BAMAKO - Aribert Raphael (red queen ebook TXT) 📗

Get off!”
Rasheed was incensed. “I’ll give you my jacket, that’s at least 10,000 CFA—take it or leave it!”
“Get off!” the driver repeated, glaring at Rasheed. He didn’t move. “Come on, there are people behind you, and I need to get going. Get off!”
“Alright, alright,” Rasheed shouted, pulling off the ring from his finger and giving it to the driver.
“Right. Now move. I don’t have time for this.”
Once Rasheed was sitting near a window, and the bus began his laborious six hundred-kilometre journey, he began drawing a plan. He was going to have her, and after that, he was going to kill her.
97
At three o’clock sharp, they were sitting in Monsieur Hjamal’s anteroom waiting for him to get off the phone, his secretary told them. He had taken the whole of the first floor in an old, but nicely renovated, house in the business district of Dakar. The layout was basic and apparently effective. There were two offices on each side of the hall leading from the stairwell. From there and down the corridor, another two rooms had their door wide open. Talya, James and Hassan were waiting in one of them. A man and a woman, busily working away, occupied the other.
Monsieur Hjamal’s secretary was a mature woman, judging by the deep jaw lines on either side of her thick lips. She had the allure of someone resigned to her fate. The glasses, slipping down to the tip of her nose, made her look stern. Sitting there typing away, she reminded Talya of a schoolteacher burdened at the thought of having to scold a reprehensible pupil.
The side of her desk was tucked under two large windows at the far end of the room. The three of them were sitting on a long, dark brown, leather sofa, which was the only other piece of furniture apart from the usual filing cabinets, standing along the wall across from them.
Monsieur Hjamal flung the door, opposite his secretary, open. He marched toward the visitors with a lighter but still purposeful stride. His face showed an odd combination of anxiety and pleasure. He greeted them with a warm smile. They shook hands and followed him into his domain.
That was a remarkable sight. My God, it looks like the man has spent more money on this massive furniture than Ken would have authorized to redecorate our entire office floor. This vast room was divided into some sort of ‘lounge’ and an office. In the lounge, there were two sofas, similar to the one in the anteroom, and two chairs. An enormous coffee table stood in the middle of the seating arrangement.
Oak wood panels—no pressed boards here—covered every wall. The carpets, although not Persian, were deep and soft underfoot. The office, on the other side of a high vaulted archway, contained an immense writing table covered to the very edges with files, books, maps, etc. It reminded Talya of the mess in James’s office. The two chairs opposite the desk looked comfortable, such as the one behind it did.
Hassan and Talya sat in one of the sofas next to each other. Hassan came closer and Talya discreetly moved away. James and Ahmed Hjamal sat facing one another at opposite end of the coffee table.
“Monsieur Flaubert, this is indeed an honour to have you sitting across from me,” Hjamal said, a smile of satisfaction crossing his lips. “I didn’t expect to have the privilege of seeing us around the same table for a long time to come.” He brushed a meaningful glance by Talya’s face.
“Circumstances have brought me here much sooner than I would have liked, Monsieur Hjamal,” James replied cautiously, “but as it is, I’m grateful for the opportunity to meet with you.”
Hassan looked at Talya, his elbows on his knees. He was expecting what they both knew was coming—a final explanation from Hjamal and an offer of departure into the future from James.
The latter was relaxed. He had his legs crossed, one ankle resting on the other knee. “As you know, Monsieur Hjamal, Maitre Sangor has uncovered the details of several transactions that have taken place between yourself and Monsieur Savoi. These transactions have, in fact, opened the door to enable Carmine to claim an interest in your venture.”
Hjamal looked at James intently while sliding to the edge of the chair, gripping the armrests. “I am surprised at your conclusion, Monsieur Flaubert. How would these transactions open such a door?”
“You are a very astute business man, Monsieur Hjamal, so I won’t bore you with lengthy financial rhetoric’s. I’ll simply tell you this: Monsieur Savoi was our agent; Carmine sent him large sums of money every month to further our purpose in Mali. However, he chose to use that money for another purpose, and that was to help you in your venture. Because our agent channelled these funds which ended up in your books, and since this was done—although without our knowledge—we have acquired an interest in your enterprise.”
Hjamal was caught in his own web of deceit and he knew it. He looked at Talya sharply. He probably thought she was the instigator of this new turn of events. She remained silent.
Hjamal returned his attention to James. “When Madame Kartz suggested that maybe one day, there would be a way for Carmine to help me, I had no idea this is what she meant, otherwise…”
“No, no, Monsieur Hjamal, do not give credit where credit is not due. Maitre Sangor only reported the facts to me this morning. Madame Kartz was unaware of the financial ramifications the transactions had provoked. She knew nothing of this.”
“So, are you intending to take-over the project?” Hjamal blurted. “Because as you know by now, I don’t own Sabodala and what’s more I don’t have any permits to continue working there.” Hjamal’s face was stern and his jaw clenched. He was not ready to give up his life’s work without a fight.
“No,” James repeated, sitting up, advancing his body toward the coffee table and putting his elbows on his knees. “Carmine has no intention to take-over anything at this time. What we need to do—that is you and I—we need to get an agreement written and signed as soon as possible. This agreement would simply confirm our understanding and would delineate our respective responsibilities.”
“But that won’t allow me to work, or will it?” Hjamal lashed the words at James.
“No, it won’t allow you to do anything for a time. But it will allow Carmine to apply for the permits we will need to work together.”
“And what do I do with the equipment and the mining that’s being done and the personnel to pay? What do you suggest I tell these people while I wait for the permits to land on your desk?”
Hassan, his head bent down, had not looked at the face of the man whom he despised. He raised his face to him now and said, “We have here a man who’s ready to help you. Monsieur Flaubert wants to add value to the work you have already accomplished. It may be a good idea if you would allow him to put the whole proposal before you and wait until he’s done so, prior to jumping to undue conclusions.”
After a somewhat long pause and looking at his three visitors in turn, Hjamal said, “You’re right, and I’m sorry,” his annoyance visibly subsiding. “I had noticed it the other day. You are wise, Maitre Sangor, very wise indeed.” He switched to James. “I’m sorry to have gone off on a tangent, but I’ve tried to do my best in the worst of circumstances. And because I’ve trusted the wrong people, I’ve ended up with blood on my hands and nothing else to show for my troubles.”
“All right then,” James resumed, “what I propose to do is that you show me exactly what you have done so far on the land, including the mining plans and what type of research you’ve done to get to where you are today.”
“Yes, I see. Well then, if you have time, I can show you what I have here and after that, if you still think there is a way to pursue the project, we could go to the site together.”
“That’s fine to a point, Monsieur Hjamal. We can review what’s been done over here, but as far as going with you to the site, I don’t know if we can afford the time. And I’m not sure that we have a plane to take us there.” He turned to Talya, a querying look in his eyes.
“We could hire Captain Sahab’s services, if he is available?” she suggested tentatively. Hassan turned a surprised face to Talya. She ignored him.
“I suppose we could ask him,” James rejoined hesitantly, still looking at Talya.
“Perhaps, we should wait until after tomorrow’s meeting and then decide what we should do,” Hassan interposed flatly.
“Again, Maitre, I think that’s a wise suggestion.” Hjamal then fixed his eyes on Talya. “You know, I’m actually looking forward to the meeting tomorrow. Maybe it will clear me of all these unfounded accusations.” She didn’t move a muscle.
“Yes, I think you may very well be. And now while we are on the subject, I believe Madame Kartz has a couple of questions for you,” James concluded, looking at his assistant.
“Monsieur Hjamal,” Talya began, “I wish to thank you for cleaning the slate the way you did, in allowing Maitre Sangor to review the financial arrangements you had with Monsieur Savoi. But now you’ll have to forgive me for what I’m about to suggest—”
“At this time,” Hjamal put-in, “I don’t think anything you’d have to say would need forgiveness…”
“Monsieur Hjamal, let me please? As I was about to say, those financial arrangements led us to be sitting here today. Still, a murder has been committed. The reasons for it lie at the mine site, and the blame lies with the people you’ve employed, I believe.”
“You mean Abdul Rasheed?”
“No, not Abdul Rasheed. Although, I’m certain he was partially responsible for Richard’s murder.”
“So who?”
“I can’t tell you that now.”
“Why not?”
“Because it would be ill advised for me to point the finger at anyone without substantiated evidence, which I don’t have at the moment.”
“Yes. Well,” Hjamal agreed somewhat reluctantly. “Then let’s hear the questions you have.”
“My first question relates to the three mine adits opened under the Sabodala hillside. Are you tunnelling under the village, and if so, why?”
“I see that you’ve been well informed. And you’re right they are mine adits, Madame Kartz, but not leading to tunnels as yet.”
“Then you are intending to mine under the village and destroy it in the process.”
“Yes, I am!”
Either the man was mad as a hatter or they didn’t hear him correctly. Hassan could barely contain his exasperation at the man’s arrogance. He shook his head in disgust. James was agape. The three of them looked at Ahmed Hjamal as if they had just seen a monster at the fair.
Hjamal got to his feet. “Monsieur Flaubert, please come and see what this is all about. And you too, Madame Kartz and Maitre …”
They stood up all at once and hurried to the desk to see what the man wanted to show them. He unfolded several blue prints and maps before them. Pointing to them one by one, he went through a thorough explanation of his ‘grand plan’. In short, he