Danger Woman (4 page)

Chapter Seven

Moving from east to west, the Mowana Lodge is the first in a string of lodges and resorts that sit on the banks of the Chobe River in Kasane. It has a large baobab tree in the center of its court and decks that face north and the plains of Zambia. During the fire season, one can sit there with a sundowner and watch the smoke from the fires miles away. Tourists ask, “Won't they send the fire department and put them out? What will happen to the animals?” The reply is always the same, “No madam, it is not possible to bring the fire-fighting machines to that area. The fire, he will burn himself out. The animals know what to do.”

Irena Davidova and Oleg Lenka occupied two of the chairs on the upper deck. This evening there was no fire to occupy them. It wouldn't have mattered if there had been. They had weightier things to discuss. The Mowana and the other lodges strung out to the west of them, in particular, the new one being built by the American, held their attention. That one had a casino and that one they coveted the most. It would be the postern gate into the castle when they usurped this kingdom, but they needed a plan. The American had a reputation for toughness and probably would not roll over for them. Botswana's police and politicians, they'd discovered, did not respond to their blandishments as their counterparts in St. Petersburg would have done. Irena had been thinking about this for some time.

“It is a simple enough thing, Oleg. You have the man inside, no? This Greshenko is one of us, yes? We use him.”

“Wait. He was one of us once, Moscow Bratva
,
then Chicago. Not so sure anymore he still is.”

“Nobody is ever former Bratva
,
yes? So, we own him either way. He works for us or we turn him over to the local police. If they do not take care of him, he knows what we will do to him. So, he does what we ask.”

“Yes, okay. We have Greshenko. So, then what?”

“Listen. This man, Painter, the American. He is old man. He has no close family. Only a daughter who is not happy with him and a wife who does not live here. He is alone. He is not in the best health. He smokes. He drinks. He could die any minute, you see? Who will care what happens to him and even if they do, these people, will they fly from a soft armchair in America to see about a casino in Africa? I don't think so. Not in time, anyway.”

“So?”

Irena threw up her hands.“Sometimes, Yuri, I think you have potatoes for brains. Greshenko has this old man sign a paper. That is what he does all the time our man inside says. Greshenko goes to Painter and says, ‘here, sign this' and he signs. This time is innocent paper, only later it will be signing over to Greshenko the casino.”

“How does that help us? Now the casino is his…wait, why is he signing this paper?”

Irena's eyes rolled upward and around. “He signs paper which is innocent enough, authorizing something. Later, we put more words on it. So, as soon as he signs, he has accident or heart attack and is dead. Greshenko is now owner of casino. If they come from America, so what? The hotel is no longer theirs. They complain, they fuss. Who cares? They go home. Is now only Greshenko owning it and he is working for us or he is also dead. Either way, we have casino and foot in door. Then, one by one, we take the others.”

“We will own them?”

Irena shook her head in frustration. “No, owning is too much. No, it will be like everywhere else. Our people will be in their lobby and we take a percentage for ‘protection.' Don't you see? Is the same as in St. Petersburg. Only we have no competition because we are here first.”

“And the airline is flying in the high rollers.”

“Exactly.”

“We will have to kill the American and Greshenko.”

“Probably. Is surest way.”

“And some others.”

“Perhaps others, yes. Is the cost of doing business.”

“We cannot buy their police. We have tried. Others, too. There're not enough bananas in the world to buy those monkeys.”

“So, we save the money. Have you seen the local police superintendent? He looks like one of those hippos in the river. And he is very slow and stupid like them, too. We will not have to buy him, just flatter him and keep him in meat pies and cheap vodka.”

‘You're sure of this? He may look funny, but he could be trouble.”

“He will be a troublesome policeman when hippos dance, yes?”

“When hippos dance? Oh, you mean like a joke. Very funny. When the hippo dances. Okay, I get it. I still have one worry. Greshenko may not be as easy to run as you think. He was Moscow before he went to the States. They are not an easy group, Moscow. Remember, he helped us one time because he had to. We threatened to turn him over to the local police. I don't think he is stupid and we will need to watch him.”

“So, we watch. He will know that and will behave.”

“I hope you are right. But think a minute, what if he was not telling the truth about coming here because he is looking to start a new life. Suppose he is here doing the same thing we are? Maybe he is scouting, too.”

“It doesn't matter. Did you see anyone else with him? There is the man, Painter, and no one who looks even a little bit like Bratva
.
We are here, he is alone. One false move and one of those tiresome Boers will be sent to shoot him.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? Why maybe?”

“He is tough and smart. He has to be to have made it this far. I don't think one of those Dutchmen will be able to get the drop on him. If it comes to that, I will send Grelnikov. One tough guy to kill another tough guy. All I am saying, let's hope he isn't the point man for another organization, Bout for instance.”

“Bout is history. Forget Bout.”

“It is not wise to forget Bout. He is in prison, yes, but he is still connected. He is only a little less dangerous in there than out. But if he wants to, he can still hurt us. I'm just saying we need to be careful, that's all.”

Irena puffed her cheeks. Her one-button man still needed some propping up. For now, she would do the propping. Soon, maybe not so soon she would drop this propping. She gave him “the look” and slipped a button. Anticipation has a greater effect on men than the act itself.

“Whatever. Is that a giraffe?”

“Where?”

“Look over there behind those trees. There he is. No, look. There are three of them, a family. See. There is a really tall one, and a not-so-tall one, and the baby. Don't you just love having animals right out where you can see them? Not like a zoo. And these people eat them, right? The…what do you call them…the ones who eat grass? They were on the menu last night. Something beginning with a K. Anyway, when we get settled, Oleg, I want a lion skin rug in the main room.”

“Herbivores. You call them herbivores and you can't shoot lions or any game in the park, especially the big cats.”

“So, where did the dinner meat come from, Mr. know-it-all?”

“Kudu. It was roasted Kudu. Those are bred like on a farm, or some hunting is allowed with a special permit, I think. I am not so sure, anyway, the people who live on the land keep their right to kill for food, maybe.”

“So who's going to stop us, hey? You will be living on the land, too. So you go out there in your truck, find me a lion and shoot him. Somebody will know how to turn him into a rug for the right price. A lion skin and also a zebra for the bedroom. Can you see me on a zebra skin rug? You will get me those?”

Oleg frowned. That was a big order. The image of Irena with her jet black hair and white skin lying naked on a zebra skin rug was arresting, but was making it a reality worth the risk going after this zebra? And never mind the lion. Poaching big game would eventually involve the BDF, the army, and they were rumored to shoot poachers on sight. The President himself was a fierce conservationist and getting caught could end with losing everything they had on their plate. Oleg guessed, rather hoped, that in time she would forget about rugs made from endangered species. If not, he'd find the things on the black market. Surely someone over in Mugabe's country would be happy to provide whatever he, rather she, needed. No way was he going to stir up the BDF.

“Sure, Renee, whatever you want. Another drink?” He snapped his fingers and told the waitress to bring them two more of the same. She was nice looking, for a black woman—fresh. She would bring good money when she changed her profession. That could be soon. Everybody would work for Lenka, or they wouldn't work at all, and what they worked at would be his call. Well, in the case of the women, that would be Renee's call, but this waitress…yes, she would bring in some good money.

Oleg sat back and sighed. Life was good.

Chapter Eight

Patience Botshabelo had been chosen for this particular assignment because of her ability to speak Russian. For a Motswana, that counted as a rarity. Botswana's official language is English, the language of government and commerce. Its native language is Setswana. To be fluent in something as remote as Russian made her an especially useful agent. Her assignment was to listen and learn, to take careful notes about everything the Russians did and, when possible, also what they said. She took the couple's order, left their table to give it to the barman, and slipped well out of their line of sight. She definitely did not like the way the man was looking her over. She had had looks like that since she was old enough to have her bumps, but this man did not give the impression he was only admiring her. He looked like a snake about to swallow a mouse, and she was pretty sure she knew who was the mouse. She retrieved her notebook from her apron and wrote.

Vodka with ice and a twist for the woman, vodka with a beer chaser for Lenka. They always have three drinks before eating. He will always make suggestive remarks to the women who serve in the bar and the restaurant. It is very discomforting to these women. They think he has a bad plan for them. I think they have it right.

The woman is acting like a carnivore on the hunt. What she hunts is not yet clear. They are speaking of making strong steps to take over the casino the American is building. There was some talk of the man Greshenko, but I could not make it out. Something big is planned.

S
he closed her book, shoved it back in her apron pocket, picked up the drinks and took them back to the couple on the deck. She would stay out of their line of sight but within earshot, if possible. Modise said he would be in Kasane soon and she wanted to report as much as she could. These people were very dangerous, for sure.

***

Kgabo Modise and Joseph Ikanya arrived in Kasane mid-afternoon. They booked in the government facility which served as a temporary residence for officials up from the capital and assigned duties in Kasane as well as a “Safe House” for those needing privacy or protection. He would have liked to have a room at one of the lodges, but the director had put an end to that practice when this new facility came online. Modise sent Joseph off to the police post to liaise with Superintendent Mwambe. He dropped his bag on one of the beds in the room assigned to them and found a quiet corner with a desk. He had calls to make, contacts to set up, and plans to implement. Sanderson must be notified of his arrival, too. He had that to look forward to, but first, he needed to check on his agents in the field. He had placed Patience Botshabelo and two other operatives at the Mowana Lodge with instructions to make many notes and listen. She would be first but, as she would not finish her shift until midnight, he would turn his attention to planning what to do with Greshenko. He skimmed the list of other agents placed in the various lodges and likely venues where the Bratva would make their play. It was a thin list. Five people, three women and two men, did not make for much of a task force. Of course there were the local police. They might be useful if he could get Mwambe to stop feeling threatened every time he came to town. He began to call them one by one.

In an hour he had the locations of Lenka, his
nyatsi,
and most of the men thought to have been recruited to his service. Noticeable by their absence were Boers. Lenka had learned his lesson, it seemed, from the last time he tried to make his move on the Chobe. At the moment, there were two bearded and angry Dutchmen sitting in the cells in Gaborone who would love to cut a deal by giving up their ex-boss, but were too frightened to speak, believing that Lenka's reach extended into the jails. They were correct in this, but it would not be the case soon. That left only two Boers to deal with and while they could be mean and violent, they were not known for brilliance of mind. They should pose no real problem. The director said he had a line on the men involved and still in the city, mostly associated with or hanging around the restaurant which they operated and had named
Ресtоран
, which, when said aloud, sounded like, and in fact, meant, restaurant in Russian. Clever.

Kgabo called the American at his casino and arranged a meeting. It was time to infiltrate Lenka's organization and Greshenko was the man to do it.

***

Leo Painter thought he knew all of his workmen. It had taken him nearly a year to train his eye to this new environment he had chosen for himself, where at first one face seemed much like every other. He shook his head at the memory. Chagrinned, he's had to admit his own ethnocentric view of the world and pay attention to those around him. He had finally done it. Now he stared at a man shirtless and working a hoe in a large hod of newly mixed concrete.

“Yuri,” he asked, “who's the new guy?”

“What new guy? I don't know about any new guy.”

Leo pointed out the window to the man wielding the hoe.

“Oh, him. That's one of the cop's people. Modise, you know? He put some people in all of the lodges. That's one of them.”

“He's got someone in all of the lodges? I'm impressed. We're not paying this guy, right?”

“I'm not and I don't think you are, so, no. He's on the government's expense account. Should I get rid of him?”

Painter thought a moment. “No. Better to know the devil at hand than the one unseen. Something like that, anyway. If we know who he is, we can watch what we say. Is he the only one?”

“As far as I know, yes. Lenka will have someone in here, too. He shouldn't be too hard to spot either. You said you had a plan.”

“I did and I do. We'll wait for Modise to show up and then spring it on him.

“I don't like it, Leo.”

“What don't you like? You haven't heard it yet.”

“I don't like the idea of trying to trick the cops. They have me by the, what do you say, shorts and I don't want any more bad stuff on my plate. I have too much as it is.”

“Faith, Yuri. You must have faith in the enterprising spirit of America. We will not be tricking, as you say, the cops. We will be augmenting their efforts.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“What does it mean? Well, I, like the Cheshire Cat, will say to you it means whatever I say it means. It's what we believe when we are still in the scheming phase. Nevertheless, trust me, I have this covered.”

“I won't even ask what a cat has to do with this, okay? You said you made calls to your big-shot important friends in Washington and they pretended they didn't know you.”

“Not quite. They pretended they didn't owe me. There's a difference. So, I have another plan. This one doesn't involve some candy-ass aide-de-rump on Capitol Hill.”

“This new plan…it will get me out from under the cops' thumb. I will not have to be killed by the Bratva when they discover I am working for the police. They will, you know. One false step, one muscle guy leaning on one weak man, and I am a dead Cossack.”

“You were never a Cossack in your life, Yuri, so forget that. Listen, I can't guarantee anything except that what I have in mind will significantly reduce the chances of you dying before your time and, if I remember my sixth grade geography correctly, might involve some Cossacks after all.”

“I am confused. You know that short of miracles, I am going to die? Tell me why I should not get in the van and drive into ‘Uncle Bob's' country and disappear?”

“Because Mugabe would put you in the same box. I can't help you in Zimbabwe and I just know that your dying isn't scheduled for today, okay?”

“But you can't tell me when it is or this plan of yours.”

“As to the plan, I can. I could. I prefer not to. There are always last minute glitches in any good plan. I needed one or two more phone calls to come through. They did and now we have it.”

“We?”

“Exactly. We. You and me and some friends in Chicago and elsewhere. Oh, and add the local police in the person of Kgabo Modise.”

“What if he doesn't buy it?”

“There is always that. If he has scruples, we go to plan B.”

“You have a plan B?”

“Maybe I do and maybe I don't. Either way he won't know that.”

“And you are not going to tell me plan B either, Leo?”

“Nope.”

“Why do I feel like I am in a bad television show?”

“Like I said, Yuri, trust me, I have this covered. Oops, here comes our man now.”

Painter pointed out the window again. Modise, himself, had stopped to talk to the man mixing cement.

“Brace yourself, Yuri, we are about to play a hand of high stakes Texas no-hold'em.”