Three: The power behind your boss

The city of Lusaka becomes 'alive' at night--or so they say. On this cool summer evening, the famous Cairo Road, the heart and soul of the city - center, was crowded with the usual idlers. There were some window shoppers and of course, the inevitable arm-in-waist love birds that you will find in any city, the world over, on a cool summer evening, like this one.

At the main post office, a metallic grey Peugeot 505 saloon car branched from Cairo Road into Church Road. There were two men in the car; both of Indian origin.

"There will be hell to pay over this and heads will roll. " Riding shotgun, the passenger said to the driver.

" Well, " the man driving said, shrugging indifferently, " the old man is sure bound to blow his top, that's for sure. And by the time he is through, there will have been a few corpses for the Lusaka Urban District council to clear. The sad part is that before this is all over it's you and I that will do all the dirty work. So brace yourself for a few killings, my dear Abdul Sandanam," said Ibrahim Patel.

They were now driving past the five-star Pamodzi hotel, towards the Civic Center traffic lights. At the high court round about, they turned left, past the hotel intercontinental, towards the Kabulonga suburbs.

" I am surprised at Joe Pondani; doing a silly and damn- fool thing like this is something that I never credited him with," Abdul said as they drove toward past the Lusaka golf course.

" I would say he has signed his death warrant, the bastard, if you ask me," Ibrahim said," then again, he has been around long enough to know that you don't cross the path of the syndicate and live to old age. He should have known that from the time he double-crossed the syndicate, he would be living on borrowed time," he added.

" Yeah; and I wish him all the luck- he will, from now on be needing every ounce of it," said Abdul as they drove past the Kabulonga supermarket. 

They were now in the Kabulonga area, a low-density residential area. All the people - who -matter live here in the obscenely huge mansions surrounded by big, security wall- fences.

The car drive past the Kabulonga girls' and Kabulonga boys'  secondary school. It left Kabulonga suburbs behind and climbed toward Ibex Hill, an even more posh and expensive neighborhood, than Kabulonga itself.

" Here we are," Ibrahim Patel said as they pulled up in front of a very high-security wall fence surrounding the Pyramus residence.

The door to the security wall fence surrounding the house was a thick metal sheet. It had no bundle on the outside, nor was there a bell push either - calling at the Pyramus residence was strictly by appointment.

The remote-controlled heavy metal door opened as the car pulled up in front of it. Seated just behind the fence was the guard, who sat in front of dozen-plus monitors in the guard room.

Ibrahim engaged the gear and went in. As he passed, he waved at the guard. The guard waved back, with one eye still glued to the monitors. The monitors enabled him to see all the area very clearly up to almost a hundred meters around the wall fence and all the dark corners inside the fence. There were CCTV cameras inside and along the fence bringing the surveillance information to the TV monitors every second. The guard didn't need to patrol around the house and its surroundings.

The car pulled up in front of the house and the men got out.

The front door opened before they knocked. A beautiful, tall and slim young woman, who looked no more than twenty-one - but was twenty-nine stood in the doorway, holding the door open.

She had long, well-shaped legs, a small waist, and wide hips, and small breasts - a very un-African figure altogether, you would say. Yet, this woman was African through and through.

Her jet black curly hair fell gracefully onto her shoulders. She had a face that had maintained the childhood look of innocence long after she has left the nursery school --where a girl's innocence rightly belongs.

Her name was Francesca. Francesca Daka.

" Hi Ibrahim, hello Abdul, come right in," she cheerfully said, stepping aside to let them in, "Good evening and welcome," she added.

" Good evening ma'am," Ibrahim said politely. He had always been very polite and wary of Francesca, despite her cheerfulness. To him, she had always been ' madam' -- would always remain that way.

'Anyone who plays 'bedroom games' with your boss, especially if your boss has a volatile temper like that of Mr. Pyramid, you need to be wary of and handle with kids gloves, if you intend to live to old age,' Ibrahim had once said to Abdul after a couple of beers too many.

On her part, Francesca had long given up the battle of trying to make Ibrahim and Abdul feel free with her and treat their daily encounters informally. Ibrahim and Abdul were anxious to keep her at arms distance, of that there was no doubt. 

Theoretically speaking, Francesca was the confidential and personal secretary to Mr. Pyramid; but it was no secret that on business matters, he paid a very attentive ear to her words. She was more of a partner than a secretary - with much power and authority.

' If you believe the jargon that behind every man, there is a woman, then she is the power behind your boss, Abdul," Ibrahim had once told Abdul.

"Paulos is waiting for you in the library," she said, leading the way.

They followed her silently.

After many turns and corners in the huge mansion, she stopped in front of a thick door. She opened it without knocking. She held the door wide open and gestured them to precede her into the large room.

The library was indeed large. It looked more like a classroom than an ordinary room in a normal-sized house. It was lined from wall to wall with row upon row of the books on one side and rows of videotapes on the other wall. The western wall had a huge table by the large window.

By the window looking at something outside, stood a man dressed in a black dinner suit. Evidently, he was going out to get dinner.

This man was Mr. Paulos Pyramus; the crime - lord.

In the underground world, he was commonly known as 'The Greek'; though whether or not Mr. Pyramus was Greek or not was all speculation. He never discussed his roots or history with anyone - friend or foe. Some guys are like that.

" Well Ibrahim, what has happened?" the Greek asked turning from the large window.

He had a quiet voice. Like his smooth yet tough-looking face, his voice never betrayed his emotions. He was the type that would stick a six-inch knife between your shoulder blades and, somehow, still manage to keep the smile on his thin lips. For this reason, he always made Ibrahim nervous; even after a decade of service.

With some guys you just never knew where you stand.

"It's hard to tell exactly what happened at the moment. Either one of them or all of them as a group are trying to play it smart. It seems to me that..." Ibrahim started.

"Cut out the guesswork and tell me what you know; and please stick to the facts," Mr. Pyramus said impatiently.

"Well Mr. Pyramus, we went to Joe Pondani's bar and restaurant. It is locked. It's been locked since twelve hours since we went there," Ibrahim said.

" Meaning?"

" Meaning that Joe, Pauline, and the Major have disappeared into thin air, sir."

" Did you try Joe's house?"

"Yes."

" Well?"

"He has not been to his house. We tampered with the lock and went in. Nothing is missing."

" Any sign that he was preparing for a sudden departure?" Francesca asked.

" None madam; none whatsoever," Ibrahim said," Around nineteen hours, we went back to the bar, tampered with the lock, and went in."

"Well?" she asked.

"Nothing seems to be missing; there was even some money in the till."

"Any signs of Pauline?" Mr. Pyramus asked in his unemotional voice.

" No sir, there is no sign of the girl - absolutely none. We have been to her house too. Nothing is missing."

" Any signs of preparation for sudden departure? Francesca asked.

" No madam; absolutely none."

" This guy Major Ndlovu whom we were buying the emeralds from, have you checked him out?"

"Yes sir. We have been to his house in Chelston three times. The wife has not seen him since morning."

"How is he? Clean?"

"We checked him out the first time we bought emeralds from him. He is clean, and a coward. He wouldn't try anything like this with us."

"Well, let us keep an open mind, shall we? " Mr. Pyramus said. He reached for the Cedar cigar desktop box on the table, opened it, took out a thick Cuban cigar. He reached for the cigar cutter and cut the tip of the cigar before he lit it.

"This is a real beauty - three people disappearing into thin air.  It's quite fantastic," Francesca said.

"I am giving you the task of finding these three, Ibrahim. You find them, and I will fix them."

"We will find them, sir- sooner or later. We always do; the syndicate has a very long arm," Ibrahim said.

Silence filled the room. Mr. Pyramus cast a pensive look at the two men before him. He took a luxurious puff of his cigar.  Wisps of smoke billowed and rose to the ceiling. The pungent aroma from the expensive cigar filled the room. 

The silence stretched on for a few seconds more before Mr. Pyramus opened his mouth to speak to the relief if the two underlings. 

" This had better be sooner, Ibrahim. When they have been found I want to make them an example to everyone else in the syndicate. I want everyone to know that it is not healthy to double-cross me," Mr. Pyramus said in the same unemotional voice. 

" Yes sir."

" Incidentally, I will not be showing up at the nightclub tonight, neither will Francesca. So see to it that there is order and our customers are satisfied."

"Yes, sir."

"Okay, you can now run along. Have a nice time at the club," Mr. Pyramus said dismissively and put the cigar in his mouth.

" Good night sir, goodnight madam," Ibrahim said, turning to the door.

" Oh, by the way, Ibrahim," Mr. Pyramus said removing the cigar from his mouth, " Information reaching me is that there is a newspaperman, our old pal Richard Nyangu, who has been going around asking a lot of awkward questions about the syndicate. See what he is up to."

"Yes sir."

"No violence. Just see who he talks to and so on."

"It will be done, sir."

"I will be very grateful if you don't delegate this task to anyone but looked into it yourselves Ibrahim and Abdul. With newspaper men, can't afford to make any mistakes - even simple ones," Mr. Pyramus said.

"We'll do that."

" Pick his trail up first thing in the morning. Report all developments to me - as soon as they arise."

"Yes sir"

"Good night," Mr. Pyramus said.

"Good night sir," the two men replied in unison before they left.