Chapter III

 

Tamara was the Senior Manager in charge of the Vault room on the fourth floor of the Bank of Zambia Building along Cairo Road. The building’s entrances featured allegorical sculptures by Mpundu Chisanga, a famous sculptor in Zambia, representing security and integrity flanking the Cairo road while the chained hand faced the adjacent close. She reported to the Director of Corporate Affairs and National Debt Management on all matters related to the strong room. Her boss was the one directly responsible for the macroeconomic policies and indicators of the domestic economy. Of late, the director had pressure since the Kwacha had depreciated markedly amid increasing concerns over the state of Zambia’s public finances, which, coupled with rising inflation and deteriorating sentiments, likely bruised private consumption and investment activities. The economic growth outlook remained bleak amid concerns over macroeconomic stability due to soaring public debt, an increasing fiscal deficit and shrinking foreign reserves. A depreciating kwacha and increasing inflation were set to weigh on households’ purchasing power and investment activities.

‘Hi Mwila!’ Tamara greeted as she entered through the staff-only entrance at the most influential government building in town.

‘Morning Tamara, how are you this morning? She responded stopping to extend her hand.

It was a bright Monday morning when the young author reached her usual place of work carrying a pink bag. Pink was her favorite color and eventually she earned the nickname of Pinkie. She went straight to her table before dumping the bag in her cubical within the dollar vault. For twelve years she toiled at the Central Bank, though rising in ranks to her current managerial position while advancing in her studies until eventually she acquired her master’s degree in public finance.

Tamara had mastered the techniques and secrets of banking and contributed greatly to the effectiveness of the bank. Banking became part of her life and everything such that she never thought of working ever again after the culmination of her book. With time, the young banker grew a stronger affinity for the stashes of cash she held every day. However, she was careful to tame her desires well and maintained a professional conduct so no one noticed her. She remembered one of her lecturers telling the class that bankers’ perception towards money was to be like the male doctors’ perception towards a naked female patient.

The young banker walked to her shared office at the back of the banking hall. Her spirit was high and expectant of something she wasn’t sure of. The day was like any other, and everybody was streaming in for work. This building had become part of her life, her well-being and her aspirations. The job was routine and eventually started boring her. She needed more than she had, she needed more challenges and more adventure. She could not see herself retire in the banking sector in her later life. Though sweet and lucrative, the sector could not contain her ambitions; her drives were beyond Bank of Zambia. Nevertheless, she needed the bank as a stepping-stone in the right direction.

She spent sleepless nights writing the dictated words. The words from a man she hardly knew. However, one thing she knew for sure was that she needed him, the two had so much in common. He was a foreigner, and she was local but soon the status quo would change. Captured in a rucksack was his idea, his plan and her only hope for the future. She meticulously penned it down and had already made headlines in the local newspapers. It portrayed her as an upcoming writer even though she knew writing wasn’t really meant for her. Hers was banking at another level, banking with real issues and not just as a Senior Manager.

In the basement of the Central Bank was the large twenty four-bolt Diebold vault door built in the early 1950s. On its right was the backside of the open door. To the right of the door center were two linked boxes for the combination mechanisms and to the left was a four-movement time lock. The vault door could only be opened after a set number of hours had passed, thus a kidnapped bank employee could not open the lock in the middle of the night even under force. The door had a four-point pressure system capable of exerting one-third of the door’s weight in pressure. The door was the largest in Zambia with casting of over eighteen tons. It incorporated the largest hinge ever built, having an overall height of 5.8m and weighs over forty-three tones when fully assembled. In addition, the bank was armed with a wide array of alarms and anti-theft devices

In the vault was money, valuables, records and documents were stored to protect them from theft, unauthorized use, fire, natural disasters and other threats. In this vault, there were many safe deposit boxes and teller cash drawers.

After settling down at her table, as her usual drill, she stood up in the company of the Chief Security Officer, for morning checkups in the vault. Tamara conducted a random serial number check in preparation for transportation of all the newly printed notes to the newly constructed safe within the basement. The new safe was built using the latest technology for enhanced security measures that employed the use of motion and noise sensors.

Captured in a rucksack was at play, unfolding events at its natural pace. The young Tamara rhymed along and did all she could to master her role in the play until she came to terms with it. The real author was kilometers away watching the game unfold in the book. She knew he was somehow watching her every move and she had no regrets about it. He was going to be the best guy for her had she been a hunky dory type.

Unfortunately, love brought wounds in her life. Therefore, she never gave chance to loving anyone again. In as much as men used women, she was also ready to be in a relationship just to use them. Kelly was in her trap, placed under her control and eventually he became her missile. He appeared in her line of fire, with the proper look and innocence worth trusting. He appeared cool and compacted, with a borderless vision. The vision Tamara yearned to be part of. He looked lonely and in need of company. She had sat at an acute angle from him, looking at his empty table once in a while. She was careful not to appear inviting to the young man. She needed to preserve her female power while at the same time wanting his company.

Tamara entered the secret room - the room that harbored the financial muscle of the country. The new kwacha notes neatly stacked in bundles in the steel shelves radiated the richness of the nation though inflation was reversing all the good strides. She smiled at herself when she realized how much the bank management trusted her with such resources. Obviously, she earned the trust because banks never operated on compassionate grounds. She was the most educated among the middle management staff. There were rumors about her pending promotion. Instead of her getting excited, she looked beyond the pay rise and wanted to break through it.

She did the daily checks, opened the electronic locks and punched a series of passwords. The three vaults arrayed in parallel blinked twice and turned blue. Then another algorithmic series were entered skipping every other three digits at a time interval of five seconds. The blue light on the screen turned red igniting a series of silent sirens on the opposite glassy surface. Then Tamara knew things inside were as she left but she continued to open anyway. She entered a series of final passwords and then the huge diamond lids opened exposing the stacks of local currencies. She was the only one in middle management who knew how much was inside. With the foreign direct investments pouring into Zambia, dollar was on high demand and her sectional duties were equally on high demand thereby creating less demand for the local currency.

She did the usual random check of the serial numbers. After she was satisfied, she closed everything reversing the procedures and left the strong room.