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

by M A Moore

  Mike nodded his head. If they didn’t know about the incident at Chobe, he wasn’t going to enlighten them until he knew a bit more of what was happening.

  “In all likelihood she won’t be returning to Johannesburg with the rest of your tour group, and she needs someone to watch out for her. “

  “That sounds unusually benevolent for you gents.” Mike looked up at Bonner with a gaze that cooled the air between them like ice in a gin and tonic and waited for him to continue.

  “We want the information her cousin has, and we are confident he will pass it on to her to carry back to the States. All we want you to do is make sure she gets it, and we will handle the rest.”

  The suspicious look on Mike’s face told Bonner that Mike thought there was more to it. “We just want the information. We don’t intend any harm to come to her.”

  “And if she doesn’t want to give up the information?”

  “Let’s hope that doesn't become an issue,” Bonner replied with a trace of malevolence in his voice.

  Mike looked him hard in the eye. Past history made it difficult to remain civil. “What‘s in it for me?”

  “The satisfaction of knowing you‘re serving your country. The usual perks.” the man smiled salaciously. He looked around to make sure they were alone. Satisfied, Bonner reached into the bag that hung from his shoulder and handed Mike a handgun and some extra clips of ammunition. “I doubt you carry anymore.”

  Mike took it, checked to make sure the safety was on, and that the clip was fully loaded before putting the weapon in his own backpack.

  “Here are keys to a jeep that will be available to you at the hotel. Your old friend Toomey will know where it is.”

  Mike nodded, reaching for them he added, “I won’t put the other members of the tour group at risk. I want them safely on their way out of the country before anything happens.”

  The man shrugged. “That is our hope as well.”

  Bonner started down the Rim Trail. Mike looked at his watch, stood up and headed back towards the visitor’s center along the dryer route. He knew his past in South African Intelligence would always haunt him. The timing was not good, but few things in his life had ever been.

  Chapter 14

  David Livingstone was a Scottish missionary who first heard about Victoria Falls four years before he arrived there. Known as Mosi-oa-Tunya to the indigenous people, the area was a sacred site for the Batoka and other local tribes. On 17 November 1855, Chief Sekeletu of the Makololo took Livingstone by canoe to an island in the Zambezi known as Goat Island. Water was low at the time, but Livingstone admitted he still felt a "tremor of fear" as he approached the wall of spray.

  Amy marveled at the magnificence of the falls. While eating breakfast on the Stanley Terrace she watched the mist rising over twelve-hundred feet in the cool morning air over what appeared to be a slit in the earth. Here, adjacent to the Devil’s Cataract, the roar of the cascading waters filled her ears and the falling mists soaked her clothes. The Smoke that Thunders, the local name of the falls, seemed far more appropriate than Victoria, a long dead monarch that had never set eyes on these waters. The rainy season that lasted from November to early April had just ended, but the flood stage of the falls would continue through May. Rain waters drained from the flat basalt plain and swelled the banks of the wide and meandering Zambezi River. Here at the rim of the falls the spray was so thick that actually seeing them was near impossible. However, with the rising sun at their backs, the group saw a new rainbow at every turn. Some of them were perfect circles.

  The entire Zambezi River fell three hundred feet straight down into a narrow chasm. That chasm led to a gorge only three hundred and fifty feet wide. The falls were double the height of Niagara and over twice the width of the Horseshoe Falls. The American falls had receded along the Niagara River over thousands of years. The Smoke that Thunders did the same with the Zambezi River. Over the last one hundred thousand years the falls had eroded out soft sandstone faults in the overlying hard basalt that made up the region. The zigzag pattern of gorges after the falls showed where it had once been. Geologists knew that a new location for the falls was in the process of being dug out near the Devil’s Cataract where Amy stood in the enveloping mists. Geological changes were slow when compared to the human life span. She knew the difference wouldn’t be noticeable within her lifetime.

  Large treed land masses at the rim of the Zambezi River broke the sheet of falling waters into pieces. Cataract Island separated Devil's’ Cataract from the rest. Livingstone Island was the largest, and the plaque near the bronze statue of David Livingstone proclaimed it was from there that Livingstone had first seen the falls. Amy assumed Livingstone must have come some other time of the year when the volume of water was considerably lower. Right now the vast expanse of water going over the falls and the speed of the currents would make a canoe ride to the island too dangerous to attempt.

  Amy was sorry she hadn’t brought her camera, but it wasn’t waterproof, and she had lost one on a previous trip in a rain storm. Those in the group that wore ponchos were wet from the knees down. Amy was already soaked from head to toe, and her clothes clung to her. But the tropical air was warm and the water didn’t bother her. The rainbows made her smile. She just wanted a moment or two to think without distractions. Except when she locked herself in her room to sleep, people surrounded her. After the Chobe incident, her fellow travelers had taken their promise to watch over her very seriously. Their concern for her well-being was touching, but unnecessary. At times it was even a bit suffocating for one used to a very private way of living.

  A two-foot high stone wall separated the hikers from the chasm into which the waters fell. Most everyone wanted pictures of themselves with the falls in the background, so she took the opportunity to move further down the trail- alone.

  The next overlook was only a few hundred feet away. She didn’t want to get too far ahead of the rest of them. She had come to think of them as her personal body guards. For reasons she couldn’t quite fathom, this concern they had for her was comforting. When she reached it another circular rainbow held her attention for a minute or more. Most rainbows were only arcs because the ground interrupted the reflection of the dispersed sunlight. Rain drops were spherical in shape due to surface tension, and if the angle of the sun was right and the mist was close enough, one could see the whole circle of colors. Amy understood the physics of rainbows, and lamented how some people found explanations took away their feelings of awe. Amy never thought that way. She felt great satisfaction and deep pleasure in understanding how the Creator designed a small piece of this universe. She wasn’t religious in any sense that most church-going people would recognize, but the sight of a rainbow always brought to mind the passage in the Old Testament. A rainbow was God’s sign and promise to Noah that He would never again flood the whole Earth. Amy might take exception to the pronoun “He”, and she thought that fire could very well be the Creator’s next choice for purifying the planet.

  She tore herself away from her philosophical musings and considered her situation. The group's itinerary returned them to Johannesburg for flights on to Durban the day after tomorrow. She had never seen the Indian enclave on South Africa's eastern coast, and it was unlikely she would this time either. She had things she needed to accomplish in Johannesburg. If she didn’t hear anything further from Robert she would manage to miss her flight to Durban and remain in Johannesburg. The college there would have a geology lab that could assay Robert’s hectorite sample. It was still buried in the bottom of her backpack and locked in her room. She was confidant she could talk someone at the University of South Africa into doing her a favor. A graduate student would probably do it for a small fee. After that she wasn’t sure what she would do. Robert said the whole affair might be over in a couple of weeks. Maybe they could fly back home together. Amy realized that thinking too far ahead was an endeavor doomed to fail with so many unknowns.

  With at least the beginning o
f a plan in mind, Amy stood and started her return to the group. She took a last look at the circular rainbow and smiled to herself. She hadn't gone twenty feet when she saw a dark-skinned man with a hoodie sitting on the rim wall as if waiting for her. Only his eyes showed and Amy was on instant alert. For a few measured seconds they stared gauging the other’s intention. Amy’s heart raced, she was about to turn around and run when the fellow threw back his hood. It was the man with the dreadlocks.

  Cautiously Amy approached and sat down next to him in a puddle of water. “Namaste,” she said eyes, fixed on his face.

  He nodded. “Things are not as they seem,” he said returning her gaze.

  “And how exactly do they seem?” she asked impatiently.

  “Far more is going on here than you realize,” he replied.

  “Go on,” she encouraged.

  “Not everyone is who they claim to be, but their roles are not yet clear.”

  “My cousin Robert?”

  “Especially him. He is not alone in this affair,” he replied. “Other factions have complicated matters. We wait for further intelligence.”

  Amy considered his words suppressing a rising ire. Situations were rarely simple. Her mentor Stephen had made that abundantly clear when it came to issues involving the organization. Their devotion to secrecy had vexed her on more than one occasion.

  “What do you want of me?” she asked. “No one from the organization has contacted me in months.” She was angry at the intrusion into her life.

  “We merely want to warn you of possible dangers more insidious than you may be aware of. The cell phone I gave you is a link to us. We can track your location, and will contact you when we have more information.” He rose, put his hood up and began walking down the trail.

  “Who are you?” Amy called after him, still annoyed. “At least give me your name.”

  The man in the dreadlocks faced her. “My name is Girish Kakkar, but here in Africa I go by Ed Brown.” He smiled and nodded to her. He turned away again and went up a side trail.

  Amy stood and watched him disappear. She no longer had interest in rejoining her group. In less than twenty minutes she reached the last overlook at the Eastern Cataract. She was unable to appreciate the double rainbow beneath the bridge where the Zambezi River met the First Gorge.

  Who should I trust more? she wondered. My cousin Robert or Stephen’s organization that only tells me what they want me to know?

  She could hear voices approaching. The ground here was stony and flooded with a couple of inches of water. The explanation for this became clear when the heavens opened and poured rain on all of them under a cloud no more than thirty feet wide. The mist here saturated the air as the water from the falls plummeted through the narrowing chasm. The atmosphere in this small area could no longer hold any more moisture and streams of water fell over the brim of Amy’s hat and down her back. Amy did not wait for the others. She rushed ahead on the trail to the Visitor’s Center. Fifty yards down the path and away from the falls, the downpour stopped and the sun was out. She saw Mike waiting for them.

  “I thought you said we were going to get wet on this trip.” Amy commented as she approached him and pushed water out of her face.

  Mike looked at the sodden clothes clinging to her. Her soaked tee shirt and slacks molded her body in a way Mike couldn’t help but admire. Her small breasts were crushed by the sports bra he could see beneath, but it was a pleasing sight.

  “You can’t fool me, where are the rest of them?” he asked.

  “Not far. I just wanted out of the rain.” As she said this, Paul and Linda approached the two of them. They removed their ponchos and began rolling them up.

  “The others are only a couple of minutes behind us. I want to check out the gift shop before we go.” Linda, her shopping ambitions at full strength, grinned in anticipation.

  Amy went back to the Visitor’s Center with them, while Mike waited for the others. Mike watched Amy’s back as the three chatted about the great rainbows and the inability to actually see the falls through the voluminous spray. What was she involved in?” he wondered.

  Once the group assembled on the bus, Mike reminded them all that this evening’s dinner was with a family in town. This would give them all an opportunity to see what life was like for the local inhabitants of the area. So far the group had only interacted with those working directly in the tourist industry. Amy looked forward to a chance to see how real Zimbabweans lived. She was sure the family was not chosen at random, and they might not be representative of the majority of the nation’s citizens, but it would be as close as she got.

  They needed hostess gifts, and Mike recommended groceries. Most of them were only interested in changing out of wet clothes and having lunch, but Amy wanted to see a local supermarket. From her previous travels she knew that a venture to such a store could tell her a lot about the economics of an area.

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  The large glass-fronted building reminded Amy of grocery stores in the poorer sections of town near where she lived. It was larger than Amy expected and the prices higher. The shelves were well stocked, and busy with local people and a few tourists. She wondered how a population with an unemployment rate of 75% could afford to shop here. The three of them - Mike, Amy and Toomey- bought double of everything: white rice, beans, oil, bottled juice, two-foot long bars of green soap for washing people, and liquid detergent for laundering clothes. Toomey, with a smirk on his face, threw a few rolls of toilet paper in the shopping cart.

  As they waited their turn in the checkout line, Amy noticed the well-worn U.S. dollars that the woman in front of her used to purchase her small pile of groceries. Mike turned to her and commented, “This is where American dollars come to die.”

  Amy had expended considerable effort before starting the trip collecting crisp one dollar bills minted after 2009, as the guide book recommended. She now realized it was time wasted. The hundred dollars that the group had donated had not gone very far. Mike pulled out a very new, very crisp one hundred dollar bill to pay for their purchases. The cashier held it up to the light to check its authenticity. The US $100 bill is the most counterfeited in the world. Some bogus dollars were pathetic copies that anyone familiar with real U.S. currency would detect in no time. However, foreign agents had access to the same printing apparatus that the U.S. Government used. A set of plates were not hard to purchase if the buyer had sufficient funds. There were concerns that powers hostile to the United States were flooding the world with good forgeries to undermine the U.S. economy. That Zimbabwe had chosen the U.S. dollar as its official currency spoke to the confidence these people had in America. Amy hoped it was not misplaced.

  On the ride back, Amy considered how poor the inhabitants here were. The hotel was the major employer in the town. Without it, and the associated jobs due to the tourist industry, most people would have no hard cash coming in. The home-hosted dinner was scheduled for after dark when the temperatures cooled -only the hotel rooms had air conditioning and it often struggled to keep up with the humidity. It was early afternoon when they arrived and the sun was hot. Amy decided that a swim was exactly what she needed so she changed into her modest bathing suit and threw the turquoise halter dress over it. She headed out past the Stanley Terrace and across the large manicured grass.

  A hedge of high bushes surrounded the pool area and gave sunbathers a bit of privacy. The place had an Arabian feel to it, or at least what Amy imagined a harem might look like. Traditional lounge chairs bordered the pool, but there were also open rooms filled with pillowed divans with gauzy drapes that could hide those inside from the prying eyes of men wandering the pool compound. These areas would accommodate the modesty required by Moslem women, but Amy saw no one making use of them. All the facilities at the hotel seemed underused.

  The water felt cool and inviting as Amy dipped in a toe. Paul and Linda and James and Lily were sitting at a table in the shade sipping drinks after a light
lunch. James favored bourbon over ice. Amy had learned that Paul preferred red wine and was quite knowledgeable about them. The ladies had something fruity in a tall glass with straws. Amy waved to them before taking off her cover up and slipping into the blue water.

  As she swam she went over her meeting with Ed Brown and the uncertainties of her situation. Lap swimming required no thinking on her part, so she thought about her encounter with the man with dreadlocks at the falls. He wouldn’t have even given his name if she hadn’t insisted upon it. How typical, she thought. She was angry and her hands struck the water harder than was necessary with each stroke. Secrecy was the rule for Stephen’s organization. She had no idea what interest the organization had in her cousin -or in Africa for that matter. Since Stephen’s death she had lost her confidence in it. She had also learned through hard experience to trust her feelings in that regard.

  Ed Brown had imparted no new information -just a warning. The situation wasn't any clearer to her. She had already made her decision on how to proceed in the next few days, so she left off thinking all together. She let her thoughts come -and she let them go. She didn’t linger on any thought or try to make it go away. She just kept swimming an aggressive breaststroke to one end of the pool and an equally emphatic backstroke on the return. The rhythmic motion calmed her and she let her hostile feelings go. She refused to let any thoughts invade her peace -as tenuous as it might be.

  A spasm in her right calf spoiled her moving meditation. The muscle cramped painfully. She tried to stand, but couldn’t put enough weight on the leg while in the water. The buoyant force pushing up on her negated a substantial amount of her body weight. As a physicist she knew that the buoyant force was equal to the weight of the water her body displaced, but the knowledge didn’t make her leg ache less. It really hurt.