‘Ja. It’s a little to the north there; on the other side of these diggings.’
‘Are the concrete caps still visible?’
‘Ja. Do you want to see them?’ From the tone of his question it was clear that Piet did not understand why anybody would want to see a slab of concrete.
‘Yes, of course. That is why we are here.’
I thought we were there to trade some yellowcake for a shit load of money, but I was obviously mistaken. We bumped and shook over the rough terrain, around the diggings to the site of the old mine. I saw why Piet hadn’t thought to take us there. There were still signs of the buildings that once stood there: cracked concrete slabs overgrown with vegetation, rusted metal debris, broken down walls. Trees were growing from some of the cracked slabs breaking them apart a millimetre at a time.
One slab in particular looked sturdier than the rest, untouched by the ravages of more than forty years.
‘Is that it?’ asked the doctor. There was a dangerous excitement in his eyes. It confirmed my suspicion that the good doctor was probably more than a little deranged.
‘Ja. I think that is the original mine shaft.’
‘You think? Are you not sure?’
‘No, it is the shaft. I’m sure. It’s where the original shaft was.’ I believed him.
Doctor Awan leapt from the Land Rover with an agility I didn’t realise he possessed and trotted over to the slab of concrete. It was about three metres by three, quite rough, but solid: very solid.
I had no idea how they had capped the mine or how deep it had been. I imagined them pouring truckload after truckload of concrete down the shaft until it was completely full, sealed forever. They really didn’t want any more uranium to come out of that mine.
Doctor Awan had pulled out a camera and was moving around the slab, taking photographs of it from different angles. I’d never imagined that someone could get quite as excited by a concrete slab. He really was quite barmy.
We all sat and watched as he returned to the Land Rover and stowed the camera in his briefcase. Then he extracted what looked like a measuring device. When he turned it on I recognised immediately what it was. The crackling clicks of the Geiger counter were unmistakeable. It alarmed me a little that it was already going at quite a pace.
The doctor peered at the display on the instrument. His eyes widened. ‘Goodness me.’
That got our attention.
‘What?’ I asked.
‘Well, it seems that the readings here are quite high.’
‘High? How high?’
‘Oh nothing to worry about. I was just not expecting quite so much.’
I suddenly felt warm inside, as if I was in a microwave and cooking slowly from the inside out. My hands moved protectively towards my groin, my fingers forming a barrier to prevent the electrons slamming through my balls knocking little bits off as they passed through.
Even Piet looked concerned. ‘Is it dangerous?’
‘No. Not really.’
Not really! Oh that was comforting. Not.
‘What do you mean by not really?’
‘Well, near a normal open cast mine like this, one would measure an absorption of about ten millisieverts per year. Here the level of radiation is more than twice that.’
I looked at Piet and jerked my head in the direction of the compound. He understood that I wanted the hell out of there as quickly as possible. I could already feel my balls getting hotter.
The doctor caught the signal and laughed. ‘Do not worry. You will need more than one-thousand millisieverts right now to have any ill effects and the level here is a very small fraction of that.’
‘What sort of effects?’
‘Reduced white cell count, nausea, burning of the skin.’
I couldn’t help it, I started to scratch. Then I realised that my balls were exposed again so I covered them, ignored the itch.
‘It was only the people like the ones who were at Chernobyl who received doses like that. It is not possible to get sick from the level of radiation here.’
I knew that I was being stupid, but I really wanted to get out of there. Rather face Mossad, the CIA, KGB, the Mafia all ganged up together against me than the prospect of some invisible threat slowly eating away at me.
Thankfully Doctor Awan had also had enough. He clambered back into the Land Rover and we set off back to the compound.
Only when we were safely back through the gates did I relaxed a little. I also realised that the CIA had not returned, the strength of our convoy must have had the desired effect. I wondered what they were going to do. We would be leaving soon and there were limited opportunities for them to make a snatch before then.
Lunch was waiting for us at the boma. I was starved, and so was everybody else. We scoffed the food without saying a word. Afterwards Jahangir disappeared with Vladimir. I waited around for him to finish. I wanted my cut.
Chapter 50
Jahangir emerged from his meeting after a couple of hours.
‘Everything okay?’ I asked.
‘Everything is satisfactory.’ he replied. ‘When would you like the amount you requested?’
‘Have you got it with you?’ I was surprised that it could be as easy as that.
‘Of course.’
‘Now is good.’
He went to his room and returned with a small Delsey. It was heavy - he wasn’t carrying it, but pulling it on its wheels.
‘This is yours.’ he said. ‘But I do not understand why you want it in cash. Was the money transfer not good?’
‘No, it went through no problem. It’s just that big amounts attract a lot of attention.’
‘And you think a suitcase full of money will not?’
He had me there. I’d been watching too many movies where a million dollars fit into a small briefcase. ‘That’s all money?’ I asked.
‘Yes. One million dollars; what you asked for.’
I lifted the case. It was bloody heavy!
‘How will you get that home?’
Put a condom on my head and call me a plonker. I hadn’t thought of that. How was I going to get back to Prague with a suitcase filled with a million dollars? South Africa was out of the question. Pavel Kalik was probably wanted for the brutal murder of Boris the Russian. And there weren’t exactly a lot of flights out of Lubumbashi to anywhere else. The only one I knew of that went anywhere that might have flight to Europe was Kinshasa. Arriving in Kinshasa with a suitcase full of money would be like going to Darfur with a suitcase full of baked beans. You and your suitcase were not going to be together for long.
‘I don’t suppose I could get a ride with you?’
‘To Natanz?’
‘You’re not stopping?’ Kinshasa suddenly seemed like an option.
‘It is possible Doctor Awan will want to get off in Dubai. I will talk to him.’
‘Dubai will be great, thanks. You can drop me there. I’ll make my own way from there.’ With a million dollars I shouldn’t have trouble chartering a business jet to take me to Prague. As far as I knew the Arabs weren’t too fussy about taking cash.
I dragged the suitcase back to Piet’s house. He was deep in conversation with Caprice when I walked in. She didn’t look happy. I think they were finalising the divorce. Piet looked at the suitcase with raised eyebrows but didn’t ask. Good man.
I went to my room to give them some privacy. I lay down on the bed and was about to fall asleep when Piet knocked on the door and opened it. ‘Do you want to see your stuff being loaded?’
‘Sure.’ I followed him outside.
We walked across to the refinery where there three big Mercedes trucks parked. A number of sweating men, wearing only camouflage pants and combat boots, were manhandling drums and loading them onto the trucks.
‘Your men?’ I asked Piet.
‘Ja. They don’t get much real exercise here. They wanted to do it.’
They had made a ramp from two sturdy planks at the rear of the first truc
k and were rolling the drums up that onto the load beds.
‘How much are they loading?’
‘The Ilyushin takes fifty tons at a time, and the trucks can take twenty-five each.’
‘Why three trucks then?’
‘The roads between here and Lubumbashi are so bad that if we load them to the maximum the trucks will break. They’d never get there.’
The men finished loading the first truck, manoeuvred the second into position, began loading.
‘When are they going?’
‘Now. As soon as they’re loaded.’
‘They’re going to drive thought the night?’
‘Ja, sure. I’m sending two of the Land Rovers with them to make sure they get there safely.
I did a quick calculation and realised that it was going to take thirty truckloads and ten Ilyushin flights to deliver the whole consignment.
‘When do we leave?’
‘First light.’ Piet replied. ‘As soon as the Russians can see the runway, they’ll fly all of you to Lubumbashi. The Ilyushin should be loaded by the time you get there. You’ll leave for Khartoum straight away.
‘Khartoum?’
‘Ja. Jahangir told me they have friends there, and the fuel’s cheap. It’s just a refuelling stop. They’re going to drop Doctor Awan, you and your suitcase in Dubai and then continue to Iran with the stuff.’
Piet had always made it his business to know exactly what was going on. It was my deal – if you exclude the CIA – and he knew more than me.
I slapped him on the back. ‘You doing alright out of all of this?’
‘Ja. Don’t worry about me. The boss is making it worth my while.’
‘Good. I’m going to miss you.’
He looked at me with those eyes. ‘Don’t start that or I’m going to cry.’
Chapter 51
When Reveille burst from my phone early the following morning, I dragged my arse from the bed to the shower, revived myself with a blast of cold water. I dressed, policed my room, threw everything into my bag, went through to the kitchen to get something to eat.
Piet was already there. A Moka Express gurgled gently on the stove, filling the room with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Piet looked like he needed some. His eyes were tracked with red.
He took two mugs from the cupboard, filled them with the hot dark coffee and passed me one. We sat opposite each other at the kitchen table.
‘How’s Caprice?’ I asked.
Piet compressed his lips, said nothing. He shook his head. ‘It’s over. She’s going home; back to Italy.’
‘I’m sorry.’
His hand flipped up. Moments later she walked into the room. I stood; the kitchen chair scraped across the floor setting my teeth jangling.
‘Hello Noah,’ she said, looked at Piet. But he didn’t look at her, stared at his coffee. She sat down, put a hand on his. I took my coffee and went outside, left them alone together for the last time.
It was still night, the horizon untouched by the approaching sun. No moon either. The sky was filled with stars as only an African sky can be. Without light pollution, the Milky Way, normally pale and insubstantial, shone; a giant ring of stars around the earth. I felt giddy.
I tossed the last dregs of the coffee out and returned to collect my bags. Piet and Caprice were still in the kitchen. They were holding each other as if they could never let go. A heavy blanket of sadness covered me. I felt so sorry for them, two kindred souls that could not be together. It made me think of Martina. My Martina. I really missed her, needed her.
By the time I had brushed my teeth, collected the Louis Vuitton and the million dollars, they had gone outside. Caprice was surrounded by a journey of heavy looking suitcases. She had her chin up daring anyone to ask where she was going, or if she was coming back. No one did.
We collected the others from the guesthouse. Jahangir was his normal cheerful self (not) but Doctor Awan didn’t look well at all. His eyes were bloodshot with dark crescents of baggy flesh hanging from them. I helped him with his suitcases (well, I loaded them while he watched) and was surprised to find that one was really light: empty. I remembered that it was the one that had clinked and realised that it had probably been full of Johnny Walker, the reason for his wretched state.
Our convoy took us to the airport where the little Antonov was waiting. I looked carefully at the crew, examined their eyes for tracks, for signs of a hangover. They seemed fine; I relaxed a little.
I climbed aboard the airplane expecting Piet to board behind me, but he just stood there. He wasn’t coming with us. I disembarked and went to him.
‘I can’t do the goodbye thing,’ he said.
‘Don’t be like that Piet. I’ll be back, I promise.’ Of course I knew what he meant, but he looked so damn sad I had to take his mind off her somehow.
He played along. ‘Make sure you doEngelsman.’ He took my hand in his, put an arm around my shoulder. I hugged him back. We let go and I turned to board the airplane. I was surprised to see tears brimming in his eyes. Then the doors were closed, the engines started and we taxied to the runway. Piet cut a lonely figure as he stood there and watched us go.
The sun wasn’t up yet and although it was light enough to see the vehicles, I struggled to see Piet as we accelerated for take-off. I thought I saw him wave. I waved back, then we were airborne, turning out for Lubumbashi.
Caprice sat alone in the front row seemingly lost in thought. She didn’t look around once during the flight, although I willed her to.
The big Ilyushin was waiting when we landed in Lubumbashi, standing in the middle of the main apron, covers off, ready to go. We parked next to it. The governor was there too, also waiting, looking after his investment.
I helped Caprice unload her bags and organised a couple of the baggage handlers to carry them to the terminal. They offered to carry mine too. I declined.
‘Where are you going?’ I asked her.
‘Back to Italy.’ Her reply was flat, unemotional.
‘Have you got family there?’
‘Yes. But we do not talk. I have an apartment in Milan.’
I felt desperately sorry for her, this woman driven by her libido, an addict like any other. I put my arms around her and she crumbled into me, sobbed on my shoulder. I was in a bit of a tricky situation. I really wanted to comfort her, make sure she got safely on to her flight, help her on her way. But while she was crying on my shoulder I was keeping a beady eye on my suitcase. I knew that it could disappear in an instant, vanish as if it never was.
The suitcase won. I said goodbye to Caprice there on the apron and watched her walk alone to the terminal building. Then I dragged the Delsey across to the Ilyushin, hauled it on board, stowed it among the drums of yellowcake that filled the interior of the huge aircraft.
The drums were lying on their sides, three abreast, along the length of the aircraft. The crew were tying them down, using thick red straps hooked to cleats on the aircraft floor to ratchet them securely. Doctor Awan was at the front, fussing over his cargo like a hen with its eggs. He was issuing instructions in rapid Urdu, which only he could understand, flailing his arms about like a conductor. The crew ignored him completely.
Jahangir stood in the doorway, looking out nervously. It was obvious that he wanted to get going. The sooner we were airborne, out of the Congo, the safer we would be. If the Americans wanted to shoot their last bolt, that would be the time. I didn’t see how they could do it though. Lubumbashi wasn’t a major airport, but it would not be an easy place to stage a kidnapping. There were soldiers and Republican Guards all over the place: all armed. They weren’t a match for professional troops, but they wouldn’t hesitate to shoot indiscriminately while beating a retreat. If that happened the outcome would be a lottery.
I didn’t believe for a moment that the Americans would try anything there, but I couldn’t help feeling uneasy. It wasn’t like them to just give up like that. They must have something planned; but what?
/> One of the crew waved me away from the rear cargo doors and then flicked a switch. A motor whined and the big clamshell doors began closing.
It was quite dark inside when the doors finally banged shut. Two yellow shafts of light cut across the interior from portholes near the front. They shone on the figures of Doctor Awan and Jahangir who had both laid out their prayer carpets in front of them and were standing next to each other, eyes closed, hands by their sides, facing Mecca.
For a few minutes the cavernous interior was a mosque; behind Doctor Awan and Jahangir the lines of yellowcake drums were the other worshippers, backs arched towards the ceiling, foreheads kissing the ground, facing the Kabbah.
The Russian crew watched in silence until the prayers were completed, then they went to sit down. One donned a headset, spoke into it. Almost immediately an engine began to wind up. There was a small explosive thump as fuel and spark met. It roared to life. The second started soon after, then the third and the fourth.
It was noisy inside. I was near the rear cargo door and there were no spare chairs. The fact that I would be rattling around in the back didn’t seem to bother the crew, so I rooted about for some way of making myself comfortable. I found some blankets that were normally used for packing and was collecting them when the airplane lurched forward. We were on our way.
Chapter 52
I made a nest at the rear of the aeroplane with my blankets and fell asleep almost immediately, only woke again when the wheels bumped onto the Khartoum tarmac. I shed the blankets and clambered over the drums to get to the exit. Searing heat rushed in the open door. I clambered down the ladder onto the apron and blinked into the glare.
It must have been fifty degrees out there. I hadn’t felt heat like that since leaving Djibouti. It was like I was being slowly cooked. Suddenly the radiation didn’t seem so bad. I turned to climb back into the plane and bumped into Jahangir and the doctor who were coming down the ladder.
Jahangir didn’t seem to notice the heat, but sweat was already welling from Doctor Awan’s porcine features. He pulled a large white handkerchief from his pocket and began to mop his face.
Elements of Risk: A Noah Stark Thriller Page 24
