Chapter Twenty-Three
The Lee Suite, Rio Hotel, Klerksdorp, South Africa
“Okay, TD,” said Bret, somewhat shocked. “If this isn’t a social call, what the hell is it? Why are you jumping out of our past into my life today? Are you still with The Company?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny that question," he said with a smile.
“Nice try. But, your presence here answers my question. Past experiences keep me ever aware of America’s ability to monitor the world’s surreptitious activities. Yet, Zhu and I’ve gone way out of our way to cover our tracks and avoid notice by officialdom. So why is the CIA interested in us? How’d you find us?”
“I’ll answer your second query first. When you went to SOFEX, facial recognition technology confirmed your temporary location and phony name. We were already looking for you because we learned you’d been in contact with a Chinese government official in connection with your interest in surface-to-air missiles. SAMs in the wrong hands are a big concern to intelligence services. I’ve been chasing you ever since, from Jordan to Hong Kong, then Macau and finally here.
“So, Steffan, it’s my turn to ask the questions. Why? Why all the bombastic behavior in casinos? Why the interest in SAMs? What kind of assignment has Julien given you?”
“Julien? That sonofa . . .”
“Oh no, he never ratted you out, but he sure avoided talking with the FBI, a pretty obvious indication you might be on an assignment. And it must be a damn important one to drag you away from your professorship. So level with me. What’s going on?”
Bret looked over at Zhu, sitting on the easy chair in rapt attention, thinking I can’t believe all the crap we went through trying to hide from the spooks, and now we’re gonna spill our guts into the horse’s mouth. No way to avoid it, I guess. He shrugged his shoulders, and nodded a slow weak “Yes.”
“Okay, TD. I’ll fill you in. We’ve been assigned to capture Jacob Kunga, leader of the Lord’s Resistance Army. He’s currently believed to be located somewhere in the jungle of the Democratic Republic of the Congo. The world’s military forces have been trying to find and destroy him and his army of guerillas for decades.”
“I’m very much aware of the LRA and Kunga. But the word is that most of his forces have been destroyed, and the LRA is a shadow of what it used to be.”
“True, but the scuttlebutt is that he’s determined to prove to the world that he’s still a force to be reckoned with. So, Kunga has reportedly been looking to buy SAM’s, ostensibly to knock down civilian aircraft flying over central Africa.”
“Holy crap! That’d be horrific.”
“I’ve been establishing a reputation as a secret arms dealer in hopes that he will ‘find me,’ and we can collaborate with him, while furtively working to foil his plans.”
“Chu’s involved too. Back in the States, she’s been successfully building that reputation via online gossip articles. Zhu’s been functioning as my bodyguard while secretly photographing my casino performances for Chu to use in her Wikipedia-oriented stories.”
“What if you’re successful, Bret, and the LRA discovers you and shows interest in you as a dealer? Have you thought about what you’d do should you come face to face with Kunga?”
“Not exactly. Still working on that one,” he responded, hesitantly.
“Wow. I hardly know what to say.”
“How about saying, ‘I want in.’ We might need a little last-minute help from the good guys if we’re successful in fooling Kunga, and subsequently tracking him and taking him down.”
“I’m in. I think I’m in. Hmm, I’d better get a buy-in okay from the boss. There's a real possibility of ‘unintended consequences.’”
"You mean, blowback."
"Yeah, blowback."
“Possible I guess. So who’s the boss these days . . . Jim Baker still around?”
“Yup. Only he’s top dog now. Moved into a shiny new office upstairs.”
“Please give him my regards.”
“I’ll get in touch with him as soon as we have a little time to reminisce. Got any coffee?”
“Heck yeah. This suite has all the makings ready to plug in. Zhu, how about firing up the Keurig and brewing us all some coffee, and then ordering breakfast for three from room service.
* * *
Later that morning, TD left Bret and Zhu so they could shower up and start planning their casino performance for the coming evening. He returned to his own room, and promptly sent a secure encrypted email to Baker:
Rest easy, Jim. I’ve confirmed that Bret and Zhu are indeed patriots. As planned, I barged in on them a couple hours ago, renewed our friendship, and listened as they described their activities and objectives. It’s clear that the reports initially arousing our concern were precipitated by a Delta Intelligence Services assignment to capture Jacob Kunga, leader of the LRA. Aimed at preventing LRA’s acquisition of MANPADS for potential use against commercial airlines, Bret and Zhu are enmeshed in their plot to establish Steffan Doevendans, Bret’s nom de guerre, as a boisterous gambling playboy and secret arms dealer. This goal is augmented and supported online by Chu-lin Lee stateside. The apex of the plot is to meet with Kunga in an African jungle hideout, and take him down. I hereby request permission to officially join the plot in support of Steffan and his trusted bodyguard, Zhu.
* * *
After a few hours had passed, TD got a text response from Baker:
Permission granted. Extreme caution paramount as the LRA on their home turf nothing to mess with lightly. Keep me in loop. I’m open to seek resources from any branch of our government that may prove necessary for mission support.
* * *
Chu was busy typing another gossip article highlighting Bret’s arrest in Macau, when her burner phone rang. At first, she assumed it was Bret and that he was in trouble. Bret had promised never to call on that line unless it was an emergency. She didn’t recognize the caller’s phone number but answered it anyway.
It was a woman named Mia making some pretence and asking for an appointment with Steffan. Chu pretended that she was the secretary, that Bret was traveling overseas, and set up a tentative appointment for him to call her back later in the week, taking down her phone number. Chu immediately provided this information to Bret via text.
* * *
Zhu yelled from the living room’s sofa, “Just got an encrypted message from Chu. Better get out here. It’s important.”
Happy that TD had come aboard, Bret was standing in front of the bedroom mirror, checking his appearance and straightening his tie. He truly hated having to wear a suit to comply with casino dress rules. Even while teaching class at UM, he didn’t have to wear a coat most of the time, and usually loosened his tie and opened his collar at the neck. He heard Zhu shouting something urgently, but didn’t clearly hear the message, so he flipped out the lights, exited the room and walked over to the sofa.
“What did you say?”
“Chu texted us. Someone called the Dove International Security phone and asked for you.”
“Wow! Maybe from someone looking for an arms dealer.”
“Chu got her name and number, promising you’d call back. The caller’s name was Mia, and her phone number sounds like it might be based in France, I think.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Lee Suite, Rio Hotel, Klerksdorp, South Africa
“Hello, may I speak with Mia?”
(Male voice with French accent) “Who’s calling?”
“My name is Steffan Doevendans.”
“Can I tell her what this is regarding?”
“She left a message with my secretary that she was trying to reach me.”
“Just a minute, please.”
“Hello Mr. Doevendans. This is Mia. Thank you for returning my call.”
“You’re welcome. How can I help you?”
“I understand from your website that Dove International Security markets a wide variety of specialty products aimed at b
odily and business protection.”
“That’s right. What do you need?”
“I was wondering if you might also carry something a little more . . . aggressive.”
Clearing his throat, and intentionally remaining silent for several seconds, Steffan responded, “How did you come to look at my website? It says nothing about offensive hardware?”
“Steffan, can I call you that? Are you aware that there are numerous online gossip articles about you? They hinted that you might also deal in arms. Do you?”
“Uhhhh, Mia, tell me a little about yourself and your interests. I’m at a disadvantage since I have no online articles about who you are.”
“I handle special projects for special people who have special needs.”
“Uhmmm . . . perhaps we could meet sometime in the near future to discuss our respective businesses?”
“My exact thought. How about tomorrow evening, after you finish gambling?”
“I’m not gambling in Macau any more. I’m now in Klerksdorp, South Africa.”
“That’s interesting. So am I. I’m staying at the Rio Hotel.”
“The Rio? Interesting indeed. I propose we meet in the Rio lobby at, say, 11:00 p.m.”
“Agreed. I’ll be carrying a pink rose.”
“Okay. I’ll be accompanied by my bodyguard, who never leaves my side.”
“I look forward to meeting you.”
After completing the call with Mia, Bret and Zhu met with and briefed TD about the phone conversation. It was decided that TD would also be in the lobby as an unseen observer during the meeting with Mia.
* * *
Lobby, Rio Hotel (the following evening)
Rio’s lobby that late evening was quiet and near-empty, not the usual front-desk overflow of people and luggage waiting to check in. A few of the overstuffed leather chairs were occupied, especially those close to the fireplace. After Bret and Zhu settled in on a conversational grouping of chairs and couches in a far corner, TD arrived and sat about ten yards away, reading a newspaper. Hotel acoustics were intentionally poor; sounds from a TV across the room were inaudible. Perfect for a confidential discussion once Mia arrived.
“Hello, that’s a pretty pink rose. Are you Mia?”
“Yes, and you must be Steffan and . . .”
“Zhu is his name. He rarely speaks.”
“My kind of man.”
If she wasn’t wearing those spike shoes, he mused, she’d never make five feet. He guessed her age as mid-fifties, and noted she carried an ornate cane. I wonder if it has a knife in the handle, or could fire a small caliber bullet? Mia looked as if she were on her way to a high-class cocktail party, or perhaps an opera. Her makeup, artfully applied, enhanced her still-pretty face. Her auburn hair, grey at the temples, was loosely braided and piled high on top, held in place by a pearl-encrusted silver comb. She must have just left a signature salon, he assumed. Her form-fitting bejeweled brown satin dress, cut to modestly reveal a wasp waist and ample breasts, fell just above the knees, exposing her shapely legs.
“Mia, how can I help? You mentioned something about weapons.”
“Yes, I have a client looking for some military hardware. Am I correct in assuming that you may be able to help my client?”
Again, Bret cleared his throat with a series of noticeable grunts, looking cautiously around the room, and quietly answering, “I may be able to meet your client’s needs. It all depends on your client’s ability to pay my costs and fees. What specific weapon does the client want?”
“Shoulder-mounted surface-to-air missiles. Several.”
“I have the capability to supply anything for the right price. That will vary depending on make, model, reliability, and year of manufacture.”
“Steffan, I’ll let my client know that I have found a reliable source, and seek further instructions. Will you be in Klerksdorp for a few days?”
“As long as necessary to initiate a transaction, and secure an up-front deposit.”
“Fine. You’ll be hearing from me. How do I best reach you?”
“I’m in and about. Just call my secretary like you did before. She’ll reach me.”
Mia and Steffan shook hands, and headed in opposite directions. Subsequently, TD joined Bret and Zhu on one of the lobby elevators, and cautioned them.
“Hey guys, I recognized that woman. She’s an international criminal. Be careful. How about filling me in on the conversation? I could hear only a few words.”
Exiting the elevator and walking down the hall to the Lee Suite, Bret quietly answered TD. “Basically, she has a client, presumably Kunga, who wants to acquire several MANPADS. I said I could fill the order for the right price, and indicated that I’d want a deposit to proceed after we decide on the specs.”
“What next?”
“She’s apparently going to talk with the client, and see how he wants the negotiation to proceed. I suspect she’ll be contacting me in a day or two to discuss the next step.”
“Be sure to keep me in the loop. I’m gonna update Baker now.”
“And I’m going to brief Chu, and let her know that Mia will be calling her again soon as a means of reaching me.”
After TD’s departure, Bret speculated, “I’d be surprised if Mia doesn’t already know our room number, but I don’t want her banging on the door or calling by an unsecure hotel phone.”
“Makes sense.”
“I need a stiff drink after all that,” said Bret as he headed to the room’s bar. Although well-stocked with double bottles of Glen Fiddich, Stolichnaya, Patron, Pusser’s, and Wild Turkey, as well as a great selection of wines in the cooler beneath, Bret grabbed his special-request bottle of Meyers Dark rum, tipped two jiggers-full over a glass of ice, and poured in several ounces of tonic.
“Make one for me too,” Zhu added, as he plopped on the sofa. “I’ll get Chu on the cell for you.”
“Hi Sis. Bret’s got some news. Here he is.”
“Hi Chu. Well, all your wonderful online stuff has produced results. I met today with that woman that called our office.”
“You mean Mia?”
“Yeah. We just finished discussions with her, and she referred to your gossip articles. She said they implied I might be an arms dealer.”
“Ooh, just like I hoped.”
“After beating around the bush for awhile, I confirmed that I might be able to help her. She revealed her ‘client’ wanted to acquire several MANPADS if we could supply them.”
“Bingo.”
“Mia’s now determining how her client wants the negotiations to proceed. Be aware that you’re likely to get another call from her, trying to reach me. Ya know, it’s just now dawning on me how fast everything’s happening.”
“Yeah, a little scary.”
“Babe, I haven’t even thought yet about how we’re going to get some hardware to show Mia or Kunga should they ask to see proof that we can supply. We’ve got to soon find a way to procure a dummy weapon if they want to see one. We can use a photo to stall them for awhile, but eventually they’ll want to see the ‘real thing.’ Any ideas?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. I’ve been working on a project for a few days, but need a little more time until I hear back from a shop here in Sioux Falls.”
“What kind of shop?”
“The company’s called Quality Welding and Manufacturing. I saw some work photos on their website that show machined truck engine parts they’ve made having configurations approximating the dimensions and design sophistication we’d need for our dummy system. So I met with the owner, explained our need, and showed him photos and specs of the American FIM-92E Stinger Missile System you chose. He said he could put a few of his CNC machinists on the job, and do it in a couple weeks. I said we may need it sooner. As an expedited job, the final cost would be $20,000, and take at least five days.”
“Well, tell him it’s a deal. Use your Wells Fargo debit card to pay him a $5000 deposit to get the job going.”
“We’ve got a lower credit limit on our card.”
“Did you forget Julien’s $8000 check we put in that account?”
“Oops, thanks. I did forget. I’ll do it. And now I’ve got a question for you.”
“What’s that?”
“Have you thought about what Kunga’s gonna do when you hand him our dummy weapon?” she asked.
“It’s on my list. But I’m open to suggestions. Got any?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Lee Suite, Rio Hotel, Klerksdorp, South Africa
The sound of door chimes alerted Bret to conclude his conversation. But Zhu got to the door first, and opened it. A tall black man in full-dress military uniform stood there.
“Are you Steffan?” he asked.
“No, I’m his bodyguard. Who are you?”
Walking in and shoving Zhu aside, the intruder asked, “Where is Steffan?”
Emerging from the bedroom where he had been speaking with Chu, Bret said, “I’m Steffan, and you’d better turn around and leave damn quick, or my bodyguard will hurt you.”
“I do not see a gun in his hand.”
“He doesn’t need one. He can kill with his hands and feet. So get the hell out of here before he demonstrates.”
Zhu’s eyes widened and knees bent as he assumed an attack position, but froze in place.
“The stranger said, I am General Zuluka. Mia sent me.”
Hearing this, Bret relaxed slightly, averting the stranger’s gaze, and scanned the General’s unusual appearance. From head to toe, the man was clothed in faded olive green fabric. He wore a rather tattered military officer’s cap with red accent and visor, which added three inches to his impressive six foot, four inch height. His dress coat, with its red-trimmed shoulder epaulets bearing five golden stars, spanned a broad chest and was buttoned down to cover the top of his permanently pleated trousers, threadbare at their bottoms. A wide leather black belt wrapped tightly over the coat’s midriff revealed his slender physique. Here and there on coat and pants were sewn patches of similar olive green fabric that tried but failed to hide jungle battle damage. Partially hidden by the trouser bottoms were torn military suede boots.
Ghost of Africa Page 10
