Whistleblower

by Terry Morgan

CHAPTER 15

  The speed with which Mitchell drove his empty truck back to the barbed wire encircled compound of Mambola Transport broke his previous record by almost five minutes. He skidded to a halt in a cloud of red dust outside Mr Suleiman's concrete block office, leapt from his truck and ran inside. Mr Suleiman was sitting on a large, wooden crate, speaking into a mobile phone.

  "Mr Suleiman, Mr Suleiman. Big problem. Mr Moses is very cross. I ran away in case he slapped me or ......."

  "Shhh. I am having important negotiations. You must wait."

  Mitchell waited, fidgeting, first on one leg, then the other. He went to the window and glanced into the yard to check if Mr Moses might have followed him. Mr Moses had once told him that if anyone ever crossed him then they could expect serious consequences and then, as if to re-enforce his determination, Mr Moses had pulled out a long and very sharp looking knife from the drawer in his desk and pointed it at Mitchell's nose.

  "Sorry for the interruption, Mr Taylor," Mr Suleiman continued calmly, "It was one of my drivers. OK, so that's fifty boxes every day for one week starting on Monday from Cobra Printers to go to Awoko newspaper. That is very good, Mr Taylor. No problem. My driver Mr Mitchell will be responsible. He has just returned from his last delivery and I will make sure he obeys all the instructions. Yes. Thank you Mr Taylor. Good bye......What is it Mitchell?"

  "Big problem, Mr Suleiman. Mr Moses is very cross. I ran away in case he took out his big........." Mitchell was still out of breath.

  "His big what, Mitchell?"

  "His big knife, Mr Suleiman."

  "Ha, ha! No problem. I told you already, Mr Moses is always cross. He is a crook, a swindler, a skimmer. Mr Taylor who I have just spoke to is the opposite. He is an honest, hard working family man with six children and his old mother. Don't worry. As long as you do your job it's OK. Moses won't hurt you."

  "No, no, Mr Suleiman. There is a problem. All his boxes had newspaper inside. I saw with my own eyes."

  "Ha, ha. No problem. It was packaging paper, plastic foam, polystyrene, don't worry."

  "No, no, Not packing paper. Nothing to pack. Nothing inside except paper. Nothing. That is why they were lighter than the first two hundred boxes."

  "What are you saying? What first two hundred boxes?"

  "There was a big mistake, Mr Suleiman. Tamba the forklift driver was drunk from last night and got slapped by Granville. But before he got slapped he made a mistake and gave me the wrong two hundred boxes. So, I unloaded the wrong ones and loaded the right ones. Then I took the right ones to Mr Moses. But I think they were the wrong ones. Then Mr Moses checked inside and it wasn't what it said on the paper - it was paper."

  "What sort of paper?"

  "Newspaper. Italian newspapers. But no water purifiers."

  "So there is a problem."

  "Yes, that's what I'm telling you, Mr Suleiman. And Mr Moses thinks it is me."

  "Ha ha! No, no, no. It cannot be. I will phone the airport. It Is that bloody man Granville."

  "Or the bloody man Tamba. But it wasn't me, Mr Suleiman."

  "OK, no problem. I will sort it. Here is your next job. Thirty six crates of chickens. Collect from William's chicken farm and take to Sani Abacha Street."

  "Sani Abacha Street, Mr Suleiman? Again?"