by R G Ainslee
"Got some good stuff for you." Sergeant King plopped a small pile of Playboy and Penthouse magazines on Barker's desk.
A casual flip through an issue of Playboy paused on the centerfold, Miss December. "Thanks, just what I need." The buxom babe was filled out in places Lisette wasn’t.
"That's all we had in the guardroom. If you get bored, you can even read 'em. You can have my latest paperback when I'm finished. It's called Arizona Ambush. Sounds like its right up your alley. Maybe you can find some inspiration reading how Mack Bolan gets outta all the fixes he gets in."
"Yeah, maybe I can kick serious butt along the way." And I knew where to start.
The sergeant leaned back through the door, checked the area, and stepped back in, closing the door behind him. "Shouldn’t be telling you this, but you're a good guy. Gregory and Reynolds are planning to go to the ambassador and demand you be placed in custody. Just wanted to give you a head's up."
"Thanks. I'm not surprised." My options were even more limited than expected. Time to act. "Think you can get me out of the embassy and back in without being noticed?"
"Sure. I'm a Marine, ain't I? What you want to do, go shack-up with one of your lady friends?"
"Sorta. Need to visit the one from the French embassy."
"That'd be pretty bold to pull right up to the embassy’s front door."
"No … want to go to her apartment this evening."
"And pick you up in the morning." He flashed a leering smile.
"No, just need less than an hour."
"Man, you're a quick worker. Is this like your bus ride with that Kara chick?"
Paused for a moment and grinned. "Yeah, something like that." If King thought my visit was a lover's rendezvous, it might give him cover in case of trouble. "How about around twenty-hundred hours?"
He glanced back at the door. "Meet me in the guard room, quarter till."
* * *
King came through. We had no problem slipping out of the embassy and he promised there would be none returning. One of his Marine buddies was on duty at the rear gate. He let me off at Amboseli House and I instructed him to return in an hour.
A thought occurred as I rang the downstairs bell to Lara's apartment. What if she's not home? Uh oh, what if she's with someone?
Lara answered over the speaker, "Yes, who is this?"
"Ross — Need to speak to you. Is it all right?"
After a few tense moments, the buzzer sounded, and I walked through the door and climbed the stairs to the third floor.
Lara met me at her apartment door. The expression on her face: not encouraging or especially inviting. "Aren't you taking a chance moving about like this?"
"Yeah, but I need your help."
We entered the apartment and she closed the door. We were alone. She eyed me warily and demanded, "What do you want?"
"Need help leaving Kenya, but first I want to speak to Lisette."
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Ross, I am sorry, I cannot help you contact Lisette."
"I need to talk to her … gotta explain … you know, all that's happened."
She spat out an emphatic, "No." Her brow wrinkled in anger. "You will not try to contact her. Not by telephone or even a letter." She gripped my arm and leaned towards me. "Do not place her in any more danger." Her unnerving look of determination grabbed my attention.
The possibility of never seeing Lisette again hit like a stab in the heart, my hopes faded into a deep dark hole of despair. "But … Lisette and I have a harmony of purpose … never felt this way before…" My babbling sounded like one of Karen's magazines. "I… I…" My voice choked. I said it for the first time. "…love her."
Her harsh grip relaxed into a gentle caress. Her words became soft and sympathetic, "And she loves you. There is always a chance." She paused and gazed into my eyes, "Next week I will go to Lamu and speak to her. I will explain everything to the doctor. Please trust me."
I wasn't convinced. "But—"
"She is resolute. Lisette left with him to protect you. Do you not comprehend? — She loves you that much."
Crushed, my head hung in despair. "None of this should have happened. She had an idyllic life in Lamu before… I'm to blame. All I've done is bringing her pain. I just want to tell her I'm sorry and ask for forgiveness."
"Do not think that way. I knew Lisette in Lamu and she did not have a life before she met you. She blamed herself for her parent's death and existed only as an empty shell. Her faith was shattered…" Lara paused. Her voice broke, "She needs you. You need her. Do not ever forget. You filled her with hope and a love that will never die. I will find a way. I promise you. I promise to Lisette." An uncharacteristic tear streamed down her cheek.
I attempted to hold back tears. I believed her. Lara renewed my hope. I had to trust her.
Lara’s demeanor changed, and she smiled. "Now tell how you expect me to help. But first, do you care for some wine?"
My dilemma explained over a glass of French Merlot as Lara listened intently, without interrupting, nodding slowly.
"You will stay with me tonight. I will find a solution tomorrow."
I must’ve looked surprised. She gave me a devilish smile.
"Yes, I would love for you to share my bed, but Lisette is my friend and I know you are so loyal. You must stay with me because it is not safe for you outside." She laughed. "Thank you for looking so disappointed."
My face blushed or was it the wine. Almost overcome by a clash of contradictory emotions, the feral man inside versus feelings for Lisette. I mustered an incoherent mumble.
"Do you have the passport for Mr. McGregor?"
I felt numb with surprise. "How did you…?"
"It is my job to know. Your adventure in Addis Ababa is no secret."
Her gaze penetrated, and a chill came over me. "Yes, but—"
"Do not ask. The passport will simplify your leaving the country. You must trust me."
A call to Barker at home — no answer. The clock showed the hour was up. "Need to go down and tell my ride I'm staying."
"First, I will see if it is safe."
"Never mind, he'll make sure the coast is clear."
Downstairs, King hadn't arrived. I walked to the corner, looked both ways, still no sign of him. Frustrated, I lingered a minute or two and returned cautiously to wait by the entranceway.
After glancing back one more time, I turned to go inside. Two men stood in front of the door. A short black man in a cheap blue suit wore sunglasses even though it was dark. A second man held a pistol with a silencer. He had a light-brown pockmarked face, a thick black mustache, and eyes with a predator's fierce gaze — a shark — the man from the train, El Jefe, the one who kidnapped Lisette.
"You come with me," growled the Cuban.
There was no way out. In a flash, I knew what I had to do. All doubts slipped away. Everything was on the line. I would live or die in the next few seconds. I might be killed but would not be stopped. No way they were going to take me, not after what they had done.
The Cuban snapped his fingers. The short man stepped forward and tried to grab my arms. I ducked, using dormant football skills to block him back into the Cuban's arm holding the pistol. A sharp pop echoed in the confined space. The man released his grasp on my right arm and fell to the sidewalk. The Cuban staggered backwards, steadied himself, and raised the weapon. I stood frozen waiting to meet my maker.
The main door opened with an audible squeal. The Cuban twisted his head. I lunged in a desperate attempt to brush the barrel aside. Another pop echoed in the entryway. A sharp sensation stung my ribcage. I continued forward and blocked the man back into Lara who was coming out the door. We all fell to the sidewalk.
The Cuban rolled to his right and separated from the pile. Now out on the sidewalk, he leapt to his feet and raised the pistol. Lara gasped. He was beyond my reach. The man backed up and motioned for us to step out of the entryway. We rose and hesitated. He waved the pistol once more and curse
d in Spanish. I edged in front of Lara and held my ground.
Without warning, Sergeant King charged in at full bore and tackled the Cuban from behind. They crashed to the concrete and rolled into a heap against the building, next to the bleeding Kenyan. The pistol clattered to the pavement within easy reach.
Without hesitation, I dived forward, snatched the weapon, and rolled away with the pistol in my left hand. I sprang to my feet and hurried back to Lara.
A second later, a sharp crack echoed off the buildings. A concrete chip struck my face. A man charged down the sidewalk, pistol in hand, and fired two more shots. One went wide, ricocheted off the pavement, but the second found its target and grazed my arm below the left shoulder.
Acting without thinking, I shifted the gun to my right hand, dropped to a kneeling position, and fired. A muffled pop emanated from the silenced Makarov. The running figure staggered, took two steps, and fell to the gutter. The thin wiry man last seen at the campground lay with a red dot on his forehead. I franticly looked up and down the street. The area was quiet, no movement.
"Are you all right?" Lara exclaimed, "You are bleeding."
King lay still on the sidewalk, Lara kneeled and shook his shoulder, he didn't answer. Blood trickled from a cut on his head. He was out cold.
The Cuban began to revive, laboring to free himself from the weight of the sergeant's body. I rushed over, called him a pendejo, and kicked him in the temple. He stopped.
Lara glared at me with an air of reproach. "We must go upstairs, someone may call the police." She pointed at King, "Who is this?"
"My driver, a Marine from the Embassy."
We reached down to pull the sergeant inside. He opened his eyes, shook his head, and brushed us away, grunting a few choice obscenities.
He noticed my arm. "You're bleeding!"
"Quick, we must go, leave the pistols. Ross, wipe your fingerprints from the weapon," she pointed at the unconscious Cuban, "and place it by his hand."
"He's the one who kidnapped Lisette, I want him."
She scanned the area with an expert’s eye. "We do not have time, the shots, the police will arrive soon."
I asked King, "Where's the car?"
"Back around the block. I drove by and noticed these guys loitering up the street and came back to check 'em out."
Sirens screamed in the distance. Lights flashed on in the building across the street. I glanced down at the Cuban and the bleeding Kenyan. The man in the gutter lay still, not moving, had to be dead. I felt no emotion, even though I had killed again. My mind was racing too fast to process all that had happened.
Lara shouted and held the door open. "Now — we must go." We topped the stairs to the sound of sirens rounding the corner.
She had just closed the apartment door when gunshots rang out, four shots from pistols, followed by typewriter-like reverberations from a sub-machine gun. Moments later a loud commotion as boots thundered down the sidewalk.
We waited anxiously in the apartment while the police conducted their business three floors below. Frenetic shouts and sirens echoed through the street as more units arrived.
I asked Lara, "How did they find me?"
"The Soviets control a well-organized network in East Africa. Do not underestimate them."
"I first suspected the hotel clerks at Moru and Tsavo Lodges worked for the Russians but found out otherwise."
"Yes, they do work for the Soviets. It is common knowledge."
"They don't work for the CI—" I stopped abruptly, but the expression on my face gave me away.
Lara flashed a smug smile, one reserved for the unknowing. "Yes, they work for the CIA, the Soviets, and anyone else who will pay them."
I finally got it. "Even you?"
The smile faded. "There must be a leak in your embassy."
"No one knew we were leaving or even coming here. We sneaked out to avoid my own people." I glanced at King. "And we weren’t followed."
King nodded and affirmed my statement, "He’s right, there’s no way."
She paused and stared at the window. "They must have my flat under surveillance. You were observed entering and recognized."
"You think, you're being watched?"
"Yes, surveillance is a routine matter. We observe them, and they watch us. Now it is more serious, they have connected you with me, an unfortunate circumstance."
"I'm sorry. Seems everything I do hurts someone. I just want to leave this country once and for all."
"What has been done cannot be undone. We will — What do you American's say? — deal with it."
I bled from a grazed rib, a cut where the bullet nicked the fleshy part of my left arm below the shoulder, and a superficial head wound from a flying concrete chip. King's scrape had stopped bleeding. Lara escaped unscathed.
Lara motioned to me. "Come to the bath. Let me clean your wounds."
Alcohol poured over my cuts hurt worse than the actual gunshots. Lara seemed to take perverse pleasure in my pain and bandaged me up like an expert. King didn't require a bandage, but he would have a bruise and might need to come up with a good explanation for his boss at the embassy.
A plain-clothes officer knocked on the door and made enquiries. Lara told him she had been reading and asked what happened.
"A shooting has taken place on the street below. Carlos the Jackal has struck. He killed two men."
"Did you capture him?"
"No, he escaped."
Lara closed the door and we came out of the bedroom. "Both of you must stay the night, it will be too risky to leave. Come to the kitchen, we need a drink."
"You think we'll be safe tonight, won't they come back?"
"No. They will not invade my house."
"They already have … the man Lisette shot."
Lara opened a drawer in the kitchen, pulled out a French MAB P-15, 9mm pistol, checked the magazine, and handed it to me. Next, she walked over to a cabinet and produced a MAT-49, 9mm sub-machine gun, which she pitched to King.
"I keep an Ithaca M37 twelve-gauge shotgun in the bedroom." She let out an exasperated sigh. "Do you think this will be sufficient?"
Sergeant King looked at her wild eyed. "Do you have a sister?"
Saturday, 25 February: Amboseli House, Nairobi
The next morning, I walked with King down to the front door. I had talked with Barker on the telephone, explained what happened and told him I needed the McGregor passport, which was in his desk.
King spoke with a sincere apologetic tone, "Hey, I'm sorry about breaking up your little love nest." He nodded towards the stairs. "That’s quite a lady."
"Right, three's a crowd. I was too wiped out anyway."
"Be back in an hour. That enough time for…" He let the question tail off and dissolve into a knowing grin.
"Yeah. Oh, and get the carry-on bag too. It's in Barker's office. Remember don't mention this to anyone. By the way, how’ll you explain that shiner?" I pointed to his eye.
He laughed. "Won’t be the first time I've returned from an all-nighter with a few cuts and bruises."
He stepped out, looked up and down the street, and disappeared around the corner. Splotches of dried blood littered the sidewalk, everything else seemed normal.
Lara left minutes later, and I decided to take a nap after a restless night on the couch. King had slept on the floor and couldn't understand why I wasn't in the bedroom. I offered no explanation.
A half hour later, the telephone rang. I let it ring three times without answering and it went silent. I answered, per Lara's instructions, when it rang again in thirty seconds.
"The passport. Delivered to me quickly?" Time is critical."
"I'll see what I can do."
"Do it now!" She hung up.
I called Barker's house, didn't want to call the embassy direct. Sarah answered and informed me he was at the office. I asked her to call him and have the document delivered to Lara Dumont ASAP. A few minutes later, she called back and said he was on his way.
>
"Ross, I am so sorry about your situation, it broke my heart when Lisette had to leave."
"Thanks for everything, you're a life saver, and I mean that literally."
"Thank you for watching out for him when you went north. You and Lisette will be in my prayers … God bless you."
After she hung up, a sense of sadness and loneliness returned. About to leave, by means unknown, reluctant to go because I would be leaving behind newfound friends and a dream I had been chasing all my adult life — someone who understood.
* * *
Just before three o'clock, the telephone rang three times. I answered thirty seconds later, on the next ring. Lara spoke, "Come to the street in five minutes, we are ready." She offered no explanation.
Bound for an unknown destination and an uncertain fate, I gathered up the carry-on bag King brought over and walked down to the entry door. I was dressed in Mr. McGregor's business suit, my bloodstained clothes left behind.
A dark blue Citroën GS sedan with tinted windows waited at the curb, motor running. I lingered for a few moments considering the possibilities. There were no other options. I began the irresolute walk of a condemned man, each step bringing me closer to an unknown fate.
The back door of the Citroën opened. Lara Dumont motioned to me. I slid in. Two men sat in the front, the driver, and another man, both walking advertisements for the French Foreign Legion.
"Aren't you afraid to be seen with me?" I asked and smiled weakly.
She peered into my eyes. "This car carries diplomatic plates, you are safe." The men paid no attention. The Citroën sped down the street and took a left to a main boulevard leading to the airport.
A frightening thought occurred. I asked, "Will Lisette be safe? Will they try to get her?"
Lara motioned her head towards the front seat. "One of my men left two days ago, for a holiday at a certain hotel in Lamu."
Lara was a professional. Lisette would be safe.
"What now? Where are we going?"
"The airport. You will travel to the Seychelles on our embassy's courier flight. There will be no formalities."
"Will someone from my embassy meet me?" I envisioned stepping out of the frying pan into the fire.
