by D C Macey
‘In this game, knowledge is almost everything. Let’s just sit tight, enjoy ourselves and keep our advantage, for now anyway.’
‘Well okay, it’s your call but who is he?’
‘No idea, but trust me the man’s not a professional, so I’m pretty sure he’s not a direct threat. Now sit back, enjoy the scone and let’s focus on Bob.’
‘You’re right, Sam, and you know what too? Even if we have picked up a trail of spies, this is a lovely place. How did you know about it?’
‘Used to pop in from time to time when I was posted out here. In fact, I used to pop in with Bob. He was my boss, but we got on well off-duty as well, which was good. You know, I owe him quite a lot. I had got myself into a bit of a fix and he was the cavalry coming over the hill, probably owe him my life. I promised then he could count on me in return.’
‘And that’s why you couldn’t resist Rupert Peterson’s request to come and help out. What happened back then?’
Sam paused to take a drink of tea and mount an attack on the giant meringue.
‘Sam?’
‘Right, well some of that stuff I can’t talk about. It’s all finished and in the past now but probably still classified. Let’s leave the history where it lies.
‘But what I can tell you is that back then you had to be careful where you ate hereabouts, and the Thorn Tree was always a good bet. High-quality and not at all fussy, a nice regular menu.’
‘So, it’s one of your old haunts then?’
‘You could say that. Though I never actually slept here. If I ever came down to Nairobi on leave for a night or two, I’d stay across the road in the Oakwood; remember it? We saw it this morning, much cheaper but still nice. Then I’d come over here to eat.’
‘Seems like you had it all organised in those days.’
‘Yes, but I’m glossing over the hard bits. The café’s got its own history though, quite romantic. When the Stanley was built, way over a hundred years ago, it was conceived as a stopping point for expats and it was close to the station for the new rail track the colonial administration was having built at that time from Mombasa to the Lakes.’
‘Oh, I’ve heard of that, I’m sure I even saw a movie about it. The Tsavo Lions or something. Lots of the construction workers were taken by lions, weren’t they? But what’s romantic about being eaten by a lion?’
‘Yes, the movie was called something like that; I think I saw it too. But although the hotel has a natural link to the railway, that’s not the romantic part, not directly.’
‘Well, come on Sam, what do you think is romantic?’ Helen placed her elbows on the table, leant forward and cupped her chin in her hands.
‘Being near the station and close to the government administration and the businesses that grew up here, the Stanley was very busy, particularly since it set very high standards. The movers and shakers of colonial society knew exactly what they would get when they came here, so it became the place to go for business and pleasure. A place to see and to be seen. It would be the first port of call for people getting off the train from Mombasa. It was a start point for people going up country - farms, mines, or tourists on safari, and a finishing point too.’
Sam paused for another mouthful of his cream meringue and Helen drank tea. She looked at him slightly disappointed. ‘So, it’s got a history, but it sounds like you could say the same about a heap of fancy railway hotels.’
Sam nodded, and then shook his head. ‘Yes, you could, but the Stanley had something more. It really was such a hub; they used to say if you sat long enough in the Thorn Tree Café, you’d meet everyone in Africa. Eventually, all the world passed through here.’
‘Well alright, that’s a little better, but I’m not at all impressed with your understanding of romantic.’
‘I haven’t finished yet, give me a chance.’
Helen resumed her chin in hand position and stared intently at him. ‘Well, I’m waiting.’
‘As I said, this was the place everyone passed through. There’s a clue in the name; it’s always been the Thorn Tree Café. Look over there; see the potted sapling and those noticeboards beside it?’
‘Where those two women are standing?’
‘That’s it. Well it’s been redeveloped in recent years but previously there was always a proper thorn tree growing right over there. I’m not sure, but it’s possible in the early days, the café evolved as a sort of covered veranda facility incorporating an existing thorn tree. Anyway, that thorn tree’s purpose was to act as a noticeboard. In those early days, there was no postal service here, no radios or telephones. When you were passing through Nairobi, you could write a message for your business partner, friend or lover even and pin it on the trunk of the thorn tree. Nobody would touch the message except the person to whom it was addressed. It would stay on the tree as long as necessary until it was collected.’
Helen was more impressed now. ‘Oh, that’s great Sam. Love letters, missed connections. Oh, and what about the people who never came back?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Sam.
‘You know, Sam, if the food’s so nice here, why don’t we come for a meal? How about tomorrow? It would be lovely.’ She turned to look again. ‘Do you think that’s what those two women were doing? Sticking notes on the thorn tree?’
‘Well I think that little sapling isn’t up to carrying messages. The noticeboards beside it are probably intended for the messages now.’
‘You know what Sam? I’d quite like to post a message.’
‘Why not? Look, there’s a box of pencils and note sheets over there. You could do one.’
‘I will,’ said Helen. ‘I’ll go do it now, while you finish that meringue … if you can.’
Sam stretched his hand across the table and squeezed hers. ‘Great, and I’ll get this finished if it’s the last thing I do.’ He watched Helen cross the room. Noted too that their tail was looking a little agitated, suddenly a little unsure of what to do. The man relaxed a little as Helen came to a halt beside the noticeboards.
Helen took a pencil, pulled a sheet off the little note pad and paused for a minute. Then scribbled something on the sheet, folded it and wrote Sam’s name on the front. She pulled a pin from the board and turned to look and smile at Sam while pinning up the message. She saw him smiling back.
Helen turned back to look at her message on the noticeboard, Sam’s name clearly printed on the front. Content, she turned and headed back for their table. As she approached, she saw that something had changed. Sam had pushed the unfinished meringue to one side and was thinking deeply. She had seen that look often enough before to know he was on to something.
‘What’s up?’ she said, sitting down at the table.
‘I think I’ve cracked it. Jesus Christ, I’ve been slow!’
Helen tutted at him, half in jest.
‘Sorry, that just popped out. But it’s been staring me in the face. I, should have seen it before.’
‘Seen what?’
‘What did you just do?’
‘I stuck a message on the board.’
Sam mimicked Bob’s sign from the video.
At once, Helen realised what it meant. ‘He’s pinning a message on the noticeboard!’ she said.
‘Exactly, and I, of all people, should have known. Occasionally, we’d leave one another messages on the tree, just for the hell of it. You know: when we’d be back, where to meet, in which bar, that sort of thing.’
‘Who would he have left his message for though?’ said Helen.
‘Us, well whoever would be looking for him. It explains exactly why he did that circuit in here too. If I’m right, it will still be there now.’
‘Let’s go see.’
‘Well hold on, I don’t know what’s in Bob’s message, if there is one. I do know, whoever our tail is, I don’t want him to know we’ve found anything of interest. The man almost tore himself in half when he thought you were leaving a few minutes ago. How about this: you leave the café, head out through rec
eption and stop to chat to that concierge who took a shine to you earlier. I expect our tail will move too, probably to reception, so he can at least try to monitor both of us.’
Helen didn’t waste any time. She stood again and leaned in to kiss Sam’s cheek. ‘Be careful, Sam.’ Then, straightening, she strolled towards the exit. In passing, she caught the waiter’s attention, made a scribble sign with her hand and then pointed back towards Sam. The waiter sprang into action hurrying to deliver the bill to Sam. She could see their tail signing to his waiter for a bill. Sam’s plan seemed to be working.
Sam waited until she was out of sight, all the while monitoring their tail, who was once again showing signs of agitation and indecision. Eventually the man stood and walked into the reception. By watching through one of the pillar gaps, Sam could see into reception, and could just make out that the man had positioned himself, so he could both see Helen speaking to the concierge at the entrance and pick up Sam when he eventually exited the Thorn Tree Café.
No longer under direct observation, Sam slowly strolled across the floor of the café, for all the world as though he were simply a tourist in no hurry and with no urgent place to be. He paid the bill then started his exit path, pausing to survey the noticeboards as he passed. He felt the café had lost something with the removal of the old tree, but this was not a moment for sentiment. His apparently relaxed movement belied the urgent flickering of his eyes, which were carefully scanning all the notices.
He saw his name, recognised the handwriting, stepped close to the board and unpinned the note. Smiling, he unfolded it and smiled again as he read Helen’s message. He slipped the note into his pocket. Then he reached for a pencil and notepaper to write a reply to her. He pinned it to the board in the spot where he’d found his own note. His eyes continued their scan of the boards, there must be something here - it was the only solution.
As he was about to give up, his chest tightened, there it was. A note addressed to Bob Prentice. Of course! Who else could he address it to? Anyone following his signal would realise it was from Bob Prentice, not to him.
Sam unpinned the message, noted the dark smudge on the corner, a speck of dried blood. This was it. He ambled towards the exit, glancing at the note as he went along. The message was short, a quick scribble, nothing more:
Ro Soo-Ann
It was enough for Sam. His pace picked up along with his heartbeat. He knew who they were up against now and it was not good. Passing through reception, he ignored the tail who was still trying to be inconspicuous. At the entranceway, he nodded politely towards the concierge, and putting an arm round Helen’s shoulder, he steered her into the street.
She moved along without resistance. ‘Did you find anything?’
‘Oh yes, and I need to get the word out quickly.’
They set off, hurrying back along Kimathi Street towards the Hilton. No talking, every bit of energy and breath invested in combatting the heat as they paced along. The little silver car was parked at the side of the street. Its driver spotted them and jerked to attention in a flurry of movement, straightening up, starting the engine and scanning beyond Sam and Helen for his accomplice. Having been caught napping by Sam’s sudden turn of speed, their tail was now rushing up the street from the Stanley Hotel.
Further along, a dusty old car was desperately trying to manoeuvre out and away into the traffic flow as Sam and Helen moved up the street towards it. It pulled away and past them. Sam got a look at its occupants for the first time and didn’t like what he saw.
Reaching the Hilton reception, they didn’t break speed, just hurried on up to their room. Inside the room, they finally stopped and stood side by side in front of the air-conditioning unit, letting the cold air sweep over them. Sam got them bottles of chilled water from the fridge and they continued to stand cooling down and drinking water.
‘Well? Are you going to tell me now? What was that mad dash all about?’
Sam delved in his pocket and pulled out the note. ‘We were right. It’s from Bob. He must have realised he couldn’t outrun his pursuers, and I’m guessing since he had lost his own mobile phone, he decided this was his only way of leaving a message that might just get through.’
‘It almost didn’t. John would never have found it.’
‘No, I’m not sure he’s the right man for the job here. On the other hand, he’s inexperienced and the Kenyan authorities have restricted his movements. Maybe he’d have eventually got round to checking Bob’s route in detail.’
‘Well, thank heaven you were on hand. So, what does the message say? What’s the big reveal?’
Sam handed Helen the note. She looked at it, saw the little dark stain, guessed what it was and glanced at Sam with a questioning look.
He nodded back. ‘Yes, that looks like blood. They may have needed him alive but were clearly happy to use a bit of violence to get him.’
Helen unfolded the note and read it. ‘Ro Soo-Ann,’ she glanced at Sam. ‘Who’s she?’
‘He, Ro Soo-Ann. He’s what you might call a mastermind; formerly a key intelligence organiser for the North Koreans. At some point, he and his team appeared to go private. Highly skilled and heartless, the perfect combination for a mercenary.’
‘Mercenary?’
‘Well, apparently so. I’ve been out of the loop a long time, but I recall there was some scepticism at the time. North Korea never liked breakaways. They tend to snuff them out. So, if Ro Soo-Ann’s team was operating privately, it might have been because it suited the North Koreans at that time to have a rogue team that could operate at arm’s length from the state.’
‘If this man is an independent, who’s he working for now?’
‘I don’t know, but some country somewhere is always trying to get an advantage by theft, bribery or blackmail. Ro Soo-Ann is utterly ruthless and has no regard for law or life. I do know if he’s involved, it’s very important news. In my day, he only got involved in the biggest of things. I wouldn’t imagine much has changed. He’s as cruel and heartless as any of those we’ve had to face before.’ Sam left the air-conditioning unit and headed for the wall safe. He accessed it and returned to Helen, carrying the satellite phone.
Helen looked at the phone a little quizzically. ‘Who are you going to call? The High Commission?’
With a wrist shake, Sam highlighted the phone. ‘This is more secure than our regular mobiles, so from now on, we’ll use only this, but I don’t want to put any message along the High Commission’s open landline. Even if the Kenyans can’t tune in, if Ro Soo-Ann is involved, it’s almost certain his people will be able to. Last I knew, Ro’s people had developed a strong IT capability, and I don’t want to risk alerting him that we are on to him.’
‘Okay, so what’s the plan?’
‘I’ve arranged to call in on Professor Ngure’s office to fix my itinerary once the evening rush hour has eased back a bit. From there we’ll go directly to the High Commission and brief John Guthrie face-to-face and Brigadier Starling too, if he’s around. First, I’m going to call Rupert Peterson, he may have been a bit on the sneaky side, setting us up for a fall, but at least he knows what he’s doing. Alerting him will ensure the right wheels start turning. We can’t rely on John Guthrie knowing which buttons to push, or even if the high commissioner will allow him to act at all while the Kenyan authorities have imposed restrictions on the diplomatic staff here.’
Sam made his call while Helen got cleaned up and put on fresh clothes. As Sam took his turn in the bathroom, she leant against the doorframe.
‘Won’t be long,’ he said as water sprayed in all directions.
Helen took a pace back and laughed. ‘Careful, buster.’
‘Sorry. It’s safe to come back now, I’m under control.’
‘You’d better be,’ said Helen, returning to the doorway.
‘What’s up? You’re looking a bit anxious.’
Helen held a business card in her hand. ‘You know, Sam, I’m sorry but I’ve been think
ing; I’d better call Tracy. If I don’t, I’m letting down my country.’
Grabbing a towel, Sam stepped from beneath the shower and across to the doorway where he lightly brushed his lips against Helen’s. ‘I know, don’t apologise and don’t feel bad about it either. I’m the one who should apologise, I should have thought about it - prompted you. I’m quite certain that Rupert’s superiors will involve the CIA anyway. In situations like this, you need all your friends. But go ahead. Only, make sure you use the satellite phone.’ He stepped back into the bathroom.
Helen went to make her call. By the time she’d finished, he had emerged from the bathroom and was keeping cool near the air-conditioning unit.
8.
Thursday, 24th October - Evening
Sam had been watching Nairobi’s evening rush of traffic from the window of their suite. At last, it showed some slight signs of easing back from chaotic mayhem to simply frantic. He gave a signal and they set off.
Earlier he had phoned Professor Ngure’s office at the university. Susan Curtis had stressed again that the professor was anxious to see the arrangements for Sam’s tour of their archaeological sites in place. Sam didn’t have time for any field trips right now, but for the sake of appearances, and particularly to ensure that the authorities didn’t start to wonder what his real purpose in the country had become, he needed to be seen to go through the motions.
The taxi journey to the university was brief, but long enough for Sam to confirm the Africans in their little silver car were back. Sam had the taxi stop at the main entrance and their followers paused a little further off. What Sam couldn’t see, positioned some way beyond the Africans, was the dusty old car that had come to a gentle halt; its Asian occupants were very interested in Sam’s visit to the university.
Sam left Helen in the taxi and went into the university alone. There he found that Professor Ngure had had to rush away to an important engagement. He had given Susan Curtis clear instructions to finalise a tour, and she was to be Sam’s driver and guide to ensure he saw all the key aspects of the various locations that would inform Sam’s visit.
