Wilbur Smith's Smashing Thrillers (148 page)

“Put that knife away,” said Chetti Singh reasonably. “Or I will shoot your head off with this.” He showed the pygmy the Tokarev pistol concealed in the pocket of his bush jacket.

Pirri’s scowl became a beatific smile. “It was only a little joke, O master. I am your slave.” And he sheathed the machete. “I will go and fetch the teeth of the elephant as you command.”

He picked up the severed head. But as he skipped away into the forest Pirri’s guts and chest were filled with so much anger that he thought they might burst. “Nobody cheats Pirri,” he whispered, and slashed at a treetrunk with the machete as he ran. “Pirri will kill the man who cheats him,” he promised. “You want a head, O one-armed and greasy man. I will give you a head. Your own.”

“Daniel Armstrong is dead,” Chetti Singh told them. “The Bambuti brought me his head He died in the forest.”

“There can be no doubt?” President Taffari demanded.

“None at all,” Chetti Singh affirmed. “I saw the head with my personal eyes.”

“That means the woman is the only living witness.” Ning Cheng Gong looked relieved. “You should get rid of her immediately, Your Excellency. She should disappear in the forest, just the way that Armstrong did.”

Ephrem Taffari picked up his empty glass and rattled the ice cubes. Captain Kajo hurried across the room and took the glass from his hand. At the small bar in the corner of the president’s office he poured gin and tonic.

“Aren’t you forgetting the videotape?” Taffari asked, as Kajo respectfully handed him the drink.

“Of course not,” Cheng said. “But once she has recovered the tape from the embassy we must get rid of her.” He hesitated. “I could arrange that personally.”

Ephrem Taffari smiled at him over the rim of the glass. “Ah, yes.” He nodded. “I have heard that you have a rather unusual hobby, Mr. Ning.”

“I am not quite sure what you are implying, Mr. President,” he answered stiffly. “I was merely offering to make certain that the job was done properly. We don’t want any more loose ends.”

“Quite right, Mr. Ning,” Taffari agreed. “The woman is becoming a bore. I have lost interest in her. Once we have recovered the tape, she is yours. just make certain that there are no mistakes.”

“Trust me, Mr. President.”

“Oh yes, Mr. Ning, I trust you just as completely as you trust me. After all, we are partners, are we not?”

Chapter 36

“My arrangement with Danny was that he would pick it up personally.” Sir Michael Hargreave inspected his fingernails with some interest and then placed his hand in his pocket and went to the window of his office in the British embassy. He looked out over the lake. “Daniel didn’t say anything about handing it over to a third party. You must understand my position, Miss Mahon.”

The punkah fan on the ceiling squeaked and whirled and Bonny thought quickly. She knew that she must not appear too eager, even though she was acutely aware of what the consequences might be if she returned to Ephrem empty-handed. “I didn’t realise it would be a problem.” She stood up. “Danny asked me to pick it up. He’ll probably be bitter with me for not bringing it back, but I don’t imagine the tape is of any real importance. I’m sorry I didn’t think to ask Danny for a note. Anyway, thank you for your time and I’ll explain to Danny that you couldn’t see your way clear to handing the tape to me.” She held out her hand and gave him her sexiest smile, thrusting out her bosom. Sir Michael’s gaze wavered from her eyes, and then he seemed to make up his mind.

“Look here, I suppose it will be all right. I mean, you are Danny’s assistant. Not as though you were a total stranger.”

He hesitated. “I don’t want you to do anything you feel is not right, Bonny told him. I’m sure Danny will understand that you didn’t trust me.”

“Good Lord, my dear young lady, it. isn’t a case of not trusting you.”

“Oh, that’s what I thought it was.” She fluttered her eyelids at him.

“Would you mind signing a receipt? Sorry to be so awkward, but I must cover myself with Danny.”

“I understand,” Sir Michael. He scribbled out a receipt on a sheet of the embassy stationery and she signed it and wrote out her full name and passport number at the foot of the page.

Sir Michael went into the adjoining room and she heard him put a key into a lock and then the metallic sound of the door lugs of a steel safe opening and closing. A few minutes later he returned and handed her a bulky manila envelope with Daniel’s name printed on it. She tried not to make her relief apparent, but her hand shook as he handed it to her.

“Please give Danny my best salaams.” Sir Michael walked her to the front door of the embassy. “When is he coming back from Sengi-Sengi?”

“I’m flying up to join him this afternoon.” Bonny had her nerves under control and chatted easily. They shook hands at the door.

“Having one of our regular cocktail parties next Saturday,” Sir Michael said. “If you and Danny are back in town by then, you must come along. I’ll have Miss Rogers send you an invitation to the guest house.”

The news of Daniel Armstrong’s disappearance had not yet been reported to the embassy. Ephrem Taffari wanted all the loose ends tidied up before the alarm was raised.

Bonny went out to where Captain Kajo was waiting at the wheel of an army Landrover. She clutched the envelope in her lap, but managed another smile and wave for Sir Michael as they pulled out of the embassy gates. Then she let out a deep breath and fell back against the seat.

“President Taffari is waiting for you on his yacht, Miss Mahon,” Captain Kajo told her, and took the lakeside road down to the harbour. The yacht was moored at the naval jetty beyond the fish factory. The vessel had been the toy of a wealthy Asian businessman, one of those whom Taffari had deported and sent back to the United Kingdom when he came to power. of course, he had confiscated all the Asian’s property, and this vessel was now the presidential yacht.

It was a forty-five-footer Camper and Nicholson with lovely lines, equipped with every luxury, although most of the electronic equipment had long ago failed and had not been replaced, and the paintwork and sails were no longer pristine. However, the bar was well stocked and since the yacht very seldom left its berth, the lack of navigational and sailing gear was not critical.

There were two men in the main cabin, seated at the red teak saloon table facing each other.

President Taffari was perusing the monthly operating report and profit-and-loss accounts of UDC, smiling and nodding as he did so.

Ning; Cheng Gong was watching him expectantly.

When Taffari lowered the document and looked up, Cheng answered his smile. “I am impressed, Mr. Ning. It is only a very short time since you arrived in Ubomo to take control of the company, but the results are really quite spectacular.”

“You are very gracious, Your Excellency.” Cheng bowed slightly. “But I can truthfully say that I expect an even greater improvement in the months ahead. There were many problems that my English predecessor left for me, but these are being resolved.”

“What about the vehicle maintenance depot? This is one of my major areas of concern.” Taffari’s smile faded.

“And rightly so, Mr. President. We have over a thousand heavy vehicles in service, not counting the actual MOMU installations. Our maintenance costs were running at over three million dollars a month when I took over. As you can see, I have managed to reduce these by almost forty percent.”

Their discussion lasted another hour before there were footsteps on the deck outside and a polite knock on the cabin door.

“Who is it?” Taffari called.

“Captain Kajo, Mr. President, and Miss Mahon.”

Taffari glanced at Cheng significantly and the Chinaman nodded. This was the reason that the meeting was being held on board the yacht, rather than in the boardroom at Lake House. “Come in!” Taffari ordered, and the door slid aside. Kajo stooped his long frame into the cabin and saluted awkwardly

“I have Miss Mahon waiting in the Landrover on the dock,” he reported.

“Did she pick up the packet?” Taffari asked anxiously.

“Yes, sir. She has it with her.”

Again Taffari and Cheng exchanged glances, but now both of them were smiling again. “All right, Captain.” Taffari nodded. “You have your orders.”

“Yes, Mr. President. I am to accompany Mr. Ning and Miss Mahon on the expedition to Lamu Island and I am to –”

“No need to repeat them, Captain,” Taffari interrupted. “Just carry them out to the letter. Now you may bring Miss Mahon aboard.”

She burst into the cabin and went directly to Ephrem Taffari, ignoring the other man at the table.

“I’ve got it, Ephrem,” she gloated. “Here it is.” She laid the envelope in front of him and he picked it up, tore it open and shook out the video cassette.

“Are you sure this is the one?”

“Yes, that’s my notation on the label. My handwriting. It’s the one, all right.”

“Well done. I am extremely pleased with you,” Taffari told her. “Come and sit beside me, my dear.” She accepted the offer with alacrity and Taffari laid his hand on her thigh below the table-top.

“Captain Kajo,” Taffari ordered. “There is a bottle of champagne in the refrigerator. This calls for a celebration.”

Kajo went to the bar and busied himself with the bottle. The cork popped and a little froth gushed on to the carpet. It was Australian rather than French, but none of them complained.

Kajo turned back to the bar, screening the row of glasses on the bar while he poured the wine. He gave Bonny her glass firsttand then served the others in order of their seniority.

Taffari lifted his glass towards Bonny. “To you, my dear. You have saved me and my country from a potentially damaging situation.”

“Thank you, Mr. President.” Bonny took a mouthful of the champagne. She noticed but did not remark on the slightly bitter aftertaste, for she had learned not to give him the least pretext for offence. And when Kajo refilled her glass, she drank it without question. The unpleasant taste was less noticeable now.

“I thought we might go for a sunset cruise on the lake,” Taffari told her, and Bonny smiled at him but her cheeks felt strangely numb.

“That would be fun,” she tried to say, but it came out slurred and jumbled. Bonny broke off and stared at them. Their faces were receding and there was a ringing sound in her head. It became louder and her vision was darkening. There was only a tiny hole in the centre of the blackness in which she could see Ephrem’s face, as though through the reverse end of a telescope, small and remote.

His voice boomed and echoed in her drugged brain. “Goodbye, my dear,” he said, and her head dropped forward on to the table-top.

There was silence in the cabin for a full minute after Bonny Mahon had collapsed. Then President Taffari gathered his papers and placed them in his briefcase. He stood up and Kajo hurried to open the door for him. Taffari paused in the doorway and looked back. Ning Cheng Gong was still seated opposite the unconscious girl. He was watching her with a strange pale intensity.

At the head of the gangplank Taffari paused to talk to Captain Kajo. “Make sure the yacht is washed thoroughly before you bring her back to port. You know how to use the pressure hose?”

“I do, Your Excellency.”

Taffari went down the gangplank to his Mercedes and Kajo stood to attention and saluted as he drove away.

The yacht’s diesel engine was already running, the exhausts bubbling softly under the stern. Kajo cast off the lines and went to the wheel. He eased the yacht away from the jetty and turned her bows towards the harbour entrance. It was a two-hour run out to Lamu Island, and the sun had already set when he dropped anchor in the lee of the uninhabited horseshoe-shaped rock.

“We have arrived, Mr. Ning,” he said into the voice tube.

“Help me, please, Captain.”

Kajo went down into the cabin. Bonny Mahon was lying, still unconscious, on the carpeted deck. Between them they carried her up into the open cockpit and while Kajo held her upright Ning strapped her wrists and ankles to the stainless steel railings.

He spread a nylon sheet under her with the end hanging over the stern, to make it easier to hose down the deck later. “I don’t need any further assistance,” he told Kajo. “Take the rubber dinghy and go ashore on the island. Stay there until I call you. No matter what you may hear you will remain ashore. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Ning.”

Cheng stood by the stern rail and watched Kajo in the stern of the dinghy disappear into the darkness. The little three hp outboard puttered softly, and the beam of Kajo’s flashlight threw an erratic beam in the darkness. At last he reached the island and the outboard motor cut out into silence. The flashlight was extinguished.

Cheng turned back to the girl. She sagged against her bonds. She looked very pale in the cockpit lights and her hair was an untidy copper bush. Cheng took a few moments longer to savour the moment.

Physically the woman was unattractive to him, and she was much older than he liked, but none the less he felt his excitement mounting. Soon he would, be so absorbed and transported that such small adverse considerations would be of no account.

He looked around him carefully, taking his time, considering the circumstances. Lamu Island was twelve miles from the mainland and the lake crocodiles infested the waters around it. They would immediately devour any offal that was dropped overboard. On top of which he was under the protection of President Taffari.

He went back to the girl and adjusted the tourniquet around her upper arm, massaging the veins in the inside of her elbow until they stood out thick and blue in the cockpit lights. He had used the drug on many previous occasions, and he kept the antidote and disposable syringe available at all times.

Only seconds after he injected the antidote, Bonny Mahon opened her eyes and peered at him groggily.

“Good evening, Miss Mahon.” Cheng’s voice was throaty with excitement. “You and I are going to have a little fun together.”

Chapter 37

There had been an almost immediate rapport between Daniel and Sepoo. It was strange for in every way they were completely different: in size and colour and shape and mentality there was no similarity whatsoever.