‘Could you tell me which one is the headman’s hut?’ she asked.
The woman stopped what she was doing and looked up at Nathalie, puzzled. She said something in a language that Nathalie didn’t understand.
Farai who was close by offered to help. ‘She doesn’t speak English,’ he explained. ‘Shall I talk to her in Shona?’
Nathalie smiled at the woman, ‘That would be great Farai. Could you ask her if we can visit the headman’s home?’
Farai greeted the woman and became engaged in a soft melodic conversation. It seemed like a lot of words just to ask a simple question.
‘And?’ asked Nathalie impatiently.
‘I’m trying to establish some sort of rapport; the woman is quite nervous, thinks you’re some kind of official. I’m just reassuring her that we are helping the outreach team.’
‘Oh, of course, sorry,’ apologised Nathalie. ‘Any luck?’ she added tentatively.
‘It’s the large hut over there,’ said Farai, the one with the brick around the bottom. ‘She says we are expected.’
‘Must be the right one then,’ said Nathalie with relief. ‘Thank her and bring all the stuff over. If you guys wait outside and set up the generator I’ll go inside and check it out.’
Even with her small stature she had to bend down to enter the open doorway. Inside there was a shaft of light coming from the hole in the conical thatched roof. It lit up a wisp of smoke that was twisting its way towards the sky. The whole home was contained within one room. A small kitchen, a bed and an eating area. Two men were sitting on the floor cross-legged waiting, their faces obscured by headscarves. One of them was reading from a sheaf of papers. The other, who despite his disguise she recognised as being the ‘middleman’ she’d met earlier, was flicking through his mobile phone. Nathalie coughed and Middleman looked up.
‘You have the camera?’
No formal niceties, thought Nathalie, recalling her last encounter and wondering where the other two men were. ‘Outside, shall I invite them in?’
The man studying the papers, put them down. She had not met him before and he appeared different to the others. Smarter clothes, expensive watch, more alert, eyes studying her through the slit in the scarf. He spoke quietly. ‘Them?’
‘Yes, the cameraman and the sound recordist.’ Nathalie looked around the hut. ‘And we’ll need to put a light up in here, but once that’s done there’ll only be the three of us.’
The man with the watch, whispered into the ear of his partner. Middleman spoke.
‘Can you not do this on your own?’
‘No,’ said Nathalie. ‘I don’t know how to use a camera, or a sound recorder come to that, but you needn’t worry, these are professional crew, used to this sort of stuff; they’ve sworn confidentiality.’
‘Mr Rolex’ as Nathalie was mentally tagging him, bent over and whispered to Middleman again.
After a moment’s consultation Middleman spoke, ‘Okay you can set up your equipment.’
Nathalie turned to the door to call in the crew but she was arrested by Middleman’s next words.
‘Before you ask them in, tell them what we do to traitors.’
Nathalie paused, nodded and walked out into the light. Of course she had told the crew about her and Lloyd’s last encounter and they had shrugged it off. But Lloyd’s absence made her wonder how anxious he was about the capability of these people. Still there was no turning back now. She asked Chris to fire up the generator and told Mike and Farai to set their gear up inside the hut. With only one lamp and a tripod it didn’t take long. Nathalie had asked the crew to keep conversation to a minimum so when they were ready Mike just nodded towards the viewfinder to get approval for the shot. Nathalie peered down the lens. The scene was spectacular. Two hooded men set against the background of a primitive dwelling, their images lit by the glow of the burning wood fire. Mike had used the embers and the one lamp that he had to dramatic effect. It couldn’t have been more atmospheric or menacing.
‘Ready to go,’ said Nathalie.
Twenty-three
‘He’s dead Geoff, you can have the footage.’ Nick Coburn’s voice was coming down the line as clear as if he was next door. But Geoff Sykes was hardly listening. He had the phone to one ear, was watching some rushes on a monitor in the corner of his office and signing some papers that Stefanie had thrust under his nose at the same time.
‘Dead? Who’s dead?’
‘Are you taking this in Sykes? Or are you being your normal “I can do everything at once” self? If you are, switch that bloody television off, if that’s the noise I can hear, and listen up. It’s getting late here and I’d like to get to bed.’
Stefanie, hearing the Scotsman’s voice coming down the phone, picked up the papers and switched off the monitor. As she left the office she turned to Geoff.
‘You’ve dragged that poor man all over the Far East, the least you can do is to listen to what he has to say.’
She closed the door quietly before her employer had time to think of some witty response. Geoff Sykes put Nick on speakerphone and leaned back into his chair.
‘Okay Coburn, I’ve had the third degree from Stefanie, I’m all ears.’
‘Right, block off your calls, clear your desk of contracts and switch off any media. Things have happened here fast and I’ve got a lot to get through. Also, half of it I can’t bloody understand. You should have left Tom here to do this stuff not me. Why is it that these scientists can’t talk in words of one syllable?’
Geoff grabbed the moleskin notebook from his desk and took the sharpened pencil from behind his ear. ‘I thought you wanted to get to bed. Stop blathering man and get on with it then. You said someone was dead.’
‘Oh yes, the guy the police arrested at the laboratory. You know the CEO of the whole shebang. He’s topped himself.’
‘What?’
‘Topped himself. At least, that’s what they’re saying. You can never tell in these places. Found in his cell hanging by his necktie. Bloody idiots. Shoelaces and neckties first thing you should take off them.’
‘When did you hear this?’
‘This afternoon. That would be probably early morning your time. Know what you’re like so didn’t ring until I had all the facts. Been most of the evening putting it all together. Like I say, would be a lot easier with Tom here. Maybe he could make more sense of this mumbo-jumbo.’
Geoff had known Nick long enough not to ask what was meant by ‘mumbo-jumbo’. ‘You said you had put it all together, why don’t you start at the beginning?’
‘Oh, right, I’ve written it down here. Wait a minute, I’ll just take a sip of this and begin.’
‘Water of course.’
‘Yeah but it’s got something in it. Right here we are. You’re up to speed with the raid so I won’t go into that. Anyway they interviewed Gita, the lab assistant, and analysed samples and documents from the laboratory to check out her story. The CEO guy was feigning outrage, saying that the lab was legit. The police asked him why he had to export such dangerous bugs if he was testing his own antibiotics. Simple he claimed, they were also synthesising microbes for selling to other pharma companies so that they could test their antibiotics. This of course will explain some of the export licences.’
‘Sounds a good story,’ said Geoff scribbling in his notebook. ‘What were these bugs anyway?’
‘Weird stuff with unpronounceable names. I’ll e-mail them to you. Apparently they’re some sort of man-made bugs, manufactured using methods that aren’t officially approved. I read one of the reports but can’t make head or tail of it. Something to do with gyroscopes I think. Anyway I’m sure Tom will decipher it for you.’
‘What did Gita say about the bugs?’
‘That’s the interesting bit. Michael slipped me the transcript of her interviews.’
‘Michael?’
‘Keep up Geoff, my local police mate, the reason why we’ve got all this stuff in the first place.’
&
nbsp; Geoff rose from his chair and walked to the window. It was nearly mid-afternoon and the streets were less crowded than usual. A lot of people on summer holiday he supposed.
‘Yeah, sorry Nick, a lot of material passing through this office since the last time we talked. Doing seven films at the moment. One minute it’s sleazy politics in Eastern Europe and the next some gang cartel in Buenos Aires. Mike, of course, the Indonesian police guy.’
‘Yeah, anyway.’ Nick’s voice was becoming sarcastic. ‘This Indonesian police guy gave me copies of the transcripts. Gita has sworn on oath that she was asked to manufacture these weird bugs with the precise ability to be easily transported and, wait a minute I’ve got it written down here, yes here it is, in-vitro I think they call it. That means outside of the human body.’
‘I know what in-vitro means Nick, but didn’t the owner say that they needed to export the stuff to other pharma companies.’
‘Yeah, that’s where his case became unravelled. First, they checked out the paperwork and the batch numbers on the invoices didn’t correspond with the actual materials that were being sent. Gita’s testimony reinforced this. She cited one particular case where the code of a nasty untested bug was interpreted as a harmless chemical with an exorbitant price. Then lo and behold none of the people at the addresses on the export forms admitted to have ordered the product.’
‘They could be lying.’
‘True, and the police are checking those out. One in particular might interest you.’
Geoff returned to his desk and pulled out the bioterrorist proposal file. He flicked open the pages. ‘Go on.’
‘It’s a name that Tom said that Nathalie would be interested in. A company called Biomedivac in Morocco.’
‘Yeah she mentioned it, what of it?’
‘Their name and address was on an export form. The order, a particularly nasty bug. The company in Morocco have denied sending it, and the signature was indecipherable, but the police have since checked out the e-mail ISP-number; it can be traced back to the personal computer of someone called Robert Barnes.’
Geoff continued flicking through the file and scanning Nathalie’s notes.
‘Interesting. What are they doing about it?’
‘Investigation ongoing, I would say, but as I said the guy at the centre of this is out of the picture. Police are saying that the evidence was getting so strong that he opted for suicide rather than spend a lifetime in jail. Problem is, they’re under pressure out here. International investigations get very expensive. The lab has been closed down and the guy running it is dead so it’s not a priority anymore.’
‘And the police laboratory raid footage?’
‘That’s the good news. No trial so not needed. Michael has handed me a copy of the media files. Under strict instructions to not use it for a couple of weeks while the dust here settles.’
‘That’s not a problem, we won’t be transmitting for a month anyway.’
‘Oh and there’s some bad news, for you anyway. I’m not allowed to transmit the files over the internet. Have to deliver it in person. Which means you’ll have to dig into your pockets for my first class airfare.’
The internal light on Geoff’s desk began to flash. Geoff put Nick on silent and pressed the intercom button. It was Stefanie informing him that his next meeting was waiting.
‘Send them up Stefanie, I’ll just get rid of Nick.’
He flicked the intercom off and the speakerphone on.
‘Hi Nick got to go. Economy class and a pint of beer when you get here. Let me know your ETA,’ said Geoff making the disconnection.
There was a gentle tap on his office door. Geoff frantically leafed through his diary to find out who he was meant to be seeing.
‘Come in,’ he shouted after a brief pause.
The door opened to reveal a slightly-built middle-aged man wearing a sports jacket. Geoff’s eyes had at last found the name scribbled under today’s time and date.
‘Please sit down, uh Mr Townes. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.’
The man walked over to the desk and shook Geoff’s hand. ‘Professor Townes actually, but you can call me James. Thanks for agreeing to see me.’
The penny was at last dropping. Professor Townes from Biomedivac. He had telephoned Stefanie to arrange a meeting to discuss Bagatelle’s Horizon project on biotechnology and pharmaceuticals. Geoff had reluctantly agreed and Stefanie had made a date in the diary. He had planned to fob the man off with a few palliative remarks about the whims of commissioning editors but, after his telephone call with Nick, he was now forming another agenda altogether.
‘No problem, this Horizon project could be very exciting and my film director Nathalie Thompson says that your company is leading-edge in this field. It’s me who should be thanking you.’
‘Well I hadn’t heard from Nathalie for a while so I started to wonder what was happening. Called the BBC in fact to find out what was going on. They said they’d had a proposal from Bagatelle but for more information I should contact you. So here I am.’
‘Quite understand. These things take time I’m afraid. We put in a proposal but then it’s all got to be budgeted. Complicated schedules, broadcast bureaucracy. Even then we don’t get the green light till the last minute, if at all. I’m afraid there’s not much more I can tell you, especially as Nathalie’s on another shoot at the moment.’
‘She did say that she’d have liked to have another visit, see what and when we could accommodate any filming and talk about some of the scientific content.’
Geoff reached out to the stainless steel filing cabinet next to his desk and pulled out a drawer.
‘She did mention it, but as I say she’s abroad at the moment. Let me just look at the file.’
The Horizon file contained only one piece of paper so Geoff grabbed another behind it to make it look thicker. He flicked over a few pages pretending to look at the schedules.
‘Ah yes, I see she’s planning to contact you as soon as she returns next week. Sorry, we should have been in touch. Also, I believe she said she would like to have another chat with one of your colleagues, what’s his name, here it is, Doctor Barnes I think.’
Geoff looked up as he said the name. There was discernible discomfort flickering across Professor Townes’ face.
‘She wants to see Rob? That might be difficult. He went to the States recently, on an independent research project. Problem is, no one’s seen him since.’
The Zimbabwean sun was dropping and the shaft of light drifting through the hole in the thatched roof was beginning to fade. The keen eyes of the two men facing Nathalie appeared sinister between the gashes of material that were wound around their heads.
‘And turnover,’ Nathalie spoke slowly and quietly. ‘I know you can’t identify yourselves but would you tell me what organisation you represent, and what it stands for.’
The wisp of smoke coiling from the fire in the centre of the room added to the ominous surroundings. The men looked at each other and then straight at Nathalie. The man with the expensive watch spoke first. His voice was measured and in an educated African accent.
‘We represent an organisation called the Western Exploitation of Africa. For years our continent has been raped and raided for its people and wealth. First slaves then natural resources, and now commercial and political corruption. This is where life began. We have a continent of beauty and the raw materials to give health and happiness to all our population.’
The man paused and then in a sudden movement pulled out an assault rifle from behind his back. Nathalie froze and Mike jumped away from his camera for a second. But the man gently placed the rifle on his lap and continued to speak in a calm level voice.
‘Violence. We didn’t want to resort to this. But it seems that we have no choice. No one listens. That’s why we want to be part of this film. The West have one last chance to listen to us. Otherwise we will unleash hell and give them a lesson they won’t forget.’
There was silence in the hut only broken by the crackle of the burning embers. Nathalie took a deep breath. She addressed the man she had labelled Middleman.
‘We’re listening now. How is Africa being exploited? Aren’t countries like China providing enormous investment?’
Middleman looked at his colleague and was given silent approval to speak.
‘Last year trade between China and Africa was worth more than two hundred billion dollars. Twenty times more than it was fifteen years ago. Many Africans are saying that China is a better friend than the West. But China’s extraction of billions of dollars’ worth of African resources which are used to make manufactured goods are then sold back to Africans at marked up prices. This results in the value of African resources going to the West and East Asia rather than Africa causing further poverty on the continent.’
Nathalie waited but no more was forthcoming so she asked another question.
‘But doesn’t the West give you aid?’
The larger man, the one Nathalie was now mentally referring to as Rolex, sat upright.
‘Aid!’ he exploded. ‘You call what they give us aid?’
Nathalie was taken aback by the change in his demeanour.
‘I thought the figure in the last twelve years came to about five hundred billion dollars,’ she challenged.
Rolex became calm once more.
‘Loaned not given,’ he said. ‘In that time nearly six hundred billion was paid back, and there were still three hundred billion owing from previous loans. Such “aid” as you call it is just another way of bleeding the continent.’
Drugs to Forget Page 22
