Dawn of Deception

by Dan Fletcher

  He wished that Moi would kick the interfering bitch out of Kenya altogether but since the fall of the Berlin Wall the President had been hell-bent on regaining favour with the Americans. More specifically Moi wanted them to bring back their money in the form of aid and investment. When the Cold War ended Moi’s anti-communist policy was no longer useful to the States and they practically pulled out of Kenya over-night.

  “Good day sir.”

  For the life of him Maliki couldn’t remember the name of the nosy desk clerk standing to attention. Maliki flicked a salute in his direction and hurried outside.

  Lembui was waiting near the entrance to escort him to the car and Sabore was standing in front of the stretched Mercedes. Both were armed to the teeth, well prepared for the journey ahead. They were the best of his elite squad of handpicked GSU veterans but Maliki still felt naked travelling with so little protection. Since the attack on him the Kiambu Mafia had been more active, part of the run up to next year’s election. President Moi should have let him wipe out every last stinking Kikuyu, but he was too soft, too worried about what the old American Ambassador Smith Hempstone would report back to Washington.

  Maliki scanned the buildings surrounding the parade square nervously as Sabore scurried around to open the door for him.

  “Take me to the airfield.”

  “Right away sir.”

  Gravel was sent flying as the wheels spun and the Mercedes roared down the driveway. Sabore gave the guard on duty at the gate just enough time to lift the barrier up as they shot through the checkpoint. Then they were racing towards the city. Maliki braced himself as they swerved in front of the oncoming traffic, turning left off Thika Highway onto Mathare North Road. The drive-in cinema flew past as the Mercedes accelerated south towards Moi Air Base. A few minutes later they went by the row of Hawk fighter jets and pulled up next to the Cessna.

  Lembui and Sabore got out first to make sure it was safe and then they filed into the small plane. Maliki went first, stooping low to avoid hitting his head he clambered awkwardly into one of the back seats. Lembui accidentally bumped his thigh with the stock of his machine-gun as he sat down next to him.

  “Sorry sir.”

  “You clumsy fool!” Maliki glared at him, “Do you even know which end to shoot with?”

  “Yes sir...I mean sorry sir.”

  “Do it again and you will be, believe me!”

  Lembui stared at something on the back of Sabore’s seat. Maliki could feel his leg trembling against him. He grinned and turned to look out the window.

  The pilot radioed the tower and soon they were taxiing to the end of the runway. The tiny 180hp Lycoming engine was pushed to maximum throttle before the pilot released the brakes. Trundling at first, the light aircraft slowly picked up speed until they lifted off, climbing steeply before banking left and heading northwest.

  It would only take around fifty minutes to complete the 180km flight to Moi’s farm in Kabarak, but still it was an inconvenience he could do without. Maliki’s lip twitched to demonstrate his agitation. Bernstein had gone up to the Maasai Mara and he was waiting for an update from the officers that were following him. And he still hadn’t heard from the idiot Gupta.

  *****

  Thousands of flamingos were sent flocking out of the way as they crossed Lake Nakuru. The pilot was forced to gain altitude to avoid them getting caught up in the propellers.

  As they skirted the western limits of Nakuru City and the All Stars’ stadium, Maliki could see a training session was in full swing, various groups of players going through different routines. Toy figures making zigzag patterns in orange and black shirts.

  They left the stadium behind them and the rim of the Menengai Crater loomed ahead of them like a giant pimple. The vast cauldron was one of the largest volcanoes in the world, stretching twelve kilometres across and five hundred meters deep. The bottom was almost completely level. A green oasis covered in shrubbery and stunted trees.

  Maliki could see fumaroles puffing up from one of the cracks as they got nearer, thin wisps of steam snaking skywards. Dormant since the last lava flow in 1991 it was a ticking time bomb waiting to erupt.

  The city gave way to lush farmland and the pilot began a dogleg manoeuvre. Lining up with the thin strip of asphalt that cut through the fertile fields beside Moi’s residence. Red-roofed buildings were clustered around the main house, including two reasonable size guesthouses and several wheat barns.

  The President had become a recluse in recent years, rarely leaving the bloody place. Maliki spent half his time either discussing matters too sensitive for the telephone or travelling back and forth from Nairobi. His life would be made much easier if Moi lived in State House like he was supposed to.

  Maliki knew that Moi didn’t stay there because it reminded him of the days when he was Kenyatta’s lackey. Moi was scared of his predecessor and refused to let Maliki dispose of him. Saying that they needed the KANU party vote under Kenyatta’s control. Moi let the Kikuyu pig slap him in public on two occasions when he was Minister for Home Affairs. Maliki was irate at the time and wanted blood for the loss of face but Moi talked him out of it.

  There was a jolt and squeal of tires as they hit the runway. Maliki glanced out the window at the tree-lined avenue leading to the house.

  Hopefully the seventy-four year old President wasn’t taking a nap. His personal doctor could find no medical reason for Moi’s ill health and was treating him for depression. Unfortunately the drugs made him drowsy. Only Maliki, the doctor and a few close family members knew of the president’s condition. If the secret got out then Mwai Kibaki the leader of the opposition would use it to have Moi declared unfit and removed from office.

  *****

  Moi rested his elbows on the arms of the rattan chair and clasped his hands together, interlocking the bony fingers. Pausing as the crisply clad waiter served them ice tea from a jug on the polished silver tray he was carrying.

  “Thank you Paul,” said the President when he was finished pouring. “That will be all for now.”

  “Yes bwana,” replied the beaming steward. “Just call me if you need anything.”

  “I will Paul, don’t worry.”

  Moi waited for the man to disappear back into the house. They were sat in the shade of the covered veranda overlooking the President’s prized vegetable garden.

  The President waited for the patio doors to close, “So how are things going in Nairobi? Are we doing enough to keep the Americans happy?”

  “If it was up to me they wouldn’t be here at all,” Maliki took a sip of his drink. His tongue recoiled from the bitterness. He added a spoonful of sugar from the pot on the glass coffee table.

  “I know your views only too well,” Moi sighed. “I’ve listened to you for years, let you sway my judgement. But not this time.”

  “My views, as you call them, have saved your ass more than once,” Maliki reminded him. “Sometimes you are too naive.”

  “That may be true,” the President nodded wearily. “But the violence must end. I have let it go on for far too long now.”

  “You question my methods but without them you wouldn’t be where you are.”

  “Sometimes the ends do not justify the means,” a tear formed in the President’s eye. “We will burn in hell for what we’ve done.”

  “Nobody is going to hell.” Maliki didn’t believe in heaven either. “All we did was restore balance. Enk-ai Narok would be proud.”

  He was referring to the Maasai’s black God, the good and benevolent deity. The reality was that Maliki secretly worshiped the other one, Enk-ai Na Nyoke, the angry red God, master of life and death.

  “I wish that were true.” Moi touched the corner of his eye with his finger. “But it is too late to change that now. What news do you have for me?”

  “As you suggested we are letting the committee carry out limited investigations.”

  “Good.” Moi was staring at something, or nothing, out in the garden. “And
what of Konde? Did you learn anything from him?”

  It was funny how the President seemed happy to turn a blind eye to his methods when it suited him yet still tried to maintain the moral high ground. Maliki had no such compunctions.

  “He wouldn’t talk.”

  Moi knew him too well, “Why did you use the past tense? Is he dead?”

  “He had a weak heart.” Maliki shrugged, “How was I supposed to know?” He took another sip of coffee.

  “Christ!” when the President got angry he showed some of his former zeal, Maliki actually quite liked the revival, it was better than the apathy of late. “If the press get hold of this they’ll have a field day!”

  The only worry that Maliki had in that department at the moment was Bernstein, and he was a private matter, nothing to do with the President

  “Relax will you? Nobody knows that he was in custody. His disappearance can’t be linked to us in any way.”

  Maliki didn’t think that the shopkeeper would be missed, at least not by anyone who would be willing to stir up trouble. Whoever he was working with on the committee would want to put as much distance as humanly possible between themselves and any official investigation.

  “I’m not bothered about the messenger!” Moi slapped the table, a rare gesture these days. “We need to know who is leaking the information. They must be silenced and removed from the committee!”

  “We’re working on it. All of the committee members are being watched and their office and home phones have been tapped. It’s only a matter of time before we find out who is responsible.” In Maliki’s experience most people slipped up eventually, it could be as simple as confiding in the wrong person.

  “Be that as it may Peter, but Konde could have given us that information!”

  It often amused Maliki that not even the President knew who he really was, but not today. “I agree that Konde’s death was unfortunate but there’s nothing that can be done about that now.”

  Moi obviously decided that pursuing the subject further was futile, “And what about Bushnell?”

  “Don’t worry we’re keeping the Ambassador under constant watch. If she gets close to anything important I’ll take care of it.”

  “You’ve always been there for me Peter. There’s no denying that.” The President’s shoulders slumped and he stared out over the wooden balustrade.

  “Is there anything else you would like to discuss?”

  “No.” Moi’s outburst seemed to have weakened him, “I think that’s enough for one day. I’m feeling tired. Could you send Paul out when you leave?”

  “Of course,” Maliki finished off the drink and stood up.

  “And Peter?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t forget to let me know if there are any developments.”

  Maliki nodded and turned away. He would tell the President what he thought the aging politician could handle and keep the rest to himself.

  He checked his watch. There was still plenty of time to get back to Nairobi before tonight’s meeting with Wei. There better be news from Gupta when he got there.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  KWS Base Camp, Maasai Mara

  August 13th, 1996

  David’s belly felt bloated after consuming a little too much scrambled egg, insisting that they all eat a big breakfast before leaving. He wasn’t sure when they would be back at base camp but each man was carrying a week’s worth of provisions. He spread the map out on the ground and the others gathered around.

  He put his finger on a point between Keekorok and the border, “A pair of black rhino was spotted in this region yesterday, that’s where we’re heading.” He traced the border north, “Chege, this is where you’re going, a female with her calf should be somewhere in this region.”

  Rhino are territorial and normally stay within a twelve square mile patch. But they could have wandered a couple of miles in any direction from the locations Scott had given him. Finding them in the bush wasn’t going to be easy and he couldn’t use the spotter plane. David didn’t want Tanui or anyone else finding out about the mission.

  He had split his men into two groups so that they could cover more ground. David, Damo and Rashid formed one of them, designation ‘Alpha’. Chege was leading the other. The two rangers with him were both veterans in their late thirties who worked together in the Park Service before it became the KWS. Haji, a Swahili from a village near Mombasa and Makori from David’s hometown of Kisii were inseparable. Thick as thieves, even when they were off duty. Usually playing backgammon, cards or anything else they could bet their measly wages on. They made an odd pair, the short thickset fisherman’s son from the south and the tall farmer’s son from the north.

  Chege managed to dig up an old radio set and show Rashid how to use it. He was the rookie having been in the Service just over a year, which was why David opted to have him in his group. A crack shot and the fastest member of his multi-racial squad Rashid was the only Luo. He was also the most devout Muslim that David had ever met. Not that he tried to ram religion down their throats, Rashid kept his beliefs to himself. But the prayer mat came out five times a day no matter where they were or what they were doing. In a way he was envious of Rashid.

  “Is everybody clear on what our objective is?” there was a general nodding of heads. “Good, and remember to maintain radio silence unless you make contact.”

  David guessed that the poachers probably had their normal operating frequencies and would be listening in to their transmissions. He was using a different channel to keep in touch with Spencer Scott on a daily basis.

  He checked his watch, “Do your final checks now, we leave at 08:00. That’s five minutes gentleman.” He folded up the map of the park and shoved it into his webbing.

  As he watched the men strip and reassemble their weapons David realised that he was looking at them in a new light. He found himself trying to spot anything out of the ordinary in their behaviour. A shaking hand, a nervous glance, wondering if any of them might be involved with the poachers. Someone was tipping them off, he started thinking about the Deputy Director’s cold reception back at headquarters, David pushed the paranoid thoughts to the back of his mind. He needed to believe that they were on the same side if this was to succeed.

  His plan was a simple one, start at the bottom and work his way up to the top. David figured that as there were far fewer black rhino and their horn seemed to be in increasing demand it made sense to follow them rather than elephants. It was slim at best but it was all that he had.

  *****

  David used the LandRover to get as close as possible to the co-ordinates supplied by Scott. He veered off the dirt track onto the flat grassland, now clinging to life in clumps. So short he didn’t even need to slow down, the few rocks and other obstacles clearly visible. He could see a couple of eland in the distance, distinguishable by their long straight antlers. Otherwise the plain was devoid of wildlife. They passed the skull and bones of a wildebeest, bleached white by the sun. Would the rains ever come? If they failed again David wasn’t sure how the few remaining animals would survive the summer months.

  The landscape became uneven as they neared a small ravine, one of the tributaries that led down to the Mara River. Bushes and trees grew closer together between the rocks and the LandRover could go no further. David parked under the shade of large acacia tree and killed the engine.

  “Looks like we’re on foot from here on in.” He pulled out the map and checked their location. “They should be about half a click in that direction,” he pointed south towards the Mara Border Control, hidden from sight a couple of kilometres ahead of them.

  They grabbed their backpacks and weapons from the back of the jeep and began the trek. The bed of the stream was bone dry but showed signs of something digging for water. David went closer and could see the familiar three-toed footprint. The hole the rhino had dug was partially caved in and dried out, telling David that it was probably made a couple of days ago. Still, it was
encouraging.

  “At least we know that they’re definitely in the area.”

  A pair of tracks led away from the ravine in the direction that they were heading and disappeared into the bush on the other side.

  David took the lead and used his machete to hack a path through the undergrowth. Fortunately the ribbon of vegetation following the banks wasn’t very thick and they soon broke through into open veldt. Ten minutes later they found them. As usual it was Damo who saw the rhino first.

  He whistled David to stop, “They are over there, down near the river.”

  David followed where his arm was pointing but couldn’t see anything. But if Damo said the rhino were there then they were. He took his field glasses from his webbing and scanned the outcrop of rocks that Damo was indicating about two kilometres away. Even with the binoculars it took him a while to find them, two black shapes against the greyer stone. How Damo could see them from that distance he didn’t know.

  “Let’s get a bit closer and then find somewhere to hole up.” He grinned, “Damo, maybe you should take point.”

  *****

  They kept close to the rhino during the day, making sure that they stayed downwind from the shortsighted throwbacks to a prehistoric age. It was their blindness that gave rhino a bad name. Often mistaken for aggression their defence mechanism was to charge whenever they felt threatened. An over-developed sense of smell compensated for their poor eyesight and they were remarkably agile. Reaching a top speed of over fifty kilometres an hour, and weighing in at around a ton, they were definitely not animals to be messed with.

  For most of the day the rhino stayed near to the outcrop, foraging on the bushes and trees at its base. In the late afternoon they wandered down to the river for a cooling mud bath, rolling around and wading in the waist deep ooze until every inch of their hides were covered in red mud. Afterwards they returned to the same spot near the rocks and continued to feed.