by David Alric
‘It’s Lucy,’ she said to Richard.
‘No – it’s Grace!’ the girl said, and ran across to greet them. After a very emotional few minutes Richard cautiously asked where the others were. ‘They’ve gone to catch an invisible professor,’ said Grace. ‘They said you’d know exactly who they were talking about, but I’m sure Sarah and Ben are going to tell you the whole story. The others are going to send us a message through the animals when their mission is completed and they want us to meet them in Kinshasa.’
‘But without Lucy how did you get back safely with Sarah and Ben?’ asked Richard. He knew what the answer would be, but the question had to be asked. Before Grace could reply Sarah burst in:
‘Grace can speak to animals, Daddy – can you believe it; she really can!’ Richard looked at Joanna and they both smiled.
‘Yes, love, I do believe you.’
‘Well, if we’re not expecting anyone else today,’ said Joanna, ‘let’s get back and celebrate – after you two have had a bath,’ she added with mock severity as she pretended to sniff Sarah and Ben, who were looking travel-stained to say the least, after their prolonged experiences in in lorries, camps and the jungle. They all returned to the house in Salonga and talked far into the night. Just before going to bed Grace spoke to Richard and Joanna.
‘Mummy…Daddy,’ she said hesitantly, shy about the unaccustomed form of address. Joanna and Richard smiled encouragingly.
‘What is it, love?’ said Joanna.
‘There’s something you should know. My family – my foster family,’ she corrected herself, ‘were arrested recently and the police are looking for me to arrest me as well. If I stay here with you I think I may put you all in danger, so tomorrow I think I should return to the animals until you’ve managed to sort things out.’ Richard assured her that the ambassador was already working on it and that there was nothing to worry about. On that happy note they all retired.
The morning brought two developments, one pleasant, the other distinctly unpleasant. Just after breakfast a monkey appeared at the window. Grace talked to it for a few moments and then reported to the others.
‘Great news! They say it’s all sorted out and they’ve set off for Kinshasa.’
‘I wonder what they’ve actually done,’ pondered Richard who had been very worried about the prospect of them grappling with the wily professor again, notwithstanding Lucy’s power.
‘Well they’ve obviously achieved something and at least they’re safe,’ said Joanna. ‘That’s all I was really concerned about.’
‘If they’ve already set out for Kinshasa, maybe we should do the same,’ said Richard. ‘It was a bit of a problem journey getting out here and I don’t expect getting back will be any easier.’ Joanna nodded.
‘And we’ll need to get some clothes and stuff for Sarah and Ben,’ she added. Just then the phone rang. It was the ambassador’s secretary at the British Embassy. ‘It’s good of the ambassador to ring back as he promised,’ said Joanna to Richard as she held the phone waiting for the secretary to connect the ambassador. ‘He really cares – and he’ll be so pleased to hear what’s happened!’
‘Hello, sorry to keep you,’ the secretary said, ‘the ambassador is just coming on the line now.’
‘Hello, is that Joanna Bonaventure?’ She recognised the ambassador’s voice instantly. ‘Good. John Moriarty here.’
‘Thank you so much for ringing, ambassador.’
‘Not good news. I’m afraid.’ His voice adopted a grave tone. ‘First of all there’s no further news about the lost girl.’ Joanna smiled to herself – she had news for him there. ‘Then there is a problem with your visas: it seems that in the confusion surrounding your emergency departure during the rebellion thirteen years ago, we have no record of your actually having left the country. It wouldn’t normally have come to light, except your current visa has triggered an automatic check on your records. As your original visa thirteen years ago was only for one year, it means that technically you have been illegal immigrants for the entire intervening period. Worse than that, the authorities have got wind of the fact that you have come to look for the feral child, and consider that your search represents the potential abduction of a Congolese citizen.’
‘How on earth did they know why we had come?’ said Joanna, her voice trembling.
‘I don’t know. Maybe some busybody at Salonga saw you suddenly appear and start taking an interest in the lost child. They must have put two and two together.’
‘What does all this mean,’ asked Joanna, her face ashen.
‘Well you can’t leave the country and you can’t try and get in contact with the child. You’re not allowed to leave your present accommodation so you’re effectively under house arrest. It’s possible that the police will come and check on you, but I’ve tried to placate them and given them an assurance that you will not move about.’ He paused briefly, then continued. ‘There’s just one other point. Are you expecting any other family members to join you?’
‘Yes,’ said Joanna. ‘They’re driving over from Tanzania.’
‘Well when they get in touch please inform them that they too are forbidden to move about in case they try and assist in the abduction of the missing child. There’ll be roadblocks to pick them up, but if they get in touch it might be helpful if you could forewarn them and explain what’s going on.’ His voice softened. ‘I’m so sorry about this. We are working night and day here to try and sort it out for you. Just sit tight, and I’ll get back with any further news. Don’t even think of breaking the non-movement order. If you do I’ll lose what modest influence I have with the civil authorities and you’ll almost certainly end up in jail for an indefinite period – could be years. Good luck, and don’t hesitate to ring me with any further questions.’
‘Th-thank you, goodbye,’ stuttered Joanna.
‘What in heaven’s name’s going on?’ said Richard. ‘You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’
Joanna explained what had happened and they set down in a state of shock to try and work out what to do.
‘We obviously have to stay here until we get more news from the Embassy,’ said Richard after some thought. ‘Thank goodness we’ve got them on our side. But it sounds as if Grace’s decision to return to the forest was a good one. A bunch of police might turn up at any minute.’
‘What about Sarah and Ben?’ asked Joanna. ‘I forgot to tell him they were already here.’
‘Probably just as well,’ said Richard thoughtfully. ‘It would have been pretty difficult to explain how they got here on their own without the others – but it doesn’t solve the problem of what to do with them.’
‘Can I make a suggestion?’ asked Grace hesitantly. She was not used to family discussions and wasn’t sure if she should participate.
‘Of course,’ said Richard and Joanna in unison.
‘I’ve seen what the police and paramilitaries can do and I would be very worried about leaving Sarah and Ben here. I think they should come with me to the forest – as soon as possible before anyone arrives. I’ll look after them with the bonobos until the Embassy has managed to sort things out.’
Although it seemed an extraordinary course of action to send two young children into the rainforest, the more Richard and Joanna thought about it the more they realised that it was the safest and most sensible thing to do. Sarah and Ben, who had been exploring around the house and garden, were called in and told the plan, with which they were, of course thrilled. Joanna hurriedly put some things a bag for them and, taking care to remain as inconspicuous as possible, Grace and the youngsters slipped away to start their boat journey to the bonobo reserve.
Back at the Embassy Moriarty put the phone down with a smug smile. It had been surprisingly easy. They seemed to have swallowed the entire pack of lies without question – but then, when he thought about it, why wouldn’t they? The ambassador himself ringing them in person. Of course they would believe him; they had no earthly reason to doubt him.
He thought he had handled it rather well: just the right mixture of grave concern and the promise to try and sort things out. He was particularly proud of the phrase “the police may come”. They wouldn’t of course: they knew nothing about the Bonaventures, but the thought that they might appear would certainly make the Bonaventures think twice about moving about. He couldn’t wait for Luke’s next call; even he would have to acknowledge that his cousin had done a great job.
21
Benign Blackmail
Several days later, after a painfully slow journey, along terrible roads made worse by heavy rain, Clive, Clare and Lucy eventually arrived in Kinshasa in the late morning. They had received a note from Grace en route informing them of the situation, so Clive didn’t return his hire car at this stage and they checked into a hotel under false names. Now that they had a landline they rang Joanna and Richard who told them that no police had appeared to enforce the house-arrest order, but that they had complied with the ambassador’s request not to break it and had not left the house. There had, as yet been no further news from the embassy.
On the long drive to the capital they had all been wondering why on earth the professor had suddenly decided that the middle of the African rainforest was a good place to look for photogyraspar and Clive had decided to contact Peter Flint to see if he had any ideas. He rang home to England to update his parents on the situation and obtain Peter Flint’s contact details at the same time. That afternoon, when he calculated it would be about the right time in Rio, he rang Peter. He was pleasantly surprised to get through first time.
‘Peter Flint here.’
‘Peter,’ said Clive, ‘we’ve never met, but I’m Clive, Helen and Julian Fossfinder’s son. I went to the Amazon crater with them.’
‘Ah yes. I’ve heard all about that from Lucinda. Quite a party! Also, your parents gave me some samples that saved me a great deal of time and trouble so I owe you guys a favour. What can I do for you?’
‘I’ve got a rather unusual request and I can’t think of anybody other than you that might be able to help. I’m in the Democratic Republic of Congo with the Bonaventure family and the most extraordinary thing has happened.’
‘Let me guess, though I hope I’m wrong,’ interrupted Peter. ‘You’ve come across Professor Strahlung.’ Clive was astounded.
‘How on earth did you know that?’
‘Oh dear,’ said Peter, ‘I was hoping against hope that he wouldn’t get there but he obviously has.’
‘Before we go any further,’ Clive replied, ‘I should tell you that the professor is dead – eaten by crocodiles.’
‘Nihil nisi bonum de mortuis as they say, but it couldn’t have happened to a nicer chap.’ Clive couldn’t help grinning at Peter’s sardonic humour. He was beginning to like this man.
‘So what’s the story?’ he asked.
‘Well the first point,’ said Flint, ‘is that before we knew your parents had rescued some rock samples from the crater Lucinda, my fiancée, was desperate to get hold of more photogyraspar. You probably weren’t aware of the fact, but the crater is now a completely protected site – something your Dad and Mum got the UN to do. That’s brilliant for the flora and fauna of course but it means that it’s out of bounds for prospecting. I then undertook a geological analysis of the ore in which photogyraspar is found and, with the help of an expert in England who has a massive database of prospecting samples, discovered that an almost identical ore exists, guess where, in the middle of the Congo.’
‘But how on earth did the professor find that out?’ exclaimed Clive.
‘I discovered that through a real stroke of luck. I knew of course that he’d escaped from hospital and, for anybody in the know, it was obvious from the bewildered police report that he’d somehow got hold of an invisibility robe. A few days after I’d read about his escape my head of department asked me to deal with a query from the university switchboard supervisor. She was interested in an international phone call made from my department in the middle of the night. I should tell you that we recently introduced a system to economize on the university’s massive phone charges. Any long distance calls made between the hours of 8 p.m. and 8 a.m are logged in the switchboard, the call is recorded and a record kept of the number dialled. It’s basically to stop unsupervised nightstaff spending hours on long-distance or international phonecalls to relatives in the middle of the night. Every week the switchboard supervisor contacts heads of departments with a list of calls so they can either be justified or docked from the departmental budget. Now, when she played back this call for me it was unmistakably the voice of Luke Strahlung – you’ll remember I know him well because he used to work here. He must have got in here in his invisibility robe and gone through my stuff which is obviously how he found out about the Congo lode of ore.’
‘Well, that’s amazing,’ said Clive. ‘Thanks very much for solving the mystery.’
‘Wait, you haven’t heard the half of it yet!’ said Peter. ‘Don’t you want to know where the professor was calling?’
‘Gosh, I hadn’t thought about that,’ said Clive,‘Where was it?’
‘It was to a number in Kinshasa – and before I say more, have you got a fax or e-mail in that place – I’d like to send you a transcript of the conversation. The professor’s obviously in cahoots with someone over there.’
‘Hold on a sec,’ Clive checked with the hotel receptionist and then gave Peter a fax number. ‘I’ll ring you back when I’ve read it.’
A few minutes later an excited Clive rang Peter back.
‘Wow, quite an incriminating phone call. I’m a bit puzzled, though, the professor’s such a wily old ******* – how on earth did he make such a stupid mistake?’
‘That’s because the monitoring system is so new. It wasn’t here in his time; in fact it only went in two weeks ago and this is the first time they’ve picked up a call from our department.’
‘Well whoever this Hans Moriarty is, he’s got a serious problem if anyone gets hold of this script,’ said Clive.
‘Ah yes, that’s the final twist I was coming to,’ said Peter gleefully. ‘Out of pure curiosity I checked on the number in Kinshasa.’
‘And …,’ said Clive. Peter was certainly spinning this out.
‘… and it’s the number of the British Embassy!’
‘What! So there’s somebody in the British embassy bribing the locals and helping the professor to extract minerals illegally?’
‘Exactly. I’m not quite sure what you can do about it, but it sounds as though a quiet word in the ambassador’s ear might be a useful next step.’ Clive thanked him profusely for his time and help and then went through to Clare and Lucy and recounted the story.
‘The funny thing is,’ he mused as they read the transcript together, ‘I’ve seen that name Moriarty somewhere else recently, but I can’t for the life of me remember where.’ Clare looked up from the fax.
‘I remember,’ she said.
‘I do too!’ Lucy interrupted. ‘It was the password on Luke’s computer in the crater. You thought it might be his mother’s maiden name.’
‘Of course,’ Clive slapped his knee. ‘That’s where it was. Things are beginning to fall into place.’
‘What’s falling into place?’ asked Lucy. But Clive was looking hurriedly at his watch.
‘Sorry, Luce, tell you in a moment. It’s nearly five o’clock and I want to catch the ambassador before the embassy closes down for the day. We’ve got to stop this Moriarty person in his tracks as soon as possible – if he hears nothing from the professor and can’t contact him he may think his cover’s blown and make a run for it.’ He picked up the phone again and asked the hotel operator to put him through to the embassy.
‘Hello,’ said Clive when the embassy answered. ‘Could you put me through to the ambassador please?’ There was a pause and a click.
‘Hello, this is the ambassador’s office. His PA speaking. How can I help you?’
‘Good afterno
on,’ said Clive. ‘I would like to speak to the ambassador on a very confidential matter. If he’s free, can you put me through please?’
‘I’m afraid Mr Moriarty has just left the office for the day. If it’s urgent you could leave me a contact number and I’ll do my best to track him down.’ Clive was too stunned to answer for a few seconds, then pulled himself together.
‘Er, no…thanks. I’ll call again tomorrow.’
The girls looked at him.
‘Well?’ asked Clare eventually.
‘Sorry, I’ve just had a bit of a shock. You’re not going to believe this, but Moriarty is the ambassador!’
After they had all discussed the implications of this interesting discovery, Lucy asked Clive about his previous comment about “things falling into place”.
‘Ah, yes,’ said Clive, his brain now spinning. ‘As soon as you reminded me where we’d seen the name Moriarty before, I began to suspect that he might be the professor’s cousin. And now…,’ he paused for thought and looked at his watch, ‘…yes, a perfect time to ring London; I know just what to do.’ He picked up the phone again and rang London.
‘Dad, it’s me again. Yes, we’re fine thanks. I’ve just had a most interesting conversation with Peter Flint – tell you all about it later. Meantime can you do me a favour. Are you still friendly with that political journalist, Ferret? Great. Now this is what I’d like you to do…’
The next day a fax arrived from Julian.
