Father Confessor - For the Motherland

Chapter 21

Muzinda Building never slept during high stakes operations. From her office, Lynnette could hear the sounds of night shift analysts and other late-goers as they went about their business.

She had just gotten off the phone with the president's chief of staff, who had inferred that if VP Merika got to confess his sins to the world, the administration would be miffed, to put it mildly. Lynnette understood. The effects of Maboetsi's confession had wrecked havoc in Botswana's government, threatening to destabilise the entire police and judicial systems. All that fracas just from a confession of a police commissioner. She knew how devastating the vice president's confession would be to the country.

There was a knock on the door, and at her bidding, Max D walked in. Despite the late hour, the young agent looked as spruced up in a three piece suit as he had twelve hours earlier. Lynnette could see no signs of fatigue on his face. His stride was firm, and even the binder in his hand seemed vibrant with life.

"You ought to rest, young man," Lynnette said, by way of greeting.

Max beamed, "Rest is overrated. Work is more fun."

That reminded her of herself twenty-five years earlier, when she was in the same position. She had been a zealous workaholic who took every opportunity to avoid going home.

"If you say so, what have you got for me?"

The young man sat down and placed the folder on the desk. "A number of things. First, I have been following up on some of Jeremiah Rukope's former associates from his Special Forces days. All are accounted for. Only two are in the country right now, stationed at Tongogara Barracks where they are training new recruits. They have been there for the past year. The others are out of the country on various missions."

"So none of them could not have helped him kidnap those kids," Lynnette said. "Ok, what else?"

"Father Confessor has a definitive English accent. So on a hunch, I decided to look through the list of all the male European visitors who entered the country in the past week." Max opened the binder and removed a couple of papers. "That proved to be too broad. The number is over three thousand. So I narrowed it to English visitors, and I got two hundred hits. Most of them are tourists, so I spent the latter part of the day making calls to hotels, resorts, and tour operators. One hundred and ninety-one are exactly who they say they are and are where they're supposed to be. Two work for the British embassy and are still there as far as I could tell. Of the remaining eight, four were tourists and have gone back to the UK, and the rest are still in the country. I was able to track down three to their different business conferences. Only one person went to Mutare from Bulawayo three days ago. The name is Kyle Johnson who claimed to be making a business trip. He..."

"Stop!" Lynnette exclaimed, urgency in her voice. "Do you have a picture of this Kyle Johnson?"

Silently, Max pulled out a color print of a still photo grabbed from airport security surveillance cameras and slid it over to her. She took a long look, taking in the sandy haired white face with its pair of piercing blue eyes, hard square jaw, thin lips and Roman-like nose. She did not know the man personally but she knew of his history with Garikai. She typed a command into her desk computer and brought out Garikai's file. In the folder marked 2016 she found what she was looking for. In that year, Garikai had put an Englishman, a former SAS officer into prison. Lynnette pulled up the image included in the sub-file. It matched the photo Max had shown her. Not only was he the same man, he also had the same name. How careless was that?

She made an international call. After a delay, she heard the phone at the other end ring. A male voice answered.

"Hullo."

Lynnette affected an African American accent. "Is that how you greet your mama? 'Hullo'. Huh?"

Without losing a bit, the voice in her earpiece said, "Didn't know it you mama. How's you doing over there."

"I'm not doing too good. Matter of fact, it's bad. You oughta come and visit."

"What's the matter now, mama?"

She sighed dramatically, "It's those damn kilograms you keep adding on. You gotta watch them and tell me you have them under control, or else you are in deep shit with your mama. You hear me?"

"I hear you mama."

"It's a matter of life and death, hear me, boy?" She hung up and looked up at a befuddled Max.

"What was that?"

"Simple spy speak, in case someone was listening. I was talking to our London station chief. I instructed him to verify that Johnson was still in the military lockup and hurry up about it."

"Wow, I didn't even catch it."

"That's the point." She smiled benignly at him. "Just as they taught you in spy school. You create a simple code to use with your informants, sources and contacts."

Her phone rang and she picked up.

"Are you there mama?" the voice from the other side of the world said. "You hung up before we finished."

"I have nothing to else to say to you, stupid boy."

"I'm sorry, mama. You're right, mama...it's bad... the kilogrammes... It started a couple months ago. I kept it to myself."

"Take care of yourself, my boy. Alright?" Then she hung up.

She turned to Max. "It's been confirmed, Johnson escaped from the military prison he was in. The authorities kept it under wraps."

Max cleared his throat, "Who is this guy, exactly?"

"Someone with a big bone to pick with Garikai. Good work today, Max D. Give Garikai a heads up. And go home, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am," Max said with a grin and headed for the door.

"Max," Lynnette called him. "You're doing a great job, and not everyone likes that. You have to be very careful who you trust. This issue with the vice president is dangerous and right now some powerful people are running around, looking to protect themselves. By digging around, we spook some parties who don't want to be poked. They will do anything to keep their secrets hidden, including killing. So make sure you don't trust anyone. Anyone."

"Thanks, I get it."

As she was settling back in her chair, the ultra-secure blue phone rang. It was a priority line, set up so it would only receive calls from one specific number. The president's number.

She lifted the receiver, but before she could say anything, Cde Musiki's angry voice spoke. "Get up here now, director. Now. Your boy, Jeremiah Rukope was just in my house. In my house!"

Crap.