenka started for the door. “I'll kill him.”

“Not here, not now. He isn't going anywhere but I'd bet my percentage in this operation that there are cops waiting for you to try. Then you're done. Think about it. Jehovah's Witnesses? Come on. We're being played again, Oleg. They're up to something and the only assets we have at the moment are back at the warehouse.”

“But you left a guard.”

“Yes, and I am beginning to think it wasn't enough.”