Danger Woman (18 page)

Chapter Thirty-six

Yuri Greshenko had placed himself on a strict regimen of coffee, gallons of it. No more booze until this whole business with Lenka ended. Alcohol makes you careless and slows you down. The old black-and-white American movies where the hero downed tumblers full of whiskey and then proceeded to take on the bad men with no apparent side effects made him laugh. In his experience the best way to deal with someone who planned to hurt you was to buy them a few drinks. Sooner or later, they would take themselves out of play. Yuri had spent his youth in an environment where strong drink and lots of it constituted the norm. Russia had more alcoholics than people, he used to say. Most of those who heard him say it back in the old country did not see the joke. “How can that be?” they'd ask and pour themselves another vodka. A nation of drunks. At any rate, if anyone had a tolerance for ethanol in its various forms and flavors, it would be Yuri, and he knew he couldn't run the risk of losing even a nanosecond in his own reaction time. So, for now, no booze.

On the other hand a few stiff drinks might ease the sense of foreboding that had followed him around all day. His years in the life gave him a second sense about these things. He knew in his bones that all hell was about to break loose and soon. He did not know the where or the when of it, only that it would. Moreover, he did not believe Inspector Modise had a clue as to the seriousness of the situation. True, it had not been the policeman's plan to taunt Lenka in the first place, so Modise should be given a break. The little cop had only wanted to spy on Lenka, find the weak spot in his organization, and then deport him and the rest of his crew back to Russia, including that woman. It had been Leo Painter who had ratcheted the operation up ten notches. Deportation seemed like a pretty good idea at the time, but since Leo feared that Yuri's life would be the price to be paid for any move against Lenka, he'd upped the stakes. His assumption had been that doing so gave Yuri had a better chance to survive. For that Yuri owed Leo, but now it was beginning to look like a lot of people were going to have to die, himself included. So, not quite the trade-off Leo had in mind. One thing he knew for sure, somebody was going to die. The goal now had become…what? Yuri wasn't sure about the end game. He wasn't sure anyone else was either. Yuri knew that bad things were on their way as clearly as he knew that come Sunday he should be in a church somewhere praying for forgiveness for all his sins. But first, he needed to survive the next few days. Then, maybe after all this ended, he'd chance it. Were there any Orthodox churches in Botswana? He'd have to look that up. Did it matter?

When he thought about it, he realized that the real problem rose from the failure on both sides to acknowledge the shape and capabilities of the other. For his part, Lenka believed the police and the indigent culture were stupid, backwards, and incapable of responding to threats in any real way. This bigotry Lenka shared with all of his crew and it would be their undoing. At the same time, the local police understanding of gangs stemmed from a simplistic model based on studies of urban America. Modise and his compatriots had failed to grasp the predictable behavior which would be the expected outcome of the implacable brutality and willingness of the Bratva to shed blood, terrorize, and torture. You would have thought, he mused, that living so close to the wild as the Batswana did, where it is be predator or be prey, where life is lived out in the moment, and where mercy is not even a concept, that they would, by now, have come to understand that the Bratva were more like those animals than movie gangsters. They were predators, not the cast from
West Side Story.

In any case, the game had changed. By now, Lenka or his brains—he guessed that would be the woman, Davidova—should have figured out that their competitor was not him and the six business associates of Leo Painter posing as Ukrainian thugs, but the police. Once they got that straight, if they hadn't already, really bad things were going to happen and win or lose, the Chobe would never be the same again. He decided to call Modise. It was time to rethink this operation and the six naïve and eager guys from Chicago headed the list of things needing rethinking. They had had some fun, some very risky fun. It was time to send them home. He picked up the phone and made the call.

Nothing short of a miracle could stop what was shaping up to be an epic train wreck.

***

A telephone call was not something Modise wanted at that exact moment. Any interruption would not have been welcome. He decided to push the NOT ACCEPT option.

“Who was that?” Sanderson asked.

Kgabo glanced at the phone, and tapped RECENT. “Greshenko.”

“Shouldn't you answer it? It could be important.”

Modise rolled over with a groan. How did that old time musical show say it? Rra Gilbert? Yes, “A policeman's lot is not a happy one.” He hit RE-DIAL and waited.

“So sorry, Rra Greshenko, I had my hands full when you called.” Sanderson failed to suppress a yelp. “Who? No, it is the…dog. There is a dog outside that is making barking sounds. Yes.” Sanderson buried her face in the pillow. “What do I think Lenka will do next? He will attack you from a different direction. But you do not need to worry, we are covered.”

Modise listened. His eyebrows shot up and he held the phone away from his ear. He looked at Sanderson and put one finger to his lips. She grinned and listened. Greshenko did not sound happy.

“Yes, I know they have shifted their strategy a bit. They tried to kidnap Mma Michael's daughter in Gabz. So, yes, I agree they have determined that you alone are not the person who torments them. I insist, however that the man, Lenka, is also a narrow thinker and…What? Narrow? He is not too broad in his thinking. He is limited in the brains department and has not forgiven you for hurting his man Grelnikov. He might…no, make that, she. That Davidova woman will think to come after us, the police, but will still go after you and your friends. They will argue and make mistakes because their efforts are divided. One very big mistake and away they will go.”

Modise listened for another few minutes.

“No, I don't think those fake gangsters you are housing should return home. Rra Painter brought them here and put them in the game, you could say. So, they are now part of the show. If they disappear, the balance is removed from the board. What? I am speaking in term of a game, that sort of board. Greshenko, whether it was Rra Painter's plan or not, those men are now committed. They are the bait. If we wish to hunt big game, it is always easier if you set out bait. A goat or a heifer tethered to a stake. I am sorry for those men. I am sure they thought this would be a great and exciting adventure, something to regale their children and grandchildren with, but this is serious business. I cannot make them stay in Kasane, but I can keep them in the country. Whether they are tethered to a stake here or someplace else, in Gaborone or in Kasane, it makes no difference. They are bait.”

Kabo turned to Sanderson. “He hung up. Can you imagine? He is not happy with the police. So, now where were we?”

“You were doing something naughty with your thumb.”

Chapter Thirty-seven

This would be the last time Kotsi Mosadi would hunt alone, at least for a year, until the next reproductive cycle came around. She checked back to make sure her offspring were secure in the lair. She tested the wind. It blew from the south. If there were lions in their lolling spot she'd know it. The air held many scents but no lions today. She trotted off in the same direction she'd used for the past two days. There would be game on the far side of a large cleared area. She had only to transverse it and she would be relatively safe and in a position to hunt, feed, and return to her burrow. She paused and sniffed again. Something? She hesitated, then, a decision made, padded out in the open and angled her path to make the crossing as short as possible.

***

Ole Anderson worried about Danger Woman's decision to follow the same track. Twice would be unusual, but three times in a row? If the hyena were her usual self, he should not be in any position to record her. He might guess her next move but it would be just that—a guess, yet here he was and there went Danger Woman on her way to hunt. He spun around as if he were Danger Woman's second in command and charged with securing the area. He saw nothing.

Of course he didn't. In the bush, people die because they don't see the thing right under their nose.

Animals, too.

***

Sanderson sat up, wide awake and shaking. “Something has happened,” she cried. “Kgabo, what has happened?”

“What? Something has happened? When? Where? Sanderson, nothing has happened.”

Both of their phones lit up at the same time.

“What has happened?” they both asked, then listened.

“No!” Again, simultaneously, then, “Thank you.” They hung up and turned to each other.

“I have to go. You too? What did you hear? Never mind, I have to go. I'll tell you later. But,
no mathata.
”

He was lying.

She was sorry.

***

It took nearly a half hour for Sanderson to dress, find a suitable vehicle, and head out into the park. There were two SUVs on the lot. One, the doorless model caught her attention. She made yet another mental note to call Michael and ask him what was holding up replacing the doors on the machine. As it stood, it was useless. She climbed into the other and headed for the park.

She had only a rough idea where the Hyena Man had set up his observation. She found him slumped in the seat of his SUV. He looked terrible.

“She's over there.” He said and pointed in the direction of some brush.

Sanderson squinted against the late afternoon sun and could just make out evidence of a struggle and the broken body of Kotsi Mosadi
.
“So, Rra Andersen, how does this happen?”

He waved a limp hand at the camera. “Push playback.”

Sanderson crouched so she could see the small screen and pressed the button. She watched as a miniature Kotsi Mosadi trotted across the clearing, paused, pivoted, and then made a frantic dash for the bush. At the same moment, what appeared as a blur of tawny yellow streaked from the north and across the veldt straight at her. The hyena zigged and zagged but it could not evade the lioness which overtook her and pounced. The two animals rolled in a cloud of dust and settled in a heap, the lion on top. Sanderson shook her head and tsked as she watched the lioness clamp its jaws around
Kotsi Mosadi's
neck. A minute passed, two…Kotsi Mosadi went limp. The lioness shook her prey quickly and violently enough to tear out its throat. As if it needed to make absolutely sure its victim was dead. It rose up on all four feet and opened its jaws. Kotsi Mosadi crumpled to the ground. The lioness stared at it in what Sanderson would later describe as disgust, and loped away.

Two ancient enemies had clashed and one of them had died.

Ole, she saw, was disconsolate. For him the hyena was like family. She patted him on the shoulder. “It is the way, Rra Sekgele. We live in this wild place and we know it has rules. Nothing dies of old age in the wild. Danger Woman is for the
manong
now and soon a new and younger pack leader emerges. Too bad for Kotsi Mosadi, but probably good for the pack, yes?”

What else could she say? She felt relieved that the foreboding that had haunted her these last few days had been about the hyena, not something closer. She breathed a sigh of relief.

***

The television blared in the corner as a reporter nattered on about the shootout near the university.

“A man attempting to kidnap a student fired at the police earlier this afternoon. The police at the scene returned fire and the reports say the alleged kidnapper has been killed. Also, a constable might have been wounded. The identities of the alleged kidnapper and the wounded police officer have not been released nor has the reason the police on the scene arrived so quickly and already armed. The details of the attempted kidnapping were being withheld by the police pending further investigation. Early reports suggested the shooter might be a man who had been seen loitering about the premises for days. In other news, police are investigating a possible case of money laundering involving a thirty-nine-year-old man of Moroka and a woman of Gaborone. The man—”

Modise covered the mouthpiece of the telephone in his hand and snapped, “Shut that thing off.” This was not good. So, someone had made another attempt to grab Mpitle and it appeared Constable Lekgwamolelo had been shot. How was Sanderson going to react to this? How would he tell her? She had a feeling something bad would happen and now it had.

“It is too bad,” the director was saying on the phone, “that this man is shot dead. It would have been helpful if we could have made an identification and linked him directly to Lenka. As it now stands, your operation is no closer to being concluded and a man is dead, a constable wounded. Modise, wind this up. Wind it up now. That is an order.” The director hung up.

Modise heard the threat in the director's tone but that did not concern him just yet. He'd put his career on the line when he'd listened to Leo Painter in the first place and everything else, good or bad, followed from that decision. There would be no turning back now. He'd wind it up, alright, but, maybe not the way the director wanted. So, he had provided protection and it had worked out exactly as it should have. The country now had one less gangster to worry about and the people who labored under the silly notion that Botswana was a nation of animal preservation freaks, unable to protect itself, now knew better. More importantly, in spite of what the director believed, that man would never have talked if he'd been taken alive. He was Bratva
.
Their motto, “I will yield to no man,” as silly as it sounds to civilians, is a part of their nature and as permanent as the tattoos they acquire which mark their journey into the world of crime. No, what worried Modise at this moment was, what will Lenka would do next? His hand had been tipped a little…no, a great deal. He wanted to get at the police, at him, through Sanderson. That being the case, where would he turn up next?

“Phone for you, Inspector.” A young man handed him a land line, eyes bright with the excitement a first real shooting incident will produce in a rookie policeman.

Greshenko. “You'd better get your ass over here in a New York…I forget what, minute, second? Now, Modise. I am looking at my parking lot. I have men in SUVs and they do not look friendly. My fake Ukrainian Cossacks are loading their guns and I halfway think at any minute they will break out into a damned marching song like the freaking Hitler Youth or something. They still think this is a picnic with fireworks. Modise, this cannot not end well. Hey, what did I say to you before? People are going to die today. You should listen better, Mister Policeman.”

“One is dead already, one of theirs, in fact. If they know about it, and I guess they must by now, you are correct. Something bad is going to happen. Don't shoot unless you absolutely have to. Look for a BDF truck.”

Modise hung up, grabbed four constables, had rifles issued to them. All but one of them held the rifle as if it were a snake. Guns of any sort were foreign to most of them. They had received training in their usage, fired them on the range but, to actually turn them on another human being? Modise ignored them. So, they had scruples. An admirable trait, but there was no time for lectures on police responsibility in dangerous situations. He loaded them into the borrowed BDF truck.

“No shooting unless I say to,” he said and slipped behind the wheel.

“
No mathata
,” One of them replied. If Modise hadn't been so wrapped up in what he had to do next, he might have wondered at the tone of the reply. Did she sound relieved or eager?

With any luck, he thought, the arrival of the BDF should send Lenka and his boys back to their den to rethink. He hoped so, anyway. The truck with its reluctant warriors roared out of the police lot and headed toward the river and its hotels.