BAMAKO - Aribert Raphael (red queen ebook TXT) 📗

nestled it on his chest. “Don’t, not yet. I’ll be right here. Don’t move an inch. I’ll bring whatever you need.”
“But… I want to take a shower. I can still smell him. He was all over me—”
“Yes, the nurse will look after you. I’ll be right outside—”
Talya reclined on her pillow and started sobbing. The nightmare had come back. The evil of rape was looking at her—laughing. She opened her eyes and for a fraction of a second, she peered into Hassan’s compassionate face, not seeing him. Then she screamed, “Get out! Get out!” and began hiccupping between renewed sobs.
“Please, Maitre, leave now,” Doctor Samuel said gently.
Distraught beyond reason, Hassan marched out of the room, slamming the apartment door on his way out.
114
“Come in,” Mohammed said as he opened the door to Hassan. His face was sombre.
“I saw her. She has been raped, Mohammed—”
“Come and sit down. I’ve called for some tea to be brought up.”
“Did you hear me? She’s been raped!” Hassan repeated, shouting now.
Mohammed led Hassan to the lounge chairs. “I heard you… Let’s sit down on the terrace—”
“I’ll kill him, Mohammed, I swear to you—”
“No you won’t. The courts will take care of him.”
“I want to feel him dying at my hands…” Hassan’s words trailed off as his lips trembled and tears rolled down his cheeks.
Mohammed, who was now standing beside his friend, rubbed Hassan’s back. Words failed him. He, too, was shocked. He, too, wanted Rasheed dead. Never mind that someone else may have killed Richard, Rasheed had raped twice now and he would have to pay for his crimes—with his head.
115
At nine o’clock, Khumar opened the doors, letting Hassan, Mohammed and Rheza into one of the hotel’s conference rooms, which had been reserved for the meeting. Here, they found James, Johan and Samir already eating their breakfast. Samir looked solemn and Johan, as usual, had his nose in a cup of coffee.
James smiled when he saw them come through the doors. “Good morning, Monsieur Fade, Hassan. Have a seat and I’ll go and get myself some more juice.” He got up.
“Monsieur Flaubert, before you do, please allow me to introduce my niece, Madame McLean.”
“Yes, of course. Madame McLean, I’m pleased to meet you at long last.” James extended a hand. Rheza was dressed in a yellow bou-bou gown with a matching scarf, which she used to hide her mouth and cheeks.
“Monsieur Flaubert, the pleasure is mine,” she replied timidly, shaking hands with him.
“Settle down everyone, I’ll be right with you.” James then walked to the sideboard set in front of the terrace doors, which offered the typical continental breakfast spread—cereals, bread and pastry baskets, coffee and tea urns and a few jugs of juice—at the ready for the guests.
They all knew each other now but somehow, none of them seemed in a conversing mood. They waited for James to return to his seat.
The server came into the room in the meantime, and asked the newcomers if they wanted anything from the restaurant menu. They asked for tea and coffee. He fetched two cups of coffee from the urn, for the two men, and a teapot, which he set in front of Rheza. She lifted the lid nervously—her hand trembled. Mohammed turned to her. He was visibly concerned.
“Hassan, how is she?” Samir asked from across the table, not letting his manner or his voice betray his utter rage and frustration.
“She’ll be okay I think, Samir.” Hassan hung his head meaningfully. “The nurse is with her.” He made no other comments as he saw James turn back toward the table and look in the direction of the conference room’s doors. Everyone turned and saw Talya and the police commissioner walk into the room.
She had come down with Chief Mubarek, a kindly-looking fellow from Algiers, with a delicately trimmed moustache and a baldhead—he reminded her of Hercule Poirot. He had woken her at eight o’clock as Lisa, objecting to his presence vociferously, accompanied him to her room at his insistence. He wanted her statement. Talya agreed to give it to him on the one condition that he accompanied her to breakfast. Lisa reluctantly accepted to let Talya out of her care for an hour, and helped her to take a shower and dress in what ever she found in the wardrobe.
As they went through the doors, Talya saw James first and then all of the people sitting around the table. If I look as awful as I feel, there is no surprise at their staring at me.
Hassan turned around with a shudder and went to her.
“Talya. What on earth are you doing here?”
“Giving my statement to Chief Mubarek, what else?”
“You should be in bed—”
“Tell that to the Chief.” She looked up at Hassan and smiled. (Her face hurt.) “We made a deal. It was either this or going to the police station.”
“Talya, please come and sit with us,” Samir said. “You shouldn’t be here… But now that you are, let me get you something to eat.”
“No thanks, not now, but some juice would be nice.”
“Coming right up.” He got up and hurried to get her what she wanted.
Talya sat beside James. Samir set the glass of bissap juice in front of her, looked at her and smiled. He knew that once again a man had abused her. Talya returned the smile. “Thanks, Samir.”
“How are you feeling, Kiddo?” James asked quietly.
“I’m okay—nothing that a good night’s rest couldn’t cure, as they say.”
James shook his head, looking at the file in front of him. He then lifted his eyes as he heard another of his guests enter the room hesitantly—his gaze resting on Chief Mubarek.
“I’ve asked Monsieur Savoi to join us this morning,” James announced to the amazed gathering as he got up once again.
“Good morning, Monsieur Flaubert, your invitation was quite unexpected, but I’m glad to have been asked to join you.” Savoi grinned and extended a hand for James to shake, which he ignored.
“Good morning, Monsieur Savoi. Please have a seat. I believe you know everyone around the table except perhaps for Maitre Sangor, who is Carmine’s legal advisor in West Africa.” Hassan nodded toward the two men but didn’t say anything.
A moment later and while he was lost in thought, Hassan didn’t notice the arrival of the last guest. It was only when James pronounced the name that he acknowledged Hjamal was joining them. He took a seat across from Hassan and smiled amiably. Hassan said “good morning,” but didn’t return the smile.
Khumar, who had remained by the doors until now, approached James and whispered something in his ear. Both men then nodded and Khumar went back to lock the doors and to stand in front of them. Chief Mubarek nodded imperceptibly.
Once they were all settled in their seats, the commissioner at one end of the table and James at the other, Hassan got up and said, “Madame McLean, gentlemen, thank you for attending this meeting. What you are about to hear is only a summary of the events that took place in Canada, in Mali and Senegal from the time Carmine first became involved in several projects in Africa. This statement is by no means to be construed as allegations against anyone around this table. Chief Mubarek will advise you in turn of legal responsibilities as they may be presented to you.”
They all nodded in acknowledgement.
Opening the folder in front of him, James looked at every face around the table. Johan, Samir, Monsieur Savoi and Hassan sat side by side facing Talya, Rheza, her Uncle Mohammed and Hjamal. He began. “As you have heard, the following is Madame Kartz’s statement. Again, I impress upon you and repeat what Maitre Sangor has just said, nothing in this statement is to be construed as allegations, accusations or claims against anyone sitting at this table. He then turned his attention to Rheza. “Madame McLean, I’ll start with your story in particular because, as a lady, you deserve to be addressed first.” Rheza turned her face to look at James. The shame and the pain in her eyes were blatant.
“Almost three years ago, when your husband passed away, you inherited not only wealth but also knowledge. You lived and worked in New York. You knew exactly what ‘playing the stock market’ meant. You came back to Africa with this knowledge and a good deal of money. You made several mistakes, however, since you came home; one of them being to tell Monsieur Savoi, your uncle, about what you had learned in America.
“Actually, Madame McLean, your uncle is not as smart as you are, and as the saying goes, ‘a little knowledge is far worse than no knowledge at all’, and your uncle used the little he knew and began playing the game the ‘big boys’ play, wheeling and dealing with someone else’s money.” James shot a meaningful glance in Savoi’s direction.
“I met your uncle during a mining conference in New York two years ago. He was introduced to me as an agent, ready to facilitate government liaisons between the Mining Department in Mali and Carmine. The Directors of Carmine and I were interested in exploring the mining possibilities in West Africa. Monsieur Savoi offered the perfect open door to do just that. Grabbing the opportunity to make money unscrupulously, your uncle pretended to have sufficient knowledge of the business and the powerful contacts to enable Carmine to obtain some of the mining permits we may have wanted to explore in Mali.” Savoi actually smiled.
James ignored him and went on. “A few months later, I traveled to Mali and Senegal. In Mali, I signed an agreement with your uncle on May 1 of last year. In Senegal, I visited Sabodala. From that point on, all of you around this table were taken for what could be qualified as the most fantastic ride of your life.” Everyone stared, uncomprehending of what James had meant by that last comment.
“Carmine wanted nothing more than to explore some of the known gold deposits in Mali,” James was addressing Savoi directly this time. “Perhaps later, if these deposits were to reveal any sort of mining possibilities, each property on which these deposits resided, would have been the subject of extensive studies that may have led to the construction of a processing plant; a process of which you were unaware, Monsieur Savoi, or you chose to ignore. You then approached landowners in the region where prospective sites were located. You promised the moon to these people and demanded a fee in return for finding a mining partner for them. In turn, you went to the Department of Mines in Bamako and filed no less than twelve claims in the name of Carmine, each and every time making sure that a different department employee would be responsible for the processing of these applications.” Savoi was fidgeting and looking quite uneasy.
Raising his eyes to the gathering once again, James resumed, “However, not everyone can be swayed by money or snared by cunning. Monsieur Kane, the Head of that Department saw through the scheme and told Madame Kartz about it immediately upon her arrival in Mali, a few weeks ago. Maitre Sangor and Madame Kartz quickly redressed this situation, and with the capable assistance of the Minister of Mines in Mali, they filed one permit application prior to their coming down to Dakar.
“In the meantime, and weeks before Madame Kartz’s arrival on the