BAMAKO by Aribert Raphael (smart books to read txt) 📖

Carmine Resources Ltd., a public mining company located in Vancouver, Canada, engaged the services of Mr. Amadou Savoi. He was to oversee the application for a gold exploration permit in NW Mali. Soon after Talya Kartz’s arrival in Bamako, Mr. Savoi disappears along with his niece, Rheza McLean. Talya needs to find them in order to clear Carmine’s name of any wrong-doing in the embezzlement of funds, alleged bribing of government officials and involvement in the murder of Richard Gillman.

Talya’s investigation leads her to Dakar where she discovers that the embezzled funds have been invested in the illegal mining of Sabodala in SE Senegal. With the able assistance of Hassan Sangor, a Malian attorney, and Captain Sahab, a private pilot, she unravels the mystery behind Savoi and Rheza’s disappearance and the murder of Richard Gillman.


BAMAKO

The Savoi Affair

a Novel

By

Aribert Raphaël


Bamako – The Savoi Affair
© Copyright 2010 Aribert Raphaël
All rights reserved
First published in 2004 – ISBN 1-4140-2487-8


The localities, including Sabodala, landmarks and government organizations mentioned or described in this book do exist. The characters and events are fictional. Their resemblance to actual events or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.


Acknowledgements

I wish to mention the enormous contribution from my friends and colleagues in Vancouver, in Paris and in West Africa—thank you to every one of you.
I also extend grateful thanks to Maitre Alhassan Sangare, (Mali), Mr. Yanssané, my school principal (Guinée), Mrs. Haby Dembélé (Mali), and Mr. Mamadou Fané (Mali) for allowing me to draw on their knowledge of West Africa to write this book.


He could still see the human shape escarping the beach, bringing to mind an incongruous remnant of a sand castle, the white hand clutched in a fist as if its owner wanton thoughts of vengeance beckoned beyond death.


1
Talya read the letter again.

James Flaubert, President
Carmine Resources Limitée
Heritage House
Vancouver, BC
Canada

Dear Mr. Flaubert,
In the latest annual report, you announced the company’s move to acquire several exploration permits in Mali. The report also states that you have appointed Mr. Savoi as Carmine’s agent in that country.
I have a large portfolio of investments in various mining companies, one of which is Carmine. Therefore, and as what I would consider, a major shareholder in your enterprise, I would like to obtain some clear and precise explanations as to why no apparent progress has been made toward the acquisition of these permits. It seems to me that there should have been some tangible results in this regard, if some of the unverified reports, emanating from the stock exchanges, are to be believed.

Awaiting your reply,
Yours truly,
J.C. Reshane

She rose from her desk and walked down the hall to James Flaubert’s office. The letter left very little to interpretation—the man was not happy. James had indeed authorized the forwarding of large payments to Mr. Savoi on a regular basis for several months now, without much result. This shareholder wanted and deserved some explanation.
When Talya entered his office, James swivelled his chair to face her. He saw her with the letter in hand and waved to her to sit down. He was on the phone.
A few years ago, Talya Kartz came home to Vancouver. She had left Australia in the middle of summer and had landed in Canada in the middle of winter. The pouring rain, even dripping wet felt good, because she was home. Meanwhile, she was also out of work and frustrated right out of self-confidence. Several years of drudgery Downunder, although some of it self-imposed, had left her with very little credence in her judgment and ability. She had not been fired, or anything that drastic, but she had come home when she had felt she still had time to repair the damage done to her self-esteem.
If her self-confidence was perhaps a worrisome subject, her figure wasn’t. Talya was a petite, slim, yet curvy woman with a head of blond—almost white—curls that had been the envy of many a girl. Her allure, her demeanour, in reality, everything about Talya was attractive.
Shortly after landing in Vancouver, she remembered sitting on the bed in her hotel room, the papers spread-open around her, going through the classifieds, and looking at all the jobs that could not possibly be hers; she had found nothing, nothing that would pay the bills next month. New apartment, new furniture, new this, new that…, all of which was going to add to zero money much too soon.
Eventually, a friend of a friend, as it often happens, told her about a gold mining company that was looking for an executive secretary. Without holding much hope of success, she went through the paces of interviews conducted at the employment agency where her friend worked, the ritual of giving references and the usual rigmarole of too numerous skill-tests. Since she had been told that he was out of town, she didn’t have a chance to meet with the man who was to become her boss. This wasn’t a good sign, as far as she was concerned. Two weeks later however, to her great relief, and somewhat to her surprise, Carmine notified her that she was to be at their offices, in downtown Vancouver, the following Monday at 9:00AM sharp. Talya’s bruised ego got a Band-Aid.
In the first year, she climbed the ladder to Assistant Director. This time round, Talya reached the top rung with relative ease, although her mouth did most of the stepping up. Her self-confidence also returned at a gallop when she began receiving some recognition for her efforts.
James’s office was particularly bright. It enjoyed the light from the morning sun and none of the west-side heat. Unfortunately, James was a highly disorganized individual. The leather couch tucked under two of the windowsills, the large desk, the credenza, the round table in the corner, the chairs, in fact, every square inch of every piece of furniture was covered with piles of files, unfolded maps, books and opened briefcases or bags.
The floor was equally encumbered; gadgets, tools, hockey sticks, some more folders everywhere, and sacks of rocks leaning against the walls on either side of the wardrobe. Talya had never seen a wardrobe in an office before working for James, but he liked to hang his jackets and a change of clothes somewhere else than on a hook behind a door. On the wall behind his desk, his diplomas, degrees and certificates fought for space with his children’s drawings and souvenirs or photos from his numerous trips abroad.
Every time she wanted to gain access to a chair, Talya had to find a passage over and around the mess. Once she had found the chair, she had to remove files or books before she could sit down. That morning proved no different. She removed some files and a briefcase from a chair and sat waiting for James to finish his conversation.
James Flaubert was a Frenchman, born and bred in France and schooled in Britain. He had curly grey hair, a thin face with a long nose, gentle blue eyes and an attractive boyish smile. With his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows, no tie, no fuss, and an almost always-casual attitude, he looked more like a technician than a president of a successful enterprise did.
Talya admired James for his perseverance in founding and keeping this small mining company afloat, while riding the waves of market fluctuations that could otherwise have been its downfall. She often embraced his optimism and felt strongly about his forthright honesty. He was compassionate and sensitive. Yet, he had a liberal trust in his fellow men, which may have been a flawed trait of his distinct, steering character.
At last, James hung up. “So, what do you think?” He closed a desk drawer. “What’s happening with our applications?”
Talya shook her head. “I don’t know what to think. There are a few things I don’t understand. For one thing, Mr. Savoi is being paid, handsomely I might add, every month and for what? To receive a letter from him saying that everything is fine but ‘these things take time’…”
James shrugged.
Talya fell silent.
“Yes, I know all that.” He reclined in his seat, crossed his legs, one ankle over one knee. “What really bothers me is that apart from his salary, we’ve made other transfers to his account. Some of these were supposedly to pay for the processing of the applications, and that was expensive…”
“Did we ever get any accounting statements for these expenditures?”
“Sure. And you know Ken; he’s gone through everything.”
“I guess he would,” Talya agreed. As Carmine’s CFO, Ken Davros had very few equals when it came to sifting through complex accounting ledgers. “What if he received reports that were not actually what they appeared to be? Could he check on those?”
James shook a finger at her. “That’s just it! That’s exactly what bothers me. Ken has checked everything, and he’s found huge discrepancies between the receipts Savoi sent and the amounts we’ve been transferring to his account.” He reclined even further in the seat.
“There you are then, if Savoi has been fiddling with the books somehow…” She bent her head, averting her eyes from James’s gaze. “You know, I can’t help feeling that we’ve been taken for a ride.”
Instantly, James brought the chair forward. “What do you mean by that?” He put his elbows to rest on the desk blotter, his long hands stretched flat in front of him, and looked at Talya intently. She had his attention.
She lifted her eyes to him. “Look at it this way, we’ve been told things are going to take time, but you signed an agreement with Savoi in May of last year—that’s ten months ago. I’m sure it shouldn’t take that long to process these applications. And another thing, why do we need to apply for twelve permits when we only need one?”
“I guess I have to believe that’s the way they do things down there. Savoi said—”
“Here you go again.” Talya was getting annoyed. “You’re relying on Savoi’s word and where did that get us? Nowhere. No, this isn’t the way things are done, not even down there.” Talya’s mouth was running away with her feelings. “You’ve asked me what I think and what I think is that Savoi has been filling his pockets for months now. If someone doesn’t go down there to take a look at what’s going on, we’ll never see any permits.”
Somehow, she had hit a nerve. Neither of them spoke.
After a moment, James uncoiled his lanky frame out of the chair and came round to sit on the edge of his desk, crossing his arms over his chest, looking down at Talya.
“What would it take for you to go to Mali? You’ve lived down there; you know the people and you seem to know what it takes to file permit applications. You have the—”
“You’ve just got to ask me, that’s all,” she flared.
“Then, I’m asking.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll go then.” As Talya articulated the words, she could not believe she actually did so, as if beaten into acceptance.
James turned away and went back to his seat. He picked up the phone and called Stanley Baron, the company secretary and resident