“In any case, if you have the contacts and experience you seem to have, then you will be faster and more flexible than the authorities. We have to try to find Leo ourselves and bring him safely back. There’s no other way.”
Espinoza frowned. “I’m not sure it’s as clear cut as you describe but I agree that you can’t take that risk. We’re going to mount our own investigation, but it will cost some money, maybe a lot.”
Jenny said. “I can’t think of a better way to spend some of my money than in getting my nephew back. So let’s get on with it.”
Espinoza took the iPad and pointed at the photo of the genocider. “Galaganza’s our starting point and that immediately brings us to another question. If this was planned after his death and then Leo was abducted in Johannesburg, the perpetrators must have known about your plans to take Leo to the match.”
“And if we cross reference those points,” Jenny added, “we have to identify a person or persons who knew both things; Leo’s connection with Galaganza and your trip to South Africa. In fact, they even knew which hotel you were staying in.”
“I don’t know why you asked me to come over, Jenny. It seems you’ve worked everything out without my assistance.”
“Nonsense. I’ll soon have to hand it over to you, because there’s a point beyond which amateurs can’t go but professionals can. Emma, I know it’s difficult, but can you remember who knew you were going to Joburg and where you were staying?”
Jenny and Espinoza took notes as Emma ran through the persons who might have been aware both of Leo’s birth and their plan to attend the match. The cross examination continued until Espinoza said, “I think that’s enough for today. Emma must be exhausted. And I must call Soledad to tell her I’m on my way home for dinner. He pulled out his iPhone. He wasn’t about to incur his wife’s wrath once again, even for Sra Jenny Bishop.
London, England
Slater was on a call to someone in Nice, in the South of France. He uneasily related the result of his earlier meeting with the Voice. “I told them we can find the hundred thousand, but no more.” he ended.
“This had better work,” was the reply. The speaker had a noticeable French accent. “It means our investment will be half a million dollars. We’re supposed to be partners but it’s me who’s putting up almost all the money. How long do you think we can continue like this?” A few moments of silence followed this rhetorical question, then, “Today’s Tuesday. I can make the transfer in the morning, but that’s the last time. If it’s not enough, they can find some other idiot to provide it.”
“I’ve told them the same thing. They’re sending the first message tomorrow morning, so things should go faster now.”
“Just make sure nothing goes wrong. We have too much invested to mess it up at this stage. Follow it up in the morning without fail.” The speaker rang off.
Diepkloof, Gauteng, South Africa
Nwosu received a call from the Voice at six thirty on Tuesday evening, just before he quit for the day. He told the man they still had no information about Leo’s birth or father, not so subtly trying to pin the blame on Coetzee for having let Emma escape. He waited nervously for his reaction.
After the normal pause, the Voice said, “Very well. Let’s leave that for now, we may have more success tomorrow or when we get the boy into his new location. Now please pay close attention, Sergeant Nwosu.”
He listened intently without taking notes. The policeman didn’t believe in writing things down, it could be dangerous. When the Voice had finished his instructions, he said, “All right, I’ll follow your orders, but I want to see the first payment in the bank before I do anything.”
“Please repeat the number I gave you.”
The policeman repeated it from memory. It was a Belgian number, +322, Brussels, but he was certain that the Voice was not in that country.
“Good. The funds will be in your account tomorrow morning,” the Voice said. “Don’t fail us.”
It was forty-five hours since Leo had been taken.
DAY FOUR
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
TWENTY-EIGHT
Johannesburg, South Africa
It was eight o’clock on Wednesday morning and Coetzee was in Lambert’s office with Dr Blethin, looking at the live relay from Leo’s room. He’d gone there early to try to prise some information out of the boy before the nine thirty call from the Voice was due. Leo was in a room in the manager’s bungalow behind the main building. The house had a separate entrance so that any movement in or out wouldn’t be seen. The CCTV system he’d set up was a miniature military camera on a flexible lead which sent the images to the manager’s office by WiFi, so the staff would think he was discussing the boy’s disappearance with Lambert when he was actually watching the relay.
“Looks like he’s in good shape, Doc,” he said. “Having some breakfast, no less.”
“Physically he’s in perfect shape as a matter of fact. Blood pressure, heart, pulse, eyesight, everything as per normal and the blood analysis is clean; no damage done to the kidneys or the liver. We took some urine early this morning and that’s clean as well. He’s ready to run a marathon.”
“So I can quiz him now?”
“Just go easy, because he doesn’t know what’s happened to him and he keeps asking about his mother. It’s the emotional aspect we have to watch out for.”
“I’ll be like a long lost father to him, OK?” He walked across to the bungalow and the nurse opened the door for him.
“Good morning, Leo. How are you feeling?”
“Who are you? Where’s my mum? What am I doing here? There’s nothing wrong with me.” Leo pushed aside the empty tray and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the security chief suspiciously. The nurse had brought his case with his clothing and other belongings that morning and he was now wearing his own black tee shirt and shorts.
“No need to be annoyed with me. I’m the guy who saved your bacon when you fainted. You should be thanking me.”
“What do you mean, I fainted? I’ve never fainted in my life.”
“The doctor said it was some kind of a fit, an epileptic fit or something similar. That’s probably why you have no memory of it. You were out to the world, tongue sticking out, trying to choke yourself. I’ve got training and I got you under control until they could get a medic and a wheelchair and ambulance there. You’re welcome!” He added sarcastically.
Leo struggled to recollect what had happened on Sunday night. He remembered going to the toilet at half-time, then his mind was a blank. Did I faint, he asked himself. I can’t even remember the end of the game. “Who won the match?” he finally said.
“Spain won in extra time, but you didn’t miss much. It was a lousy match, rough and dirty.”
“So, who are you and what’s this place?”
“I’m Marius Coetzee, the head of the security firm that manages the stadium. You were lucky I was nearby when it happened, or we might not be having this talk. This place is a private clinic near the stadium. We have an arrangement with them in case we have accidents or incidents during the matches and we certainly have a lot of them. Their response time is much shorter than the big hospitals and clinics.”
“That’s a camera lens up on the wall. Why is it there? Are you watching me all the time?”
“You’re very observant. It’s there for your own good, we’ve had to keep you under surveillance. Another attack like that could have left you in bad shape. We can’t afford not to keep an eye on you.”
“But where’s my mother? Why isn’t she here with me? What’s happened to her?”
“Your mother’s fine. She’s been here with you all night and day since the accident. She was so exhausted that she’s still sleeping at the hotel. I’m going to fetch her over in a short while.”
“How long have I been here?”
“It’s Wednesday morning, so you’ve been out for two and a half days.”
“Shit, I don’t believe it! An
d my mum’s been sitting beside me all the time?”
“She’s totally devoted to you. It’s nice to see. She’ll be happy when she comes in this morning.”
“And we can leave as soon as she gets here?”
“We’ll see. The doctor wants to make some more tests this afternoon and we may need to wait until tomorrow before giving you the all clear. That’s actually why I came over to see you.”
What do you mean?”
“Your mother told me the flight tickets you have for today are non-flexible and non-refundable and she doesn’t have money to pay for new ones. So, I want to contact your father to see if he can help, but I don’t have the details. I thought you could tell me how to get in touch with him.”
Leo thought for a second. “If my mother wouldn’t tell you, then I’m certainly not going to.”
“No, I haven’t asked her yet. She was too tired and I didn’t think of it until this morning.”
“Well let’s wait until she gets here and you can ask her yourself.”
Coetzee realised that Leo was a very smart boy. He was going to have to be more subtle. “When we were talking about your accident, it seemed she didn’t much like your father. Are they divorced?”
“Ask my mother. I just told you.”
“It’s a question of time, Leo. I’m trying to get things sorted so you can leave tomorrow. The longer we wait, the longer you might have to stay. The flights are very full, but I could pull some weight and get you seats tomorrow if we move it along. Try to give me a break here.”
Leo thought again for a moment. “Well, I’ll tell you what I know and that is absolutely nothing. I’ve never met my father, I don’t know who or where he is and I doubt very much that he’ll help you even if you find him. So I suppose that means we have to produce the money for the tickets in some other way. You’ll have to ask my mother. That’s all I’m saying.”
“You mean she’s never said anything at all about your father? That’s strange, isn’t it?”
“We have an agreement that she’ll tell me about it when I’m eighteen and that’s fine with me. Until then, I can’t help you, so stop asking questions.”
Coetzee looked at his watch. Even if he knew something, which seemed doubtful, Leo was obviously not going to say anything further and he had to get to Diepkloof in time for the call from the Voice. He went to the door. “I’m going to get your mother; we’ll be here asap.”
Driving across to the police station, he went over his conversation with the boy. Strange, he thought, she won’t say anything and he doesn’t know anything. What the hell is she hiding? What’s behind this whole operation?
In Diepkloof, Nwosu was checking his bank account online. The money still wasn’t there. It was nine fifteen and Coetzee would be there in a moment. He rehearsed his lines again. It wasn’t a good time to get it wrong.
TWENTY-NINE
Malaga, Spain
It was nine-thirty in the morning in Spain and five-thirty pm in Sydney, Australia. Espinoza was on the telephone to an old police colleague, an Australian liaison officer for Interpol. “This is informal, Mac,” he said. “Just some enquiries for a friend. I’m not involved in police business any more, although I do miss our get-togethers around the world.”
“Those were the days, Pedro, not anymore. Austerity is the watchword now. Can’t take a shit without reporting how much toilet paper you use. Give me the full name and any details you’ve got and I’ll get back to you like a berserk boomerang.”
After giving as complete a description as he dared, Espinoza then called his previous opposite number at the National Police in Paris with a similar question. “Aucun problème, Pedro.” The Spaniard’s French was as good as his English, the response was the same. The wheels were in motion.
Although he was an old fashioned policeman, Espinoza had a grudging respect for certain modern technologies. He opened up Google on his laptop and typed in a name. After trawling through several news items, he exclaimed, “Bueno!” He printed out the page and placed it with his notes.
Next, he checked two more sites and printed out several more pages with a sense of satisfaction. He was starting to get a feel for the people and the plan, putting himself into the criminal’s minds. He would do some more research before going over to York House.
Diepkloof, Gauteng, South Africa
“Zimbabwe! You must be joking.” Coetzee had just heard the Voice’s latest instructions. He’d expected that they’d move Leo to another nearby town in SA. Now he was told they’d have to drive over five hundred kilometres and cross an inhospitable frontier into a country controlled through corruption, chaos and fear. Depending on the state of the roads and traffic conditions it would take him the best part of a day. He looked at Nwosu. The police sergeant seemed unperturbed and said nothing, a slightly smug look on his face. Almost as if he knew already, he thought to himself.
“You will be paid accordingly, of course,” the Voice continued. “We have decided to agree to your request for improved remuneration. What would you say to a fifty per cent increase, retrospectively, of course?”
“In the bank before I go?”
The Voice laughed quietly, the laugh distorted by the acoustic effect. “Since you must leave today, I’m afraid that’s impossible. But we have not yet failed to keep our word, it will be there by the time you reach Beitbridge. That’s where you will hand over the boy.” He gave instructions for the handover, a small hotel in the border town.
Coetzee looked at Nwosu again. He shrugged, as if to say, “why not?”
The two men hadn’t admitted that they’d failed to obtain any more information on Leo’s father, but for some reason the Voice hadn’t mentioned it. Coetzee was becoming more and more suspicious, and nervous. He weighed up his options. He was in this business up to his neck and there were too many witnesses who could put him away. The fees he’d already received and the additional money on offer was enough to get him to a civilised place, where he could put this behind him and start anew with what was left of the modest nest egg he’d received from the army.
Images of Emma and Leo flashed through his mind. If I deliver the kid in good health to Beitbridge there’s nothing more I can do, he reasoned. Whatever deal was on the table it would be bartered, she’d have her son back and he’d be on his way to a new life. He couldn’t be expected to do more; he was just a cog in the machine. But he’s my responsibility. He realised he was trying to justify his decision. I’ll go along with it to get paid and I’ll make sure nothing happens to him while he’s in my hands.
He finally decided. “If you send the funds now by Internet and I get the confirmation, I’ll do it. But I’m going with the Doc and the boy. I don’t need any more company.” His paranoia about Nwosu was increasing by the minute. The man was an untrustworthy, homicidal maniac and he didn’t want to be trapped in the middle of nowhere with him at any cost.
“That’s fine with me.” Nwosu said. “I’m not desperate to drive to Zimbabwe. I’ll clean up here.”
All Coetzee heard was ‘clean up’. He had no doubt that Nwosu meant Lambert, maybe Blethin, the doctor. Where does the clean-up stop? He thought. We’re all expendable. Once we get to Zimbabwe, the trail in South Africa will be cold. They can get rid of us and there’s nobody left to tell the tale. If I stay in Joburg I’m dead meat, but if I take the job, I have a chance of making it into the Kruger and getting away from these bastards. A voice inside him kept whispering, What about the boy?
“Unfortunately,” the Voice replied, in an implacable tone, “the agreement with the border control requires Sergeant Nwosu’s presence. We couldn’t arrange it any other way.”
“Can’t I send on instructions from here?” Nwosu sounded like he really didn’t want to go. “I can produce whatever official papers are required, anything that’s needed.”
Why is he pleading to stay? Coetzee couldn’t work out what was going on. Whatever it was, he decided, he would take precautions to watch his back.<
br />
“Sergeant Nwosu,” the Voice replied. “You are forgetting that you told me the boy has no passport with him. Only a police officer has the power to accompany him through the border control. And in respect of the payment, Mr Coetzee, the increase is only payable upon completion of the task. You must understand our position on this. Neither of us can afford to take any risks. We are obliged to trust each other in these circumstances.”
The only guarantee of trust is for me to keep control of the boy. If I refuse to go, it probably spells curtains for both of us. “I’ll take Leo to a hotel in Beitbridge and he’ll stay in my custody until I see the money in my account,” he said. His suspicions were even more aroused when Nwosu readily agreed to his conditions. This all sounds very scripted, he thought. But what’s the punch line? It’s not going to be me, nor the kid.
“There’s one more thing,” the Voice continued. “You must take a photograph of the boy and transmit it to the email address you have for us. You should do this before you leave for Beitbridge. That’s all for now.” The phone went dead.
“Why in Hell do they want to ship Leo to Zimbabwe?” Coetzee tried to find out what Nwosu was holding back from him. “It’s a shithole infested by corrupt, murdering vermin. Have you ever been?”
Nwosu ignored the question. “It has to be to do with money. They want the kid somewhere he can’t possibly be taken from them until they get paid a ransom. He must be worth a fucking fortune.” Nwosu was cursing himself that he hadn’t insisted on even more money, the stakes were clearly very high.
“Listen, Nwosu. I signed up to hold the boy until a ransom was paid then to deliver him safe and sound. No one said anything about handing him over to a bunch of murderous thugs in a lawless country. What happens to him there?”
“Get real, Coetzee. You think they ship young kids to Zimbabwe to work as waiters? I’m telling you he’s a valuable commodity and he’ll be handed over for a king’s ransom and the deal will be done and dusted. And it’s a bit fucking late to be changing your mind. We’re stuck in the middle of this transaction and there’s no way out except forward. We deliver the kid, get paid and live to enjoy it. If we don’t, then neither of those things happens. You choose.”
The Rwandan Hostage Page 16
