Elephant Song - Smith Wilbur - Страница 51

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Where the hell were the police?  It was at least an hour and a half since he had phoned them.  Even in his agitation, he realised that it would certainly take them longer than that to obtain a search warrant.

It just has to be the ivory, he muttered to himself.  There was no other outbound cargo stacked on that ramp.  It's the ivory, I'd take any odds, and it's on its way to Taiwan.  The loco was drawing the three trucks sedately down the curving rail spur towards the main line and the goods yards, but it had to pass very close to where Daniel was parked on the outskirts of the market-place.

Daniel started the Volkswagen and pulled out into the main road.  He accelerated, passing a heavily laden lorry, and sped down to the level-crossing which the loco must cross to reach the main goods yard.

The red warning lights were flashing, the warning bell trilling, and the swinging barrier came down in front of him to guard the crossing, forcing him to brake to a halt.  The loco rumbled slowly over the crossing directly in front of the stationary Volkswagen, moving not much above walking speed.

Daniel pulled on the handbrake, and, leaving the engine running, jumped down into the road and slipped under the barrier.  The first truck rolled past close enough to touch.

The railways consignment card was clipped into the holder on the side of the truck, and he read it easily as it came level and passed slowly in front of him.

CONSIGNEE: LUCKY DRAGON INVESTMENT CO Destination: Taiwan via Beira Cargo: 250 cases Tea The last lingering doubt was dispelled.  Daniel stared angrily after the departing train.  They were going to get away with it, right under his nose.

The warning lights switched off, the bell fell silent and the barrier began to rise as the loco and its rolling stock pulled away.

Immediately the drivers of the traffic backed up behind the Volkswagen began to sound their horns and flash their lights impatiently.

Daniel strode back to the hire car and drove on.  He took the first road to the left, running parallel to the railway tracks and found another place to park from where he had a view into the railway goods yard.

He watched through the binoculars as the three trucks were shunted and coupled on to the end of a long goods train.  The caboose was locked on behind them and, finally, the whole assembly of coaches and goods trucks pulled out of the yard.

With a green mainline loco pulling them, it set off for Mozambique and the port of Beira five hundred miles away on the seaboard of the Indian Ocean.

There was nothing he could do to stop it happening.  Wild fantasies flashed through his mind, of trying to hijack the loco, of rushing down to police headquarters and demanding that they take immediate action before it was too late and the train crossed the border.  Instead, he drove back to his original vantage point beside the open-air market and resumed his vigil through the binoculars.

He felt tired and dispirited, and remembered that he had not slept at all the previous night.  His arm was stiff and sore.  He unwrapped the bandage and was relieved to see that there were no further obvious signs of infection.  On the contrary the rips in his forearm were beginning to scab over as well as he could have hoped for.  He replaced the bandage.

While he watched the warehouse, he tried to work out some means of stopping the ivory shipment, but he knew that his hands were tied.  In the end it all came down to the death of Chawe.  Chetti Singh had only to point at him, and he stood accused of murder.  He dared not draw official attention to himself.

While he waited and watched, he thought about Johnny Nzou and Mavis and their children, mourning them and nursing his hatred for their murderers.

Almost two hours after the goods train had left, he noticed sudden activity around the warehouse.  Chetti Singh's green Cadillac drew up at the main gates, followed by two greypainted police Landrovers, each filled with uniformed constables. There was a short discussion with the guards at the gates, then the three vehicles drove into the property and parked beside the open warehouse doors.  Eleven police constables led by an officer climbed out of the Landrovers.  The officer spoke briefly to Chetti Singh beside the Cadillac.  Through the binoculars Daniel saw that the Sikh appeared dapper and unconcerned;

his turban was crisp and white above his darkly handsome face.

The police officer led his men into the warehouse, only to emerge again an hour later, strolling along at Chetti Singh's side.  The officer was gesticulating and talking persuasively, very obviously apologising to Chetti Singh, who smiled and waved away his protestations and finally shook his hand magnanimously.

The contingent of police constables reboarded their Landrovers and drove away.  Standing beside the green Cadillac, Chetti Singh watched them go, and it seemed to Daniel through the binocular lens that he was no longer smiling.  Bastard!  Daniel whispered.  You haven't got away with it yet.

He finally got control of his anger and started to think rationally once again.

Could he stop the shipment before it left the country?  he wondered.

And almost immediately he abandoned the idea.  He knew that the goods train was on a non-stop run and would reach the border within hours.

What about intercepting it at the port of Beira, before it was loaded on a tramp steamer bound for the Far East?  This was a better bet, but-still long odds.  From what little he had learned about Chetti Singh so far, it was clear that he had a network of influence and bribery that extended over many countries in central Africa, certainly over Zimbabwe and Zambia, and why not over Mozambique, one of the most corrupt and chaotic states on the continent?

He was certain that a great deal of contraband passed through that warehouse over there, and Chetti Singh would have secured his pipeline to the outside world.  As Malawi was a land-locked state, that pipeline must include the port captain and the Mozarnbiquan army, police force and customs service.

They would be paid off by Chetti Singh and would protect him.

Still, he decided, it was worth a try.

Daniel drove down to the main post office in the town centre.  It was highly unlikely that the Malawi Police had the sophisticated equipment to trace a telephone call swiftly, but once again, he took the precaution of making his message short and of muffling his voice with a handkerchief and speaking in Swahili.  Tell Inspector Mopola that the stolen ivory was shipped out of the warehouse at eleven thirty-five a.

m.

by goods train to Beira.  It is hidden in a shipment of tea-chests consigned to Lucky Dragon Investment Company in Taipei.  Before the operator on the police exchange could ask for his name he cradled the receiver, and crossed to a small general dealer's store on the opposite side of the street.  If the police weren't going to do anything, it was all up to him.

He purchased a packet of safety-matches, a roll of Sellotape, a box of mosquito coils and two kilos of frozen minced meat, then drove back to the Capital Hotel.

As soon as he entered his hotel room he was aware that somebody had searched it.  When he opened his canvas valise he saw that the contents had been disarranged.  Nothing for Chetti Singh there, he muttered with grim satisfaction.  He had deposited his passport and traveller's cheques in the hotel safe at the cashier's desk downstairs, but the search of his possessions confirmed his estimate of Chetti Singh.  He's not only a tough bastard, but a cunning one.  He's organised and he hasn't missed a trick so far.  Let's see if we can spoil his record, but first I need some shut-eye.  He changed the dressing on his arm, and gave himself another shot of antibiotic and then fell on the bed.

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