by Peter Riva
Hanging up the phone, Mbuno suddenly wondered if Pero even knew. Niamba saw his face, guessed the dilemma, and began laughing. Mbuno shrugged, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. Niamba loved her husband now more than ever.
CHAPTER 22
Kifungua kinywa na Ukweli—Breakfast and the Truth
Mary called room service for quantities of pastries, toast with honey, croissants, pots and pots of coffee and tea, a fruit assortment, and a dozen glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice. Meanwhile, Pero was calling each room and checking that everyone could get together at eight. Heep called Tone, who confirmed he was on his way. Mr. Ranjeet’s clothing selection arrived, delivered to Mbuno’s room, but not the sandals yet. Once dressed, Mbuno dropped off Bob’s clothes at his room. Bob was surprised, and on seeing what was in the package, responded, “This is great, man. How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing, Mr. Bob, it is the least we can do for you. Pero says breakfast at eight.” Then he went to deliver a similar package to Pero.
He knocked and Susanna answered. She smiled at Mbuno and reached out for a hug. Mbuno smiled back but shook his head. “Dada Susanna, I cannot be hugging every time I see you.”
She paid no heed and grabbed him and hugged. “Well, maybe you cannot, but I can.”
Pero came to the door, and Mbuno handed him the parcel. Pero tore open the brown paper wrapping and said, “Great, thanks.” Then he looked at his watch—it was seven forty-five. “Can you come in? We need to talk before everyone gets together.” Mbuno entered. He was going to ask Susanna if Pero knew she was with child but decided then was not the time.
Pero started. “Okay. You and I, and only you and I, saw what was in that first room.” Mbuno nodded. Susanna looked on quietly, knowing all was to be finally revealed and that her patience had not been in vain. “Now, I called Lewis”—he pointed to the satellite phone on the windowsill, antenna still extended—“and got information on the logging camp. Nothing dramatic has happened since we left, no movement of people, no people transport in or out. Just the Mercedes SUV that went to Moyowosi Airport and stayed there after that plane—you know, the modern pusher prop we saw?—landed.” Mbuno nodded, “Well, seems someone got out of the camp—I’ll assume it was the boss, what you call the lion—boarded the plane, and left, bound—so far—for Albania. The only other thing that has left the camp were two train shipments. One eastbound with cut timber and one westbound with the uncut trees. No possibility of passenger transfers.”
Mbuno was pensive. “They may feel Ube escaped alone.”
Pero thought Mbuno did not sound confident, adding, “True, but there may be doubt. I am worried about the pilot who said there was a query about our people leaving Tabora airport. And then, last night, two people who looked to be German were interested in my arrival here at the hotel.”
“Ndiyo, it is like baboons. They believe a thing but check to make sure they make no mistake. Baboons are very clever. Baboons are meat eaters, too; they pretend to be afraid but are very good hunters. Baboons are very clever, brother. Never trust baboons.”
Pero agreed. The problem he was facing was what to do. What did Mbuno advise? There was no way around the issue, so he asked bluntly, “How do you want to handle this? The discussion with our team?”
“Is there any help from Lewis?”
“He says leave it to him—Boko Haram, that is.” Susanna’s eybrows shot up and Pero took her hand to calm fears. “He doesn’t know about the room.” Pero held up the other hand and raised one finger at a time. “One: He knew Boko Haram was there, but not what we saw since I didn’t tell him. Two: No one has any idea about the cocaine leaves or resin, where they are going, or what they are being manufactured for; all that cocaine stuff is a mystery. He wants time to find out. I told him we did not find out, either. Three: The drugs are helping fund Boko Haram; he made that connection. Four: Why the lumber mill? As cover? Seems that cover will evaporate when the local forests are cut down; hardly seems worth the expense to build a mill for just the timber in that one area. Five: The Singhs in Dar know something is going on there, at least they intimated as much to Heep. And six”—he held up the other hand—“and I did not talk to Lewis about this—why hasn’t one of the Singh brothers stopped all this . . . gold in, drugs out, Boko Haram? All on their doorstep? Doesn’t make sense.”
“Ndiyo. But you are right.” Mbuno smacked his hands on his knees. “It does not matter.” Pero was silent. “The room.” Mbuno’s quiet statement sent shivers down Pero’s back. Susanna, still sitting on the end of the bed, looked from one man to the other, seeing the conflict in each, trying to calculate who would give in first.
“Look, Mbuno, I know, I know,” Pero was almost pleading. “But if Toyota Singh and the policeman are already investigating, and if Lewis and the CIA are already planning something, if we try and do something now, we may ruin their whole operation and allow the leaders to get away. And if they move their operation anyway . . .”
“The room.” Mbuno, the hunter, had his eyes on a target.
Pero realized he would not shift Mbuno from his focus. “Okay, I understand. But do you understand the risk? Not just to ourselves, but to larger events and evil leaders in some far-off land?”
“It is as I said, brother. Lions, once fed, are always hungry. They can be killed, or they will move on and kill somewhere else. Vulture always follow lion. Hyena are happy with lion killing. Carcasses become too many; the land dies. The lion moves on. Lion are not interested in small game. Hyena and vultures are. It is why they stay when lion leave. And when the meat is gone, only the baboons remain. Always it is baboons who survive. It is baboons who take over.” The word coup popped into Pero’s head again.
So, Pero, looking at Susanna, asked the same question again, “Mbuno, what is your plan?”
“We tell everything, you produce. We rescue. We go rescue wasichana duni.”
Pero, disheartened, translated for Susanna: “The miserable girls.”
Breakfast, once Tone arrived, was friendly enough. The hotel staff had wheeled in three tables and extra chairs. The suite was packed when the room phone rang and Mary picked it up. “Yes, they are here . . . uh-huh . . . yes, please ask Mr. and Mrs. Ranjeet to come up to the Baltazars’ room.”
She hung up the phone and explained to Susanna. “The Ranjeets are on their way up. It was their son, Amogh, who flew the plane that saved everyone before.” She was referring to the Nairobi al-Shabaab attack. “It seems they want to see you, and Pero, of course.”
In that room, only Pero knew that Prabir Ranjeet was also a Mossad agent in place. There was no reason to suspect that he knew anything about their plans, but Pero was instantly nervous. He could maybe use Prabir’s help, as before, but he was more worried it would complicate the quick-in, quick-out plan he needed, without CIA or certainly without Mossad intervention. Pero understood Lewis’s reluctance for his maverick behavior; there may well be greater fish to catch on a different timetable. The image of the frightened, half-clad girls outweighed, for him and Mbuno, other considerations.
Susanna took his hand and pulled him toward the door, followed by Mbuno and Niamba. As they stepped out into the corridor, the elevator doors opened and Mr. Janardan and the Ranjeets exited. The askari saluted the hotel under-manager. Prabir exclaimed to Pero and Susanna, “Ah, so wonderful to see you, so wonderful. It is wonderful news!”
Pero was thoroughly confused and looked at Susanna, who was similarly perplexed.
Mbuno and Niamba stepped forward to stand next to the Ranjeets. Mbuno nodded to Prabir. Formally, he lifted a yellow, silk-wrapped present with both hands and tendered it to Susanna. Prabir explained, “Mr. and Mrs. Mbuno explained the wonderful news, and we decided, together, to congratulate you on the growth of your family.”
Susanna blushed and looked at Pero. He said, “I didn’t say a thing! I promise.” Susanna started laughing. She looked at Niamba and instantly knew.
Mbuno took Susanna’s hand and
said, “Dada, no one keeps secret from Niamba. You do not mind?”
“Mind? Honestly, I am thrilled! Of course, my brother.” Then she went over to Niamba and put her hand around Niamba’s waist. “And sister probably knew before my husband, no doubt!” The Ranjeets looked on, amazed but happy. Pero was still smiling when he heard a sound behind him. He turned to see Heep, Ube, Mary, and Tone.
Mary exclaimed, “I knew it!” She looked at her husband. “Didn’t I tell you?” Heep patted Pero on the back and kissed Susanna’s cheeks.
For the next ten minutes, everyone piled into Pero’s room. They unwrapped the beautiful party-quality kanga, and Susanna went into the bathroom with Niamba to try it on. When she emerged, she received a round of applause because the kanga was so beautiful and she looked radiant. Pero could not have been prouder. His mind, however, was drawing him away. She looks lovely, but I have to get moving. We need to concentrate on the job at hand . . .
Mbuno knew Pero would be worried about the timing. He raised his voice and asked everyone to leave the couple alone. There would be time for celebrations later, in a few days when they were not so busy. “We eat now. Tafadhali.” The mood changed, and people drifted back to breakfast in the other room. The Ranjeets said goodbye, and Mr. Janardan escorted them to the elevator. Pero called after them, “Thank you, thank you both!” Prabir waved as the elevator doors closed.
Pero’s room phone rang—it was Sheila from Mara, calling to say the satellite phone had been delivered. Business instantly returned to matters at hand. Susanna ran to the bathroom to change back into day clothes. Moments later, coming into Heep and Mary’s room, Pero asked Heep for the number of the United Nations’ receiver. He dialed, put the phone on the windowsill, pushed connect, and Wolfie answered immediately. He pushed speaker, telling Wolfie who was in the room. He then asked Heep to repeat the rescue story while he took Bob aside into the corridor.
Keeping his voice low, Pero said, “Bob, look, you did a good job. You get your flight information yet?” Bob nodded. “Okay, good. Now listen. I don’t know what’s in store for you back in the USA, but I owe you the truth here, and then you need to make a decision. Okay?”
“Somethin’s up man? I thought something was weird last night. You weren’t too happy.”
“That doesn’t matter. Mbuno and I saw something at the mill. We can’t overlook it.” He quickly added, “That doesn’t mean you need to get involved. But what I am saying is this: We’re about to explain everything to our team, and, yes, I consider you part of the team even if Director Lewis has forbidden that already.”
“You don’t take orders very well, do you?” Bob said, smiling. “Look, I’m done with ONSI; they are amateur. Your guy was right. And when we saw Boko Haram there, well, it really made me mad because I wasn’t trained by ONSI for that type of solo action. No way, man. So, whatever you saw there that makes you think you need to go back down there again, I’m in. I trust you, okay, and, sorry, Pero, but honestly? I’d follow the Mzee anywhere. I know a leader when I see one. My sarge got court-martialed after an incident in Iraq . . .”
“Near the Euphrates?”
“Yeah, near there. Anyway, he was like Mbuno, moral high ground, if you know what I mean, coupled with skills, man, deep-shit skills. I’ll tell you some other time.”
“Okay, for now I’ll include you in the conversation. But when you know what we saw, and when we make a plan, you can bow out any time you want, agreed?” Bob shook Pero’s hand, and they went back into the room as Heep’s tale of the arrival at the hotel last night was winding down.
Ube stood up and said, “I thank all of you, you save me. Asante sana.” People were clapping.
Pero asked for silence. “You still there, Wolfie?” His voice came through loud and clear. “Okay then, Wolfie, you may want to leave us now. But, as you were so helpful in Ube’s rescue and coordination, I wanted you to know the outcome . . . it is a big but, and what comes next may be something you”—he looked around the room—“and others here may want no part of. All I ask”—Mbuno touched his arm—“sorry, all Mbuno and I ask is that you keep secret everything we are about to say and discuss.” From the phone came Wolfie’s agreement and everyone around the room was nodding as well.
Mbuno held out his hand to Susanna. She rose, and he pushed her toward Pero. Niamba rose and stood next to Mbuno, her hand on his shoulder, giving him confidence. In a clear voice, Mbuno said, “We go back. We find girls.” There was audible shock from everyone.
Pero explained. “In the first windows of the hut where we found Ube, we peered in carefully. Inside there was one lightbulb hanging from a wire. I could see maybe twenty or thirty young girls, most without clothing, some with skirts or ripped blouses. All wore the same uniform. It looked like a school uniform.”
Mary stood up and screamed, “The kidnapped Boko Haram girls!” Heep stood, grabbed her, and made her sit, comforting her.
Pero squatted before Mary. “Sorry, sorry. I forgot, your uncle has been leading efforts to find them, to have someone rescue them. I should have warned you.” Pero explained to everyone else, “Mary’s uncle is Reverend Jimmy Threte.” Some people gasped—Reverend Threte was a world-famous evangelist.
From the phone came Wolfie’s voice, “The guy al-Shabaab tried to shoot and blow up two years ago?”
Heep answered, “Yes, the same. Mary was a target then, too.”
Mary looked at her husband, who had thrown himself in front of the assassins’ bullets to save her. She hugged his arm hard. But Mary wasn’t sad. She was suddenly angry at Pero. “You took a day to tell me? Why?”
Pero stood again. “Look, everyone. We needed to make sure Ube was back safe and well. And we needed more information from Director Lewis. We needed to regroup. This ain’t easy.”
Nancy asked, “Who the hell is Lewis?”
“Sorry, guys. I was a CIA runner, small stuff, while I traveled. Then there were those two big events that we all”—he looked around the room—“managed to take care of. Director Lewis is at the CIA; he’s useful for information when we’ve needed it. This time, he wants me to stop and go away, leave it to the authorities in Tanzania and, I suppose, the CIA. But Mbuno and I saw those girls. We can’t wait for someone else to decide what to do maybe a month from now. These are young girls . . .”
Bob spoke up, “Yeah, that’s about what I was supposed to do, too—find out what I could and leave everything alone. I didn’t know about Boko Haram being there at all.”
Tom asked, “And who the hell are you, really?”
“I was ONSI, the Treasury, tracing drug money pouring into the region. Seems it’s for Boko Haram.”
“You were ONSI?” Nancy asked.
“Got fired yesterday. Now freelance. I’m staying to help.”
Mbuno said, “Good man, Mr. Bob.”
From the telephone came the voice all the way from Loiyangalani, “Always knew there was something fishy about you, Pero, after the Nairobi al-Shabaab thing. Scheisse, this is a bad thing, these Boko Haram devils in East Africa. Okay, I help, too. What do you need?” Wolfie’s commitment sounded firm.
Tone spoke up, “Nothing you can send us from there, Wolfgang, but I can help here and now.” He faced Mbuno. “Old man or not, Mbuno, count me in. I’m still a crack shot. Bloody bastards in East Africa? Not on my turf. And some of the old white hunters, one of them will join up in a second.” Then Tone realized that Teddy and Keriako were still in the room. “Mbuno, should they leave? They haven’t understood very much so far . . .”
Mbuno was decisive. “They are Okiek. They are warriors, they decide.” He turned to the two young men, placed a hand on each of their shoulders, and brought them into the picture in rapid Swahili. Their eyes got larger and larger, they started to raise fists in anger, and finally it was clear they were in. Mbuno patted each man on the back and said, “A heshima mpiganaji.” (Honorable warriors.)
Teddy answered for the brothers, “We rescue, yes?” Mbuno nodded. “Ndi
yo, sisi kukusaidi; kutuambia nini cha kufanya.” (Yes, we will help; tell us what to do.)
Heep stood. “Hold on, hold on. All this is like a riot beginning. We need a plan, we need . . .” He stopped. The room went silent. He said, “Pero, ja, moet je een werkbaar plan te maken.” Mary tapped Heep’s leg, reminding him to speak English. “Oh, sorry. Yes. You, Pero, need to make a workable plan . . . or people will get killed for nothing. Produce this rescue.”
Pero knew it would come to this. All his life, he was the organizer. It was what made him an excellent producer, keeping on budget and on time, dealing with governments and regulations around the globe. It was, as Director Lewis had once said, what had helped him prevent two world disasters—planning ability. This time, however, Pero knew they were having to plan an attack, not merely prevent an attack or terrorist threat. It was one thing for him to plan to stop evil forces before they did anything, but it was another thing entirely to plan an attack to overcome an enemy. Then it occurred to him. “Hold on a second, what are we trying to do?” He looked around the room. Everyone said the same thing, that they must rescue the girls. “Does anyone here care if we do not stop Boko Haram in Tanzania, if we do not stop the drug trade, if we do not find out who’s behind all this? The girls come first and foremost?”
Everyone was shrugging or shaking their head. Mbuno simply said, “It is the girls.”
Pero felt better, more confident. “Okay then, a rescue mission is what we’ll mount. We need a way in and a way out. Coming out will mean transporting every girl, talking to them to help calm them.” He looked around the room. “And when we get them out, we need a place to go that’s safe for them and for us.” Pero’s enthusiasm was growing, and it was infectious to those in the room, even Teddy and Keriako, who only understood enough to know plans were being made. “The best way to slip in and out of that mill is across the lake—but that doesn’t help take the girls out safely. And there is no road leading from the mill, right?”
