Kidnapped on Safari

by Peter Riva

  Bob agreed.

  Pero summed it up. “So—we need to steal a train.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Mipango Yote ambayo Inaweza Kukosea—All the Plans That Can Go Awry

  Pero knew that any decision by committee was a surefire way to have this rescue fail. He was determined to get the girls out by using his planning skills and always relying on Mbuno’s abundant abilities in the bush. The previous dangerous adventures of the past few years had ultimately been his responsibility. Now the link to Lewis and the CIA made him responsible for this mission’s success or failure. He was determined to avoid the latter. He had spent much of the night going over possible plans in his head. Now he needed to talk them out, get feedback, and improvise. All good producers must improvise. It is how they stay on time and budget. He would take charge. No committee decisions. Of course, he knew he would still defer to the experts, and thinking of that, he looked at Mbuno.

  Mbuno saw Pero watching him in the middle of the crowded room, where seemingly everyone was talking at once about what they had heard on the news about Boko Haram. He could see breakfast dishes, cups, saucers, and empty orange juice glasses littering every surface. Mbuno decided to take charge of setting the tone of what was to come. “Mr. Heep, call for this”—he waved his hand around the room—“to be taken away, tafadhali.” Heep reached for the phone. Mbuno continued, “Mr. Tone, Pero is a producer. He is good producer, he is in charge.” It was a statement, not a question. Tone immediately agreed, as did Wolfie over the speakerphone. Mbuno turned to Pero and said, “Good. Now give instruction.” Then he sat down, leaving Pero the only man standing. Niamba watched her husband in awe. He was ordering everyone around, including Pero.

  “Okay then, some of the simpler matters first.” Pero held up his hand and raised one finger at a time as he enumerated. “One: safety. Assume the worst. Those two Aryan types in the lobby, whether they are there today or not, may be part of the mill operation. Mr. Janardan is shooing them away, but they will be watching the hotel. So, we need a safe base where no one can get in or out without us knowing.” He called out, “Wolfie, can we take over a wing at the Oasis?”

  Wolfie responded, “Guests leaving this morning; I’ll have eight rooms. I’ll shift things around, take no new bookings. How many nights?” Pero said a week would suffice. “Good, no problem. Can I hang onto this phone or will we be using the radio?”

  “The satellite phone is more secure. Can you charge it?” Wolfie said he already was. “The strip at Loiyangalani can take a larger plane—I even saw a DC3 there a few years back—so we’ll aim for everyone to end up at the Oasis. Only one way in and one way out. Easy to keep watch. Okay then, Wolfie is our safe base. Fine with you, Wolfie?”

  “Depends.” He made everyone wait, then chuckled. “Depends if I have use of the generators to keep the pools full.” Those who remembered the pool draining, just a few days ago, smiled or laughed.

  “Thanks, Wolfie. Now, two: the team to effect the rescue. Volunteers please. Me, Mbuno—”

  Niamba spoke up forcefully, “Kuna watu tisa ambao wanataka kwenda.” (There are nine who will want to go.) Niamba had seen nine when she threw the contents of the enkidong at the hospital.

  Pero asked, “Why nine, Niamba?”

  In response, she did not answer but instead pointed around the room, starting with Mbuno, Pero, Bob, Ube, Teddy, Nancy, and Tone, then added, “Polisi jijini Dar rafiki ambaye ni wawindaji na Tone.” (A police officer from Dar and hunter friend of Tone.)

  Pero was about to ask how and why she had thought of those choices, but looking at Mbuno nodding vehemently, Pero decided to accept Niamba’s verdict. “Let’s assume that’s the team going to Tanzania. Everyone okay with that?”

  Nancy stood. “You are assuming a lot. You have to ask me.”

  Mbuno answered, “Niamba says you want to go. She does not tell you.”

  Nancy felt suddenly out of her depth and explained, “Look, I’ve been to Nigeria. Maybe it’s that. I went with my parents on a mission for our church. But this is a whole lot different . . .”

  Mbuno asked, “You speak Hausa?”

  The realization hit Nancy hard. She sat next to Mary on the bed. “I do, a bit.” she looked around the room. “I take it none of you do?” Everyone was shaking their head. “Okay, I get it. Jesus Christ protect us. If I go, my parents will kill me if anything happens. If I do not go and something happens to those girls, my parents will kill me anyway.”

  Mary asked, “What does your faith tell you, Nancy?” Everyone looked on anxiously. They saw it was a tough decision, one demanding bravery, the type of bravery more commonly reserved for soldiers.

  Nancy looked at Mary and asked, “What would you do?” She saw it in Mary’s eyes. Then she looked at Susanna and saw the same determination and commitment. Lastly, looking at Niamba, she nodded her head and said, “I guess you knew already. I’ll go. I was in Nigeria when I was their age—young, thirteen going on fourteen—and I loved everyone I met there. I cannot forget that. I’ll go.”

  Pero and the others in the room congratulated her. Pero repeated the question, asking if everyone on Niamba’s list was in.

  Tone spoke up. “I will be when I make a call. Stephen Pritchett is who I had in mind, son of a great white hunter, crack shot. Was in the Territorials in Britain for ten years, staff sergeant. Solid. He’ll want in. Who’s the policeman she’s referring to?”

  Pero explained that during the last troubles in Tanzania, one of the Singh brothers had come to their aid. He was pretty sure he’d want in. “I’ll make that call shortly.”

  Mary spoke up. “You mean that sweet little roly-poly man who tried to defend me from my mama crocodile at Pangani with only a popgun? Commissioner Madar Singh? Him?”

  At one point during their filming in Pangani with a seagoing monster crocodile, Commissioner Singh had felt Mary—the crocodile expert—was in danger, so he ran down the beach with a small .22 pistol to defend her. There was no need, but his bravery made an impression on everyone there.

  Pero smiled. “Yes, that’s the one. Heep, you talked to his brother Virgi the other day. As soon as we’re done here, I’ll call Commissioner Madar Singh—he has an Interpol scrambled phone like the one I have there. I’m sure he’ll help.” That left Bob and Teddy. Niamba’s premonition or not, Pero needed to be sure they were volunteering. “Bob?”

  “I’m in, man, I’m in. Don’t hold with kidnapping.”

  “Teddy?”

  Mbuno responded for the brothers. “They are Okiek warriors, and I will guide them. We need them.” He turned to the boys, especially Teddy, “Yeye anahitaji kujua kama wewe kukubaliana kwenda kwenye kuwaokoa.” (He needs to know if you agree to go on the rescue.) The men nodded. Mbuno added, “Ni hatari!” (It is dangerous!)

  Teddy looked at his brother and nodded, then Keriako spoke for them both. “Ube alituokoa. Lazima tuwahifadhi wasichana.”

  Mbuno translated, “Ube saved us. We must save the girls.”

  Pero asked Mbuno to explain that he was leaving the protection of his crew in Loiyangalani to Keriako, under the orders of Wolfie. He nodded at the radio. Mbuno explained, and Keriako stood and proclaimed, “I protect!”

  Pero was pleased. He held up another finger. “Now, three: the bigger the city, the more chaos to hide in. We’re going to need to steal the train in Dar and ride it all the way to the mill and pick up their cargo. The hijacking of the locomotive may be easy. The schedule of when a train is expected is harder. I’ll get the Singhs working on that when we’re sure about them.” He paused to make sure everyone was following. “Four: Susanna, Heep, Mary, Keriako, and you, Tom, I need you up at the Oasis by this evening. Set up base there. Susanna, you’re communications. Can you get ahold of Lewis securely with Wolfie’s satellite phone?” She said she could. “Heep and Mary, I need you to prepare for the arrival of the girls. They need help, Mary—”

  She interrupted, speaking to the satellite phone, “Wolfie, can my uncle s
tay, too, please? He’ll bring a team of experts, maybe four. We can all squeeze in two rooms.”

  Wolfie responded, “He can have my quarters. I’ll take the hammock—nicer this time of year.”

  Mary looked at Pero. “I’ll need the phone”—she pointed at Pero’s satellite phone—“to call my uncle. I do not want anyone here knowing.” She meant the hotel operators. Jimmy Threte was the personal savior of thousands in Nairobi. If anyone knew he was coming, they would walk to Loiyangalani for the chance to see him.

  “Okay, Mary, that’s great, and thanks, Wolfie. Mary, make sure he brings that giant bodyguard of his for security, Kweno Usman.” Kweno Usman had saved Mary’s life years ago and was devoted to both Jimmy Threte and his niece. Pero felt better if Kweno could be around—to protect Susannah as well. “Now, Heep and Tom. Get set up, video cameras, buy anything else you need today here and take it with you. Think Shoa Project . . . an unfiltered, stream-of-consciousness recording while it is fresh in their minds. We want these girls’ stories down on tape. It’ll be critical for the World Court if anyone is ever arrested.” People started to complain that that was not the purpose of the rescue. “I know that’s not our goal, but if we do find out anything, the taping would be critical evidence while details are fresh in their minds. Agreed?” Everyone seemed to understand.

  “Now it gets harder. Five: Assuming we get into the mill, assuming we have the capability of releasing and putting the girls on the train and then leaving . . . the direction we can take is limited to the track being clear. It is a one-track rail system. Back to Tabora and fly out? Or onwards to Kigoma and the airport there? We’ll know more after we go to Dar. And that’s where I need you, Tone. You know all the flight operators at Wilson Airport. We need planes to carry fifty in all, waiting at both airports without attracting attention, without staging an air armada. Ideas?”

  “Having that many planes might be hard to keep secret. It will, I am afraid, attract a lot of attention at Wilson just by me asking. What do I tell them?”

  Pero wasn’t sure. He didn’t want leaks or to worry people of the danger already afoot. It was the danger that keyed a memory. “Can everyone hold on? Wolfie, can I cut you off and make a call? I’ll call right back.” Pero ended the Oasis call and pushed the buttons for Lewis’ sequence. He heard, “Standby,” and responded, “Baltazar for Lewis, urgent.”

  “Lewis here. Baltazar, you leaving Nairobi yet? No, wait, am I on speaker?”

  “You are. I am talking to my team on where to go next. Suspect surveillance here.” He put a finger to his lips to tell everyone to be quiet. “May need transport, non-local. Can you arrange?”

  “What about civilian flights out of Nairobi? I can clear seats . . .”

  “Negative, non-civilian flights. Anything Navy in Mombasa we can borrow?”

  “What are you up to? I told you—”

  “Lewis, listen, and listen carefully. You made me operational, you said my CIA articles are still active. So, I am the field agent here in control. I am instructing you to arrange military airlift capability, multiple aircraft, on my command. To be available within two hours within the next thirty-six. Maybe three tons max load. Pickup may be open ground. Flight distance under one thousand five hundred miles. No air-to-air hostility expected. We do not know where we can go yet to effect safe egress. Copy?”

  “Yes, yes, okay, copy.” He sounded too tired to argue. “Is that wife of yours there?” Pero looked at Susanna and nodded.

  “Hello, Charles.” Susanna used his first name. “How can I help you?”

  “Since it is obvious your husband won’t listen to me, can I at least ask you to keep me informed? He’s playing God again, and it might be better if he didn’t try it alone.”

  “God has nothing to do with it. Being a good man with good friends does,” she said. Then she raised her voice. “And that includes you.”

  From the speaker they all heard the exhausted voice. “Oh, Lord, this is a mistake. Here we go again. Lewis out.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Kusonga Haraka, Kusimama Bado—Moving Fast, Standing Still

  As the initial briefing wound down, Pero asked Heep, Bob, Teddy, Keriako, and Ube to come to his room. “Heep, you have the photos?”

  “Yeah, Sergeant Nabana left them with us when we didn’t see anything useful. What do you expect to find?”

  Pero shook his head and thought, Probably nothing, but maybe the four who had been there will recognize something. On the coffee table, Heep spread out the color prints Nairobi Labs had made from the slide film Mr. Winter had used. “Seems there were thirty-two rolls, only four from that day. They printed every shot that wasn’t blank. I am afraid the order has gotten mixed up. Sergeant Nabana has the original slides in safekeeping. The originals are numbered if that helps. I did have the lab make a fast, digital copy of every slide.”

  Pero immediately saw nothing of interest. The usual long-range shots of a leopard in a tree, a carcass or two with flies, and vultures. Lots of grass, bushes, and trees. He turned to Ube. “Can you put these in order?”

  Ube started sliding the images around on the glass top. Eventually he seemed satisfied. “Early”—he pointed and ran his hand over the images to the end—“to late.”

  Heep asked, “Anything? Ube, Bob, you see anything that would account for what happened?” Everyone peered closely and then shook their heads. Heep said, “That’s what I thought. I could not see anything significant. Only Nancy thought the color of the grass in these shots was weird, but then again she’s only interested in color balance.” He indicated three shots of the head of a bushbuck moving in the marsh. The shots were out of focus.

  Ube said, “Just after this, there was a loud noise—maybe ten minutes later when we were seeing the leopard.”

  Pero peered closely at the images. The head of the bush-buck appeared almost glowing. He couldn’t see what Nancy was talking about. He decided to find out. He opened his door, went across the corridor, and knocked, asking, “Nancy, can you give me a hand here?”

  Nancy followed Pero into his room and over to the coffee table. Pero asked her what was strange about the shots. She was apologetic. “Really, it’s nothing. I was asked if I saw anything unusual. See, the shadow here and here?” She pointed. “The sun is behind the camera. See how it illuminated the grasses? So why is there a glow coming from behind the bush-buck’s head? It looks yellow. Weird.”

  Pero asked Heep, “Can I see the digital image? Let’s blow this up.”

  Heep ran and got his laptop, selected the images while walking back, and when he put the laptop on the table, he said, “Zooming in . . .”

  When the bushbuck’s head filled the frame, they all saw it—yellow paint with part of the letter Z. “That must be a Z from Zanzi-Agroforestry. One of their damn trucks.” Pero asked Heep to move around the image, see if there was anything else. When he moved to the left they saw the bottom of another letter. “Can’t be,” Pero said. “It’s upside down. It’s a letter A. Heep, pan to the right. There should be no more letters.” Pero flopped down on the couch. “What the hell? They crashed the truck off the road? It’s upended. You would have heard that. And who would give a damn? Ube, how far off the road were you?”

  “About two hundred yards, Mr. Pero. But where that is, is deep mud off the raised road.”

  “Okay, let’s figure this thing out. Bob, you would have heard a truck crash from that distance, right?” Bob said he was sure they would. “Okay, the truck had crashed long before you got there. So what were they worried about and what did you hear?”

  Heep suggested, “Maybe what you heard was the truck being put back upright?”

  Pero nodded. “That seems likely, but how? Those trucks are massive. It would take a crane—”

  Bob interrupted, “Nah, man. I’ve seen this in Pennsylvania. You get a heavy tractor-trailer stuck in the mud, even turned over, then you get a bigger truck, put on a four-inch nylon cable about three hundred yards long between the two
trucks. Rev and run the solid truck full tilt; the rope stretches, energy builds up, and suddenly the stuck truck flips right out of five feet of mud like a rocket.”

  Pero asked to see the images of the leopard on the screen. “Quick, blow that up, Heep.” He did so. Heep panned back and forth, and suddenly there it was—barely seen through the branches of the tree—another truck’s cab, the very top, and standing on top . . . A white man, Pero thought. All this because one white guy far off in the distance thought they got his picture? “Heep, what resolution is the scan we’re seeing?”

  Heep said, “About a fifteenth of the quality of the film, Pero. That’s a ten-meg file. If I had a professional scanner with those Kodachrome slides? I could get one hundred and fifty megs. We might see who that is, Pero, we just might.”

  “Damn, so that’s why they lifted Ube. He was on a camera safari, and there might be film. The noise you heard? The flipping of an overturned truck. And it explains why those two goons were in the lobby, to see if there was police activity with the film. We need to move fast now. Heep, call Gibson Nabana and get him to lock up that original film. Then use my phone and call Lewis.” Heep started to protest. “No, Heep, I have to get other things done. So, call Lewis and tell him to arrange an embassy courier to collect the film from Gibson and get it to—hell, I don’t know—whatever is nearest, maybe the Navy in Mombasa. Every fleet has top-notch spy equipment for photography. We will need to know what we’re looking at. It may be what Lewis is looking for, too. And for God’s sake, tell him we’re giving him this help for whatever it is he has planned later. Use those words. But for now, we need to know what that film says for our safety.”

  Pero felt sure it was time to move, and move fast. There were two factors for him. One was the real time-lag concern for the hours it would take for the hijacked train to roll slowly from Dar to the mill. He had seen the train lumbering along, seemingly in no hurry. Freight by rail did not hurry anywhere in the world. In discussing this with Tone and Mbuno, the best guess was a ten- to twelve-hour trip from Dar. That meant they had to identify the next train, climb aboard, and take control. The next train, not the one after. If the train was on a daily schedule . . . It would mean it leaves Dar around five a.m., tomorrow morning. There’s so little time . . .