Black Mischief (12 page)

Sally was over her initial shock and understood at once why Maura had brought this unfortunate woman here to the house. ‘You want to see Abel.'

‘Is he at home, Sally? The house seems so quiet.'

‘He is in his screen room. When he is here in the morning, we meet together for coffee at eleven. But …'

‘Please, don't disturb him.'

‘He's never late. I am sure he will try to help. Remember when Thomas was taken …' She broke off.

Straightaway Sally showed signs of distress. Maura had suspected that this would happen but had taken the risk. Tom was alive, Sally believed, because Abel had acted quickly. If Tom had not survived, perhaps her Julius … Once again Sally was fighting off the temptation to blame Tom and, by association, his mother for what had happened to her beloved firstborn. Maura had seen this struggle in Sally before but steadfastly refused to indulge it in the slightest degree. The risk was that this time Sally would take the easier way and see the ‘truth' that Abel and Reuben had pressed on her so many times and let the ensuing resentment sour her attitude to Sonya and her distress.

Sally rode the storm of her temptation. She refused to conveniently forget the Rubai family tragedy was a Rubai family creation. Her doggedness cost her. The old wound was as raw as ever. She smiled at Maura through the lens of tears.

Not for the first time the two mothers held each other very tight, each feeling the physical throb of the other's body as the pain took hold again. But Maura was very conscious of the waste of dwelling on the past when there was a vital necessity to try to ward off another possible violent death. She hardened her sensitivity. Perhaps she and Sonya were too late already, but the miracle of her Tom's return still gave her hope. Quickly she got to the reason why she and Sonya were there.

‘Sally, do you think Abel will be ready to help?'

Sally did not answer at once. It was taking time for her to journey back to the present.

‘Yes, yes. He is a good man. He has not seen The Nation, but he has his own ways of knowing. He's in his screen room. He follows the markets. Did I already say that? He will be here soon.'

Abel Rubai was indeed in his screen room. He had enjoyed another profitable night working, competing with unseen friends and rivals all over the world. The screens were dark now and he was leaning forward in the comfort of his favourite red leather armchair. He, too, was involved in a train of thought that had reached out of the past into this present moment. There was the ritual remembering of Julius, snatched away just when he was growing into his true self and, as usual, the pain of this memory triggered the vivid scene of the dying son. The worst of it was the inevitable next picture, the brown-legged, fair-haired features of the always smiling, always mocking scourge of the white rat of Londiani.

‘Why did I hesitate? All the work was done. Just a simple “yes” from me. Julius would be here today and that other one … a forgotten statistic.'

He was conscious that he was again putting his recent resolve to be his cold, ruthless best self in danger of weakening. Crazy! Stupid! What is going on inside this head of mine? Everything went according to plan yesterday morning. The boys picked up Mboya at the place he had in Kibera. Mboya, he remembered this one's uncle. He often recalled the day when he heard the news that he had been gunned down in Nairobi. ‘Good riddance!' had been his father's comment when the sound of the announcer's words filled their shamba home with the shock news. Later, over their supper of posho and beans, Father had gone on, ‘Abel, never trust a Luo. They are too clever. This one wanted to be the Big Man. I know it. Bad, all bad!'

This nephew, this Simon, was clever, too, and won a scholarship to study medicine overseas. When Abel read in the papers that he had married a fellow student, Sonya Daniels, he was sure that their next step would be migration from England to the United States. There was big money to be made over there. Good riddance!

But no, they had come back to Kenya. For a time they worked in the practice of her elder brother. It wasn't long before articles in Simon's name appeared in the papers. Abel made a point of reading them. He would have admitted it to no one, but since the evening of the news broadcast announcing his death, the story of Tom Mboya had fascinated him. He had read the books about him, but nowhere could he find the essence of this handsome, charming man, nor how or why, irrespective of tribe, so many Kenyans were attracted to him. His popularity at home and abroad brought him down. He had become too big a threat.

Abel had admired a lot of Simon's writings. There was some envy, too, for the wider horizons he had experienced in those years spent in Europe. The articles were popular for their blend of sound, simple medical advice and the humorous stories he used to illustrate these pieces.

Abel remembered the article where the tone began to change. Gone was the folksy humour. This piece was mostly some sentimental rubbish about an unplanned visit to Naivasha Hospital. His first kid was born there, but not out of choice. There was so much anger in that writing. He was raving like an idiot about the shocking conditions, the inhumanity and the rest of that stuff. After that a long silence.

It was years later when one of his staff dropped a newspaper cutting on Abel's desk. Mboya, the writer, was back in business. By now he had built and equipped the first of his clinics. Simon's articles appeared again nationally and in foreign medical journals. At first, these pieces made Abel feel merely uncomfortable, but it was not long before his anger was roused not so much by the medical contents but the increased amount of politicking in them. There was a ready audience for these open attacks on the government and its ‘corrupt' practices. How long would it be before he and his clever pals would be making cocky challenges? We'll see about that.

Abel puzzled over the sources of Mboya's material. Could it be someone in the Inner Twelve who was leaking information? Abel resolved to act when barely veiled threats to his own position appeared. Another Mboya, another threat. The fool was writing his own death warrant. But Abel was a patient man. He would give Mboya the chance to change his ways. His own ways were not subtle. He was not that patient! Abel's team of enforcers knew their business. They enjoyed making sure that the message got through to the little man with the big ideas.

He checked the wall clock. Five minutes to coffee time. Better be on his way. After his half hour with Sally, he would return to the privacy of his screen room and make a couple of phone calls. He was ready to give the word. He began to whistle, a sure sign that the man of the house was in a happy mood.

Realising that he was coming, Maura fixed her gaze on the open door of the sitting room to watch Abel's immediate reaction when he saw Sonya and herself. It lasted only a moment or two, but that was long enough for her to pick up a hint of shock, even of panic that confirmed her suspicion. The affable smile, the bright wide eyes came too late to hide his secret.

‘Ladies, what a pleasant surprise. Four for coffee. It's a long time since we had that, Sally!

His wife's smile was sickly, but neither of the guests could summon up even that gesture. Sonya was looking down, fiddling aimlessly with her fingers. Maura met the challenge of his look. The false charm had vanished and been replaced by a patronising contempt. He suspected what was coming and was preparing his position.

Instinctively Maura knew that the approach that she and Sonya had considered would have to be ditched. Gentle conciliation was not going to work. Abel Rubai would interpret that as begging, grovelling. His ego might swell, but it would not diminish the threat to Simon's life, if there was a life left to threaten.

‘You know that you are our only chance. You helped save my Tom.'

Three pairs of female eyes were riveted on Abel Rubai as he looked down into his coffee, taking his time to make sure that he stirred the last speck of cream into the rich brown liquid. When he lifted his head, Sonya caught her breath at the sight of his face. There was a broad smile on his lips, but the eyes were cold, hooded like a cobra about to spit his venom. She had never seen such a frightening combination of features.

Abel, the master builder of tension, sipped his drink once, twice to make sure that the taste and the temperature were satisfactory. He cleared his throat and began.

‘Maura, as direct as ever, I see! Well I see I must be direct, too. Seeing you here, Mrs Mboya, tells me everything. I have to say at once that I can do very little to help. Maura, I told you that what happened with your son all those months ago,' he flicked his free hand casually, as if he were pushing away a fly, ‘was little more than chance, a piece of good fortune. I telephoned the main police stations around the country, and Inspector Kariuki of Nakuru … came up with the goods. Lightning doesn't strike …' He waited for someone to complete the expression.

Sonya obliged. ‘Oh, but it does!' She moved forward in her seat and focused on Abel as if she were a teacher eager to make an important point in a lesson. Her energy levels were rising fast. ‘Mr Rubai, what kind of wretched human being could want to punish a man, a doctor, working to help the poorest people in this country, to give them a little hope?'

Sally found the pain of Julius's loss beginning to overwhelm her once more with the usual side effect, a deepened compassion for the suffering of someone who had lost a loved one or was in danger of doing so.

‘Sonya, Abel will do anything he can. There are cruel people at work among us. Abel, perhaps if you telephoned the police …'

‘Perhaps.' Abel did not try to hide his irritation with his wife. She was trying to invade a world that he meant to keep private, mainly for her own good.

Maura picked up the conflict of vibrations between husband and wife and her intuition, honed to a sharp edge, told her why it was so. She saw clearly that this wily man who lived by his wits did not give a fig for the lives of those whom he saw as a threat. He was the strong man in the ruling elite. The air of mystery created by his shadowy position fostered awe in friend and foe. Dangerous and ruthless, he was also astute and knew exactly when to hold back. Maura knew what she must do.

‘Abel, you are making a mistake here.'

The big man poured himself another coffee, then turned to face Maura full on. He gave her the benefit of an expression of amused contempt before he spoke.

‘My dear Maura, please be more specific. Mistake? Of underestimating my powers to be of assistance to this lady? Mistake of … well, you tell me. I'm intrigued.'

She weighed in without hesitation. ‘Mistake of thinking that we are idiots! Simon Mboya was becoming a nuisance to certain people in this country.'

‘I have to agree with you there but - and listen carefully - I am not one of those people.'

Maura hesitated to look across at Sonya. She was upset to see distress written large in her expression. For a few seconds she hesitated. Perhaps it was she who was making the mistake. No! No! She did not doubt that the man sitting opposite her was the moving force behind the danger to a good man's life, but she had realised that she was a novice in the world of intrigue which was the natural habitat of Mr Abel Rubai. He would make her pay for her wild boldness, but she had to go on.

‘Half a dozen young men in smart suits, the Rubai trademark. Anyone with half a brain would recognise that.'

Abel chuckled and he reached out to touch his wife's arm. He wanted to reassure her that her beloved husband had not turned into an evil scourge of his, the good people of Kenya.

‘Maura, you are the one who is mistaken. I can forgive you, but look what you are doing to your friend here! I am sure you are acting in love, but your desperation has temporarily turned your mind.' He raised his hand as a gesture to prevent her from renewing her attack. ‘Please, dear lady, just listen. Yes, I give work to a lot of young men. Yes, I like them to look smart and I can afford to buy them good quality clothes. But I don't have a corner on the market of the hundreds of very competent tailors working in this city. Now, something more important. If you come with me to my library, you will find a lot of literature about the Mboya family. I have all the books and articles written about the great Thomas. I have always been a big admirer. I remember the day the news came through about his murder on the streets of this city. You can inspect the boxes where I keep the articles that Simon wrote.

‘Why would I want to do any harm to a man who was helping, and will help again, God willing, to fight disease in the most deserving of the wananchi?'

Sally sat back in her chair, relaxed again to have it proved to her that her man still had the upright character that she had seen in him all those years ago when they first met in a youth service in the village branch of the Presbyterian Church of East Africa. Sonya, too, could understand the logic of what he said. Perhaps the shock of almost losing Tom in a kidnapping was still with Maura and caused suspicions to surface where there were none.

Maura refused to let go. ‘Right, then, you're too clever for me, and you can see that I'm not very smart with words so, to shut me up, just do one thing and I'll go home. Say - and I'm not asking you to swear - that you had nothing to do with all this, that even now, you'll try your best to get Simon back alive.'

‘No!'

The curt reply shocked the room into silence. Abel gave his companions time to draw their conclusions before going on. When he did so, he spoke with quiet assurance.

‘No. I cannot satisfy you on this. If you take this to be an unspoken confession of guilt, let that be on your conscience. If you cannot believe what I have said already, if you think I am a liar, then “yes” or “no”, what difference would either of these words make?'

‘So, we are wasting our time and your time? And, Sonya, it breaks my heart that I have failed you.'