I lit a cigarette and went to sit beside him. We spoke for a good hour in hushed tones. I told him how sorry I was for his loss and how sorry I was that there had been nothing I could have done to prevent it. I told him it had come as a surprise and a shock to me as well. I explained that for me the whole thing had gone wrong from the moment he had walked into the beach bar at the Paje Village Hotel. I made no apologies for doing my job as instructed by his father and explained that I thought he had been incredibly naive to think that he could get away with what he had been doing with Angelique. Richard was no fool and he acknowledged that he had been wrong and that they both had been foolish to even contemplate an affair. He told me it had been building up over a long time and such was the nature of love. He told me that the two of them were planning to elope. They had planned to run away together and leave both of their lives behind them. To disappear. It came as no surprise to me. In an effort to get him off the subject for a while I asked him how the operation had worked.
He opened up completely and explained that shipments of loaded surfboards would travel from Zanzibar to the main factory in Dar Es Salaam. They were then combined with regular boards, containerised and shipped out from there. He told me he had been running the imports for three years without a hitch. He explained that once the shipment had arrived in the UK, he would remove the loaded boards and dismantle them at a lock-up he had rented in north London. It was an elaborate and highly secret, one-man operation. And it had been extremely profitable. I had to agree that it was a brilliant scheme. He told me that Carlos had been shipping cocaine all over the world in that manner for over ten years and that through an elaborate system of forged documents of origin and bribery at the port of Dar Es Salaam, it had proved to be an almost fool-proof system. On more than one occasion as we spoke, he broke down and sobbed. I consoled him with the very fact that he was alive and stressed the importance of him following the instructions I had given him. I told him that somehow I would try to ensure he and his family were safe where they were. In my mind, I had absolutely no idea how I was going to achieve this but it helped to calm him down and take his mind off what had happened. I knew full well that if Carlos wanted someone dead he could make it happen anywhere in the world. I had no doubt that his reach would easily extend to England, but at that time I had only one priority. My priority was to keep Richard safe and get him back to England in one piece. My mind was overloaded and exhausted and I could think no further than that. At the end of our conversation I told him words to that effect, and I left him to grieve on his own.
As I went back to my seat, Hassan broke his silence. “Deep channel coming up in ten minutes, Mr Jason. See the water is different ahead.” I looked ahead, and sure enough the surface of the water appeared a little rougher.
“Richard,” I said, “if you don't want to see this, I advise that you look away now.” He did so immediately and I set to work. Using the knife and the nylon rope from my bag, I began tying the heavy coralline rocks to the body of Tintin. I attached one to his neck, three to his torso, and one to his knees. It was a difficult and time-consuming job. Once I had finished I stood up and looked at my handiwork. I was pleased. There was no way that any of the rocks would come undone anytime soon and I felt sure that the sharks and the various sea creatures would ensure that no part of the cruel man would ever see the light of day again. With Richard still staring out to sea to the right, I motioned for Hassan to help me throw the body overboard. We wrestled with the awkward load for a good minute until finally the body lay lengthways on the thick wooden side of the dhow. The weight of it combined with rocks made the boat sit slightly skew in the water.
I checked my bindings one more time, and then with an unceremonious shove, Tintin disappeared into Davey Jones’ locker for eternity.
I sat down feeling satisfied that with each passing minute I was getting nearer and nearer to my goal of getting Richard safely back to England. The next two hours were spent in silence. My entire body was screaming for sleep, but it was impossible. On more than one occasion I found my head dropping, only to snap up suddenly with the realisation of the enormity of what had happened that night. As the sun rose behind us and we drew closer to the mainland, the cool, peaceful tranquillity of the journey was replaced by the rising temperature, and the knowledge that soon we would be in a highly populated area and we would be an object of interest. I stripped off my torn and bloodied clothes and bathed using sea water. Once I was dry, I dressed in clean clothes and attempted to make myself look as normal as I possibly could. I told Richard and Hassan to do the same. Up ahead the huge bustling city of Dar Es Salaam was coming to life and I could see various fishing boats making their way out for the day. There was full mobile signal, so I asked Hassan to call his brother on the island to make sure the car was collected as early as possible. I asked him where we would be mooring the boat, and if there was any chance of the sight of two white men disembarking causing a stir. He replied that he would find a quiet spot in his usual harbour and that he would have a taxi waiting for us when we arrived. He explained that if anyone asked any questions he would say that we had had a problem with the sails and that we had been stuck at sea all night. He explained that it was a busy place and that everyone there would be too busy getting on with their own business to worry about us arriving. The sun rose as we approached and I heard the sounds of the city. Trucks engaging gears, vehicles hooting, and the shouts of sailors and commuters as they began their day. Hassan got up and dropped the big triangular sail. He bundled it carefully and locked it away in a large wooden box in the centre of the boat. He started the diesel engine and we began making our way around a long curving concrete pier and into the harbour. Even at that early hour, the sun was fierce and I could tell it was going to be a scorcher of a day.
“I call the taxi now, Mr Jason,” said Hassan as he dialled.
“Thank you Hassan.” The port was extremely busy with dhows and fishing vessels of all shapes and sizes coming and going. The sailors shouted greetings to each other and teased the women on the shore who were busy carrying the night’s catch up to the fish market. Hassan navigated the boat skilfully to a mooring on the right hand side near the outskirts of the port. A group of six young children clamoured down towards the boat and shouted to Hassan for a chance to tie the ropes.
He spoke back to them in Swahili, and proceeded to toss out three thick lengths of hessian mooring ropes. Richard sat watching with his prescription sunglasses on. His face was pale and drawn. We sat for a few minutes as Hassan performed his various chores, until he stood and faced me.
“We can go now, Mr Jason.”
“Right,” I said, “let's do that.” We all picked up our bags and climbed off the boat onto the smooth boulders on the side. From there, it was a steep climb up a broken concrete staircase to the top and the main pedestrian area. The place was alive with activity and heavily littered. Already the flies had arrived with the smell of the fish market ahead, and I had to constantly swat them from my face. I leant over to have a word in Hassan’s ear. “We need to get out of here as soon as possible Hassan.”
“No problem Mr Jason, follow me.” I made Richard walk in front of me and we made our way through the crowds and past the fish market. Young snotty-nosed kids dressed in filthy rags ran along side us as we walked. They shouted excitedly in Swahili, but no one really took any notice of us. The fish auctions had begun and everyone there was far too busy shouting their bids and trying their best to get a bargain. Eventually we passed the chaotic market and emerged onto what looked like a main road. From what I could see we were in an industrial area. There were factories and refrigerated trucks everywhere that were busy reversing and loading with fish. They hooted at each other constantly in the confusion. By then my eyes were stinging with fatigue and my limbs felt like lead. We carried on walking until I noticed a taxi waiting under a tree. “Our cab,” said Hassan pointing at the car.
“Good, let’s go,” I said. The young driver was o
bviously waiting for us. He wore fake Ray-Bans and was leaning on the side of his car drinking a can of Coca Cola. He nodded at us, and greeted Hassan in Swahili before opening the boot so we could dump our bags. We all bundled into the car with Hassan taking the front passenger seat. Instantly I was annoyed. There was loud rap music coming from the sound system and the interior smelled of pungent body odour. The driver said something inaudible to Hassan who then turned to face me.
“The driver, he wants to know where we are going Mr Jason!” He shouted over the music. I leant forward and raised my right hand in a stop sign.
“Just tell him to turn this fucking music off please Hassan,” Words were exchanged and the driver complied immediately.
“Right,” I said, “we need to get to a bank. An international bank. I imagine there will be plenty in the centre of town so let’s start there.” Again, words were exchanged. The driver started the engine and we were off. I looked at my watch. It was 7.30 in the morning. “What time do the banks open, Hassan?” I asked.
“8 o’clock, Mr Jason. We have arrived in good time.” Satisfied, I sat back in my seat and looked at the scene around me. The traffic was heavy and chaotic with most of the drivers happy to hoot at each other constantly. Hoards of pedestrians crowded the pavements and there were men grappling with overloaded push carts everywhere. The interior of the car was uncomfortably hot. That combined with the crowds started to make me feel slightly paranoid. I felt exposed and that eyes were watching us. I told myself it was just the exhaustion, and tried to put it out of my mind. Eventually we left the heavy industrial area and joined a highway that obviously led to the city centre. Unfortunately for us, we were in the middle of the rush hour and again it was a case of stop, start, stop, start. It was 8.20 by the time we left the highway and entered the city centre. Grand old colonial buildings lined the busy streets and colourful billboards stood at the edge of the tree-lined pavements. Richard sat to my right in silence. His face was shiny with sweat and was still as pale as it had been when we arrived. He looked like he was in a bad way. I started noticing the obvious signs of the various financial institutions on either side of the road. I turned to Richard. “We need to draw a lot of cash, Richard, and quickly. Can you see anywhere we can go?”
He spoke for the first time in ages. His voice sounded weak and shaky. “Um, Barclays,” he said pointing ahead, “there’s a Barclays over there.”
“Tell the driver to stop at the Barclays Bank please, Hassan,” I said. The driver was told where to go and we pulled into a side street to park. “Right,” I said, “let’s go. Hassan are you coming?”
“I will wait here with the bags, Mr Jason,” he replied. I agreed and Richard and myself got out and started walking down the street towards the entrance of the bank. “I Want you to draw $20 000, Richard,” I said, “I'll return anything I don't use but I am not going to be short.” He nodded solemnly in agreement. We walked through a large glass revolving door and stepped into the spacious, air conditioned banking hall. Pleasant music was being piped through hidden speakers and the customers formed orderly queues within blue rope boundaries. We walked to the enquiries desk where we asked to see a personal banker. The lady at the desk looked at the wound on my head and the scratches on my arms with a worried look on her face.
She picked up a telephone and spoke to someone on the other side in hushed tones. Again, I started to feel paranoid and exposed. I looked around the room for cameras, as we waited for her to finish. Eventually she hung up and directed us down a wide corridor to a booth on the left. We were greeted by a smart young man who spoke perfect English and invited us to sit down at his desk. There was a fair amount of red tape, a few forms to fill in, a phone call or two plus a hefty bank charge, but an hour later I emerged with two bundles of $10 000 each in my pocket. When we got back to the waiting cab, I told Richard to take the front seat and Hassan to get in the back with me. When everyone was in and the doors were closed, I turned to face Hassan. “Thank you my friend,” I said quietly as I shook his hand, “you have no idea how much I owe you, this is nothing.” I removed one of the bundles of crisp $100 notes and handed it to him, keeping it low so no-one could see. His wise old face broke into a toothless smile as he took the money and tucked it into the front of his dirty trousers. “Thank you Mr Jason” he said, “I have never had a taxi fare like you and I hope not to have one again.”
“We will leave you here then?” I asked.
“Hakuna matata, Mr Jason. I wish you and your friend good luck.” I smiled at him as he got out of the car. He walked down the street and never once looked back. I got out of the car and moved to the front seat telling Richard to move to the back. He did so and sat in silence. “We need to go to a travel agent please driver,” I said, “take us to the best one you know where all of the tourists go, ok?”
“No problem, sir,” the man replied in a fake American accent. We drove down the busy streets of the central business district of Dar Es Salaam until we reached an area of tree lined avenues. Five minutes later, we arrived at a walled three storey colonial building with a large sign outside that read Orbit Travel.
A security guard opened a boom and we drove into a shaded car port and parked. “Let’s go Richard,” I said. On the way to the door I motioned to the security guard to keep an eye on the cab and the driver. He understood immediately and saluted as we walked through the door and into the offices. “I'll do the talking ok?” I said to Richard as we were ushered to a desk and asked to sit down. The lady behind the desk was fat and bubbly. She greeted us with a huge smile and asked how she could help us.
“My friend here needs to get to London as soon as possible,” I said. “Any flights you have, first class, economy class, any airline is ok, as long as it’s the soonest flight you can do please.”
“Ok, no problem,” she said with a musical voice, as she turned to her computer. “Let me see what I can do for you.” I drummed my fingers anxiously on my knee as I waited. All I wanted was to see Richard get on a plane out of there. A minute later she turned and spoke. “I can get you on Kenya Airways to Nairobi at 1pm today, connecting to London Heathrow leaving at 10pm this evening. Will that be alright gentlemen?” I glanced at my watch, there was plenty of time.
“Excellent, thank you very much. Please go ahead.” It was a huge relief to know that finally the end was sight and I would have a chance to sleep. The air conditioning in the office was making my bloodshot eyes sting and itch and I felt like I was ready to drop. Five minutes later, the formalities were done and the tickets issued. We made our way out of the office and into the baking heat of the day. “The airport please,” I said to the driver as we got into the car. We drove out of the pleasant leafy avenues and back into the city before joining a busy motorway. Once again it was a stop, start affair and the drive was uncomfortable, hot, and tedious. Ten minutes before we arrived at the airport I became aware that the driver was chewing gum. He did so noisily and with his mouth open. This annoyed me intensely but I kept quiet and waited it out. I realised that the exhaustion had made me very quick tempered. On the way I took Richard's SIM card from him and threw it out the window. I wrote my number on a piece of scrap paper and handed it to him. “Look after that,” I said, “and call me as soon as you land in London ok?”
“I'll do that, I promise,” he replied. After what seemed an eternity we arrived at Dar Es Salaam International Airport. Once again, my clothes were wet with sweat as we pulled the bags from the boot of the car. I paid the driver without thanking him and told him to go on his way. Richard's flight was checking in as we walked into the airy terminal. I watched as he stood in the queue and checked his baggage in. Once again I felt eyes watching me as I waited. I had to tell myself that my overtired mind was playing tricks on me. When he had finished, he turned and walked towards where I stood. “I better get going,” he said.
“Yes, you better.” We took the short walk to the main departure gate where only passengers were allowed to pass the yellow
line on the floor. Richard stopped and turned to talk to me. “Jason, I just wanted to say...”
“Get the fuck out of here Richard,” I said quietly, “and do not forget to do exactly as I told you.”
“Right” he said quietly, as he nodded with a small smile on his face. He held his right hand out to me. I was never one to refuse a man’s handshake so I took his hand firmly and shook it.
“Go!” I said. Richard walked away and arrived at the passport control desk. The man in the wooden booth stamped his document quickly and he proceeded to the security area with the metal detectors. I watched as he removed his shoes and sent his hand luggage through the x-ray machine. He walked through the metal detector without a hitch and I continued watching as he sat and put his shoes on. Finally he stood and looked back at me. He held his right hand up in a wave to which I responded by doing the same. Then he walked off to the right and was gone. I took a deep breath and turned around to make my way to the exit. Once outside, I lit a cigarette and stood in the shade of the drop off area. Richard's flight was due to leave in an hour. I decided that I needed to be one hundred percent sure that he had actually gone so I opted to stay until I saw the Kenya Airways flight take off.
The Jason Green series Box Set Page 34
