The African Contract

by Arthur Kerns

  “Stone dealt with him in Freetown,” Colonel Frederick said, pointing his thumb in Stone’s direction. “He trusts him, and we need someone with local knowledge to help us.”

  “I’m sorry, Stone,” Fleming said, “but when you get Lange, you get his security service. That’s a little dicey now with the turnover in the South African Security Service. The old hands are bailing out and the new people are political appointees.”

  “You’ve a point,” Colonel Frederick said. “How soon can you get a decent vet on him?”

  “By tomorrow morning,” Fleming said, heading for the door.

  Colonel Frederick turned to Stone. “A moment of your time. You too, Sandra.”

  They moved to a corner of the room, and Colonel Frederick asked, “Have you seen Jacob?”

  Stone told him about the meeting on Victoria and Albert’s Wharf and how Jacob expressed concern about Wahab and Nabeel Asuty. Jacob knew Van Wartt wanted to sell them arms. “We know now that it’s a nuclear bomb he wants to peddle.”

  “We have to contact Jacob,” Colonel Frederick said. “I want to talk with him while you’re up in the desert.” He touched Sandra’s arm. “Get in touch with Dirk Lange. Ask him to contact Jacob, in case Stone can’t. Ask Lange if he can accompany you two to Namibia. I’m going to assume Fleming doesn’t find anything too negative on him.”

  “I’ll have to tell Lange about the nuclear device. So far, we haven’t discussed it.”

  Frederick thought a moment, and Stone knew he might change his mind. “Colonel, I wouldn’t doubt that he knows something about it already.”

  “All right. Just tell him we know about the bomb. That it’s up in Namibia and Van Wartt wants to sell it to Wahab.” Frederick pointed his finger at Sandra. “Don’t divulge our sources.”

  “I’ll see if I can meet with him tonight,” Sandra said. She hurried out the room, calling back to Stone, “I’ll be in touch.”

  Stone felt charged. The mission was straightforward. He’d be flying to a fascinating part of the world, the Kalahari. The orders were clear-cut. Keep the bomb out of the hands of the bad guys. He’d be working with two trusted, competent individuals. What could be better? Stone, you’re back in business.

  Stone made his way through the living and dining rooms to the patio where guests had gathered. All wore coats or sweaters against the early evening chill. He stopped, looked around, and saw Patience St. John Smythe heading in his direction.

  “Hi there, sport,” she said, affecting an Afrikaner accent. “Let’s sink some tinnies and whack some steaks on the grill.”

  “I see you’ve gone native.”

  “I am sort of a native. Now about the last time we saw each other.” She moved close and whispered, “Appreciate you not mentioning our meeting in front of my beau. He’s the jealous type.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Thank you. Now when we met last I mentioned a surprise was coming to town.” Her eyes had that mischievous look that was absent when they talked at the cheetah sanctuary. “Come with me.” She took his hand.

  They passed two open grills emitting heat from the charcoal embers and stepped up to the bar, behind which sat stacks of game meat ready for cooking.

  “You better have a stiff one,” she motioned to the bartender. “An Irish whiskey for this gentleman.” Her eyes softened. “Heard about the incident on the road. You okay?”

  “Yes. Thanks for asking, and thanks for remembering my drink of choice. I can use it.”

  Handing him his drink, she said, “Save your thanks for the time being. Let’s walk over there.”

  As they walked toward a group of four people, Stone’s attention was directed to a woman whose back was turned. Dressed in a stylish gray pants suit, with a beige cashmere ruana draped over her shoulders, something about the way she stood looked familiar. The woman’s auburn hair was identical to—

  “Hayden,” Patience said. “May I introduce a friend of yours?”

  The woman turned. Stone froze.

  Contessa Lucinda Avoscani.

  Patience tugged at his sleeve. “Hayden? Say something.”

  With his face flushed, and now tongue-tied, he knew he looked foolish in front of the other guests. Before him stood his former lover, whose last words to him were she never wanted to see, nor speak to him again. Ever. What was she about to do?

  The answer came when Lucinda took his face in both hands and kissed him gently, not on the cheek, but full on the mouth. She stepped back. No look of hate that he’d expected. Her emerald green eyes had a touch of mystery he’d never seen before.

  She broke the silence. “Hello, Hayden. I have missed you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Cape Town—August 18, 2002

  Standing in front of the ambassador’s guests, Hayden Stone remained speechless. Contessa Lucinda stood next to him with her hand on his sleeve. Patience was enjoying her little game. She hugged Lucinda and babbled about how wonderful it was to play a surprise on two old friends.

  Ambassador Bunting’s sudden appearance gave Stone time to regroup. “Time to eat,” Bunting said. The chefs are taking orders.” He gave Stone a curious look. “Don’t believe we’ve met socially.”

  “Marshall, this is Hayden Stone, an old friend of Lucinda’s. We’ve gotten these two together after some absence.”

  “A pleasure, Ambassador.” Bunting had a strong handshake. Did he suspect about Patience and his past relationship?

  Bunting held the handshake a second too long. “Ready for your trip tomorrow?”

  Both women said, “Oh!” simultaneously.

  “Just for a few days,” Stone said.

  “We’d better give you two some time together.” As Patience led Bunting away, she threw a glance back. “Don’t forget to give your orders to the chefs.”

  Stone and Lucinda faced each other. Her eyes searched his. He sensed an awkward pause coming, so he began telling Lucinda how nice it was to see her again, but stopped. “Lucinda. I’m sorry about what happened on the Riviera last May. Your palace being wrecked. And about us.” He stopped when he realized she wanted to speak.

  “Hayden. A lot has happened in the last three months since we last spoke.” She adjusted the cashmere ruana, revealing a diamond broach on her jacket. “The prince from Saudi Arabia has proved himself a perfect gentleman. He has taken all responsibility for the damage done to my home. After all, it was his man Abdul Wahab who arranged for those terrorists to lease it. The prince is not only making restitution, but is contributing to its renovation.”

  “The plumbing could use an upgrade.”

  Lucinda didn’t smile. In fact, her expression announced that he was on thin ice. Just as quickly, the warmth returned. She moved close and continued, speaking in that husky voice he had missed. “You knew I was in a financial bind. That is why I rented out the palace for two months.” She sighed. “Thanks to the prince’s largesse, I have a few extra euros, and while my palace is being repaired I decided to come down here and look at real estate.”

  “How do you know Patience? I don’t recall you ever mentioning her.”

  “In Villefranche we didn’t have that much time to talk about things.” She looked over at the guests gathered around the sizzling meats. “Shall we?” She motioned. “What do you suggest we have?”

  The grills were lined close to the residence’s brick wall. Other guests formed a queue, and the couple ahead asked the chef to identify the meats. He pointed out bratwursts, gazelle on skewers, rock lobster, and kudu steaks. On a side table he had placed creamy potatoes and an assortment of salads to accompany the meats.

  “The braai is a tradition in southern Africa,” Stone explained. “Men do the cooking, and in the bush it’s done over an open fire.” He pointed to the steaks on the left side. “That kudu is very lean. One of the tastiest game meats I’ve had. I suggest asking for it cooked medium rare.”

  “My, Hayden, you seem to know y
our way around Africa.” She removed her ruana and handed it to him. “I don’t recall you mentioning that you spent time here.”

  Both said simultaneously, “But we didn’t have that much time.” They laughed.

  Their plates holding kudu and lobster, they took seats at a table set with white linen and silverware with Patience, Ambassador Bunting, and Gus Frederick. Stone introduced Lucinda to Colonel Frederick.

  “Oh. Colonel,” said Lucinda. “I do recall a friend back home speaking about you recently. A French gentleman who is with the French police, or he is with the security service. No matter.”

  Frederick squirmed. “Ah yes. I miss the South of France.”

  Stone smiled. You certainly do, Gus Frederick, and will for a while before the French allow you back. Lucinda was still the contessa, at ease in the international social circuit and well aware of Frederick’s predicament with the French authorities.

  She then asked Stone when he was departing on his trip.

  Colonel Frederick frowned and answered for him. “He and Sandra will be leaving early tomorrow morning.” He shot a look toward Ambassador Bunting.

  Sensing the ambassador had spoken out of turn in revealing the secret trip to Namibia and could use some help, Stone offered, “We have some people to meet on business. Like I told you, we’ll return in a few days.” He asked Lucinda, “How long will you be here?”

  “I have business also. Looking at some properties. A week, perhaps.”

  “I’ll take care of her until you get back,” Patience said.

  Ambassador Bunting remained quiet but at the same time listened intently to the conversation. Then he excused himself, saying he had to check on the other guests. Patience followed.

  “Hosts and hostesses on the diplomatic circuit rarely get to finish their meals.” Frederick looked at his watch. “Excuse me. I have to make a phone call.”

  Stone and Lucinda remained seated. A slight breeze whispered through the tall gum trees. Stars peeked behind the leaves. He refreshed her wine glass, and before he could ask again how she knew Patience, Lucinda placed her hand on his arm.

  “I met Patience about two, three years ago at a Canadian Embassy function in Rome. We just, as you Americans say, clicked. We’ve been friends ever since.”

  “She and the ambassador get along quite well, don’t they?”

  “Are you jealous?” Lucinda said with a laugh.

  “So you know about our past. I’m not jealous, especially with you here.” Stone took a deep breath while studying her face. He had missed her more than he thought. “I’m really glad to see you again. Happier that you’re not angry with me.”

  “Oh, I’m still angry with you. But more about that at a later time.” She folded her arms. “Who is Sandra?”

  “She’s a colleague. We work together.” Stone knew he had to be careful. “I hope you two can meet.”

  Lucinda said nothing. She eyed him with those green eyes, then looked off at the other guests. Her Mediterranean tan blended perfectly with the color of her suit. Her long fingers stroked her wine glass, and he expected her to say something important, but she remained silent.

  Some guests had finished their meals and had begun to move toward the exit. The time approached when he would have to leave, and he wanted to reach some form of understanding with her.

  Again, she spoke first. “I trust you are still in the same line of business?” She paused. “And this woman, Sandra, is also in the same work?”

  He took his time answering. “Yes, I am. My intentions are to make this is my last assignment.” He stopped and let her digest his words and make sure she understood what he said next. “I had planned to go to California, to be near my children. Live by the Pacific Ocean.” He hesitated. “Have I picked the wrong body of water? Would the Mediterranean be a better choice?”

  “We can talk about it when and if you return.” She reached over and traced her finger along the scar on his right cheek. He had missed her doing that, along with hearing her husky voice. Her touch sent sensations down his body.

  Patience popped back and asked them to join her in mingling with the few remaining guests. As they did, Stone saw Frederick from across the patio give him the high sign. It was time to depart. Stone took Lucinda aside and told her he’d see her again in a few days.

  “Lucinda. Tonight you kissed me when we first met.” He took her in his arms. “I want to kiss you good-bye.”

  “I would rather you not.” She joined Patience, talking with an Asian couple.

  South of Cape Town

  The sun hung just above the horizon, shooting dull golden shafts from behind the winter clouds. Standing in the driveway of his villa, Abdul Wahab glanced at the black ocean, then turned his attention to Nabeel Asuty, who was getting out of a white sedan parked in front of the portico. Three men remained in the car as Asuty walked up.

  Wahab intercepted him and directed him to the garage. “Come, Nabeel. I’ll show you my car. The Jaguar XK-150—you have seen it before. It’s been repaired.” Keeping an eye on his visitor, Wahab led the way to the three-car garage that stood separate from the main house. He wanted to see if this man displayed any reaction to seeing the Jaguar, the one that Dingane suspected had been vandalized by Asuty’s men. Had it been due to some pique, or a subtle threat on this loathsome man’s part? No matter. Soon Wahab would be rid of him.

  Asuty’s eyes became wary. He followed Wahab to the garage, mumbling something about the chill from the sea.

  “It’s warmer in here.” Inside, Wahab positioned himself by a window to keep an eye on the men in the car. “I had an expert do the paint job. The color is British racing green,” he said in Arabic. “What do you think?”

  “Very nice,” Asuty said, looking away from the car. “I have news. Three men have come from Sierra Leone. That makes six for the mission, including you and me.” He pulled his jacket tighter. “We can manage to move that bomb if all of us go.”

  “You’re missing one man. The one you brought the last time you visited.”

  “Mohammed is no longer with us. However, he learned the location of the nuclear bomb.”

  Wahab wanted to ask how and why Mohammed had departed, but let him continue with his report.

  “I had Mohammed watch the house of Dawid van Wartt. Yesterday a South African man, who appeared very upset, visited Van Wartt. When this man left the residence, Mohammed followed him to an airport.” Asuty paused and smiled broadly. “He learned from a Lebanese woman working at the ticket counter that this man flew north to a town called Bruin Karas. It is in the Kalahari Desert.”

  Wahab felt perspiration form under his armpits. He drew out a handkerchief and touched his forehead. Without consulting him, this imbecile had been watching Van Wartt, Wahab’s contact.

  “Where is Mohammed?”

  Asuty shrugged and held his hands skyward.

  “Please. Be more specific.”

  Asuty went to an adjacent window and peered out. In almost a whisper, he said, “He was shot.” Then swinging toward Wahab, said, “That ibn el-kalb, the son of a bitch, Hayden Stone killed him.” He folded his arms and glared.

  Abdul turned away and felt for the Colt snub-nosed pistol in the pocket of his tweed jacket. This piece of khara had attacked Hayden Stone after he had ordered him not to. Wahab debated putting a bullet in the head of this idiot, but what would he do with the body? What would he do with the three men still in the car?

  “I know you are displeased to hear this news.” Asuty gave him a coy smile. “But matters have progressed. I suggest we take action at once. We do not need this Afrikaner, Van Wartt. We will head north to this Bruin Karas and find the bomb and take it.”

  “Did we get the money to pay Van Wartt?”

  Asuty appeared confused with the question. “I repeat. Van Wartt is not needed.”

  “You do not have the money?”

  “Yes. I have it. It’s in the car. But no matter. The
plan moves on without your Mr. Van Wartt.” Asuty opened his windbreaker. “Or, for that matter, you. Perhaps it’s best you stay here in Cape Town.”

  Wahab’s eyes settled on the butt of an automatic pistol protruding from Asuty’s belt. Wahab clicked his tongue as if he was about to admonish an errant child. He pointed out the window. Beyond the car containing Asuty’s three henchmen, a silver Bentley coupe accompanied by a black van had parked at the top of the long driveway.

  “Mr. Van Wartt wants his money. I do believe his people are about to take us for a trip to … Is the name of the town Bruin Karas?”

  For a moment Asuty appeared confused. He moved toward Wahab. “We are armed and if Van Wartt—”

  Wahab pointed again. Van Wartt had exited his Bentley. From the passenger side a very large man with a bushy moustache got out and accompanied Van Wartt as he hurried down the drive toward the garage. The van doors opened and four men, equally as large as Van Wartt’s companion, showed themselves.

  Van Wartt walked past the white sedan and when the driver’s door inched open Van Wartt’s man kicked it shut, and not looking back, followed his boss. The four men from the van jogged down the drive and stopped, two men on each side of the sedan. Before Van Wartt entered the garage, he glanced at a second-floor window of the villa. Wahab peered out the garage door window and turned his eyes in the same direction. He caught a brief glimpse of his wife, Lady Beatrice.

  “Good evening, Abdul,” Van Wartt said, walking through the garage door. “So happy to catch you before dinnertime.”

  “Dawid, your visit is an unexpected pleasure.” Wahab tried for panache. “May I introduce my colleague?”

  “I know who he is.” Van Wartt motioned to his man to stand next to Asuty. “Nabeel Asuty. Formerly from Alexandria, Egypt. Am I correct?”