Pinnacle Event

11

They saw the blinking blue-and-red lights before they turned the corner. When they stopped briefly at the police roadblock to show their identification, Ray rolled down his window and looked out. He saw the big white house at the end of the block, illuminated by spotlights, thick black smoke pouring out of its upper windows.

“Looks like we might be a little late to watch the action,” he suggested to Mbali.

“Coppers, they are always too keen to get on with the shooting,” she replied in disgust. “If they killed the Big Man, I will flay them alive. I need to interrogate that son of a bitch.”

The driver maneuvered the Range Rover through the scattered police cars and fire trucks, toward the smoking house. When they pulled up to a cluster of police commanders in white shirts, they stopped and Mbali jumped out. She almost charged the police brass. “Where is he, where is the Big Man? Have you killed another one that you were supposed to take into custody, Henry?”

“Here you arrive after all the shooting is over and start yelling,” the senior officer responded. “He’s in the van, but getting him for you cost me three men wounded.” As Mbali changed direction for a large police truck, he yelled after her. “Your debt to Special Branch just got bigger.”

Ray Bowman tried to keep up with his South Africa host as she made a beeline for the vehicle holding her prey. Inside the police wagon, a very large man lay on a metal bench in the middle of the compartment, with an officer on either side and a paramedic hovering above him, adjusting an intravenous feed. Mbali and then Ray jumped up into the van.

The Nigerian was wearing a tracksuit, ripped and bloodied in several places where the paramedic had bandaged him. “Let me at him,” Mbali said, pushing the paramedic aside.

“I’ve sedated him, but he’s stable,” the young woman said to Mbali, stepping back.

“You think you can kidnap my guest, do you, Cletus? We shot your two boys dead this morning for that. What do you think we should do with you? Maybe you bleed out in this truck.” She squeezed one of his wounds and the big man let out a scream.

“We didn’t hurt anyone, Mbali,” he whispered.

“Only because we got there you before you could,” she spat back. “Now, you listen. You tell me who paid for this job or you die on the way to hospital and we send your rotten corpse to Lagos.”

Ray was wondering if she meant it and, if she did, whether it would be better for him to take a walk outside the van. Mbali ripped a bandage from the man’s leg. He screamed again. “Talk!” she yelled at him.

“Kranstov, his name is Kranstov. He comes to the meetings we have in Sicily with the others. He show up here yesterday. Said he just wanted a few hours with the American, paid two million U.S.”

“How do you communicate with him?” she pushed.

“I don’t,” Cletus struggled to speak. “He calls me. Burner numbers. He called this afternoon. Wanted his money back.”

Mdali stood. She was done with him. She jumped back down to the street. “Should we take him to hospital, ma’am?” the policeman in the van asked after her.

“I don’t care what you do with him, but something tells me he won’t be alive too long, so don’t waste a lot of medicine on him,” she answered.

Mbali strode back to her Range Rover, as Ray Bowman caught up with her. “We’ll get the phone records. But I am sure Cletus is right. This Mr. K probably used burner phones to call him, but we may be able to see where they were bought and who bought them. Might give us a lead. We’ll also check with Border Control to see who landed in the last few days who might be interesting. Did he say ‘Knarsoff’? Sounds Russian.”

“Sounds like an alias,” Bowman suggested. “It will lead nowhere.”

“What do you think we should do now?” she asked as they got back in the Rover.

“I’m due in Israel,” Ray answered.

“Think they’ll let me in?” she asked.

“Who said you were invited?”

“I told you, bartender, I am your termite. Until we find these nukes, where you go, I go.”