BAMAKO - Aribert Raphael (red queen ebook TXT) 📗

you’d tell me... Now.”
“No, Hassan, not now. And I’d like to make something very clear right now...” He looked down at her. “When I say, I do not want you to intrude, I mean it!”
“But, Talya, he’s a gangster of the worst kind…,” Hassan said, a mixture of embarrassment and ruefulness painted on his face.
“I don’t care if he is a murderer or a blameless man—and you’re a bit too quick to judge the guy—but when I say NO, I mean it, Hassan!”
He hung his head in reply.
“Okay, never mind all that now, let’s go to dinner before the guys eat the place clean.” Talya smiled. Hassan raised his eyes to her. “Come on let’s go…,” she insisted, but since he didn’t seem ready to move, she opened the door and marched out of the apartment.
66
The hotel restaurant was more informal than Talya had expected. It reminded her of an Italian Trattoria. A huge conical copper hood descended from the ceiling to almost head level over a semi-circular charcoal grill of imposing dimension, which occupied one corner of this vast room a third of the way into it. The Chef (in full gear—hat and all) stood in front of the grill watching the fish, meat and poultry frying gently on the iron grid. At the far end of the room, there was an open kitchen behind a glass counter where cooks and sous-chefs were busy applying the finishing touches to the dishes they had prepared.
As they entered, the restaurant being sparsely occupied—they were too early for the dinner rush—the maitre d’ led them to a table close to the terrace windows, and away from the sectioned seating nearer the grill. A low brick wall separated each of these, on top of which terracotta pot plants and other ornaments were cutting the view from the guests sitting on either side. Crystal centrepieces of fresh cut flowers adorned every table. Elaborately folded napkins on place mats added yet another touch of colours to each setting.
They sat and continued to take in the atmosphere. Sunlight regulated the light from the spotlights overhead. The lesser the light penetrating from the terrace, the brighter they shone. The only non-Italian touches to the décor were the Persian carpets, which hung on each of the white stucco walls.
Apart from John and Pierre, who were ‘regulars’, the rest of the party found it exceptional to find such a place in Africa. Pierre reminded them that after all, they were in Dakar—the Marseille of West Africa.
They ordered a couple plates of appetizers to share among the six of them, but when it came to the main course, they each had different ideas. Pierre, John and Talya shared a bottle of French Beaujolais. They had cheese and fruit for dessert. It was a perfect meal in great company.
Throughout the evening, they didn’t want to broach the subject of their troubles. They probably needed time-off anyway. Subconsciously, they averted talking of what brought them together that night. They each told stories, which recalled some of their past adventures. Samir’s younger days on camel back, travelling through the Sahara and the Sahel to such places as Timbuktu, were fascinating. Talya’s father had brought her there once and she recalled how beautiful, serene and unbelievable it was. The city used to be a celebrated Mecca for the Muslim traveller. Today, Timbuktu is the dreamlike place found at the end of a trail that leads nowhere, where everyone goes when intending to go to the end of the earth. Its ancestral mosque and ancient guesthouses were built with blocks made out of sand and mud from the Niger flowing a few miles away. Like sandcastles, these fragile structures stand proud in the middle of the desert calling the nomad to rest and pray. Every year, however, the wrath of Allah brings fierce sandstorms to the area, and every year the tireless faithful Muslim devotedly rebuilds these fairytale-like edifices damaged at the whim of his God.
Mohammed called Talya back from her past wanderings when she heard him say, “Talya, I have a suggestion to make. We have six rooms available between us. Because Hjamal will assume you’ll be spending the night in the suite where he found you this afternoon, I think it’d be a good idea for you to take my room. The rest of us could exchange keys so we’re not where Hjamal would think we are.”
“That’s a great idea,” Talya agreed, “and I think we should all go up separately. We don’t know who’ll be watching.”
Hassan turned to Samir with an impish look in his eyes. “You should take the suite. No one knows you, my friend. They would have a heck of a surprise if they found you in Talya’s bed.” They laughed out loud, but Talya felt the tension creeping back among them.
“Such a luxury for this humble nomad,” Samir said genially. Humble? Something told Talya that this man had known luxury. “I couldn’t possibly be more grateful.”
“You should try the spa and tell us all about it in the morning,” John added.
They chatted for a few more minutes.
“I think it’s about time we get started,” Mohammed then said, trying to control a yawn or two. He called the waiter to bring the checks and after all the signing was done, they got up and went their separate ways as agreed.
Samir disappeared in the garden through the terrace doors. Later, he would go to his ‘refurbished tent’ as he now called Talya’s suite. He is a Character.
John and Pierre went out the front door apparently to have a talk and a smoke.
Hassan and Mohammed went to the Terrarium, sat in one of the sofas in front of the baobab and waited for Talya to make her way to her newly assigned quarters. She was now located on the fifth floor, beside John and Pierre. Hassan and Mohammed occupied the pilot’s rooms.
Hassan came to Talya’s door (unnoticed she hoped) to say ‘good-night’—over a nightcap. She didn’t want to let him in. She wanted to be left alone.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea. I need to be alone, do you mind?” Talya said with some impatience in her voice.
His next query came out timidly. “Will you be in your room in the morning this time?”
“You’ve just got to come and see for yourself, won’t you?” She was smiling.
“You’re impossible. You’ll drive me insane.”
“My dear Hassan, unless I’m abducted or thrown out during the night, you’ll find me where I’m supposed to be tomorrow.”
67
That night Rasheed placed a call to Paris. He knew the Kartz woman had been at the mine. He had not been able to be there to get her prying eyes and gorgeous body out of the way, and now she had started to ask the wrong questions. She would have to be stopped.
“Allo!” the voice said.
“It’s me, sir—”
“I hope you have a good reason for calling me at this hour, Monsieur Rasheed, otherwise I shall hang up—”
“Please don’t…, sir. And yes, I have a good reason to call you. Madame Kartz has been sniffing around the mine site—”
“Well, Monsieur Rasheed, wasn’t that to be expected? After all the turmoil you caused and the suspicion you’ve drawn on your person—to me this is no surprise at all.”
“What do you suggest I do now?”
“When I wanted to assist you in diverting the first shipment, you told me that you did not want my assistance, so I suggest that you resort to your own device at present, too. I don’t want to meddle in your affairs, Monsieur Rasheed. I’ll defer all decisions to my superiors in Washington from now on…. Bonsoir, Monsieur Rasheed….” And the man hung up in Rasheed’s ear. Furious, the latter slammed the receiver down.
68
There was a loud ring. She woke up with a start. “Good gracious, leave me alone people …” Talya grumbled, opening her eyes and staring at the clock: 7:00AM. She lifted her head from the pillow and realized that she was in someone else’s room. Then she remembered the evening before—they had exchanged keys. The ringing became more insistent. Her heart pounding fiercely with renewed apprehension, she picked-up the receiver.
“Madame Kartz? Samir here, good morning, how are you?” I told him last night to use my first name—why the formality?
“Top of the morning to you, Samir. How are you? Did you sleep well?”
“No, not really,” he replied hesitantly, the joviality of the previous night gone. “I’ve got the Dutchman beside me.” The Dutchman, finally. “He came over to the suite because the clerk told him at the desk that it was where you were. Shall I put him on the line?”
“Yes, please, I want to talk to him.”
We were going to get some straight answers (?).
“Johan. You can’t imagine how relieved I’m to hear you’re here, safe and sound.”
“Yeah, well, it hasn’t been without some effort on my part, I can tell you. We need to talk. Would you be able to meet me soon?”
“Let me take a shower, and I’ll meet you in the restaurant for breakfast. It’s a public place. There won’t be any risk of being disturbed.”
“No offence to the Samir fellow here but, Talya, I want to see you alone. Do you think that’s possible?”
“Very much so. Let me talk to Samir, please. I’ll meet you in a half an hour, if that’s all right?”
“Perfect. Here’s Samir.”
“Samir. I’m going to meet the Dutchman at the restaurant in a while. We want to be left alone. Would you please tell the others what’s happening? And, if Pierre and John have to leave, would you wish them well for me?”
“Yes, of course. Tell me, when can we join you?”
“Give me time to sort things out. If you are in the restaurant, I’ll come to your table when our tête-à-tête is over.”
“Very well. We’ll see you in a while then. We’ll be watching. We won’t let you skip town unnoticed this time.” Talya heard the gentle chuckle as he rang off. Putting down the receiver, she smiled.
She got out of bed, had a shower and put on her only change of clothes. She packed yesterday’s T-shirt, pants, etc., in the hotel laundry bag. They did the washing even on Sundays in this place. If there was a tomorrow, Talya needed to have fresh clothes to face it.
As she reached the restaurant with the morning crowd, she was amazed at the change, the striking difference between the morning and the night before. Everything looked the same and yet everything was different.
White place mats on every table had replaced the coloured ones while simply folded white napkins rested on bright hand-painted plates facing matching cups and saucers. Bowls of fruit replaced the flower arrangements on each of the tables.
The grill was abuzz with eggs, sausages, bacon, pancakes, cooking under the watchful eye of two young chefs. Even crepes were sizzling happily on a hot plate set to one side.
There were huge halved calabash bowls of cereals aligned on the kitchen counter. Beside them, jugs and jugs of juice stood at the ready for the patrons to taste the tantalizing flavours of their colourful content.
Enormous breadbaskets, filled with all the croissants, buns, rolls, brown and white loaves and