Elephant Dropping (9781301895199) (3 page)

‘Ok, tell me
about the auditor?’

‘Yes,’ Evans
gulped his drink and said in a rush, ‘I received a letter this
morning from my head office in Nairobi.’ He fished out the folded
message. ‘They are sending an auditor down on Monday, and I don’t
know what to do.’

Patel quickly
read through it and looked hard at Evans. ‘He is coming to examine
the bank’s books?’

‘Yes, an
auditor for god's sake,’ Evans wailed, miserable.

‘Evans, if you
have followed procedures, what is the problem?’

‘He will expose
the scheme and we will get caught!’

‘Calm down, all
the books balance right?’

‘Yes, but what
about these false loans, he will find them.’

‘Hang on man,
you are not thinking. These loans are not false, they are backed by
genuine title deeds and we have been very thorough with the paper
work; the interest on all the loans has beenpaid regularly. You
have not been doing anything different?’

‘No, of course
not, Azizza does it every day.’

‘And you
haven't started any other scheme on your own?’ He asked trying to
source the manager’s obvious angst.

‘No.’

‘You’re
sure?’

‘Absolutely.’

Patel started
to chuckle. ‘My friend, my friend.’

‘I don't see
anything to laugh about, Patel you bloody
muhindi
!’

He ignored the
insult. ‘Evans, if your books are all in order, then the bank
should be very happy. Short of this auditor fellow driving all the
way out to the Sabaki River or demanding to meet the bank’s
customers, he won't find anything, will he?’

Evans shook his
head, frowning.

‘Do you know
him?’ asked Patel.

‘No, he is
new.’

‘A new
mzungu
, even better, I will make some enquiries.’

Evans was
perplexed at Patel’s lack of concern, a ray of hope on his bleak
horizon. ‘But listen Patel,’ he asked still suspicious, ‘why would
the bank want an audit now?’

‘There has been
no default in payment and the bank is experiencing an unprecedented
rise in its income. So if anything, we have almost been too clever.
Don't worry, just carry on as normal - looking at his watch. I'm
busy today, let’s meet at the golf club this evening, ok? You need
to get back to your office Evans and stay away from the booze! Pull
yourself together and everything will be fine, in fact I think we
could turn this event to our advantage,’ he smiled.

‘So you don’t
think there will be a problem?’ Evans asked.

‘No, my friend,
you worry too much,’ Patel said as he walked from the bar. ‘See you
at six thirty.’

Patel reached
the car park, waved at his driver and called Azizza on his mobile.
‘Hello my dear, we have to meet at our usual spot, there have been
some developments on Golden Palm. No, everything is under control,’
he reassured her. ‘See you at lunch,’ and rang off.

Patel climbed
into his 4x4 instructing the driver to stop at Gandi's mobile phone
shop on the way back to the office. He checked the new mobile
phones in the shop counter and bought a sim card. Back in the car
he switched his sim with the new one and waited while the phone
selected a network. Once the phone was active, he told his driver
to pull over to the side of the road.

Patel walked a
few yards, out of earshot. ‘Hello, Immigration Dept, could you put
me through to extension 233? Yes, 233 thank you.’ He strolled to a
shady patch under a tree while waiting to be connected.

‘Hello Kamau,
Patel here, how are you my friend? How is the family?’ They
exchange pleasantries for a while. ‘Now Kamau, I need a favour from
you, listen to me carefully. Can you look up the file on a Mr.
Brian Nicholls working for NNB bank. Yes, Nicholls, it must be a
recent application, ok. Then e-mail a copy of his C.V. today, it’s
urgent - now tell me, my friend, which mobile are you using now -
ahh, you need the new Nokin - it takes pictures and everything - I
will arrange to send you one, thank you so much. When I come to
Nairobi we will go out on the town. Send the C.V. today ok, ok
thanks, bye.’ Patel got back into the car. ‘To the office,’ he
informed his driver.

*

Evans still in
the bar, now somewhat mollified, chuckled to himself, that Patel is
one smart
muhindi
. He drained his vodka. ‘Barman where’s my
change? I'm a busy man!’ He boomed, all confidence restored. Rose
and the boys were not due back from Nairobi until this evening, he
could watch TV, snooze, and go back to the bank this afternoon. A
little time out was just what the doctor had ordered he reasoned
with a smile.

*

Patel and
Azizza met at a small curry house in town, located just off the
main Malindi highway in a discreet side street. It's main advantage
was that the back entrance could be approached and exited from
several side roads - and the curry was not bad. Azizza was on time;
they ordered lunch and soon got down to business. Patel explained
what had transpired this morning.

‘So you don't
see any difficulties with this auditor?’ She asked.

He reached into
his briefcase, and handed over the e-mail. ‘Never worked in Africa
before.’ He smiled.

She quickly
scanned it and raised her eyebrows in question.

Patel munched
on a
chapati
. ‘You see, my dear, I will make sure Mr.
Nicholls does not enjoy his visit to Malindi. In fact he will be in
a hurry to leave.’

Azizza frowned.
‘Ok spare me the details unless it involves me,’ Patel’s tentacles
ran deep and she knew better than to ask. Whilst she admired his
abilities, he scared her. He was not a man to cross swords
with.

Patel went on.
‘This week, I want you to go through the paperwork and make sure we
have covered all our tracks. Check all the interest payments and
keep the land officer sweet. Give him a generous over payment -
like you have made a mistake - we can recover it later.’

He scratched
his head. ‘Evans is our weakest link, panics too easily. In a tight
corner he would sell us out,’ he stabbed a
poppadom
irritably with his index finger, it cracked loudly. ‘We can't cover
every angle, but keep cash and your passport on you at all
times.’

She frowned.
‘You’re saying we might have to run for it?’

‘No my dear, I
am just being cautious.’

‘I see, so
where would we cautiously go?’

Patel looked at
her, a wry smile on his face. ‘I haven’t thought about it but our
best bet is to find a way get to Tanga in Tanzania.’

‘Why
Tanga?’

‘I don’t know,
I’m thinking on my feet it’s a sleepy little town, last place
anyone would look.’ He shrugged.

‘Ok so this
sleepy little town, we walk around until we bump into one
another?’

Patel giggled,
teasing slices of cucumber round his plate with a fork as he spoke.
‘Find a hotel and check the message board at the Tanga Yacht Club
every day, where you will find an advertisement for a boat for
sale, the boat’s name will be,’ Patel searched for a word, ‘choose
one,’ he said playfully, trying to lighten her mood.

‘Cucumber,’ she
volunteered facetiously.

‘Ok, and the
phone number will be my contact.

She nodded,
unconvinced. Azizza understood the double meaning and shivered
involuntarily - an escape plan that would ensure that Patel knew
exactly where to find her.

‘You think this
auditor could be a real threat?’ She asked.

‘No, I doubt
it, there is nothing for him to find,’ he reassured her, ‘however,
once this crisis is over we might have to cut our losses, or speed
up the process. Evans will not be able to carry this project
through to fruition,’ he decided in resignation, ‘so put that agile
mind of yours to work. This far down the line, we must get away
with enough money.’

Azizza slapped
irritably at a fly.

‘Just be normal
with Evans,’ Patel went on, ‘his fear is making him oversensitive.
Another six months to go and we should be home and dry.’

They finished
the meal in silence, caught up in their respective thoughts. She
studied Patel. A slim six foot two, in his early 40’s with a head
of salt and pepper hair. Nothing about his outward appearance
indicated the mercurial and ruthless mind this man possessed. His
face - apart from a large hooked nose - was plain, quite
forgettable in fact. He had a warm and easy smile, a pleasant
looking inoffensive man - and yet when pushing a point those brown
eyes glinted like steel - his mouth set. The only thing that belied
his inscrutable calm, was an odd girl-like giggle, like a response
to a silly joke; it’s immaturity in this tall man a little
repulsive. When Patel giggled, Azizza had learned, watch out!

She had tried
to bed him a few times, and he had declined her invitation with as
much interest as an unsustainable project with no profit in it for
him. It was not that she found him in the least bit attractive, but
more a need to gain an emotional insurance.

As though
reading her mind after the second attempt, he had said to her. ‘My
dear, it's not you. You are a most attractive woman. I have seen
the way other men look at you. It's me,’ throwing his hands in the
air, ‘sex just doesn't interest me.’ Accepting this they had
maintained their business relationship, the trust growing between
them, dictated by the rising stakes. She had not entirely given up
the idea of getting him into bed and if anything his lack of
response only intrigued her more.

‘I'm meeting
Evans this evening,’ Patel announced, remembering his phone call to
Kamau. ‘On your way back to the office can you stop by Gandi's and
buy me the new Nokin phone. It’s about twenty four thousand
shillings, do you have enough cash?’ Azizza nodded. ‘Good put that
down on the expenses account and leave the phone in the office for
me.’

‘Ok, see you
later,’ she said to his departing back.

At four, Patel
left his factory, car keys in hand. ‘It’s alright David,’ he told
the driver hurrying to the 4x4, ‘you can have the rest of the day
off. I will drive myself, see you in the morning.’

Patel had a
fleet of cars; he opted to take a small white Toyota used on the
school run by his wife. He turned out of the gate and headed for
the suburbs of Malindi where he had bought a house from an old
English settler now in a rest home upcountry. The single story
colonial bungalow was about to fall down and was worthless, but for
now it worked well as an office for Golden Palm. As a concession to
the settler, he had kept on his houseman, who lived on the
property, employed as gatekeeper.

Patel sounded
the horn and waited for the old man to open the gate. As he drove
up the overgrown drive to the rear of the building, he was pleased
to see the back door shut. Azizza not there, good, he needed time
alone. Entering the house through the kitchen he put the kettle on
and opened the door to the office, the room was sparsely furnished
apart from a long table with computer equipment, an office chair
and filing cabinets.

Along one wall
was a large map of the Sabaki river plot allocations, areas marked
in red under Golden Palm’s control. He whipped the dustsheet off
the computer, turned it on and went back into the kitchen to make
himself a cup of tea.

He settled down
at the computer, glancing at his watch making a note of the time.
Tapping in the password, he opened the folder containing the Golden
Palm accounts, and read the current figures. NNB had now lent over
500 million shillings on the strength of the title deeds. At an
average of 750,000 per title, this equated to almost seven hundred
titles over the past five months.

The land
officer had already consumed two million, the interest rates so
far, just under nine million.

Patel, with
Azizza’s help, had set up Golden Palm as a legitimate limited
company, its mandate was land buying and real estate and all the
licenses were current. They were both listed as directors of the
company, the majority shares in Patel’s name. The land officer
handed over the title deeds to Azizza, and issued her with a
government receipt for the amount, in the name of the plot owner,
pocketing his fee.

Each plot owner
was a member of the Sabaki Farmers Co-operative Society. This
fictional co-operative even had an elected chairman and
subcommittee. It was this so-called subcommittee that had voted for
and officially appointed Golden Palm as the co-operatives
agents.

With approval
from Evans, the NNB bank paid out the loans in cash in exchange for
the title deeds. Golden Palm acted as agents for the small holders
earning an additional fee. The bulk of this money went into a
deposit account with a rival bank in Malindi where Patel and Azizza
were joint signatories.

Azizza paid the
interest in cash on a daily basis to NNB, as well as submitting any
new loan applications. The cash was carefully calculated and kept
in a concealed floor safe in the house together with all the
pending title deeds. Money accumulated in the savings account in
the rival bank. Golden Palm had bought the Mercedes that Evans was
driving, as a sweetener of things to come. Patel had resisted any
attempt by Evans to get hold of more money. It would earn them all
more on deposit, and they couldn’t risk him overspending and
drawing unnecessary attention to himself.

As a
concession, Evans was paid a monthly consultants fee, which was
enough to keep him happy for the time being.

Patel scanned
all the figures, noting with satisfaction, that Azizza kept a tidy
set of books. Any cursory glance through these accounts would only
show that Golden Palm was a legitimate agency with a good
relationship with its many clients. He looked up the figure
currently on deposit, 490 million shillings and rising. ‘Not
enough,’ he muttered. ‘No,’ sipping his tea, ‘not nearly enough.
Damn this Nicholls fellow, this is such a beautiful project we must
see it through.’