by D C Macey
He caught up as Sam and Helen made their way off Kimathi Street and through the opening. ‘We really shouldn’t be doing this, it’s against current protocol.’
‘We have to. And look - this isn’t exactly the ghetto.’ Sam pointed to the building on their right-hand side. ‘See, an office block.’ His arm swept to their left side. ‘Shops, and that doorway over there, that’s the entrance to the Oakwood Hotel, it’s up above.’ His hand swung up highlighting the first and second floors. ‘It’s not the Hilton or the Stanley, but it’s clean and respectable.’
He stretched out and touched Helen’s arm. ‘It’s got a friendly little bar. I’ll have to take you for a drink there at some point.’
‘Great, it’s a date.’
‘But where are we going now?’ said John.
‘We’re following this route because it’s the only way Bob could have gone. John, just trust me on this, okay?’
Helen’s mobile phone rang, and she checked it. ‘That’s Elaine, I’d better take it.’ They all stopped close to the entrance to the Oakwood Hotel and Helen picked up the call.
‘Hi Elaine, how are things? Any news?’ Helen fell silent, her face clouding over with puzzlement as she listened to Elaine’s voice. ‘Are you sure about that? It doesn’t seem to fit with what we’ve found here.’ Then another silence as Elaine expanded her account. Finally, Helen brought the call to an end with a dual promise, to avoid any trouble in the meantime, and of further talk later.
‘That was a little odd,’ she said.
‘Who’s Elaine?’ said John.
‘One of the team, back in Edinburgh. It seems Scottie was able to do a bit of trace work on Bob’s phone. Scottie seems to have more connections than a brain cell. According to the records, Bob was stationary at the corner of the street for a few minutes before shifting position to stand just up from the Stanley Hotel where he stayed for the best part of an hour until a little after nine when his signal went dead.’
‘That doesn’t make any sense,’ said John, ‘and I didn’t know you had a team behind you.’
‘On the contrary, it makes absolute sense,’ said Sam. ‘Look, he’s at the corner of Kenyatta Avenue and Kimathi Street when he hangs up on the brigadier after saying he will go straight to the Hilton. Then I think he takes a few steps into Kimathi Street, where he’s attacked and makes a run for it. Dropping his phone in the process. Which is why he needed to go into the Stanley to raise the alarm. Probably it lay in the gutter for an hour until somebody found it and sold it on. When he was chased out of the Stanley, all he could do was run. I’m guessing his pursuers were outside waiting for him to emerge. And that’s what we see in the external video. He’s running for his life.’
‘Why didn’t he just give himself up to the security guards?’ said Helen.
‘Because security guards throw people out, and in places like the Stanley they do it in a nice calm and discreet way so as not to upset the guests - almost slow motion. It would have been like serving him up on a plate to whoever was waiting outside. His only chance was to hit the street at a run and keep going.’
‘It’s not looking so good then,’ said John.
‘Let’s keep going, see what we find. Come on.’ Sam set off with Helen beside him, John a hesitant step behind.
‘Where to now? Shouldn’t we report in?’
‘Report to where? I’m not on the High Commission’s payroll. Look, just tag along with us. See the turning ahead? That feeds us into Kimathi Lane, which runs parallel to and behind Kimathi Street. If he came this way somebody will have seen him.’
They turned the corner and immediately the reason for Sam’s confidence became clear. On either side of the road was a whole series of little shops, each one brightly lit and each with a smartly dressed man outside. A group of white Europeans walking past was bait that could not be ignored.
As if by magic, from inside the shops, proprietors emerged to stand beside their guards, each one stepping forward in turn to assure the passing group that the best jewellery could be found only in their shop. And then, in turn, they assured Sam that they had seen no disturbance on the night of the 22nd.
Sam’s Swahili was a little sketchy, having been developed while posted to East Africa years before and never used since. But it was enough to get the message that nobody of any description had been chased along Kimathi Lane that evening. Sam had almost given up hope of tracing a contact when one of the shopkeepers towards the end of the lane gave a little knowing nod and stepped in close, taking Sam’s arm in what appeared to be an attempt to draw him into the shop.
‘A white man ran past that evening after half eight. Ran fast, he was in trouble, a gang chasing him. I don’t think he could have got much further.’
‘Who was chasing him?’ asked Sam.
The shopkeeper suddenly looked a little agitated. He checked to see the substance of his conversation had not registered with other shopkeepers, and then shrugged. ‘I don’t know for sure, but I do know they weren’t local.’
Sam reverted to English to thank him and promise they would come soon to his shop and buy some jewellery.
As they started to walk on, Helen linked her arm through Sam’s and squeezed for a moment. ‘Perhaps we could find something nice to take home for Elaine and Grace?’
‘Good idea. I’m up for that. But let’s keep moving now. If they caught Bob it must have been just up ahead, after the shops and before the lane links back to the main traffic route.’ They parted and carried on walking side by side; physical closeness was not conducive to personal comfort in the rising heat of the day.
‘Did you find out anything new there?’ said John.
‘Yes, it’s certain Bob made it past the shops. After that, who knows? But what I can tell you is those men were afraid of something. Believe me, it takes a lot to put the wind up guards and shopkeepers like that. One thing the shopkeeper did say, the chasing gang was not local.’
They walked on a little further until Helen stopped them. ‘Hold on, Sam, what’s that?’ She pointed into the gutter at the side of the lane. Here dust and debris had gathered over the dry months. Tucked away out of public sight, the accumulation had missed the cleaning gangs’ occasional sweeps. The dirt would remain undisturbed in this quiet spot, continuing its gradual build up until one day soon the rains would come and wash everything away. Then, in an instant, the streets would be rinsed clear.
‘What is it?’ said Sam.
‘Look at the dirt here, close to the wall. It’s all scuffed about, like there might have been a struggle here.’
All three moved closer. ‘I think you might be right,’ said Sam.
‘Do you think this is where they caught up with him?’
‘Could be. Let’s just have a careful look around, see what we can see.’
Here’s something,’ said Helen crouching down to get a better look. She flicked some browned leaves and scraps of paper aside to expose her find. On closer inspection, it turned out to be a hypodermic syringe discarded on the ground.
‘Junkies?’ said John.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Sam. ‘A junkie would want to keep his gear, and looking at this one, it’s only ever been used once. So no, I don’t think it’s a junkie’s. And see that. He nodded to a single shoe wedged into the recess where a fire exit door led out onto the lane. That’s European style for certain.’
Helen knelt down to inspect it. ‘You’re right, Marks and Spencer. Did Bob shop at M&S?’
‘No idea, possibly, probably. That’s where I’ve started getting my shoes from, so why not him? It’s not exactly uniform issue but then he’s a colonel and he’s been way out in the middle of the African bush. Perhaps he was choosing comfort.’
‘Do you think this is where the chase ended?’
‘I think it might be. There was a struggle here and the marks are all quite fresh. If it did, then maybe that syringe is a good sign. We’ll get it checked. If it contains a knockout, it means the captors really wa
nted him alive.’
John turned and signalled to his driver to bring the car up. ‘I can take the syringe and get it tested, find out if it’s the right shoe size and so on. Now, if you don’t mind, Sam, it’s time to follow protocol and use the car.’
7.
Thursday, 24th October - PM
Lunch at the British High Commission was a small and informal occasion, hosted by the deputy high commissioner, with Brigadier Starling and John the only other guests. Eating over, John’s official car returned Helen and Sam to the Hilton. Outside the hotel, the occupants of the old car that had previously tracked John Guthrie’s movements now focused on Sam. Analysis of their earlier photographs confirmed Sam as the sole target of interest.
Sam took three things from the lunch. First, nobody had a clue as to what country was behind the snatch of ACE and Bob. Second, the diplomatic corps were far more interested in patching up relations with the Kenyan authorities than saving Bob; though the deputy high commissioner had been at pains to stress his sole concern was, at all times, Colonel Prentice’s safety and welfare. The third thing, he couldn’t read the brigadier.
Sam couldn’t tell what drove the man. Was it saving Bob or was it ensuring potential foes did not have access to ACE, which meant the unspoken though easiest solution was to see Bob finished off? Happily for Sam, both options demanded they actually find his friend first. He’d move heaven and earth to make sure the brigadier’s easy option was not implemented.
The shoe and syringe had been immediately dispatched in a diplomatic bag to London and would be subject to scientific tests as soon as they reached the UK. They would have the results within a day.
• • •
Having showered and changed into fresh clothing, Helen took the lift down to join Sam in the poolside bar.
‘I bagged this cool spot for us,’ he said. ‘Drink?’
‘Nothing too strong if I’m to last the day in this heat. What’s our plan now? You didn’t say too much at the High Commission. Are you holding something back from John and the brigadier?’
‘I’ll get you an iced water, and I think we have to go back to the Stanley Hotel this afternoon. Now John’s out of our hair, we’ll walk.’
‘Fine. Why are we going back?’
Sam didn’t answer at once because the waiter arrived and took their order for four bottles of iced water. ‘We’ll drink two now and take the other two with us.’
Once the waiter had moved on, Sam pushed his phone across the table. ‘So, now look at this.’ Sam had transferred the film clips to his phone and he played them for Helen. ‘Some things just don’t make sense. First, if he was being hunted, why go for a wander through the hotel? Second, what’s he mouthing to the camera? I can’t make it out. And finally, what is that little hand signal he’s making? See, just before he runs off. I think answering these three points will get us a long way towards solving this.’
‘Well, I guess if you think the answer is in the Stanley, that’s where we need to go.’ Helen looked up and smiled at the waiter who had returned with their drinks. He put glasses on the table and broke open the first water bottle’s seal before pouring it. ‘Thank you,’ she said, lifting the glass and letting its cold seep through to her palm while the waiter poured Sam’s.
‘Sam, what I’m struggling to understand is what is so important about establishing which country is behind the abduction.’
Sam took a mouthful of water. ‘Well, different countries have various strengths and weaknesses in their capacity to function. Different resource capabilities when it comes to moving things illicitly. All round the world, there is a constant game of cat and mouse between friends and opponents. Who’s doing what, who’s moving what, and who’s watching who? It’s dynamic, always changing. Knowing which countries are involved will enable us to focus on their likely transport and access routes.
‘So right now, with British diplomats confined to Nairobi and no new staff allowed entry, what few resources the UK has on the ground are stretched thin just watching exit routes. We have friends; you heard the Americans are watching Mombasa because they are there already. But they are caught up in the same fallout with the Kenyans. The problem is, in the short term, there is nobody actually able to hunt for the ACE or Bob. And that’s where I, we, come in.
‘The longer it takes to find them the more likely they will never be found.’
‘Okay, so it’s just down to us.’
‘Just about. Come on. Let’s walk over to the Stanley now. We can talk as we go.’
• • •
Helen and Sam left the Hilton and immediately afterwards a tall and smartly dressed young African man strolled out behind them. As they walked towards Kimathi Street, the engine of a small silver hire car revved a little and the young African man got into the front passenger seat. The car stayed put for a little while, then pulled away as Helen and Sam started to merge into the pedestrian throng on Kimathi Street.
The occupants of a dusty old car noted the coincidental departure of Sam, Helen and the silver hire car. The dusty car followed the hire car at a discreet distance.
As Helen and Sam stopped outside the Stanley Hotel, the silver car paused a little further up the street. Still further back, its unseen companion eased to a halt. The occupants watched everything ahead of them with interest.
‘This is where he stopped and turned to the camera,’ said Helen.
Sam pulled out his phone and looked closely at the screen as it played back his copy of the security camera footage. Intermittently, he glanced up from the screen to view the hotel entrance before returning his focus to the phone screen.
Meanwhile, Helen engaged the concierge who was a little concerned about Sam’s behaviour. Helen laughed at Sam, half waving a hand towards him and smiling at the concierge. ‘We’re going into the Thorn Tree Café in a minute. He’s always checking exits before we go into buildings. Got a thing about fire.’ The concierge was not convinced but did enjoy speaking with Helen, particularly when she slipped some money into his hand. ‘Make sure you let us out first if there’s a fire,’ she said with another laugh.
The concierge smiled at her. Her companion was obviously not right, harmless but not right, but she seemed fine. He left them alone and went to greet a taxi as it drew up in front of the hotel.
Helen joined Sam as he looked again at the video loop playing on his phone. ‘It looks to me as if he’s definitely trying to say something. An insult maybe? He has just been chased out of the hotel,’ she said.
‘That’s not Bob Prentice’s style. Anyway, if he was being hunted, why waste time to speak to a camera? I know I’d just keep running.’
‘Beats me. And what about that little sign he makes at the end. Is he imitating something? Pressing a light switch? What do you think?’
‘I have no idea, but it must mean something. Come on, let’s go in and have a walk round. We can have afternoon tea in the Thorn Tree Café.’
They entered the reception. There was no sign of Lucy but Joseph was still there. Although he was busy with a guest, they could tell he had spotted them, he would miss nothing in his domain. They kept walking.
‘This way,’ said Sam, leading Helen past one of the structural pillars.
‘This is the route Bob followed, isn’t it?’
‘Certainly is, and conveniently it’s where you want to be.’
‘I do? Why’s that?’
‘It’s the Thorn Tree Café, come on through, let’s take a seat over there and look about a little.’ They made their way to an empty table from where they could survey most of the café and its clientele.
Almost immediately, a waiter appeared, they ordered, then sat back to wait for their tea and inspiration to arrive. Helen liked the atmosphere. For such a high status hotel, the café was quite informal, lightly furnished with simple tables and chairs. Potted plants were positioned here and there, and she half thought she could hear a distant piano playing some easy listening tunes.
A
cross the café, she saw a tall African man enter, select his table and sit. He declined the menu offered by his waiter and just ordered off the cuff, she guessed just a drink. There was something distinctive about him, familiar. ‘Sam, do you see that man who just came in?’
‘Yes, I do. That shirt was in the Hilton’s poolside bar earlier.’
‘I thought I’d seen him before. Is he following us?’
‘Probably. Followed us out of the Hilton and got into a little silver car.’
Helen looked as Sam indignantly. ‘And when were you going to tell me all this?’
He smiled at her. ‘I didn’t want to worry you needlessly.’
‘If you don’t mind, Sam, I’ll decide when I should be worried.’ She kicked his leg under the table, only half in jest. ‘In future you tell me what you know, right?’
‘Okay, well here’s an odd thing for you. Our friends and their little car have their own tail - much more professional, I’ve no idea who they are either, but at least they look the part. My guess is they’re trying to get the whole picture by following them following us. And I’m guessing they hope if we spot anyone it’ll be the amateurs.’
‘But you spotted them both.’
‘Yes.’
‘So, what are we going to do now?’
Sam gave a little grin, pursed his lips then shrugged. ‘Nothing we can do right now. Let’s just wait and see what breaks with them - something will.’
They both fell silent and watched their waiter return with a tray loaded with teacups, teapot, milk and sugar. Another waiter was following him, this one carried a tray with the scone Helen had ordered and the most enormous cream meringue, which had taken Sam’s fancy. He suddenly wished he’d paid more attention, it was meal sized.
The waiters left, and Helen asked again. ‘What’s the plan, Sam?’
Sam was eyeing up his meringue, not quite sure where to start. ‘We’re not going to do anything.’
‘What, why?’
‘Because the man over there knows we’re here but he doesn’t know we have clocked him.’
‘So?’
