The Gardener

by Tony Masero

  He climbs in and slams the Jeep door shut. Starts the motor. Isam backs into the passenger side.

  “Goodbye, Mr. McBraith. Thank you for all you have done to aid our cause.”

  In a cloud of dust the Jeep roars away. Accelerating into the open desert. McBraith watches them leave openmouthed. It is a joke. They will turn around and come back in a moment. A stupid prank. Some kind of rough terrorist humor. But as the vehicle diminishes in size he realizes it is no joke. He has been marooned. Left. In the middle of the Sahara with only rocks and scorpions for company.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Omaluli sits on his throne.

  Kamami Utu enters nervously. The four bodyguards slide in behind him, quietly closing the chamber doors.

  “No word has reached my ear, Kamami Utu,” declaims Omaluli. “I have heard no news of my weapons.”

  “Excellency.” Utu approaches, hands spread wide. “It is beyond comprehension. We have had no contact with our men in the UK. There has also been no response to our message sent to McBraith.”

  Omaluli shakes his head. “No contact?”

  “I cannot understand it, Excellency. They have instructions to make calls to us at given times, but we have heard nothing. It is most odd.”

  “Most odd,” Omaluli repeats. “It is most odd because your scheme has failed, Kamami Utu. They have been taken. That is obvious. And still I am weaponless. The dog McBraith has escaped with my money and my guns.”

  Utu hangs his head. He has no answer.

  “You have brought shame upon me, Chancellor. I am looking a fool to the whole of Africa. What should I do?”

  Omaluli notices with pleasure that Utu’s legs are shaking. The material of his trousers flutters at knee height.

  “You have no resolution for me, then?”

  Utu bows his head. Attempts a posture of obsequiousness. “Perhaps we can come to some arrangement with Ebu the Dictator. There is still time for negotiation.”

  “Yes.” Omaluli is thoughtful. Frowns. Cups his chin in his hand in a parody of indecision. “This I have already begun. But my meaning is not clear to you. What I meant is, what shall I do with you?”

  Utu looks up from beneath a lowered forehead. “I always serve your Excellency to the best of my powers. I stand by the side of the Bull Elephant as a willing servant. This matter is a great disappointment, I know this. I am bereft. But who would think an international arms dealer of such standing could betray the trust of a client? It is unheard of, Excellency. Please realize this was outside my control.”

  “No, no, Utu.” Omaluli wags an admonishing finger. Gold flashes in the chill light from the windows. “This is what you do. This is your task. To protect my affairs. You have failed to accomplish this.”

  Utu falls to his knees and lowers his head. “Then all I can do, Excellency, is ask for your forgiveness.”

  “True.” Omaluli smacks the arms of his throne decisively and rises. “But come, Utu. I need you now. You have stood by me for many years. Rise up, do not kneel. How can I hold this against you? Come now, you are forgiven.” He descends from the dais and takes Utu’s frail shoulders in his hands.

  “I have a plan, Utu. We shall beat this Dictator yet. You shall help me.”

  “Whatever I can do, Excellency,” Utu says, clearly relieved. His eyes light up with hope.

  Omaluli places an arm around the smaller man’s shoulders. “Come. Let us talk. There is something I must show you, but on the way, I will tell you of my plans.”

  The bodyguards open the twin doors and Utu breathes a sigh of relief as they leave the Council Chamber.

  “Adula is the key, Utu. She will be offered in marriage to Ebu’s son. There will be long negotiations. I will offer them a dowry that will be beyond belief in its riches. I want you personally to present this to Ebu. He will not refuse. He will see it as an opening to our lands. But all the time, we shall be preparing. And when the moment comes, I shall strike him down.”

  Omaluli leads the way down corridors that run below the palace. The ever-present bodyguards follow at a discrete distance. They are entering the most secret area: Omaluli’s playrooms. Here he brings his women and his cronies. There is a vast complex underground that includes a cinema, swimming pool, billiard room, bars and luxurious private bedrooms. An arsenal of weapons. Cells and torture chambers. And the sleeping cages of his menagerie of wild animals.

  “Here, look at this.” Omaluli opens a door. “My new toy,” he explains.

  Utu looks at a large bare rectangular room with a circular pit cut into the middle. The pit is some twenty meters across. The sides descend deeply, perhaps seven or eight meters. Everything is cement. The entire room a pasty gray, even the smooth sides of the pit. Omaluli presses a button and spotlights flash on over the pit.

  “Look, look.” He commands, ushering Utu forward. “Tell me what you think.”

  Utu stands on the brink and looks in. Nothing. A plain floor with a central drainage grill. There is a low recessed doorway in shadow to one side of the floor. There are stains down there on the cement. Dark stains.

  “Well, what do you think?” asks Omaluli impatiently.

  “I...I don’t know, Excellency,” Utu falters. “What is it exactly?”

  “You must obviously take a closer look, Utu.” Omaluli pushes him firmly forward with his fingertips. Utu sways on the brink. Omaluli gives one final shove, an open handed blow. Utu falls.

  Omaluli chuckles. A deep rumble that rises from deep in his stomach.

  “I have only experimented with it once, Utu. Some stupid girl who annoyed me. You are really the first person of any standing. Quite an honor, don’t you think?”

  Utu looks up. His knees are grazed and raw from the fall. The figures above are a blur against the spotlights. “Excellency, please don’t do this,” he mumbles.

  Omaluli takes a small .38 caliber revolver from his pocket. Checks the chambers. “Utu, most things, I can overlook. You know I am a generous man, but your stupid involvement with this dreaming herd boy and Adula. I find that unbelievable. What were you thinking of? You are old, Utu. I think you must be turning senile. You have obviously reached the end of you career.” He tosses the pistol down to Utu. “Here, Chancellor. There is one bullet. The choice will be yours. You may eat it or use it.”

  Omaluli looks toward one of the bodyguards and nods his head.

  The recessed door in front of Utu makes a metallic scrape as it rises.

  Utu smells them before he sees them. Hears the deep thrum of their breathing. A thick, heavy stink. They move in cautiously. Circling, tails waving. Five of them. Each one over five meters of striped menace.

  Desperately, Utu grips the revolver in both shaking hands. Waves it from one to another of the circling tigers. They hug the walls. Sniffing the air.

  “They are hungry, Utu,” calls Omaluli. “They have not eaten. It is time they were fed.”

  “For this, I lay on you a curse, Omaluli Mtubu,” Utu snarls, instantly regretting it as the tigers turn toward him, curious at the sound of his voice. He lowers the pistol. Draws himself to his feet. “I place on you, Omaluli Mtubu, a death curse. That you will be finished in pain and blood. Your body will be brought down and left as meat for dogs. Your dynasty will be wiped from the face of the earth. Women will not speak your name for fear of miscarriage. And in death, you will be cast amongst spirits of the lower order that you may die many times over. I, Kamami Utu, make this pact as a death wish.”

  Omaluli steps back from the pit, momentarily shocked by the words echoing up so strongly from the old witch doctor. He shakes his head. Scratches at his neck. It needles him. Gets under his skin, such a curse. Something in him now would undo what he has done if he could.

  There is a shot. A roar of pain. A growl.

  Cordite stink ushers up from the pit. Smoke curling white in the spotlights. Omaluli moves forward to look down again.

  Utu has fired at one of the tigers. The beast curves on itself, licking a b
loody wound in its side. Another reaches forward. Snarling. Swipes a paw at Utu and shreds his arm with its powerful claws. Material and blood fly. Utu screams in torment.

  The tigers smell his blood. One launches itself, taking Utu’s head in its mouth.

  Utu falls and the rest are upon him in a snarling scurry of flailing limbs.

  Omaluli shrugs off his earlier discomfort. He turns away, the growling and rending of flesh continuing in the background. His bodyguards are grinning.

  Watching him. Elite soldiers. Tested many times over. He must appear courageous before them.

  “Come,” he says. “Let us dine. I too am hungry.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chayne is booked.

  The list is long. Assault on two police officers. Resisting arrest. Possession of unregistered firearm. Dangerous driving. Manslaughter. He silently allows the detective to do his thing. Anything you say may be taken down etc. He doesn’t mind. He has been successful. Mission accomplished. Kept his word to Clem.

  Robert is safely tucked up in Intensive Care at the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary. Sedated. Inoculated. Tested. His wound cleaned and stitched. Clem? She will be there too. Beside the boy.

  No. He will not answer their questions. All he wants now is a shower and some sleep.

  Finally, they oblige. They even put a clean bandage on his forehead. Later, he is left to his own devices. A holding cell. Cement bunk. Thin mattress. One blanket. Cracked, white tiled walls. Only the stale smell of ancient vomit as a companion.

  Chayne props himself in the corner. Blanks his mind. Dozes. Goes into wait mode.

  Justine. Are you there? Just at the fringe of my mind. What are you saying to me, girl? You are leaving. How can you be leaving? You are mine. I’ll have you forever. There is no way I’m letting go of you. When I put that ring on your finger, I put one on mine as well. We’re tied, girl. Always.

  You have to go. I have found another now. Shit! Don’t talk stupid, woman. It’s not like that. Clem? Well, yes, Clem is nice. I like her a lot. It’s true, we made love. It was the first since you went away. Okay, okay. It mattered. But don’t feel bad, Justine. She already has a husband. You. You’ll always be with me.

  You don’t feel bad. Hey, you know, I always liked that in you. You have a bigger heart than me, Justine. I know. I know. You don’t want me to be lonely. I understand that. But you must know you are too big a part of me. I can’t give it up just like that.

  Sure. You’re gone. You’re not here physically. But as long as I keep you with me, you are here.

  “Chayne!” A latch opens. They slide a tray in. Tea. Slice of toast. Solid scrambled eggs, watery baked beans and a plastic spoon. It’s been a while since he last ate anything. He wolfs it down.

  No, lady. Don’t even think about leaving. I won’t allow it. What do you mean you’re going anyway? What have you got that’s so pressing? A better place. Bullshit. White lights, end of the tunnel and all that? No, no. Here is your place. Beside me. Forever.

  Don’t go, Justine. Please. Don’t go. No. Don’t.

  When they come to get him. The police crew is surprised. “Hard man, huh? It’s amazing, some people, you never can tell. Look at you. Whack some coppers, waste seven people. Spend one night in here and you’re already crying like a baby. Well, son. You’d better get used to it. Going to be a long time before you see daylight again.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  McBraith has crawled into the mouth of the cavern. Already he is dehydrating. Too much moisture lost moving the gold. His mouth is as dry as the dust he is sitting on.

  It is relentless outside. A boiling oven whose tendrils of heat radiate even into his shelter. It is the kind of heat McBraith had never known before. Nothing like the beaches of San Tropez or the Algarve. Hammering. Crippling. Fogging his mind and blurring his eyesight. Hurting his head.

  He is thinking of Anne at the beach. Wading in the cool sea. Long legs splashing water into the air.

  Nothing moves. No breeze stirs the baked soil. It is a wonder the rocks do not split under the assault of the sun.

  Slowly, lethargically, he goes through his pockets. Keys. Money. Pen. Wallet. Passport. Wristwatch. Condoms. He is equipped to go nowhere. Mobile phone. Thank God! This is a geo-model that operates internationally. No signal. He stumbles out into the blazing heat. Screws his eyes up to read the liquid crystal screen. There. A blip. He is getting something. Keys in Anne’s number. It is ringing.

  Answer. Come on. Dig the thing out of your damned bag and answer. Answer me. Please!

  “Hello.” Distant. Weak, but there.

  “Anne. Thank God.” He realizes he is croaking. Tries to moisten his lips but there is nothing there, just a swollen tongue. “Anne, they’ve dumped me. They’ve left me out here alone in the desert.”

  “Nice.”

  “Anne, please. I am dying here. I mean it, literally. I have no water. I can’t last much longer.”

  “Sweet of you to call, Charles. Now what was it you were saying to me on the beach? Clear my desk, I think you said. It was that, wasn’t it?”

  “Please Anne don’t play around.” Tries to swallow. It is a hard lump in his throat. Throws up a hand against the sun and staggers. Watches his own shadow. How small it is. “Anne, Anne. Help me.” Plaintive. If he had tears, he would weep.

  “What’s it worth, Charles?”

  “Anything. Anything you want.”

  “A directorship?”

  “Yes.” McBraith is sagging. His legs are beginning to fold. “I have to go, Anne. I can’t stand it anymore. I have to get into the shade.”

  “Company car, of course. And one of those dinky modern apartments alongside the river. Major amount of shares and a big, big expense account. All the trimmings, Charles.”

  “You can have anything. My fucking job too if you want it, just come and get me.”

  McBraith sways. There is a noise in his head. A keening sound. Like a high pitched whine. He is looking at grains of sand. Breathing them. God! He has fallen. The mobile is squawking at him. Looks at it. The screen has blanked out in the heat. Turned black.

  “McBraith? McBraith? Are you there? It’s Caine. Stay calm. We’re coming to get you.”

  “Yes,” he manages. “Come. Get me.”

  “Listen. Get out of the sun. Cool off. Transmit in fifteen minutes. We’ll need directions. Okay?”

  “’Kay.”

  Caine sounds different now. As McBraith drags himself into the shade, he wonders at it vaguely. He sounds more, what is the word? Efficient. That’s it. Check the time. Need fifteen minutes. Did he say fifteen or fifty? Can’t remember. Just wait a moment. Catch my breath.

  Feels better. Coming around a bit. Fifteen minutes. That was it.

  McBraith fashions a headscarf out of his jacket. Searches for his sunglasses. Finds where he dropped them. Checks the mobile. Yes. The screen is back now. Battery level? Good. Three quarters full.

  Outside again. Dials. “Hello.” Sound of a motor racing. Stronger signal. They are nearer. “McBraith, can you hear me?” It’s Caine. Voice urgent. Very clear. No sign of a lisp.

  “Yes. Yes. I can hear you.”

  “Okay. Tell me. Where is your shadow lying? Where in relation to your body?”

  “I’m facing the sun. It’s...It’s off to my left now.” McBraith feels his mind clearing. Optimism. He is in with a chance.

  “Right. We’ll reverse that and keep ours on the same alignment. Describe your surroundings. Any landmarks?”

  “Yes. A semicircular outcrop of stones. They’re the only ones on the horizon.”

  “How long was the trip out. Any idea?”

  “Must have been about three hours. Give or take.”

  “Good. Good. Now switch off. Save your battery. We’ll call you back in another fifteen minutes. Check the signal strength. Make sure we’re still with you.”

  The sun is going down like a dying ember by the time they find him. Headlights blazing into the clearing.
Bumping. Jerking. The Mercedes swinging in a dusty semicircle and drawing to a standstill.

  McBraith watches them through a haze. Vague shapes looming towards where he lays. And then water. Warm, but oh so good. Splashing on his face.

  Down his chin. Somebody is saying something. He hears it through a fog.

  “Steady there fella. Slowly, slowly. Not too much right away. Steady and slow. That’s the ticket.”

  “That you, Caine?”

  “It’s me, all right.”

  “Thank you. Thank you for coming.”

  “All part of the service.”

  It takes another half an hour before McBraith feels able to stand. He feels like he is functioning again at last. The others watch him as he rises. Hands pressing back against the still warm rock face. Hassan is beside him. Ready to catch him if he falls.

  “Who are you, Caine?” McBraith whispers huskily. “You did all of that too well. Almost like you’ve done it before.”

  “Let’s just say my job is to keep an eye on you. Sort of guardian angel, as it were. But we need some information now. Little tit for tat. Okay? Where are those containers headed?”

  So that was it. Whatever agency Caine was working for, they had needed to keep him alive to pinpoint the location of the stolen cargo. That explained Caine’s immediate response. Well, McBraith had a payoff for them all. East and west.

  “Anne,” he turns to her. She has said nothing to him since they arrived. “Anne, I’m sorry.” Waves a vague hand. “About the things I said at the beach. Lot of stress. Please understand.”

  She is watching him with arms folded. Hugging herself as if she were cold. Her face is lost in shadow. Shakes her head.

  “Please,” he says. “Will you get my briefcase from the car?”

  Turns without a word. Gets the case from the back seat. McBraith fumbles with the catch. Snaps it open.

  “Before those containers were sealed, I made sure of a little insurance for myself,” he explains. He takes out a hand held device similar to a TV control stick. Connects it to a small flat box with a spring cable. Switches on. Keys in a pass code with his thumb. Raises the machine high and presses a red button. “There. They’re activated.” He turns to Caine. “Each container has a tracking module amongst the cargo. It’s a two-part satnav module. A straight radio signal and a laser. If everything is still inside the containers, the radio will mark its position. If they’ve unloaded them, the laser will give a clear position.”