Chapter 11: Chapter 11

It was quarter to eight in the morning when the family sat on either side of the glass dining table for breakfast. The table had been laid with an embroidered linen cloth, flowers in vases plates containing sandwiches, an ice lemon cake, hot scones spread with cream pine, apple jam, and assorted biscuits. It was like a celebration because Nabeel who was always traveling arrived the previous night. “Mum, this is lovely,” Nabeel commended as he bit a scone, his face doddering in the process.

“I’m glad you like it,” Mrs. Basma Shaphat intoned, her face glowing with pride. “I prepare them especially for you.”

“Mum doesn’t give us delicacies like this unless you are around,” “Barira chipped in, pretending to be jealous.

“Is that so?” Nabeel asked turning to Majeed for confirmation.

“Barira isn’t telling the truth.” Majeed pouted, “She is a lady; she should be able to enter the kitchen and prepare any kind of delicacy she feels like eating.”

“That is a point, Majeed,” Nabeel said, smiling mischievously, “that aside, I employed a cook. Didn’t I?”

Barira pointed an accusing finger at Majeed. “I can’t believe you are saying this, Majeed?” She scowled, her eyes widened with astonishment,

“I kept telling you that Mum is getting old, she needs more rest and Nabeel has warned us not to overburden her, which was why he hired a cook.”

“Shut your mouth!” Barira interrupted him, blinking fast and furiously, “She is my mother, and she has not been complaining. Has she?”

“It is okay both of you,” Mrs. Basma said, “You are eating, and you are not expected to converse during meals.”

“Warn Majeed to be careful with me,” She pouted, adjusting the bib of her apron, and gulped down the remaining of her tea. “It is even better you get off to your training college and let peace reign in the house,”

“It is okay! I’m not too old to cook for you my children,” Mrs. Basma consoled. “Anytime you feel like eating anything special, just tell me. We will prepare it together, okay?”

“Yes, Mum,” Barira muttered,

“I heard something about training college. I thought Majeed has graduated?” Nabeel asked curiously.

“I didn’t inform you the last time we spoke on phone?” Mrs. Basma asked with surprise, “It must have been an oversight.”

“Definitely,”

“He got employment with the Mpoto Police Force (MPF).” Mrs. Basma announced with pride. “The training is scheduled to commence next week Monday,”

“And I am not aware of this?”

“You were very tired when you arrived last night, and I didn’t want to bother you with frivolities since you will be staying the weekend.”

“Well, accept my congratulations,” He took a sanitary tissue from the table and wiped his mouth, suddenly feeling uneasy.”

“Are you not happy, Nabeel?” Mrs. Basma asked observing him with concern.

“Mum, why wouldn’t I?” He asked with relaxed indulgence. “He has chosen a profession; we have no choice but to support him.”

“Thank you very much for your support, Nabeel.” Majeed said, “I will need some…”

“I know, Majeed, just give me the estimate of everything you will need, I will give you the money before I leave on Monday and you too Barira, give me the list of all you need,”

“Thank you, brother,” Barira intoned as Nabeel stood up and walked to his bedroom.

Mrs. Basma stood up and followed him. “Something is troubling you, my son?” She asked with motherly concern.

“Nothing, Mum, I’m just tired and need to rest more.”

“The last time you came, you promised we will discuss your job,” Mrs. Basira began, sitting down beside her son on the edge of the bed. “I appreciate all that you have been doing for us, my son,” Mrs. Basma began, her eyes focused on him. “You never let us feel the absence of your father but still I’m not happy because I don’t know the source of your income,”

“You don’t have to doubt me, Mum,” Nabeel said, feeling a tingle in his conscience. “I promise to satisfy your curiosity, please don’t exercise any fear,”

“Mum, please allow Nabeel to rest,” Majeed boomed as he burst into the room, Barira wants to go for lectures, she said I should collect the key to the Toyota Rav4, so that I can drop her in school.”

“Did you see your siblings that were at each other’s throats just a few minutes ago?” Mrs. Basma said. “He wants to go out with the car; he is just using his sister as a cover-up.” Nabeel couldn’t help laughing. “Mum, please give them the key; they are the babies of the house.”

Mrs. Basma stood up from the edge of the bed. “We will conclude our discussion after you have rested.” She said as she followed Majeed out.

ΩΩ

Agent Braxton paused in the doorway of the office of the Director of the National Security Agency (NSA), he was filled with unconcealed curiosity; the Director had been direct, blurt, and brief. “The President’s daughter died of a complicated abortion in the Government House Hospital. The Personal Physician to the President claimed ignorant of the atrocity but he died before the investigation could be concluded. The President’s daughter’s Security Attaché was killed in cold blood. We believed somebody is trying to cover up something. Your task is to find out who is behind these killings. If, it is true Dr. Shaphat wasn’t the one, who is it? The President believed so much in you, Braxton, help us solve this mystery. An arrangement has been made for logistic, just ask and it shall be made available for you.”

“Can I have the report of the Security Attaché?” He asked.

"Yes, you can,” The Director said and handed over the bulky files. “I doubt if you can find anything concrete but all the same, good luck.”

“Sir, may I know what made you conclude that the Office of the Assistant Director had been in charge of the investigation, but the Assistant Director told me that the Security Attaché had deliberately been withholding useful information.”

“Braxton, that is the puzzle; solve it for us!” he said with a note of finality and opened a file before him.

“Thank you, sir,” He muttered and quietly left the Director’s office.

As he sat in his moderately living room, he pondered over the discussion he had with the President a few days before meeting the Director of the NSA. He was sympathetic with the President to the extent that all his misgivings over his sudden summon from the espionage course he was undergoing in the United States was forgotten. “Braxton, I was the one who authorized the termination of your two years espionage course in the United States. I need you to help me solve a mystery; I believe there are people in the opposition party who are collaborating with some people in my cabinet to derail my government. Help me find my daughter’s murderers; her cousin who happened to be her closest friend who would have helped with information was also murdered, including her Security Attaché. You are the only one I can trust.”

“Your Excellency, I’m honoured, I promise to do my best.” Braxton, responded, his expression sorrowful. It is not every day you have the President of your country invite you for a chat.

“Your work might be easy after all because my daughter’s second Security Attaché sent a secret message to me, alleging that she knows the solution to this puzzle. She said an attempt had been made on her life twice; she is currently in hiding in an undisclosed location. I want you to go to my Chief Security Officer who will give you the detailed information, after which you will go to your director’s office for the formal briefing. I don’t need to tell you to keep the assignment as secretive as possible.”

“Your Excellency can count on me,” he said.

The President had thrown him off-balanced when he asked, “Can you tell me about your course in the United States?”

A few minutes later, he was with the Chief Security Officer for briefing.

When he got back into his car and drove out of the Presidential Castle headed for the highway, he didn’t lose the glazed look in his eyes. His brain was hyperactive, trying to ponder over many issues at the same time. The bottom line was to find Agent Marni. She had indicated in her fax to the President that a top military brass was involved in the atrocity and to escape punishment he was masterminding a coup. The plan had reached an advanced stage. He had to contact her fast. He knew her mother was dead; she was killed by a kingpin, a drug baron they were trailing some years back. The drug baron had thought by killing the helpless window he would have used that to divert their attention and paved the way for his final escape. He admired Marni’s bravery and courage; she wasn’t deterred. It was one of the reasons he commended her deployment to the Presidency. As he slowed down at a T-junction, an idea struck him, “Yes!”

The only place Marni could have gone into hiding was in her younger brother’s place. The younger brother was not known to most Agents because he lived far away. He knew because of his closeness with her; they worked closely together on many assignments. It was worth a try. He willed himself to concentrate on the road and to forget every other thing.

ΩΩ

They have sat for longer than necessary and were beginning to get apprehensive. “She supposed to have called us by now?” Collins said worriedly.

“Yes, maybe we should go to her room and see; something may be wrong,” Nabeel suggested, a cigarette dangling between his lips.

“The two of you should go,” Conan ordered. After trying to call her again, he dropped his cell phone on the table and spoke. “Her phone is switched off.”

They rose swiftly to their feet and went up the steps to the corridor leading to the hotel rooms. They hurried along the corridor to the right, stopping at their usual room, and burst in without knocking. The light was on, and Colleen lay on the bed stark naked in a pool of blood, a knife was dangling in her tummy. The two men looked at each other before swinging into confusing action. Nabeel ran to the bathroom to check if anyone was inside, but it was empty. Collins, sweating profusely put a call to Conan who rushed to meet them. Nabeel was the one who discovered the letter by the bedside lamp.

Dear Blackmailers,

I hope you enjoyed a pound of your flesh. It was fun while it lasted. I want you to know that you can’t always eat your cake and have it, ever since my business partner committed suicide because of the pains inflicted on him by you; I have waited for this opportunity. This is just the beginning; I can be seen at Number twenty-five Olive Grove Street.

Yours sincerely,

Chief Penguin.

“I am going to kill the bastard!” Collins snarled, his tear-filled eyes a mask of anger,

“Get a hold of yourself, Collins,” Nabeel consoled, “This is a trap; you can’t gain anything by going into a lion’s den. You don’t even know him. Do you?”

“Nabeel is right, we first need to strategize,” Conan agreed.

They left the hotel room quietly and drove out of the hotel premises, they knew the hotel personnel would discover the corpse and summoned them. “I don’t care if it’s a trap or whatever! The bastard killed my sister!!” Collins cried. He stormed out of the car and walked into the darkness. He didn’t answer his brother’s summoned, Nabeel ran after him. “Collins, try and be reasonable, this guy is setting a trap for us; we can’t walk into it with our eyes open!”

Collins turned and punched Nabeel in the mouth. “Get off my back, you pig!” He retorted and drew out his pistol. “If you follow me again, I will kill you! I don’t need your cowardly advice; all I know is that this swine can’t be allowed to live any longer.” Nabeel tested his blood from his bruised lips, “It is okay, Collins,” he resigned to fate and watched as Collin went off without a backward glance.