As she started putting other parts of the puzzle together, an icy certainty grew in her mind: It wasn’t that they weren’t coming back this evening; they weren’t coming back at all! They had abandoned her, alone in an isolated hut in the middle of nowhere and there wasn’t even the possibility that her captors were coming to see her twice a day. No young girl with sympathy in her eyes and fear in her heart; no tall man with a ski mask and a muffled voice. No-one was coming to see her at all. She was alone and no-one was going to be able to find her.
Her final vestige of hope died and she began to scream. Since she’d arrived, she’d been relatively calm, but to no avail. She ran to the door, hammered on the rough boards, yelling, ‘let me out; please help me; let me out,’ over and over again until she was hoarse. Then she slid down the door and lay on the floor, her cheek pressed against the dirt, her fingers digging into the ground, sobbing.
When there were no tears left, she found herself watching, as though from a distance, the prone woman on the ground. This wouldn’t do! She was stronger than this. She made herself stand up. How long had she been here? She couldn’t remember—and suddenly it was very important. A calendar—she needed a calendar, so she could record the passing of time. She’d been here two days—or was it three? She’d better have two calendars, so she would know one of them was accurate. She looked around for a stick, something she could draw lines with. She would make a mark for each passing day. But then she remembered her briefcase and laughed out loud. ‘You silly woman, you’ve got paper and pens in there!’ She pulled out her notebook and tore a blank page from the middle, then, sitting at the table, biting her lip, she started drawing two neat grids. For some reason, she knew they needed to be neat. And would she fill it in each morning when she woke or in the evening before dark descended? She shook her head. She was too tired to think about that now; she could decide that later. ‘It’s not as though I’ve got anything else to think about,’ she said with a laugh.
When the calendars were finished, she smoothed out the paper and arranged it carefully in the centre of the table, with a water bottle top and bottom to anchor it. Then she sat on the bed and stared at the door, willing it to open. But it remained resolutely shut and as darkness fell, she could no longer see it.
Bruce Willis was driving and she was holding on for dear life to the dashboard, while ancient vehicles driven by men in ski masks tore along the road behind them and tried to outflank them. Over the sound of squealing tyres and rapid gun fire, someone called her name. She woke with a start. She could see the door again; dim light filtered through the tiny window below the roof. She was curled under the blanket and straightening her legs, she groaned as cramped muscles protested—then she heard the call again. It sounded like her sister.
‘Charlie,’ her first attempt was feeble and her throat was raw from all the shouting and screaming. ‘Charlie, I’m over here, Charlie.’ This time her voice was stronger. She couldn’t believe this was happening and she just hoped it wasn’t a trick by Banda—or that they hadn’t captured her sister as well. She jumped from the bed, but her cramped legs gave way and she fell to the ground. She heard feet running up the path and across the veranda, then the bolt shot back and the door flew open.
‘Suzanne, oh sweetie, it’s okay, we’re here, we’ve found you.’ Strong arms helped her to her feet and led her gently to the bed. Her sister sat down beside her and put her arms around her. ‘Some bodyguard I’ve turned out to be. We’ve been going frantic looking for you.’ The sisters were both crying now and hugging each other tightly. There was a discreet cough from the doorway.
‘Ladies, I think we should get away from here sooner rather than later.’ It was WB, looking unaccustomedly tentative and quiet. ‘Charlie, we need to get Suzanne checked out by a doctor and, besides, I’d rather not hang around in case someone comes to check on their ‘guest’.’ Charlie jumped up at once.
‘Of course, you’re right; would you mind getting the car and I’ll look after Suzanne.’ She held out her hand. ‘Come on, sis—let’s take you somewhere more comfortable.’ WB picked up the briefcase and handbag from the table and walked out of the hut. He headed off down the track and Suzanne looked questioningly at her sister. ‘We parked a little way back; we didn’t know whether you would be alone or not and we didn’t want to warn anyone of our arrival. But when we saw there were no vehicles here, we guessed you’d be on your own.’ She put her arm around Suzanne’s shoulders and the two sisters walked slowly out of the hut and across to the track without a backward glance.
Suzanne didn’t really believe she was being rescued until they were in the car, off the track and bowling down the highway towards the main town. They had to pass the airport and she was shocked to see how close she had been to her destination when her driver had taken the turn along the track and her nightmare had begun.
Once past the airport, they saw the signs to the city centre. Suzanne assumed they would be going that way. However, WB drove straight past the turning and kept going at high speed. Suzanne grabbed Charlie’s arm.
‘Where are we going? Why aren’t we stopping?’ Waves of panic rose up inside her, threatening to choke her. She thought of WB as a friend, but when all was said and done, she’d only met him twice. He’d arrived at Chibesa’s office one morning at the start of the project and introduced himself as the Ugandan representative, saying he wanted to help ‘rid Africa of this dreadful scourge’. But what did they really know of this man, who had somehow managed to leave his own country undetected, steal Sara Matsebula out of Swaziland, right under the noses of the Banda members who had been sent to ‘deal with her’—and had now managed to locate a deserted hut in the middle of nowhere? He was just too good to be true. Could she trust him?
Charlie was making hushing sounds and stroking the hair off her face with one hand while the other held her close. Come to think of it, could she trust her sister? The story about her leaving England and arriving in Zambia in disguise was a very far-fetched one; maybe she was part of the plot—whatever that plot might be. Was she really safe, or had she just exchanged one prison for another one? She struggled to free herself from Charlie’s arms and tried to reach the door handle.
‘I have to get out!’ she cried. ‘Stop the car and let me out now!’ Charlie held her arms tight against her sides and her smile faded, to be replaced by a snarl.
‘Put your foot down, WB,’ she said, ‘I can’t hold her much longer.’ WB glanced over his shoulder—but it wasn’t WB—it was Kabwe and he was grinning in a mocking way. Suzanne screamed, tore herself free of Charlie’s grasp and lunged at him with fists raised—and then the lights went out.
19: ZAMBIA; DEC 2004
When Suzanne woke, she was lying on a deep, leather sofa, with soft cushions under her head and a warm blanket tucked around her. It was dark outside the windows, but in the moonlight, she could see the tops of acacia trees, telling her she was not on the ground floor. The soft light from the lamps around the room showed her she was in a large, luxurious bedroom. The king-sized bed in the centre was empty. Its golden yellow counterpane fell to the floor in sumptuous waves, which were reflected in curtains of the same material. Brown, white and lemon cushions were piled on the bed. There was a European style dressing table and matching wardrobes. The floor was covered in brown and white tiles. Whoever lived here had good taste—and the money to indulge it.
Suzanne wondered briefly why she was on the sofa, rather than in the bed, but then she noticed her arm lying on top of the blanket, streaked with dirt and covered in angry red lumps. Raising her hand to her hair, she felt lank greasy locks that definitely hadn’t been under a shower for quite a while. She could understand why the owner of this beautiful room wouldn’t want her messing up the pristine bed. The door opened and Charlie poked her head into the room.
‘Oh good, you’re awake. How do you feel?’
In a flash, it all came back to her: the kidnapping, her days alone in the hut, her rescue—and the ter
rible moment when her sister turned into an enemy and WB became Kabwe. The fear must have shown on her face, as Charlie ran across the room and dropped to her knees in front of her.
‘It’s okay, Suzanne, it’s really okay. You’re safe. No-one can hurt you now.’
‘But in the car…’
‘Yes, you gave us a bit of a fright back there,’ Charlie said, smiling ruefully. ‘Poor WB nearly drove off the road when you tried to attack him. Not too kind after we’d come to rescue you.’ But her smile showed she was only joking. ‘Apparently, it’s quite common for people who’ve gone through the sort of experience you had to hallucinate like that. And the doctor says you were probably malnourished too, which is why you passed out when you did.’
‘So, where are we—and how long have I been asleep?’
‘We’re at one of the rose farms; WB knows the son of the owner and asked him if we could stay here for a while. You’ve been asleep for about four hours. The doctor thought it was better to let you sleep it off before she does a full examination.’
‘Ugh, I’m going to need a shower before then,’ Suzanne said, wrinkling her nose, ‘and some food would be good too.’ Her stomach rumbled, reminding both women she’d not eaten anything for hours and it had been many days since she’d had a proper meal. Charlie jumped up and held out her hand.
‘You wish is my command, madam; walk this way.’ She led Suzanne, who felt light-headed but able to walk unaided, across the room and through the door into an en suite bathroom decorated in cool blues and greens. She pointed to the walk-in shower, the bottles of shower gel and shampoo, the pile of fluffy blue bath towels. ‘Everything you need is all there. Would you like me to stay and help you…’ she held her hands up at Suzanne’s indignant look, ‘just asking, sis, that’s all. You take your time and I’ll wait for you in the bedroom.’ She pointed to hangers on the back of the bathroom door. ‘I brought some clean stuff for you from Lusaka; just jeans and a few T-shirts. Leave your dirty stuff in a pile on the floor. I’m guessing you won’t want to wear that suit again?’ And with a wave, she was gone. Then she popped back in again. ‘And don’t be long; dinner’s nearly ready and there are people waiting downstairs for you.’ Suzanne wasn’t sure she was ready to meet ‘people’ yet, but it was too late to say anything; her sister had gone again.
She stood and let the hot water cascade over her head and shoulders, turning the heat up gradually until it was almost too hot to bear. Then she turned it back down to tepid to cool herself off. She’d only been held captive for a few days, but she was finding it difficult to come to terms with being free once more. Her thoughts went back to her days at university; how they had watched the reports on television of kidnappings in Beirut. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be held for weeks or months—even years in some cases.
Once she was clean, dry and dressed in fresh clothes, she went back into the bedroom and Charlie took her downstairs. The staircase was oak, highly polished and curved around and down into the centre of a magnificent entrance hall. There was an oak table at the bottom of the stairs, almost completely covered by a massive arrangement of highly scented roses. Suzanne stopped and buried her nose in the blooms, inhaling deeply.
‘That’s one of the advantages of having a rose farm—a constant supply of flowers for the house.’ Suzanne spun at the sound of a quiet male voice from the doorway behind the staircase. A tall, slim man with skin whose colour suggested roots both in Africa and Europe, was lounging against the door jamb, a lazy smile playing around his lips. Now, he pushed himself upright and strolled across to meet her. ‘I’m Nathan Harawa, Miss Jones; so pleased to meet you—although I’m sorry it’s under such terrible circumstances.’
‘Suzanne, please call me Suzanne,’ she said in a quiet voice, holding out her hand, which he took in his. A cool, firm grasp from a hand hardened and roughened by manual work. Nathan Harawa would appear to be someone who worked on the farm, rather than just running it.
‘Suzanne,’ he said as he inclined his head, ‘and you must call me Nathan.’ Then he tucked her arm through his. ‘Now, the others are waiting; come this way, you must be starving. Let’s get some supper inside you.’ As Suzanne accompanied her young host into the dining room and towards the enticing aroma of chicken soup, WB and Charlie rose from their seats and began to applaud. Suzanne felt herself go pink, but smiled back at them and finally started to relax.
The other person in the room was the doctor, who, to Suzanne’s surprise and delight, turned out to be female. She was also Nathan’s mother, Annette Harawa. After supper, Annette took Suzanne back up to her room and examined her thoroughly. She was declared physically fit, considering the ordeal she’d been through, and prescribed rest and good food for a few days. Mentally, she was told there was a possibility of bad dreams and anxiety attacks. Annette offered Suzanne something to help her sleep and she accepted the tablets ‘just in case’ but certainly, this first night out of captivity, she had no difficulty falling asleep and, as far as she could remember, her sleep was dreamless.
The following morning, Suzanne, Charlie and WB sat with their host on the terrace eating fresh fruit and home baked bread for breakfast. And now, at last, Suzanne started to ask questions: when did they realise she was missing; and how did they finally find her? And what contact, if any, had been made with the IHF Headquarters in London?
‘Well, we didn’t realise anything was wrong to start with,’ WB said. ‘Charlie got the text from you, saying you were going to extend the inspection and to wait until we heard from you before doing anything else.’
‘Text? I didn’t send any text!’
‘We did wonder how you were going to manage without a change of clothes,’ Charlie said, spearing another chunk of pineapple from the dish in the centre of the table, ‘but I assumed you knew what you were doing.’
‘And that’s why we didn’t come looking for you before,’ WB carried on. ‘We were starting to get a bit concerned yesterday morning, especially when you didn’t answer your mobile.’
‘And then we got the phone call, saying you needed help,’ Charlie said. ‘So WB chartered a plane and we flew straight up here.’
‘Phone call? What phone call?’ Suzanne asked. ‘You didn’t mention any phone call last night.’
‘We were just concerned about you yesterday, sis; we didn’t want to go through any of the details until we knew you were okay.’
‘Who made the call?’ Suzanne asked quietly, expecting to hear the answer and dreading it nevertheless.
‘He didn’t give his name, I’m afraid. And the line was very poor. It came through to Chibesa’s office, so it was someone who knew who you are working with.’
‘He just said you were in trouble and needed help. He gave us an idea of where you were and then rang off.’
‘Tell me,’ Nathan said, putting down his coffee cup, ‘how did you manage to locate the hut? It’s a pretty isolated area up there.’
Charlie went pink and glanced across at Suzanne with a look of trepidation on her face.
‘Er, that would be me; I put a tracker in Suzanne’s briefcase. It was only short range, but it worked once we were in the general area.’
Suzanne got up from the table, walked over to her sister and stood with her hands on her hips, staring down at her.
‘You mean to tell me you used a surveillance device on me—without telling me?’ Charlie bit her lip and nodded her head slowly. ‘Suzanne grinned and bent to hug her sister.
‘Well, thank goodness you did—otherwise I’d still be alone out there. Although I’d like to know where you got one of those from.’
‘Er, no, sis; actually, you wouldn’t,’ was the enigmatic reply.
‘Hmm, we’ll talk about that later,’ Suzanne said. Then turning to WB, she took his hands in hers. ‘And I am especially grateful to you for coming to find me,’ she said. ‘Are you sure ‘breaking cover’ was a sensible thing to do?’ The Ugandan shrugged and squeezed her hand.
/> ‘What else was I going to do; leave Charlie to come and get you on her own? Besides, I have reason to believe my secret’s out of the bag already. We had a reporter at the house the other day, asking if he could have an interview with me! Not much point in hiding when your face and current address are all over the front of the Lusaka Times!’
Everybody laughed and Nathan handed around the coffee pot once more.
‘And what about the IHF headquarters?’ Suzanne asked once more, ‘have you told them anything yet?’ WB shook his head.
‘We thought we’d wait and see what was going on before we contacted them. Once we found you, I phoned Chibesa; he’s waiting for your instructions.’
‘Well,’ Suzanne said slowly, pursing her lips, ‘I don’t think there’s any point in telling anyone now you’ve found me—and I’m still not sure who I can trust back there.’ She nodded her head, having come to a decision. ‘We’ll say nothing for now, and I’ll brief Sir Frederick in person when I get back.’
‘Okay, you’re the boss,’ said WB, rubbing his hands together. ‘Right, where do we go from here?’
‘Surely we should go to the local police?’ asked Charlie. WB looked at Nathan with a raised eyebrow.
Counterfeit! Page 11
