The End of a Lie (The Amy Mohr Chronicles Book 1)

by M A Moore

  With heavy eyelids Mike Stone poured himself another cup of coffee. The infante terrible was asleep at last and so was Francoise. “When do babies sleep at night?” he wondered aloud as he read over the list of travelers expected on the 4 p.m. flight into Johannesburg. Evie entered the world just three weeks ago and the pregnancy had been rough on Francoise. Since when do women have babies after they hit forty? His mum had him at twenty- two and never had another. It came as quite a surprise when Francoise announced she was going to have a child in May, and not a particularly welcome one for Mike. Shouldn’t babies arrive in the spring? Fall was near its end here in Cape Town, and winter and the rainy season were only a few weeks away.

  He had agreed to stay home during the last two months, a little worried about both of them. Mike and Francoise had been a couple for ten years, but the amount of time they actually spent together was measured in weeks. Travel was his business and he was rarely ever home.

  The two months away from his job seemed like an eternity to him. He called Cape Town home for over twenty years now. It was a much more interesting place to live than the Johannesburg he had grown up in. He met Francoise when she was a graduate student doing field work in the fynbos of Table Mountain.

  The fynbos, a scrubland located along the shore of the Cape region of South Africa is known for its exceptional diversity. This makes it a haven for botanists. He had been a tour bus driver conveying clients to various tourist spots in the area including Table Mountain. They enjoyed each other's company. After a few months, they decided to set up housekeeping. She finished her degree at Cape Town University and was hired as a protea specialist in the Kirstenbosch Gardens on the Cape Peninsula. He moved up in the tourist industry, but the promotion meant being away from Cape Town for weeks at a time. That hadn’t been a problem until recently. Once she found out she was pregnant, Francoise kept talking about France and her beautiful home town of Lyon. She thought Africa was too dangerous a place to raise a child. Mike considered himself a white African. According to family history, his ancestors had immigrated here in the mid-nineteenth century to avoid some financial troubles in England. Mike couldn’t imagine calling anywhere else home. They just didn’t talk about it. They didn’t talk about much of anything anymore.

  Being a travel guide was always a bit of an adventure. One never knew what to expect when a new tour began, and Mike liked that about the job. He enjoyed taking visitors to Robben Island, the World Heritage site where dissidents were incarcerated during the apartheid era of South Africa. Nelson Mandela spent the first seventeen of his twenty-seven years as a political prisoner there. Boats made regular trips to visit the grounds, weather permitting. Table Mountain was another spot he enjoyed, a three-thousand-foot high mesa, a remnant of a former ice age that stood on the outskirts of Cape Town. Mike cringed remembering that one inebriated tour member insisting he wanted to hang glide down the side of Table Mountain. People on the Mountain would have been glad to take the man’s money and give him a good push off the edge. It had taken all of Mike’s powers of persuasion to talk him out of it. The guy was only a five-foot seven feather-weight and Mike was six-two and much more physically imposing. Mike soon realized that, after a look down the thousand meter drop off, the jerk was happy to have an honorable out. His finesse did not go unnoticed. Another of his passengers that day appreciated his tact in dealing with an awkward situation. This chap also liked his style of commentary as he drove and gave him a chance to move up in the business. It was a godsend. A bus driver’s tips were not going far enough to pay the bills.

  The only down side was that he was never home. He didn’t mind that so much, but he knew Francoise was not happy about it, especially now. He got bored easily, and he liked the excitement of never quite knowing what to expect each day. The adrenaline rush when well-laid plans were waylaid invigorated him. Devising alternatives and implementing them was a challenge that never seemed routine. He also loved to travel and see places and meet people from all over the world. He had neither the time nor the resources to explore those options before. The company offered him a desk job when he told them in the main office about Francoise’s condition. He declined and didn’t tell her. After all, they were not legally married. South Africa did not recognize Common Law marriage, and it had never mattered to him or to her. With the baby, he might have to reconsider.

  He looked again at the list of soon-to-arrive clients, trying to memorize their names. It was a small group as far as tours went, but it seemed foolish to turn down employment when funds were low. He hoped the people would mix well. One never knew at the beginning of an assignment. He always met the arrivals off the plane in Johannesburg. It was part of the job. But Francoise wanted him to wait until her mother came in from Lyon to help with the baby. A colleague offered to meet his tour group and chauffeur them to their hotel. Mike could take over in the morning. All that meant was another sleep-deprived night at home for Mike. Mike thanked him, but declined. Francoise’s mother would get to their place in a couple of hours. He wanted to greet the passengers in Johannesburg at the airport when they arrived. His plane was due to fly out of Cape Town at noon.

  He checked his watch, and decided to leave the house while it was quiet. He set his coffee cup in the sink and looked in on his girls, both still asleep. He could use some sleep himself. He would take public transportation to the airport so that Francoise had the car. Francoise needed her rest and he did not want to wake her. He put his baseball cap on his recently shaved head, wheeled his suitcase with itineraries, tickets and contacts for the next ten days out the front door, and made off to the nearby bus stop to get the shuttle.

  Chapter 6

  Oliver Reginald Tambo, fondly known as O.R. by his friends, was honored In October 2006 by the renaming of South Africa’s principle airport in Johannesburg. This was in tribute to one of the new South Africa’s most important founding fathers. Tambo is renowned in South Africa and abroad for his significant contribution to the liberation of South Africa. For thirty years he presided over the African National Congress (ANC) and spent much of this time in exile, mobilizing international support for the ANC and opposition to the apartheid movement.

  The Johannesburg International Airport was noisy and crowded. The new facility had only been open a few months and Amy sighed in relief when she saw the short lines through emigration. The officer smiled at her as he stamped her passport, took her picture and wished her a happy stay.

  She hoisted her purple back pack on her shoulder and headed towards baggage claim before continuing to customs. Lots of shops beckoned her along the walkway. Some were upscale, while others catered to the foreign tourist looking for a last minute African-themed gift to take home to a deserving relative. Amy followed the well-marked signs and headed downstairs. This airport had a reputation for objects going missing from checked baggage. Safari Adventures, the company that ran this southern African tour, had warned them to put anything they could not live without in their carry-on bag. Amy had her camera, passport, bird book and her binoculars along with a change of clothes and a toothbrush. She could not forget that one trip where her luggage arrived two days later than she did. It taught her a lesson that she had not forgotten.

  She stood by the luggage carousel waiting for her checked bag with the other two-hundred plus passengers on her flight. The Airbus 340 had been completely full and she leaned against a pylon anticipating a long wait for her suitcase. A thin black man with dreadlocks and fine chiseled features stood nearby fiddling with a smart phone. Amy took little notice until he came up next to her. She hugged her purple bag closer, keeping it between them.

  “Amy Mohr?” the man whispered, looking the other way.

  Her throat tightened and she swallowed as she nodded once. With eyes narrowed Amy turned her head to stare him down.

  “This is for you.” His lips curved up in a half smile as he slipped the cell phone into the side pocket of her purple bag. At the same moment the baggage carousel’s lights starte
d flashing and a warning alarm blared. Amy’s attention refocused as luggage came tumbling down the chute to the conveyor belt and people near her surged forward. When she turned around to face the man with the dreadlocks, she saw only the back of his head moving away from the area.

  She kept her eyes on him until he disappeared from view - lost in a sea of people. The spike of adrenalin made her heart beat faster than normal in her chest. She looked back to the luggage and watched her suitcase work its way around the carousel. She removed the unsolicited cell phone from her purple satchel, glanced at it, and shoved it into her jacket. Grabbing her checked bag she rolled past customs and entered the main terminal. Her arm kept patting her pocket as if suspecting the phone to somehow mysteriously vanish. Further scrutiny would wait until later when she was alone.

  Amy scanned the gauntlet of eager people standing along the rope separating the incoming passengers from the welcome committees. The limo drivers in suits and ties held cardboard placards with the names of expected clients. Women holding children most likely had family members coming in from somewhere in the world. A representative from the tour company was to meet her past the security area. Amy walked up to a tall black man with a Safari Adventures sign standing center front.

  “Hello. I’m Amy Mohr. I should be on your list.”

  “Greetings from South Africa! Mike is gathering you all over that direction under the clock before we head off to the hotel. Just look for others with Safari Adventures name tags.”

  Amy wandered over to the indicated area. Six sleepy-eyed people stood around staring aimlessly into space. They looked as bedraggled as she felt after the eighteen hour journey packed in like sardines. If she sniffed hard enough she expected to get a whiff of herself, and this was something she wanted to avoid. Her heightened awareness was beginning to fade, and it left her feeling exhausted and rather numb.

  All her fellow travelers looked to be at least seventy, but then what young person had both the funds and the time for a ten day vacation in May? People did their best to shrug off their lethargy and began introducing themselves. They were all Americans, but came from all over the country. James and his wife Lily resided in Georgia. Amy estimated they were both in their eighties. James found a ledge to park himself and let Lily wander to interact with the others. He kept a careful eye on her as she worked her way around the small group of fellow travelers. His face showed years of hard living, and even sitting his breathing was shallow and labored like an ex-smoker who wanted a cigarette, but knew better than to light one up. Lily was the more social of that couple, or maybe she was just less tired. Debra and Maxine were from Omaha. They had been friends for a long time, but explained that they hadn’t tried vacationing together before now. Maxine was a widow and Debra’s husband didn’t like to travel much. With a laugh, Debra said her husband was just grateful not to feel obligated to accompany her. He wasn’t fond of airplanes, and this trip would have definitely put a strain on their marriage. Paul and Linda were from California. Paul, with a fancy camera around his neck, was the epitome of a typical American tourist. His girth made up for any lack of height, and his wife Linda was even shorter, but she was as lean as he was not. Amy was the only one from the northeast, and she preferred to observe the rest rather than join in the small talk. People were polite but the conversation soon died out as energies faded.

  A tall white man dressed in shorts, polo shirt and a baseball cap pushed an empty over-sized luggage cart towards their group. “Ladies and Gents, welcome to South Africa! I am Mike Stone, your tour manager. It’s great to see you all here at last. I'll get the luggage together and we will meet the bus out in the parking lot. Just follow me. We’ll talk a bit more once we're loaded up.“

  Weary bodies stood up and maneuvered their luggage over to the cart. Mike heaved the suitcases on top of each other with little effort. Amy noted that some people’s carry-on luggage was as large as their checked bag. Mike led his troops through the crowded airport and across roadways filled with buses and hotel courtesy vans. Amy grinned as she imagined a line of baby chicks following a protective mother hen out for their first look at a larger world. Mike took the lead pushing the luggage cart in front of him.

  “Careful.” Mike shouted as a taxi rushed by them from the right barely missing Maxine and Debra. “British traffic rules here! Not what you have in the States. Make sure you look both ways before crossing any streets.“

  "Mother Hen," mused Amy.

  They made it to the bus unscathed, climbed the steps, and fell into their seats. As Mike and the driver loaded the luggage down below tired heads nodded. The vehicle could have held a lot more people and Amy wondered if they were expecting others to join them later.

  Mike boarded the bus and took his place in the front. He grabbed the microphone and addressed his less than sparkling brood. “Ladies and Gents, let me take this opportunity to welcome you again to South Africa. I know you are all tired. I am not going to explain tomorrow's agenda now, because, quite frankly, none of you look as though you would remember anything I say. The hotel is an hour away in this traffic, so lean back, drink water to rehydrate, catch some shut eye, and we will talk at our orientation meeting in the morning after breakfast . Please be there by nine. They start serving food at six-thirty for those of you who get hungry early, and the bus leaves at 10 a.m. for Pretoria.”

  Most heads nodded as their vehicle swayed through the suburbs of Johannesburg. Sparsely spaced street lamps illuminated elegant houses with yards enclosed by high walls topped with barbed wire. The rhythm of the pools of lights almost hypnotized Amy. She jerked up straight when she caught herself dozing. She pulled the mystery cell phone out of her pocket and turned it on. It needed a PIN number to get to a menu, and she had no idea what that might be. She tried a couple of random combinations, but soon gave up and powered it off. This annoyed her. What kind of contact delivers a password protected cell phone without leaving the code?

  Chapter 7

  In the Tshwane region nature reserve located in the northern part of South Africa near to Pretoria sits the majestic Voortrekker Monument. It commemorates the Pioneer history of Southern Africa and the history of the Afrikaners who migrated to this area. Today it is the most visited heritage site of its kind in Gauteng and one of the top ten cultural historical visitor attractions in the country.

  Soweto experienced civil unrest during the apartheid regime in South Africa. Until 1976 its population could have status only as temporary residents, even though it had become the largest Black city in South Africa. Its residents served as a workforce for Johannesburg. Serious riots erupted in 1976, sparked by a ruling that Afrikaans was the language to be used in African schools. Those riots were violently suppressed, with 176 striking students killed and more than 1,000 injured. Although reforms followed riots flared up again in 1985 and continued until the first multiracial elections were held in April 1994.

  Amy was bone tired and went straight to bed when she got to the hotel. She woke up early. Lying under the somewhat scratchy sheets she reviewed the briefing she had with her cousin’s law firm two days before. A person would identify himself somewhere on the trip with the phrase “we are marching to Pretoria”. Her reply was to be “perhaps we should take the bus.” The man with the dreadlocks was not the expected contact. So who was he? Furthermore, why pass her a password protected cell phone and no code to unlock it?

  Amy looked at the clock next to the bed. It was 5 a.m. and she was hungry. No food would be available for an hour and a half. She started her morning as she always did when conditions permitted. She threw the sheets aside and placed her feet on the floor. Stretching first one arm above her head and then the other she began her morning ritual. Only one yoga asana, or posture, moved rather than being held stationary. For the last fifteen years she started her day with three Sun Salutes, more formally called sūrya namaskāra in Sanskrit. She had not been diligent over the past six months. She tried to keep her body trim and strong, but the years were cr
eeping up on her, and she was always a bit stiff in the mornings. The methodical stretch of the exercise limbered her up. She knew she had let herself go soft in the last few months and it would be an effort to get her body back into fighting shape. She also realized that in a critical situation it could make the difference between staying alive and serious injury or even death.

  Placing her feet a hip's distance apart she reached her arms skyward. Her protesting muscles were stiff from too much sitting during the long plane ride. Hands planted firmly on the ground, she stepped her feet back into a plank position. Her biceps and abdomen quivered as she held her body in a straight line. Her core strength had weakened more than she realized, and she lamented again the fifteen extra pounds she would like to shed. She brought her left foot back between her hands and then her right. Rounding her spine she unrolled it one vertebra at a time with deliberate care. Lifting her arms up to the sky, she began again. After two more iterations her movements became smoother and she glided rather than jerked her body into position. Coordinating her breath as she moved made the stiffness in her sore muscles relent. The asana was complicated. It had taken her months to master the individual parts and match them with her breathing. The exercise energized her, but she was not at full strength. She knew her life might depend upon it. Maybe Robert’s would too.

  She was at the dining room by 6:30 a.m. when it opened. The maître d’ led her to a small table by the window that gave her a panoramic view of the city. Amy sipped at her second cup of coffee when Mike Stone made his appearance. The restaurant was at least four stories above ground level. The whole of the outside wall was glass and faced east. A newly risen sun greeted her from the far ridge and shined through the window with a hazy intensity. Blinded by the glare he didn’t see Amy sitting in the corner, so she took the opportunity to observe him.