by Peter Riva
“Yes, that’s okay, but who the hell do you think told him I met with Baylor?”
“Pero, I have no idea. But that’s his wish, okay?”
“Fine.”
“The Canon dealer, the guy the Kenyan cops inter-rogated,” he stretched the word as if it were in inverted commas, meaning tortured, “he was setting up a full Canon office suite for an insurance company opening offices there next month. They found the Garamond fonts on every computer and other samples of the Tusker Special Beer label there, including artwork on a computer, Adobe something. The authorities have sealed the place but will allow incoming visitors who will be arrested and checked out.”
“They’re still checking Tusker, delivery vans, that sort of thing. In case one van may go missing and be used as a suicide bomb. Leave that one to them, we’ve now got two hundred field support personnel in place, they should be able to control this.” My God, they already had two hundred agents in place? No, couldn’t be agents. Pero suspected that most of them were American personnel on loan or orders from Navy ships doing R & R in Mombasa, a favorite port for US forces.
“The Meeting on the Hill is not only going forward, there are now one hundred fifty thousand people in Nairobi, camped out at the site, awaiting the great event with another one hundred thousand expected from locals. They’re putting up bulletproof glass around the lectern and some security cameras, even under the stands, that sort of thing, but, honestly, it’s a hard site to secure. The Captain of the USS Milwaukee is up from Mombasa to take command of his whole ship’s company, to beef up security, he has a green light on all your names, priority one.”
Pero knew it. Available personnel from a ship in Mombasa were the only way they’d get help fast enough, nothing else fit the timeline. So, they too were amateurs being forced into this situation.
“The equipment you requested is already at the Duka. The lock code is Lever, as if it was a telephone dial.”
“Got it.”
“We feel your best avenue of action is to by-pass the Kenyans and find out who was at the Holiday Inn or who planted the plane bomb, and follow that up. And, if it is still anthrax, and we all hope to heaven you are wrong, then keep Mary Lever away and safe, at the Duka, got it?”
“I can’t promise that. She’s insisting that we drop her off at the Norfolk on the way into Nairobi. She’s determined. I plan to have Ruis, Priit, and Heep go with her to protect her. But first I will pick up the vests and gun, then get her dropped off with a team of support.”
“There are Kenyan permits with the guns. They, you, must carry them at all times. They give you absolute authority, from the Presidents’ offices, Kenya, and USA. Get that?”
“Roger that.”
“Now, finally, we need to discuss the Reichstag gambit. Have you discussed this with your friends?”
“No. I will discuss this with Heep later.”
An order: “Discuss it with them now.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
“Okay . . .” Pero pushed the speaker button, “People, the Director here, Lewis, wants me to discuss a remote possibility with you . . .”
The speaker voice interrupted, “Not so remote.”
“Okay, not so remote as he says. The Reichstag Gambit or motive is the Nazi scenario when they burned down the Reichstag and blamed it on the Bolsheviks, the Communists of the era, to declare a state of emergency and create a Nazi police stranglehold. Every once in a while, the media trots this gambit out as a possible conspiracy theory. The Director thinks there may be a Reichstag motive at work here. Someone targeting JT and the Meeting on the Hill in order to, what. . . ?”
Lewis spoke up, “Provoke a Christian jihad.”
“Oh, provoke a Christian jihad . . . yipes. Bad choice of words, Sir, let’s use the more traditional one, a crusade.” He looked at his team, “Thoughts?”
Mary stood there, in the open Unimog hatch, her mouth open. It snapped shut, “I don’t like your Director Lewis very much. No one on JT’s staff could ever, ever—you get it? Ever be disloyal. End of story.”
“I heard that. She’s prejudiced and you may be wrong.”
Mary was indignant, “Says you.”
Ruis and Priit had nothing to offer, just shook their heads. Heep, on the other hand, was considering it, he was old enough to have felt the ripple consequences of that fateful fire. He came closer to make sure the Director could hear. “Pero, to pull off that gambit, there would have to be a clear threat beforehand, a motive expressed, that was then so-called “enacted” to have people believe it. A threat followed by a disaster has a consequence that is far reaching. Here they have no public threat, just our knowledge of a threat—a failed threat of the plane bombing is real enough, but not public enough. If something happens to Jimmy Threte, the media will react, people will react to a tragedy, not an attack for which there should be payback. Pearl Harbor had to be portrayed as a sneak attack for it to galvanize the nation. If the President had gone on the radio and said, “We were caught asleep at the switch,” Congress probably would not have declared war the next day. Maybe eventually, after an inquest and discussion with the Japanese and further aggression, they would have, but not quickly enough to counteract Japanese aggression in the Pacific.”
Heep knew this to be true. He was old enough to know for sure that the use of the words “sneak attack” from the most trusted man in America, the man who had seen the USA out of the Great Depression—Roosevelt made sure there was war in immediate sight. Heep continued, “With JT, and the Meeting, with no public threat, I just don’t see the pattern.”
“I heard all that Baltazar, tell Heep he has a good mind and I agree with him . . .”
“I have you on speaker, he can hear you, we all can.”
Lewis continued, “But it’s a possibility and certain facts fit the Reichstag profile. One, the Canon printer and computer were designing the Tusker label two days after Threte decided to go to Kenya, two weeks before the press announcement. Two, the assassin in Arusha was meant for Mary—provocation, for the threat to JT. Jikuru got in the way and tried to stop him. The dead assassin’s an Afghani, known to authorities in Pakistan as Taliban, suspected al-Qaida. His shoes had earth that matched the Gurreh-Ajuran plateau region. Mary was the target. Repeat that to them now, make sure it is clear.” Pero knew he didn’t have to, Mary had gone white, and Heep looked deeply pensive.
“And let’s follow this up with the third piece of information: NSA communications analysis has intercepted heavy phone traffic from the Norfolk Hotel to London re-routed to the Holiday Inn, which stopped when Kenyan authorities lifted the suspect Canon salesman.” Mary was shaking her head and Heep had a grim look that told Pero he now agreed with Lewis.
“Okay, Director, we get your point. We will probe into that . . .”
“No, Pero,” Mary looked determined, “Heep and I will, with Ruis and Priit to help,” she looked at them, one at a time, “if you will?” They all nodded.
“Director, we’ve got agreement here. The team of four will depart Karen Duka with weapons and proceed to the Norfolk, where they will do their best to identify the Reichstag element, if he or she exists. Mary will, I am sure, have access to all of JT’s advance team,” she nodded, “all movements and bookings. Maybe they can turn something up quickly to finger the person for you. That okay?”
“Seems like a plan. And you and Mbuno?”
“Something else is bothering me. As Mbuno was driving, I was thinking things over. I realized that, for this to work, Reichstag gambit or just plain assassination, the definition of terrorist comes back to mind: commit that which is by its very nature is unforgivable.”
“Explain.”
“When Mohammed Atta flew that plane into the first of the Twin Towers, he used a street map that the FBI found on a computer, right?”
“Yes, go on, don’t ask, explain, there’s a time element here.”
“Okay, that map was a direct route down Manhattan and slam
into the North Tower. He flew much lower than he needed, screaming engines above buildings to attract attention. It wasn’t vanity or lack of piloting skills—he needed people to watch. Why? He couldn’t rely on television, capturing his moment of destruction, he needed people to call the media and alert them. It was a fluke that the Naudet brothers caught it on tape, just a talented fluke. It was the only recording in a city filled with tourists and cameras. But the public heard, they saw, they called the police, fire, and the media in the hundreds. Then, fifteen or so minutes later, at the interval Atta had arranged, the second tower was hit. Cameras were running, perfect media coverage worldwide, instant real live terrorism, instant unforgivable sorrow and suffering.
“In Washington there was no video, yet it happened after the Twin Towers, but there was no video. But after the Pentagon was hit every camera available was trained on the sky, in case, in case. . . . And where was the route and timing of the second jet on the computer files the FBI found? It was to pass over the Pentagon ten minutes later, grab the eye of the cameras, and slam into the Capitol. Would that second plane have been filmed, live, for the entire world? You bet.
“Here in Nairobi, we maybe have a massive crime about to be committed, an act of terrorism. But where is the instant media coverage? Is it enough to have a few million watching on closed circuit Christian cable channels—and then have the news media only reply highlights later? No, they will want the whole of the world’s media to pick up the feed, live, tens of minutes of it.” Pero paused, saw the shock on his crew’s faces, “Impact Director Lewis, the power of television is impact, to be live and long, that’s the producer’s goal always. For that the terrorists need that one-two punch. Anthrax followed by. . . ? Or a bomb followed by the anthrax? I don’t know, but my guess is that it’s a one-two media game plan.”
“Impressive. Standby.”
The team was looking at Pero. Heep broke the silence. “So, even if we or they,” he pointed at the phone, “thwart one plan, the other could still succeed, even if it’s not the one-two punch, right?”
“Yes, and it may be a one-two-three-four that Atta planned, who knows? We need to divide and conquer—look at all the angles. You need to protect JT and Mary . . .” Mary started to rev up to protest. Pero interrupted her, “Yes—Mary, protect you. Because you may be the “one” in this gambit.”
The Director came back on “Baltazar, the team here thinks you are right. It’s a plausible explanation. They may have multiple avenues for this display of terrorism and will play all of them or only one after another until there are two successful or maybe three or more. It is known that Atta wanted three planes for Washington because he thought the Air Force would scramble fighter jets. He never counted on those passengers fighting back. Cell phones did his Washington plan in. Good call Pero. We here feel you must pursue every lead and call us here with any developments. Acknowledge.”
“Yes, confirmed. And Heeper has a satellite phone, no encryption, can he dial in?”
“Yes, let me speak to him.” Pero punched the speaker button off and gave Heep the phone, who listened and took out his own satellite phone and read the number off the back to the Director.
Heep was pushing buttons on his phone. “Okay, I have done that, now a one, a star and then three three three, is that correct? And press send.” He lifted it up to his ear. “Hello? Ah, got it. Okay, I’ll memory that in. Thanks.” He gave Pero back his phone and Pero pushed the speaker button back on.
“He can call in and we can call him when necessary. When you split up you call in and tell us, right?”
“Roger that.”
“Are you near to leaving Amboseli National Park?”
“Yes, about thirty minutes, need time to swap vehicles.”
“Okay, suggest you take the Kimana road and connect with the A one oh nine, past Kenyatta Airport, through the Nairobi National Park, into Langata, and by the back roads to Karen. The roads in Nairobi are solid, people are everywhere for this festival of JT’s tomorrow. On the way back into Nairobi, wait until just dark and take the A-two extension to avoid Nairobi center, second exit on the Flame Tree roundabout to the Norfolk.”
“Thanks for the driving instructions.”
“We have a feed here for Nairobi traffic, fed back to the captain for his sailors. Oh, and at the Duka are ID tags for the Meeting as well as ID when you meet the captain’s sailors—they will comply with your any wish, they have been briefed, there’s a call sign on the reverse of the badge, if in doubt, get them to radio that in. You need help? Call on them or me, right?”
“Right, will do. We will do our best.”
“You’ve already done more than you can . . . wait a moment, something coming in. Tactical command says that they are sure it’s Baylor sending messages using Morse with on off switch on the satellite phone, the cycle time is so slow they didn’t read it yet, I will replay the full tape and let you know. I’ll sign off.” They heard Lewis say off microphone, “What? Christ . . .” He came back to them, “Wait, don’t disconnect . . . more coming in . . . a crate of Tusker Special Beer, paper labels, has been apprehended with driver while delivering to the Norfolk. Analysis follows within one hour. I will let you know. Anything else?”
“Yes, can you secure the release, to them, of the Nigerian Kweno Usman? He’s being held by the UN security people, so Singh told us.”
“Ha, they don’t have him, we do. Where do you want him and why?”
“How about in a sailor’s uniform waiting for Mary as her personal bodyguard at the Norfolk. He’s proven himself before.”
“Okay, the Navy Captain will not like that, but I’ll get it done. For your information, it says here that this Usman guy says it was all your fault, you made him protect her. He’s angry. Seems to think he’s in trouble and wants your hide.”
“Please send him a message: ‘Votre charge Mademoiselle Lever arrivera ce soir, continuez votre protection, signé le capitaine.’ He’ll get it.” The message told Usman that Mary would arrive this evening and she was in his care again.
“Will do, now get a move on. End.” And the two clicks.
Mary was desperate for her uncle, but clearly happy Kweno, the hulk, would be there. Pero banged on the driver’s cab roof, “Mbuno, tafadali, drive like the wind, we’re needed at the Norfolk.”
In under twenty minutes Pero called out, “There’s the turning for the Lodge, Mbuno, take the second entrance to the car park, not the hotel entrance.” It was time to steal a zebra van.
CHAPTER 15
Karen Duka
It was simple really. They appeared from the Unimog as five tourists, no luggage, following their guide, ambling, tired looking (and they were), towards the hotel. Three of them, with their driver, stopped to talk to the other drivers waiting by gleaming new Mitsubishi zebra-painted minivans with Abercrombie & Kent stenciled on the doors. Pero broke off from the group and went inside to have the tour guide for A & K paged to the front desk. Pero slipped a twenty dollar bill to the desk clerk, he took an imprint of his Amex card, and Pero gave him instructions.
When the A & K tour guide answered his page, the desk clerk informed him that he and his group were the lucky recipients of a free lunch, à la carte, not buffet, with one bottle of wine per van, and free steak dinners for their drivers. The man, a young local boy, ran out to tell the drivers who had, until then, treated him as the novice he was. He bestowed his gift on them, currying favor. They all literally sprinted for the restaurant. Beef was still a luxury for the Kikuyu drivers.
As Pero came back out, his wallet a little thinner, Pero asked Ruis “Got one picked out yet?”
“Yes, boss, this one had the spare set of keys where you said they would be, magnetic key holder, offside rear bumper. How’d you know?”
“Mr. Kent is a careful person; he wants to make sure his clients never get stranded, so he hides the keys in the same place on each van. Our driver needed them once. Once was all it took to know where they were probably hidden
on every van.”
They piled in and drove off. A mile later they paused, pretending to view some zebra; and Pero called State to tell them they were leaving the Park presently in a zebra-painted A & K van as tourists. Director Lewis refrained from comment. Two clicks and they were off the air.
The road out of the park was watched and they were approaching the main gate when an armed park ranger stepped into the road. Mbuno was driving, but Pero assumed command.
“Yes, officer?”
“I am not an officer, I am a sergeant.” He pointed to his stripes.
“Sorry.”
“It is all right. I am not angry. But you have to close the top down before you leave the Park.”
“Oh, sorry. Thought we could keep it up until Kimana.”
“No, it is the law, the vehicle must be safe before you drive on the main roads, your driver should know that.” Pero apologized, said it was his doing, and lowered the canopy, which also formed the top of the observation hole, and sealed themselves in. “That’s better. You may now proceed.”
They waved as they drove away. A little while down the road, Mary started to laugh. She imitated his voice “Ooh Mr. officer, Sir, so sorry, Sir . . .” everyone started to laugh including Pero. The drive past Kimana and on to the A109 was uneventful. If the alarm had gone up for this stolen van, there seemed few police to do anything about it. Pero suspected that the police were converging on Nairobi from all over the country to help with crowd control tomorrow. Their van followed the route the director had given them, nipped through the Nairobi Park again, and missed the bulk of the traffic. They pulled up to the duka, the grocery shop, where Karen Blixen of “Out of Africa” fame used to shop along with half the colonial farmers of Kenya. They were on time, exactly 6:00 p.m. They had been on the road since three in the morning and they were, all of them, beat. Mbuno looked exhausted; he had done the most driving.
There was still no time for sleep.
At the side of the shop, there was a flight of stairs and the door to the safe house. Pero keyed in the code “Lever” on the number-only combination lock as if it was a US telephone dial and the metal core door buzzed open. They all piled in. There were items left out on a long table, which Pero asked the team to familiarize themselves with. Pero had seen the Duka downstairs was still open, just.
