Elephant Dropping (9781301895199) (66 page)

Marjory closed
her eyes and clenched her jaw. Suppressing her shock and outrage,
she tried to keep her voice even. ‘Yes, you have made your position
very clear sir.’

‘Thank you,
have a nice day,’ and he hung up.

She put the
phone down woodenly, a wave of fear coursing through her and took a
few deep breaths. She leaned forward on the desk head in her hands
thinking furiously, replaying the minister’s words in her mind.
There was a knock on the door. Sandifer, his ready lopsided smile
turned to one of concern as he saw her obvious distress. ‘Are you
alright Ma’am?Is this a bad time?’

Not raising her
head she waved him to a chair with one hand. ‘No. Come in John and
shut the door,’ she said wearily, a slight tremble in her
voice.

He did as he
was told, wondering what had happened.

Marjory leaned
back in her chair and looked at him with a vague and unfocused
gaze, she then got up and walked slowly over to a sideboard and
poured herself a glass of water. She took a few birdlike sips and
then returned to her desk. ‘So John tell me what news of Nicholls?’
She invited, her voice once more even.

‘Yes Ma’am. He
is being held at the airport over his passport.’

‘But he is a
British citizen?’

‘Yes correct
Ma’am, they picked him up on a delay tactic. They will send his
passport back to us for verification and only then will he be
allowed to enter Britain.’

‘Are they aware
of the extradition request on him yet?’

‘No Ma’am.’

‘So we can’t
have him charged with anything until he enters Britain legally? Now
listen to me carefully John. I have just had the Minister Omollo on
the phone. He has put us in a real fix, one that only your people
can sort out, we can’t go through the normal channels.’ She then
repeated what the Minister had said. An hour later, the two of them
had worked out a plan.

‘John, you know
that I can’t be involved. I’m relying on your discretion, I don’t
need to tell you how delicate our position is. If the Ministry of
Agriculture even gets a whiff of this scandal, it could have some
far reaching and unpleasant implications.’

‘Yes Ma’am, I’m
sure it won’t be too difficult, I will get onto it right away,’ he
stood up. The Ambassador proffered her hand. They shook, sealing
the deal.

‘Thank you
John, keep me informed. I don’t need to know all the details.’

FORTY-THREE

At the airport,
Brian was taken into the police station, a gate was unlocked by a
uniformed policeman, leading to long corridor that smelled of
disinfectant, empty cells on either side. The guard opened the last
one and invited Brian to go in. A small bed, washbasin and toilet
was all the cell contained. He stepped into it resignedly and was
locked in.

‘When do I get
to see a lawyer?’ He asked the guard.

‘Search me
mate,’ he replied, ‘but I tell you what, no shouting from you. I
want to watch my footie on the telly.’ He took a clipboard off the
wall. ‘Are you a vegetarian?’

Brian shook his
head. ‘No.’

‘Good, lunch at
one o’clock.’

The guard
walked off, the sound of his footsteps receding left Brian in
silence looking round the walls. He sat on the bed feeling
miserable. He still had the money he consoled himself, they would
eventually have to let him out and with that thought he fell into a
deep sleep.

He was woken as
though from a dream, a pleasant feminine voice calling his name.
‘Mr. Brian Nicholls?’ He looked up from the bed still half-asleep
to see a small, pretty woman smiling at him through the bars.

‘Hello, I’m
Claire Raynor from the Foreign Office,’ she introduced herself
brightly.

‘Oh good,’ He
smoothed his mussed hair with his hands and stood up. ‘Sorry I was
asleep,’ he apologized.

‘I expect you
needed it after all your adventures.’

‘Yes, yes I
did,’ Brian agreed waking up and eyeing her neat figure. She wore a
grey, lightly pinstriped dress nipped at the waist. Her short hair
cut in a bob was very attractive.

‘You said
you’re from the Foreign Office?’ Brian asked.

The guard
sauntered up, interrupting. ‘Everything alright?’

‘Yes everything
is fine,’ she answered, ‘any chance I could have a chair to sit on,
or a stool,’ she pointed at the floor.

‘Oh yes,’ said
the guard, off on a mission. He was soon back and placed a stool on
the floor in front of her. ‘Here you go,’ he then leant against the
bars of the adjoining cell.

She thanked
him, moving the stool in front of Brian, and sat down arranging her
skirt, a quick flash of firm thighs and painted toenails in neat
summer sandals. She turned to the guard. ‘You don’t mind if we have
some privacy?’

The guard
looked uncomfortable. ‘It’s security,’ he said.

‘Thank you, but
I think you can see Mr. Nicholls is not going anywhere,’ and she
giggled deliciously.

‘Ah, ok, if you
need me, just yell,’ he said as he walked off.

‘Back to his
football,’ Claire winked at Brian, nodding conspiratorially in the
guard’s direction.

He smiled at
her, enchanted.

‘Must be a bit
grim down here,’ she commiserated.

‘They won’t let
me near a lawyer. Is that why you’re here?’

Claire tilted
her head to one side, a little frown on her face. ‘Yes and, no. I’m
not sure why I’m here except that your passport was issued at the
Embassy in Kenya - you know when you registered it. Such tiresome
things passports, aren’t they really? Anyhow be as that may,
procedures dictate that your passport has to be sent back to our
Embassy in Kenya for them to verify that it’s the genuine
article.’

She held her
hand up to stop Brian’s protest, he noted no wedding ring. ‘Now I
know that seems silly and unreasonable, but,’ she grimaced, ‘it’s
the rules, you know.’

‘But I could be
in here for days. What about my rights?’

Claire said.
‘Actually Brian - may I call you that?’ She looked at him in
earnest.

‘Yes of
course.’

‘Brian, you’re
not technically,’ a small frown, ‘in Britain. You’re in a
bureaucratic no man’s land, and being held under the terrorist act,
so your rights don’t actually apply in this situation.’

‘But that’s
outrageous.’

‘Yes I know,’
she bit her lip. ‘That Hardy is such a bully.’

‘It was him was
it?’

‘Yes well, you
know, modern times, part of his job.’

‘So you have
come here to tell me that nothing can be done until my passport is
cleared. Is that right?

‘Yes I’m afraid
so Brian, but look on the bright side, as soon as your passport is
cleared you will be allowed into Britain officially, and can talk
to a lawyer. It’s not as though you’re going to be interrogated, or
anything nasty like that.’

The sound of a
mobile phone rang, a distant chiming getting louder. Claire frowned
and reached for her purse. ‘Sorry I thought I had switched it off.’
She fished it out read the details and stood up turning away from
Brian. She walked off down the corridor to speak to the caller. He
could make out a series of yes’s and no’s, until she went out of
earshot.

The sound of
approaching footsteps in the corridor made him look up, expecting
to see the guard. It wasn’t, it was the man who had arrested him.
Hardy sat down heavily on the stool his pale eyes on Brian.
‘Nicholls you’re a bloody fool.’

‘I’m not saying
anything until I speak to a lawyer.’

‘Fine you want
to put yourself in more shit that’s up to you,’ he said
conversationally and lit a cigarette as Brian watched. Hardy looked
around ineffectively for an ashtray and then gave up and took a
long enjoyable drag. ‘What Claire hasn’t told you - because she
didn’t know - is that the Kenyans want you back in Kenya to face
charges to do with exploiting an underage girl.’

Brian started,
shocked. ‘What girl? It’s a lie!’

‘Not according
to them,’ Hardy flicked his ash on the floor and stared at him.
‘You could spend life in jail, actually the maximum sentence is
twenty years, but no one lasts that long in a Kenyan jail,’ he took
another long drag of his cigarette.

Brian’s voice
faltered. ‘It’s not true - none of it.’

Hardy leaned
forward blowing out smoke. ‘I’m almost feeling sorry for you
Nicholls. You have a solution, but for some reason you just won’t
take it.’

Brian’s face
went blank.

‘Tell you what;
once I finish this fag I’m going to leave. There’s a part of me
that thinks I should help people like you, but as you don’t want to
talk, then you may as well listen.’

Brian glowered,
his jaw set.

‘You know, the
Kenyans know, and we know, you have the money. It’s only a question
of time before we trace it, but time is what you don’t have. You
could easily save yourself, just tell us where it is. The Kenyans
will drop the charges. You will spend time in jail here for
embezzlement. As you’re a second offender it will be at least six
years, but you could be out with good behaviour in four, but at
least you won’t be in a Kenyan jail.’

Brian ran his
fingers through his hair, his shoulders slumped as he realised he
was beaten.

Hardy dropped
the cigarette on the floor and crushed it out with his shoe. ‘I
don’t know,’ he muttered under his breath, ‘why I bother.’ He stood
up.

‘Wait,’ Brian
said in a small voice. ‘If I tell you where the money is, you won’t
have me sent back to Kenya?’

‘Yes that’s
right, save yourself man,’ he encouraged.

‘The money is
in an offshore account in the Isle of Wight.’

Hardy waved to
someone in the corridor. Claire returned with a clipboard in her
hand. ‘Give the information to Mrs. Raynor,’ the detective told
him, ‘and Nicholls,’ he pointed a finger at him, ‘you had better be
telling the truth, you won’t get a second chance, that I can
promise you.’

He turned to
Claire. ‘When you’re done use the computer upstairs. I will see you
back at the office.’

‘Very good
sir,’ she said, as he strode off. She sat down on the stool turned
away from Brian. ‘Now give me all the details.’

*

Firdus alighted
from the aircraft in Malindi, and gratefully removed his jacket and
tie. He waved away the touts plying for trade as he walked over to
where Doug had left the Landrover. A cursory walk around the car
revealed the tires were still inflated and apart from a thin layer
of dust, the car looked as normal. Firdus dusted off the driver’s
seat before fishing out the keys from under the mat. One turn in
the ignition showed the battery wasn’t entirely flat, he called out
to the car park
askaris
to give him a push. Pumping the
accelerator the old car coughed into life a few yards later.

Firdus waved
his thanks as he drove toward town, cautiously checking the brakes
before he got up to speed. Outside his supermarket, leaving the
engine running, he went in to buy provisions for the farm. Pleased
to be back to his familiar routine he made a few more stops in
town. He topped up with fuel on his way out of Malindi looking
forward to the long drive home. Once he had cleared town and was on
the familiar dirt road, Firdus had time to think over the recent
case. This was the new modern Africa, policemen and leaders who
ultimately rotated away from their training back to the fear based
methods of chiefdoms. Every successive generation watering itself
down to the common denominator of “might is right” and a population
lacking any leadership examples, money was right and no money was
wrong.

Firdus thought
back to those bright eager young faces at the passing out parades
when he was an instructor at the police college in Kiganjo,
carrying the hopes and aspirations of a new nation in their newly
found independence. Where did it all go so wrong? He pulled the
Landrover over to the side of the road and walked into the nearby
bush to relieve himself. At the car he took out a bottle of water
and drank. He looked about him enjoying the vacuum of the open
spaces, the blue skies studded with cotton wool clouds, the flat
topped acacia trees alive with blossoms and birdsong. Bottle in
hand he went back to the edge of the road and studied the finer
dust, reading in the spoor of passing animals, the delicate prints
of a pair of dikdiks and the pad marks of a silver backed jackal
following the miniature antelopes. He took a deep breath shaking
off his previous maudlin thoughts. ‘This is where I belong now,’ he
said to himself, ‘this evening I will go down to the river and
catch a fish for my supper,’ he resolved, climbing back into the
car and setting off for home.

*

At three p.m.
that afternoon, John Sandifer went to the ambassador’s office
triumphantly carrying a e-mail from the London head office. He
smiled as he handed it over to his boss wordlessly.

Marjory quickly
read it and then sighed with relief. ‘Well done John,’ She then
rang the Minister’s office, pointing out an extension to John where
he could listen in.

Omollo came on.
‘Ambassador. You have good news for me?’

‘Yes Minister.
I have the information you asked for.’

‘You have the
money?’

‘Yes. Nicholls
has come clean.’

‘Wonderful.’
Omollo said with obvious pleasure. ‘Where is it now?’

‘Does this mean
you no longer want Nicholls extradited?’ Marjory asked, looking at
John.

‘That depends.
You said you have the stolen money?’

‘Yes the funds
have been recovered.’

‘How much?’

Marjory gritted
her teeth; this conversation was more of an interrogation.
‘According to our sources, it’s just over four million
dollars.’

‘Excellent, now
I will give you a bank account number where you are to transfer
this money. Are you ready?’