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

anywhere he chooses, he’ll do so without hesitation, believe me. The only reason, in my way of thinking, he’s not going to do it, it’s because he’ll see someone at your side all the time.”
Talya had to agree. Hassan’s reasoning made sense.
“Hassan’s right,” Chantal said from over Talya’s shoulder. “You’ve got to be careful. This Monsieur Rasheed, I had him on the phone tonight, remember? He sounds like he’s got a one-track mind. And if he decided to take you away he would succeed, no matter what.”
Talya didn’t want to argue anymore. She only wanted to get away from it all as soon as possible.
They arrived at the restaurant a few minutes later. As they entered, the hostess came forward to greet the three of them with a sign of recognition in her smile.
“Maitre Sangor, it’s a pleasure to have you back once again. This time you’ve brought two ladies with you, I see. My, my, Maitre, you must be spoiled.”
“I’m pleased to be back again, too, Lisa. My companions and I would like a table in a quiet corner, if possible?”
“Of course, Maitre, this way please…” Lisa led their little parade down two steps toward a corner of the restaurant away from the dining crowd where a table for three had been quickly laid out for them.
Chantal was admiring the woodcarvings resting against the walls in well-appointed corners where the ageing patina reflected the spotlights overhead. The whole décor seemed to appeal to her sense of comfort.
Once they had settled down and drinks were ordered, Talya couldn’t wait any longer.
“Chantal, please let’s have it. What did Jean-Claude have to say...?”
“Well, as I told you on the phone there isn’t much because Jean-Claude and James only spent a few hours at the mine-site. They met with Richard Gillman very briefly. James talked to him regarding the installation of the ball-mill and the crusher, technical details, you know. He said the locals were all around them when they talked. Jean-Claude also said the Dutchman was there, too, and they talked for a while. Apparently, the Dutchman had been engaged by the owner to bring over some nitro-glycerine and place it in strategic spots. He said the nitro was to be used to blow up half of the hill side to uncover the gold deposits that had been discovered years earlier by a French explorer.”
That sounded plausible. It was the type of job the Dutchman would undertake, although Talya didn’t think his mission was limited to placing a few ounces of nitro on the side of a hill.
He had been there for something else. Let’s see… “Did Jean-Claude tell you how much nitro had been brought to the mine-site and when?”
“No, not exactly, he didn’t know how much was on site but the Dutchman told him there was a half-a-ton on order and that one container-full had already arrived a little while before they were there.”
Averting a choking cough, “What? What did you say?” Talya said almost inaudibly. Gladly, this time she had no cup of coffee to drop.
“I said: there was a half-a-ton of nitro on order and one container-full on-site when Jean-Claude left. Why?” Chantal hadn’t realized what she had said. She was puzzled at Talya’s reaction. Hassan was shaking his head, smiling.
“Are you absolutely sure Jean-Claude said a half-a-ton, as in 220 hundred kilograms, or was it a half of a metric tonne?”
“No, no, I’m sure he said a half-a-ton as in 500 pounds. I’m very sure that’s what Jean-Claude said. I know it sounds like a lot but when he said they intended to blow up the side of a hill with it, I thought a half-a-ton must have been what they’d needed.” Chantal looked a little upset by Talya’s obvious disbelief.
Hassan wiped the smile off his face when Talya gave Chantal the needed explanation. “There is a reason why we, or others, may not believe you, or Jean-Claude for that matter, when you say there was a half-a-ton of nitro on order or even just a container-full on site. That’s because you’d only need a tenth of that to raze an entire hill off the face of the earth and all the gold with it.”
“Wow! Really? I had no idea. But I’m sure Jean-Claude said a half-a-ton. Why would they want that much explosive around if they only needed a little bit to do the job? Why would Jean-Claude lie?” Chantal looked perplexed.
Talya shook her head. “I’m sure Jean-Claude wasn’t lying. He simply told you what he heard from the Dutchman. Maybe they were interrupted in their conversation and the Dutchman couldn’t tell him the rest of it. Because I’m equally sure there is more to this story than meets the eye.” Jean-Claude must have known something was wrong with the amount anyway.
Then it dawned on Talya—the missing piece from Richard’s letter—that was it. Richard knew about the nitro. He must have known. Why did he deliberately omit the fact from his otherwise detailed story? …Hassan was asking Talya a question.
“Did the Dutchman call you already?”
“No, not yet, but the night is young.”
By this time, the drinks were already on the table. They each had ordered a different meal, which the waitress brought promptly and unobserved. They picked from each other’s plate. Then they suddenly started laughing and telling jokes as if their nerves had snapped under the strain and tension of the last twenty-four hours. The whole situation was becoming more ridiculous, more fantastic, and more nightmarish by the minute, and they wanted respite, a moment to forget, as it were. None of them wanted to go back to reality or talk about the reason they came to the restaurant in the first place—Rasheed’s phone call to Chantal.
It was after ten o’clock when they left that little corner of peace Hassan had uncovered for Talya more than three weeks ago already.
Chantal agreed to call Jean-Claude again the next day and ask if the Dutchman had said anything else about the nitro. The three of them drove back to the Grand Hotel. After a few tired good-byes on all sides, Chantal got into her car and went home.
Hassan and Talya walked from the parking lot to find their guardian angel sitting on the hotel’s front steps. They exchanged no more than a courteous “good night.”
When they entered the lobby, Hassan gently grabbed Talya’s arm and steered her quickly toward the staircase. She could feel the tightness of his hand; his muscles were taut, he was on the alert.
Passing the front desk, the hotel manager came round seemingly determined to speak to them. “Madame Kartz, I don’t mean to intrude, but is everything all right? I hope you have all you need in your room and if we can be of any further assistance, please let me know…” He smiled.
“That’s very nice of you, Monsieur Gerald, thank you. Although I don’t need anything at the moment, just sleep perhaps.”
“Well then, have a good night and the same to you, Maitre.”
“Good night,” Hassan said, while the manager walked away toward the lounge. “I don’t like it,” he whispered. “I bet Monsieur Gerald has been asked to point you out.”
“He did, didn’t he? With flourish…”
They were now climbing the stairs toward their respective rooms. Someone was following them, three steps behind. Since Talya wasn’t about to show the person the way to her room, she stopped, turned and started downward once again, Hassan in tow. They passed the man on the staircase. It was Abdul Rasheed, Talya was sure of it. When they got to the lounge, Talya asked the bartender to let her have two large bottles of water. He put them on the bar and she gave one of them to Hassan.
“We forgot to get our daily ration,” Talya said to the bartender.
He bent forward and said in her ear, “I thought you’d like to know, Monsieur Rasheed’s been waiting for you all evening. There were two other men asking for you as well. What shall I tell everyone who comes calling?”
“I don’t know. Just tell them they can leave a message at the desk if they wish to speak to me…” Talya could feel Hassan’s body shielding her back. As she turned to leave, the man from the staircase approached the bar. He came close to her—too close. With her arm extended sideways, Talya prevented Hassan to come between them.
“Madame Kartz, I presume?” the man said hesitantly. Again! One of these days I’m going to have an answer ready for all of the people who have ‘presumed’ of my identity.
“Yes. Monsieur Abdul Rasheed, I presume?” Tit for tat.
“Err…, yes....”
“Let me introduce Maitre Hassan Sangor….” She turned her face to Hassan. “Maitre, this is Monsieur Abdul Rasheed.”
The latter extended a hand, which neither of them shook.
“Madame Kartz, if I may impose on your time I’d like to speak to you privately.”
“Until this very moment, Monsieur Rasheed, I didn’t wish to speak to you privately or otherwise. Moreover, I have nothing to say to you or anyone that my attorney shouldn’t be allowed to hear. But since you’re here, and you seem determined to talk to me, we can go and sit down for a few minutes.”
“Madame Kartz, this is very important. But ... well, if you insist, I’ll speak in front of Maitre Sangor.”
“Shall we sit down then?” Talya offered, turning toward the lounge.
“Err…, well…, yes.”
Abdul Rasheed was an Arab fellow. He spoke with a pronounced North African accent. He was stout—well rounded—with a flabby face to match his girth. His whitish skin was almost ashen. (Maybe the man was sick.) He wore glasses over a pair of black, beady eyes. His double-breasted navy suit, shirt and tie looked expensive. He smelled like a perfumery. There were rings on two fingers of both hands. He was carrying a briefcase, which seemed to be worth more than all of Talya’s handbags and purses put together. The man was a snob and a show-off, Talya decided. They sat down.
Meanwhile, their guardian angel and his follower came in and sat at the table next to theirs. Adding two more people to their little gathering visibly disturbed Monsieur Rasheed immensely. He started fidgeting in his chair. Clearly, he didn’t like being watched. Tough!
“Monsieur Rasheed, as I’ve told you many times on the phone,” Talya began, “I cannot, and my company is not prepared to assist Monsieur Hjamal in the way he suggested when he was in Vancouver. On the other hand, I did stop in Dakar on my way to Bamako. You had told me that someone would be at the airport to greet me upon arrival. No one showed up. Monsieur Hjamal wasn’t anywhere to be found when I phoned his office and home. Now, you’ve come here wanting to speak to me ‘privately’. Well. Monsieur Rasheed, I’m all ears. What is it that you have to say that would justify a meeting at this time?”
“I can appreciate your position, Madame Kartz. I’m sorry if I wasn’t at the airport to meet you. I was unavoidably detained…” Wooww! ‘Unavoidably detained’ that’s even better than Dr. Livingston, I