by P J Skinner
‘Do you have them here?’
‘Yes, but they won’t be any use to you. All the expenses are lumped into the categories in the files you have there so individual amounts can’t be worked out. They carry out an audit over there and we get a copy of the report for our files.’
Sam was in a quandary. No wonder Charlie Okito wanted her out. And who else was implicated? It was inconceivable he didn’t have an inside man in Johannesburg. But how would she find out what had happened to the money? She needed a contact in Goro but she had no idea where to start. Miriam told her not to trust anyone and that meant Dirk too. Surely, he couldn’t be involved?
When she had bookmarked the largest orders made through Goro, Sam persuaded Doris to let her photocopy them.
‘I couldn’t possible remember all that stuff. Be a dear and help me,’ said Sam.
Doris shuffled off and copied them all with an air of defiance that seeped out of her repressed pores.
‘There you go. Let me know if you need anything else,’ she said.
‘Thank you so much. You are a star. By the way, I’d appreciate it if you could keep this quiet,’ said Sam, ‘I don’t want the men thinking I can’t do the job.’
‘Don’t you worry about that, dear. Your secret is safe with me.’
‘You could say I had an issue with my bank details,’ said Sam and winked.
‘I could.’
***
The elephants were restless in the gathering gloom. The larger males stood on the outskirts of the group while the females and youngsters fed on the lush grass in the clearing. They stuck their trucks in the air and tested for suspicious odours but there was no warning of the incoming disaster until the first soldiers appeared at the edge of the meadow holding lit torches.
The oldest female sounded the alarm, and the troop tried to move off into the jungle. More soldiers stepped forward barring their way, herding the elephants with the flaming torches along the old road which led to the edge of the forest. As the elephants approached the main road, panic spread, and they turned to face their tormentors. There was a standoff for several seconds and then they stampeded towards the rebels.
‘Fire at their legs. Don’t damage the ivory,’ shouted the leader of the men, as they all crouched to shoot.
The sound threatened to burst their eardrums as a cacophony of squeals of fury and of pain combined with the bursts of machine gun fire. Several elephants escaped through the ranks of the rebels, one male killing a man by running him through with a tusk and throwing him high into the branches where he dangled from his rucksack like the victim of an unopened parachute.
The noise of elephants crashing through the undergrowth faded away, and the men moved from their positions slinging their guns over their shoulders. In front of them a horrific scene emerged as elephants lay dying unable to get up on their crippled legs. Large dark pools of blood coalesced into a ghastly maroon lake around the disabled creatures.
The rebel troop stared in awe at the carnage. Bodies resembled large grey rocks dumped on the road and sprayed with red paint. The leader pulled his axe out of his belt and leapt on top of a corpse. He swung it at the jaw, biting deep into the bone.
‘Get a move on,’ he said. ‘Someone come and pull on this tusk while I free it from the bone.’
The men hesitated. Members of the herd still writhed and snorted on the ground. A baby elephant slipped and fell over in the viscous liquid seeping from their bodies, bleating for help until one man, aroused from his stupor and knocked it out with his rifle butt.
‘Just shoot the ones that are moving. Come on. We’ve work to do.’
***
Sam walked back to Dirk’s office with a swagger that betrayed her buoyant mood. All idea of losing her job had vanished. It occurred to her that she had some powerful blackmail material on her hands should she choose to use it. She was getting closer to the truth, and more pieces of the puzzle had now fallen into place. She had the framework, now she had to identify the architects. They’d soon learn what it meant to tangle with Sam Harris.
Chapter XXII
Sam arrived back at Masaibu three weeks after she left, the business class ticket to Entebbe from Johannesburg a sign that they had restored her standing. She had taken her leave of Dirk with a certain coolness after her close shave at the hands of the board. He hadn’t exactly leapt to her defence.
‘They’ve given you a second chance,’ he said.
‘That’s big of them,’ said Sam.
‘Don’t get on your high horse. The evidence appeared pretty damning,’ said Dirk.
‘But they fabricated it and you didn’t stand up for me.’
‘I didn’t know you well enough to assume your innocence. They were blaming me for recommending you. I was under the cosh. Can’t you appreciate that?’ said Dirk, throwing his hands up.
‘Sure. But I consider myself to still be on my first chance since I didn’t do anything wrong,’ said Sam.
‘Semantics. Get back to Masaibu and show them how wrong they were okay?’
‘Sure, but next time, please check your facts with me before you join the crowd. I need someone in my corner and I thought it was you,’ said Sam.
‘It’s a deal. Let’s get this job finished then. Good luck,’ Dirk said, avoiding her eyes.
‘I’ll do my best,’ she said, meaning it.
Miriam was waiting in the lobby to see her off, wearing a purple lipstick that matched her perm. Sam remember her promise to the women in the customs’ shed.
‘I need to buy some lipstick. Is there a discount store nearby where I can buy in bulk?’ she said.
‘You’re trying to seduce the baddies?’ said Miriam with a smirk.
‘No, I’m going to bribe the ladies in customs,’ said Sam.
‘Ah. Don’t say bribe. They’ll have you back in front of the board before you can unpack your suitcase.’
‘Gift, that’s what I meant. Just kidding.’
‘There’s a place off the highway to the airport. Tell the driver to stop at Magic Mall. It’s cheap and nasty in the main, but you can get nice makeup there,’ said Miriam, who gave her a hug and whispered in her ear. ’Be careful out there. You don’t have many friends.’
‘Didn’t I tell you about the French Foreign Legion boys?’ said Sam, with a wicked grin. ‘They provide for all my needs out there.’
Miriam giggled but Sam had left, shoving the revolving door with all her might and being thrown out on to the street with her suitcase at the feet of the startled driver.
‘Magic Mall first please, and then the international terminal at the airport.’
***
After the usual bumpy journey across Lake Albert, Mad Mark dropped Sam off at the Masaibu terminal. Before her was the usual test of endurance in customs and immigration. Now that she had the right visa in her passport the officials had little reason to delay her and her cheerful demeanour appeared to break their will.
The ladies in the customs room didn’t even open her suitcase after she handed over the contraband purchased at Magic Mall. She could still hear them squealing with delight as she got into the jeep after being greeted by an ecstatic Ezekiel, who she restrained from hugging her.
‘Shikamo Mama Sam, you came back.’
‘Yes, I must be out of my mind, but here I am,’ said Sam, sighing.
‘You were not out of my mind, Mama Sam.’
‘Well, that must be it then. I blame you.’
This produced a massive smile which threatened to swallow him whole.
‘Home James,’ she said.
They drove through town without stopping. Sam wore a big hat and sun glasses and sank down in her chair so no-one could spot her in the front seat. Improving community relations after the ordeal she’d just been through made her shudder.
Hans and Jacques occupied their usual places on the balcony in front of the office building as Ezekiel drove up to the accommodatio
n. Sam waved at them from the door of her prefab but made hand signs for going to sleep and went straight in. To her relief, the sitting room was spotless, and the padlock was still on her bedroom door.
She dug the key out from the bottom of her rucksack pocket where she had dropped it on leaving for her break and snapped the lock open. The door swung open, and she peered in.
Her room looked untouched, and she relaxed before ripping off the bottom sheet just in case. The mattress did not contain any unwelcome visitors, so she remade the bed pulling the mosquito net down from its binding until it covered the mattress. Sleep was not instantaneous but Sam was stubborn and soon extinguished her racing brain.
***
Ota Benga, the pygmy, licked his fingers one by one. The prize of the sweet honey negated all the risks he had taken to gather it at the top of a tall tree deep in the forest. He pried a bee sting out of his shoulder and rubbed it with a salve he had wrapped in a leaf stashed in his ancient shorts. The honey dripped down the sides of the plastic container he was using, made of a cut-off water bottle.
He finished checking for stings and then trotted off down the narrow path in the forest keeping his head low in case rangers spotted him. They didn’t frequent the area he had been to because of its remoteness but they took out their frustrations on any pygmies they found hunting in the forest.
The evening was cool, but clouds of mosquitos drifted on the breeze. He stopped to search for a bush whose leaves they used as a repellent and rubbed them all over his body. The swarm lifted and floated away in search of someone else to bite.
As he neared the exit, a strong smell of iron stopped him in his tracks. He stood upright testing the air with a bewildered expression. A lament floated through the forest, the cry of a baby elephant, but no adult answered its call. Elephants did not abandon their young, even when they were dead. Something had happened to the mother. Perhaps he could bring some fresh meat home as well as the honey.
Ota followed the odour through the forest. Alarm replaced bewilderment as the smell grew so strong that it stuck at the back of his throat, the iron making his tongue dry. A deep foreboding made his ribs tighten around his heart. Then he stepped into a small clearing where a scene of unspeakable horror waited.
***
Philippe did not bother to look up when Sam entered her office the next morning. The expression of frank surprise on his face when he deigned to glance at her was worth many board meetings. He choked on the boiled sweet he had been sucking, going purple with exertion as his airways fought to force it out of his mouth. It popped out onto the desk and lay there shiny and sticky on a document he had been reading.
‘You’re back,’ he said. ‘I mean, already, how…’
‘Get out of my office. Now. You have two minutes or you can keep walking to the front gate.’
Philippe gathered his papers together huffing and puffing with indignation. He stomped past her in a good pantomime of hurt feelings but the metaphorical steam coming out of his ears told her how he felt about her return. Charlie Okito must have omitted to tell him that their plan to remove her had backfired. Perhaps he wanted to land Philippe in it to deflect attention from the obvious subterfuge of the newspaper article.
Whatever the reason, it was clear her return was not a complete surprise to everyone. No one else commented except to ask her how her holiday had been. The only person who appeared as stunned as Philippe was Mama Sonia who spent the whole of breakfast looking like a slapped cat.
‘You’d swear she wasn’t pleased to see you back,’ said Hans, laughing into his coffee. ‘She wouldn’t win any Oscars for acting.’
‘Moussa told me she marched into his office last week and demanded he cancel the Stoddard’s delivery,’ said Jacques.
‘What did he do?’ said Sam.
‘He told her they had a contract and she would have to wait until next year.’ Jacques tried not to smile and stuffed a piece of toast in his mouth which he aspirated. Hans slapped him so hard on the back it flew across the table and landed in Sam’s tea.
‘Yuck. That’s disgusting,’ she said, wrinkling her nose, but it was hard not to gloat.
After the morning meeting, she shut herself into her office. She took the photograph frame from the rubbish bin and shook out the broken glass. The photograph of her parents was undamaged so she balanced it on her desk and made a note to ask Moussa to get a piece of glass cut to replace it.
She reached into the zipped pocket of her rucksack and removed the photocopies Doris had made her from the Masaibu accounts. She smoothed them out on her desk and put a pile of books on top to make them stay flat.
She started her computer and made a spreadsheet into which she entered all the data on the missing orders. There were thirty-seven major payments totalling over two million dollars. She put her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. Two million dollars? Bloody hell. No wonder they tried to get rid of her. But who?
Charlie Okito was the prime suspect in Goro but she didn’t have any proof yet. Also, someone else must have signed the orders in head office in Johannesburg. Was it possible that they signed them without checking that someone made the purchases? She was the first manager to live on site. No one ever bothered to come out to the project and check the inventories. It was easy to get away with a massive fraud.
She must get leverage and find out who was pulling the strings in Johannesburg. She didn’t doubt that there were people in the know in Masaibu but who? If she wanted to find out what was going on, she needed someone to trust her enough to tell her the truth. Back to the drawing board then. What was she missing?
Chapter XXIII
Ota Benga stood at the gates of the campsite. The guards shouted at the pygmy that he must leave but he would not move, resolute in his demand to see the boss.
‘Ninataka kumwona,’ said Ota.
‘Go away. The boss will not see you,’ said the guard.
‘Mama Sam.’
They tried to manhandle him down the street but he ducked under their arms, ran towards the gate and under the barrier scampering straight into the arms of Hans, who was coming to inspect progress on fixing a new fence around the site. Ota flailed around trying to wriggle out of Hans’ grasp.
Hans held the man at arm’s length with his legs cycling in the air. Jacques emerged from the hut and recognised Ota.
‘Put him down. Ota is the pygmy’s representative from the stakeholder meetings. What does he want?’ said Jacques.
‘They say he wants to see Sam,’ said Hans.
‘He is within his rights. I doubt he’d be here if it were not of vital importance. Anyway, look at the state of him. He’s shaking.’
‘Oh. Sorry about that.’
Hans placed Ota back on the ground and gestured towards the office. The pygmy shook himself and followed Jacques up the road without a backward glance.
Sam was leaving for lunch when Jacques arrived with Ota. Her stomach growled in protest as she shook Ota’s hand and pulled up a chair for him and Jacques.
Ota remained on his feet, his eyes wide, and garbled, a mixture of French, Swahili and Pygmy dialect. He sweated with effort, great beads falling around him onto the dusty floor. Stings or bites covered his skin but Sam couldn’t work out if that had anything to do with what he was trying to say. Something terrible had happened in the forest but what?
‘I’m so sorry Ota. I don’t understand. We need someone to translate,’ said Sam
‘What about Mbala? She’s here today working with Dr Ntuli on the list of supplies needed to keep the hospital clean,’ said Jacques. ‘I’ll get her. Why don’t you fetch some food for Ota? He is swaying with hunger.’
Sam made Ota sit down and drink a sweet coffee from Jacques’ flask. Then motioning him to stay where he was, she crossed to the canteen and loaded a plate with meat and rice for him, grabbing a banana to keep her going.
She returned to her office with the meal, covered by a napkin, wh
ere she found Ota sniffing the beetles that were laid out on the dado rail.
‘Those aren’t snacks,’ she said, in her best schoolmarm voice, making him jump backwards and drop one on the floor.
She offered him the plate. Ota took it and hoovered the food up in an instant using his fingers. He then licked the plate clean before handing it back to her rubbing his stomach in appreciation.
The door opened and Mbala entered with Jacques. She addressed the pygmy in Swahili.
‘Ota, you are welcome to our house. What is wrong at the forest? Is your family safe?’
‘Safe, all safe, but there has been a massacre. Only the baby survived,’ said Ota.
‘A massacre. I don’t understand. How are they safe if someone has killed them?’ said Mbala who put her hand up to stop him talking while she translated for Sam.
At that moment Hans came in and caught the gist. ‘What’s the problem? A massacre of the pygmies? That’s illegal apart from anything else. They are a protected people.’
‘I don’t think it’s them that were attacked. Ota’s confusion and distress has made him incomprehensible,’ said Mbala.
‘We must find out today, but first we should eat in case we don’t get back tonight,’ said Hans.
‘Eat?’ said Sam.
‘I’m not going anywhere before I eat. Neither should you. I’m sure Ota will join us for seconds. He looks better already,’ said Jacques.
‘Okay, but quickly,’ said Sam, whose guts were churning, her hunger replaced by dread. Bloody army guys. Always thinking about logistics.
They travelled in two cars. Hans and Sam shared the smaller, more mobile jeep and drove ahead of the bulkier car containing Jacques, Mbala and Ota. Hans used the horn whenever someone tried to intercept the car to chat. The startled residents jumped out of the way when they took in Hans’ expression.
They took just over half an hour to reach the path to the pygmy village. Ota jumped out of the car and trotted away without waiting for everyone else. They all followed him, single file. Sick with trepidation, she placed her feet one in front of the other on the path concentrating only on the act of walking.
