The Accidental Further Adventures of the Hundred-Year-Old Man

Kenya, Madagascar

Fredrika Langer was sitting on a win. That is to say, the uranium. And the phone number to the chancellor, the one that wasn’t to be used except in an emergency.

‘Emergency this, emergency that,’ Allan had said. ‘Shall I handle the phone call?’

So he did. He would call again the next morning. This was all as surreal as it was uplifting.

Her boss had sent her into the savannah hundreds of miles from where one might reasonably expect any action, even as he had placed himself in the perfect position. And then everything had gone topsy-turvy. At any moment, he would be calling from Madagascar to reassure himself that she was on her way. Not that he cared about her, but without her around he had no one upon whom to dump all the small matters and the even tinier ones.

Fredrika asked John at the bar for a glass of water; he poured it and she managed to take her first sip before her phone rang.

‘Fredrika Langer, how may I be of service?’ she said, with the aim of annoying her boss from the start.

‘It’s me, you idiot. Have you reached Musoma yet? You were supposed to—’

She interrupted him. ‘No. I’m skipping Musoma. Sticking around here instead. Me and the uranium.’

Agent A wondered if he’d misheard. Had Langer found the uranium? Up there?

‘Yes. These things happen, you know.’

‘Don’t touch it! I’m coming straight away. Where are you?’

‘In Kenya.’

‘But where in Kenya, for Chrissake?’

Agent Langer looked around. ‘On the savannah, I think.’

‘Answer me properly, Langer, or I’ll bash in your head when I get there.’

‘You’ll have to find me first.’

What was going on? Was she obstructing her boss?

‘If you don’t want to be fired, you will give me your exact position this minute!’

That threat didn’t land where it was intended to.

‘Fired? If anything, Chancellor Merkel was hinting at a promotion last time we spoke.’

Agent A was struck by a sudden breathlessness. Had that dunce Langer spoken to the chancellor behind his back? Where had she got the phone number?

‘Yes, of course, you should have been the one to have it, not me. After all, you’re the boss, for heaven’s sake, but you didn’t think it befitted the boss to carry around our operations folder. And I certainly understand – it must weigh nearly a hundred grams.’

This was pure catastrophe.

‘Give it to me this instant!’ he said. ‘That is an order.’

‘No, I can’t. This line isn’t secure. It’s such a shame you were forced to send me in the wrong direction. Should I call her for you? No, silly me, I’ve already done that.’

She could hear her boss breathing heavily.

‘The chancellor mentioned something about a medal. For me, that is, not for you.’

‘Listen here,’ Agent A tried.

‘But what would I do with a medal? I resign instead. I probably have about a year’s worth of overtime to use up, so I think I’ll start straight away. You won’t have to see me ever again. And, better still, I won’t have to see you.’

Fredrika Langer’s description of events wasn’t quite accurate: Allan had been the one to make the phone call to Berlin. But anything that would torment Agent A was fair game. The part about resigning had felt extra good to say. Might as well make it true as soon as possible.

‘But, please, Langer,’ said Agent A. ‘Just… tell… me… where… you… are…’

Her boss took it one word at a time, doing his best to breathe.

‘I told you. Kenya. I think. But I’m busy now. Angela’s calling on the other line, you know. Awfully nice woman. Bye.’

She hung up and threw her phone into the stream that meandered prettily from the camp to the watering-hole.

‘Is all well?’ wondered Allan, who had seen what she’d just done.

‘Very well, thank you,’ said Former Agent Langer. ‘Very well.’