“What do I do now?” he wondered as he looked at the flat tyre. Changing a wheel was not something one learnt growing up in a home without a car. His parents never could afford one and walked or used a bus when they needed to travel.
Kubu shrugged, locked the car, and headed towards the hospital.
Assistant Superintendent Mabaku is going to enjoy this one, he thought ruefully.
* * *
Kubu went straight to the private ward and sat down. “Mr. Roberts, I apologise for intruding again, but I have some more questions.”
The bandaged head nodded.
“Where were you employed before you came here?”
The man took a deep breath. “I flew for a company called Heavenly Charters out of Lanseria, in Johannesburg.”
“And why—”
“Why did I leave?” Roberts interrupted. “I was fired.”
Kubu sat up a bit straighter.
“It was last March. I’d just returned from a long day’s flying, dodging massive thunderheads, with complaining passengers. I was exhausted. My boss told me he needed me to fly an important client down to Durban. There were nasty thunderstorms all through the highveld, and it would be a night flight. I told him it would be dangerous for me to fly under the circumstances. He told me I had to go. I refused. I’ve read enough accident reports to know that fatigue is a big killer. He said if I didn’t go, he’d fire me. I told him to go ahead, and he did. On the spot.”
“And when were you employed by Debswana?”
“About three months later. Pilots’ jobs are hard to get these days. Specially if you want to earn a living wage.”
“And Debswana wasn’t worried about you being fired?”
Roberts laughed. “It was ironic. They hired me because I had refused to fly. They said that they wanted cautious pilots who wouldn’t put any of their management at risk. And you know what?”
Kubu shook his head.
“I’m earning much more now. With benefits and retirement. More than my arsehole boss at Heavenly Charters.” He laughed again.
Kubu asked a few more questions and then took his leave, confident that Roberts was not involved in the heist. However, he remembered what Mabaku had said the evening before and resolved to dig further, just in case.
There was no way he was going to walk the kilometre or so to the restaurant to meet with the others, so he asked the receptionist to call for a taxi.
As he waited for it to arrive, he used the receptionist’s phone to call Elias at headquarters.
“Elias, this is Kubu. I need your help again, please.”
“For God’s sake, I’m not your lackey,” Elias grumbled.
“Well, the assistant superintendent wants us to move as quickly as possible, and I don’t have the resources to find out what I need.”
“And what’s that?”
“Phineas Nari is the manager at Jwaneng Airport. He works for Debswana. Please could you check with them to see if he’s ever been in any trouble with them?”
“His records will be at the mine,” Elias interrupted, “not at Debswana headquarters. You can check them yourself.”
Kubu hesitated a moment. “I’ll do that. But in the meantime, please contact the mine’s HR department and find out which bank his salary is deposited to. Then contact the bank to check for any unusual activity, particularly deposits. Also, the name of the Debswana pilot who was burnt is Tony Roberts—presumably Anthony Roberts. Check with Debswana about him too, and phone a company called Heavenly Charters at Lanseria. Roberts claims he was fired because he refused to fly what he considered a dangerous trip. See what the company has to say.”
“Is that all? Surely you can find more for me to do.”
“No, that’s it for now.” Kubu smiled. “Thanks very much. Now please could you put me through to Detective Sergeant Neo?”
There were a few clicks and a short delay. “Detective Sergeant Neo.”
“Mathew, it’s Kubu. Have you had any more thoughts about the suitcases? I’ve been so busy, I haven’t had a chance to think about our case.”
“I keep telling you that you’re wasting your time. And mine. The bags were stolen at their destination. End of story.”
Kubu rolled his eyes. “Okay, Mathew. Let’s assume you’re right. If so, it’s unlikely that this is the first time it’s happened. Please contact British Airways and Air France baggage sections in London and Paris and ask if something like this has ever happened before—that a large number of bags have been reported missing even though they were scanned all the way through.”
There was silence on the line.
“Mathew, are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here. The others are right. You’re a real pain in the arse.”
“Will you do what I asked, Mathew?”
There was another pause. “I suppose so.”
“Thank you, Mathew. I’ll call you back when I have the time.”
As he put down the phone, a man walked up to reception. “You called a taxi?”
“That’s for me,” Kubu replied and headed for the door.
Chapter 40
“I don’t feel I’ve made much progress,” Mabaku said as the three detectives enjoyed a drink at the restaurant. “My instinct is that the Tshane guard guy isn’t involved, although he was fired from his last job, allegedly for stealing a diamond ring. He and Tau, the head of security, were the only ones present when the three boxes were closed. They knew at that time which box contained the diamonds.”
“How do we know that for certain?” Kubu asked.
Mabaku looked at Kubu. “What do you mean?”
“Well, what if the person or people who originally packed the box marked the box in some way that only someone who knew what to look for would notice?”
“How would they do that?”
“I don’t know.” Kubu shrugged. “Maybe invisible paint visible to someone with special glasses? Or a very small mark on the lid?”
“That’s possible, but they’d have to know about the backup plan before they packed the diamonds.”
“Which would point to an inside job again,” Samkoa chipped in.
“And they would have to be told that the backup plan was going to be used.”
“We should check whether any information about the fire at the airport reached the packers at the mine,” Kubu suggested.
“Okay. That’s your job in the morning. One other thing: the guards where the armoured vehicles picked up the boxes noticed that one of the security company men inspected the locks on the boxes before being authorized to do so. And that’s who was found dead last night.” He turned to Kubu. “Did you find anything useful this afternoon?”
Kubu shook his head. “I don’t think either the manager or the pilot were involved.” He hesitated. “But I’ve asked Elias at headquarters to check into their finances and so on.”
“And he said he’d do it?”
“He said he would, but I don’t know whether he will.”
“Amazing!” Mabaku muttered.
Samkoa looked glum. “I didn’t find anything useful either.”
Mabaku sat quietly for a few moments. “Well, I’m not sure we’ve made any real progress. But…in my experience, when that is the case, the culprit is usually an unlikely one, often an insider. We’re going to have to look at people who don’t want to be looked at. I’m going to get authority to tap the home phones of Goodman, Tau, and Chamberlain. We’ll probably get nothing, but I can’t think of anything better to do right now.”
The three men digested the implications of that for a few minutes. Then Kubu spoke quietly. “I have one more question.”
“What is it?” Mabaku asked as he stood up.
“Well, it’s a little embarrassing.”
“Get on with it, Bengu, I’ve things to
do.”
“I borrowed the pilot’s car, and it’s got a puncture. After dinner, could one of you show me how to change a wheel?”
Chapter 41
That night, the leader and his men ate dikgobe prepared by the woman who served the doctor and the man he called his son. They rolled the cracked maize into balls with their fingers and used it to mop up sauce. And there was Shake Shake sorghum beer again to wash down the dryness.
At eight thirty, the doctor rose from the table and addressed the leader of the robbers. “You need to go. It is the right time now.”
This time no one questioned his decision. He went into the back of his house and returned with Vusi carrying the Debswana transport box. It was now wrapped in sacking, and a strange, pungent aroma came from it. Two of the men jumped up and moved back. The doctor looked at them and nodded.
“There is powerful muti here. It will keep you safe. You need fear nothing. But you must not open the covering. If you do, it will turn on you. It will…” He shook his head. “Do not open it. I have warned you. I will not speak of it again.” He turned to the leader. “Hide it under the animal skins you will find at your vehicle. If you are stopped, say you are bringing the hides to sell. Now you will follow my son from this place to the border.”
He turned and walked away without a word of farewell.
The leader shrugged. He didn’t like the doctor or whatever nastiness he’d added to the box of diamonds, but they’d been paid. He was happy to leave Botswana.
Vusi carried the box to their SUV and shoved it against the back seat. Then he waited until the leader’s men had loaded the goat skins and wild-animal skins, filling the back section of the vehicle almost to the roof. Their tannic smell covered up the unpleasant one coming from the box. Once all was ready, he walked over to a rusty bakkie and climbed into the cab. It coughed a few times before it started, and then they headed back towards the main road in convoy.
The moon was in the last quarter and wouldn’t be up until later. All the leader could see in their headlights was the dust of the bakkie in front of them. Should they be stopped for smuggling the hides across the border, a healthy bribe should see them on their way, but he kept their weapons available in case. He wasn’t sure how much faith he had in the doctor’s powerful medicine, but he knew none of them would touch the box until they delivered it in Johannesburg.
The roads became farm tracks servicing the fields, and then bush tracks through the acacia scrub. Fortunately, it hadn’t rained much that summer or the track would be impassable, even for a four-by-four. After a while, they came to the border fence. There was a service track running along it on the Botswana side, and the vegetation had been cleared for about five metres from the fence on both sides. For the first time, the leader felt exposed, recalling the patrolling helicopters they’d heard from the witch doctor’s house during the day. But there was no sound of them now, nor any searching lights.
They followed the border track for some way. Suddenly, the bakkie ahead of them pulled over and swung round to pick up the fence in its headlights. Leaving the lights on, Vusi climbed out and walked up to one of the sections.
From a distance, this section of the fence looked the same as all the others—about two metres high with coiled barbed wire at the top—but close-up one could see that at one point there were two fence posts instead of just one. He unlinked them, and then pulled one section back, opening a gap through the fence below the barbed-wire coil. He signalled to the leader to drive up.
He pointed to tyre tracks heading into the bush. “Go through there. You’ll find a track just beyond those bushes. Turn right and head south for about a kilometre. Watch for a track on your left. After that, keep heading east. It will take you to the Lobatla road.”
“If there is a fork?” No bush tracks were direct.
“It doesn’t matter. They all go to the main road eventually.”
The leader nodded. They would probably take a few wrong turns, but they had plenty of time. At least they would be across the border, out of Botswana. He doubted the South African police would be as excited by Debswana’s problems as the Botswana police were. He thanked the man, and they drove through the gap in the fence. The doctor’s son carefully replaced the loose fence section behind them.
Chapter 42
When Kubu and Samkoa returned to their accommodation an hour after they’d finished dinner, Samkoa’s hands were filthy, and Kubu now knew how to change a wheel.
Kubu immediately headed to his bedroom, exhausted from a long day full of new experiences. He collapsed into bed, looking forward to a good night’s sleep.
However, his active mind had other ideas, and he tossed and turned with images of armoured vehicles burning and masked people shooting at him. He saw piles of shining diamonds and suitcases falling out of airplanes. At one stage he saw the manager at Sir Seretse Khama airport telling him not to worry because the baggage tags would survive the impact with the ground.
Then he saw the bags hitting the sand in the middle of the Sahara Desert, creating a sandstorm. When the storm settled, all that remained were the tags. The suitcases themselves had been destroyed. And a camel arrived at the scene, and the manager jumped off and picked up the tags. “I’ll make sure they get to their destinations,” she shouted as she jumped back on the camel and headed back the way she’d come.
Kubu woke with a start.
“I know how they did it,” he said out loud. “Very clever indeed.”
He picked up the phone and dialled CID headquarters. When the call was answered, he interrupted the very sleepy greeting.
“This is Detective Sergeant Bengu. Please put me through to Detective Sergeant Neo’s voice mail.”
There was a grunt, and a few clicks later, Kubu was able to leave his message.
“Neo, it’s me. Kubu. I know how the suitcases were stolen, but I need one more piece of information to be sure. Please can you contact British Airways and Air France in Joburg and ask them if their records show that some bags didn’t make it on the flights in question? That’s right—didn’t make it. And if so, did any passengers report those bags missing? I’ll call you when I have the chance.”
After that, he drifted off again, and this time his sleep was undisturbed.
Chapter 43
The robbers moved at a snail’s pace following the tracks of another vehicle that had crossed the border illegally for reasons of its own. As the witch doctor’s son had promised, very soon they came to a track.
Although he had no reason to be, the leader was uncomfortable. Everything had gone smoothly, exactly as they’d planned. Except what they were doing now. Creeping back into South Africa with the diamonds had not been part of the plan.
He told the driver to stop, and the vehicle came to a halt. The leader climbed out and stood alone, listening. The only sounds were those of the nightjars and the cicadas. He felt there should be something else but couldn’t put his finger on it. Something wasn’t right, but he didn’t know what. He waited a couple of minutes, feeling foolish, then shrugged. He got back into the vehicle and told the driver to go on. But the discomfort remained.
After half a kilometre, they came to a drift across a dry river course. It was quite deep, and the driver had to ease down into it in low-range gear.
Suddenly, they saw flashes and heard the crackling of automatic rifle fire. Two bright lights pinned them from ahead. The windscreen shattered, and the engine cut out. With a yell, the leader ducked down and grabbed an AK-47.
His mind was in turmoil. Who could be shooting at them and why?
The men in the seat behind were firing back at the flashes in the darkness. One managed to take out one of the spotlights.
“Fuck! Get us out of here!” he screamed at the driver. There was no response. The man was slumped over the steering wheel.
“Fuck!” He leant across and opened the driv
er door. Pushing the man out of the vehicle, he clambered over and tried to restart the engine, keeping his head down. It turned over but wouldn’t catch. Something was broken. Another burst of gunfire—behind them this time.
“Fuck, we’re surrounded! We’ve got to get out of here!” He tried the engine again with the same result.
One of his men tried to escape into the bush where at least he’d be less visible. He fired a long burst, then flung open his door, rolled out onto the ground clutching his rifle, and tried to scramble behind some acacia shrubs. Then the spotlight found him, followed by a volley of bullets.
He screamed, and the leader watched his body jerk and contort.
Another burst of gunfire came from behind, and the man behind him screamed.
The leader realised he was on his own. The others were dead. There was no hope of escape. But he still had the money, carefully hidden in the seat padding.
Maybe I can use that to negotiate, he thought.
More bursts of gunfire raked the vehicle from both sides as he cowered.
“All right!” he shouted into the night. “I give up.”
He threw out one of the guns so that it landed in the beam of light. The firing stopped.
“Police! Come out with your hands up!” a voice shouted in Setswana.
“All right, brother, I’m coming. Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot.”
Carefully he opened the door and eased himself out, keeping his hands in the air.
The spotlight picked him out. There was a burst of gunfire, and he slumped into the dust of the track.
* * *
Vusi waited at the fence border crossing and smoked. When he heard the sound of automatic fire in the distance and then, after a few minutes, the silence return, he flicked his cigarette into the sand and climbed back into the driver’s seat. With the engine still warm, the bakkie started at once. He made a U-turn and headed back into the bush.
Facets of Death Page 11
