At six thirty, barely two hours after Jimmy had driven me back to my hotel, there was a knock on the door. Dripping wet from the shower and with my face covered in shaving foam, I opened it. It was Jimmy.
“Couldn’t you sleep, Jimmy?”
“No. You want to know what I did?”
I looked at the lanky Kenyan with his big, shiny smile and sharp eyes.
He clearly hadn’t washed or changed for at least two days. “Tell me.”
“I went back to the Shah Medicals factory and, using my keys, went inside. It’s empty. Nothing is left. Everything in the office is gone, except an empty filing cabinet. The packaging equipment was gone, the boxes were gone, everything was gone. Then I locked up and came here.”
Jimmy was sitting on the bed. I was standing by the window, still holding my razor. I was in awe of Jimmy’s commitment, but his understanding of risk worried me.
“They’ve decamped, Jimmy,” I said. “They’ve used the site for whatever they wanted, brought in a few staff like Luther Jasman to do a few jobs under Lunneau’s supervision, then they’ve sacked them or killed them. I would not be surprised if the van driver disappears next.
He’s a witness.”
“Yeh,” Jimmy said thoughtfully. “I wonder where Lunneau dumped the bodies.”
“No one can deny GOB’s business acumen,” I went on, “scattering operations across Africa and then dismantling them, even destroys evidence and makes them virtually untraceable.”
Jimmy lay back with his head on my crumpled pillow. I was still talking. “Well, we know where GOB is, or was, three hours ago. The bodies will have been dumped somewhere, and the boxes of inhalers and ampoules you photographed will have been moved. But where?
They can’t be too far away. The van was heading towards the airport, so they could be flown out and sent anywhere within hours.”
I pulled back the curtains at the window and looked out. The sky was turning a mixture of grey and pink. What Jimmy had just confirmed about the factory being abandoned was my worst fear. Knowing where the virus, vaccine, drug treatment, or whatever else was being stored would have made it easy for law enforcement bodies to check and deal with. But now? All we had were photographs and some possible forensic evidence.
I turned away from the window. “Let’s go and see if GOB has woken up yet,” I said, but Jimmy was fast asleep.
I resumed my shower and shave and checked my phone to find a message from Colin: “Call me. Virex are looking for you.” But it was still the middle of the night in London and late evening in Boston.
Right then, GOB was on my mind and so, leaving Jimmy where he was, I left a note. “Gone to find GOB.” Then I took a taxi to the five-star Sankara Hotel.
Greg O’Brian, GOB, certainly travelled in style. From his big rented Mercedes to Nairobi’s best hotel in the heart of Westlands district and surrounded by the best shops, restaurants, bars, and big international
businesses, this was the place to be for a wealthy businessman who felt he deserved the best, but it was unlikely he was there to chair a board meeting of Livingstone Pharmaceuticals.
Livingstone’s public profile was kept high enough to warrant respect in the right places but low enough to be used as a screen for whatever other money-making schemes he was involved in. GOB would be enjoying the opulence but ignoring the opportunities it provided to rub shoulders and socialise.
As far as I knew, Livingstone had no official presence in Kenya, except through its loose arrangement with Shah Medicals. And Shah Medicals had, as Jimmy had just confirmed, been closed down overnight. Perhaps that had been his sole reason for coming to Nairobi - to oversee the closing ceremony complete with a couple of murders.
I strolled in off the street with no plan in mind other than to have a look around and see what turned up, but it was a good time to arrive.
It was the usual breakfast-time flurry of check-out activity around the reception area. Buffet breakfasts were available, and trolleys of baggage were being wheeled around. When I arrived, two minibuses were parked outside, and a loud party of Chinese tourists was taking up space just inside the entrance.
I walked in amongst them and went to the reception desk. “I understand there is a meeting booked for today - Livingstone Pharmaceuticals.”
The smart receptionist checked his list. “No, sir, I don’t see that.”
“Perhaps it’s in the name of Shah Medicals?”
“No, sir.”
“Al Zafar?”
“No, sir. Sorry, sir.”
I donned my disappointed face. “I see. Is Mr Greg O’Brian a guest here at the moment?”
“Sorry, sir. I’m not allowed to give out names of guests.”
“Of course. Perhaps he’ll arrive very soon. I’ll wait here for a while.”
“If you need breakfast, the restaurant is open to non-residents.”
I was hungry, but duty called, so I found a newspaper and a corner seat to watch. GOB had definitely gone into the hotel four hours earlier. I just made myself comfortable when my phone rang. It was Jimmy. “Can I join you?”
“Why not,” I said. “Take a shower. There’s a spare shirt in my bag, but don’t ask me to buy you breakfast. It’s too expensive.”
No sooner had I pocketed the phone and picked up my newspaper when I watched a tall white man in a blue open-necked shirt and a briefcase take a seat not four yards away. I knew I had seen him before, and it soon came to me. This was Sam Marshall the Livingstone Pharmaceuticals manager, the man I’d spoken on the Livingstone trade stand. If Sam Marshall was here, then boss must be too. I took a chance and walked over. “Sam Marshall?”
The American looked up from his paper. “Yeh,” he said without getting up.
“Mike Stevens. We met at the Bangkok conference.”
“OK. Yeh, I was there,” he replied, clearly not interested. As he’d probably forgotten me, I decided to remind him.
“I spoke to your boss Greg O’Brian about some students looking to work in Kenya. I’d heard Livingstone were setting up here.”
He still didn’t stand up. “Is that right?”
“So, how’s it going? Up and running?”
“I dunno. You need to speak to Greg,” he replied, returning to his newspaper.
I was being told to get lost but tried the stubborn approach. “Is Greg here?”
“Should have been here at seven thirty,” he said, looking at his watch.
It had just turned nine.
“Any chance I could have a word?”
“Unlikely, but you can try.”
“My appointment hasn’t turned up either,” I said, trying to show some feelings for a man who’d clearly got out of bed on the wrong side.
Wherever his bed was, it couldn’t have been as luxurious as GOB’s, so perhaps that was what was upsetting him. “If Greg turns up, I’ll be sitting right there.”
Sam Marshall nodded, and we both checked watches for another half hour. I was more patient, but at one point, Marshall threw his newspaper down and wandered away.
It was Jimmy who turned up first, and knowing his style, I decided to intercept him before he had a chance to open his mouth. Sam Marshall was watching and listening.
“Morning, Jimmy,” I said, loud enough to be heard. “Did you get my message? The appointment with the university is at ten, and I’ve got six students lined up for interviews. They’ve been told to ask for me, Mike Stevens. We should be finished by midday.”
Jimmy looked at me as if I’d lost my marbles, so I took him aside.
“There’s someone here I met in Bangkok,” I whispered, nodding towards Marshall. “He’s waiting for Greg O’Brian to appear. Here’s the plan if things go pear shaped. You’re Jimmy Banda from the university, and I’m Dr Mike Stevens from Malaysia.”
It was another half an hour before the lift opened, and Greg O’Brian emerged. Dressed in crumpled white shirt and black trousers and yawning, he looked as if he’d just woken up.
Jimmy and I watched him saunter over to Sam Marshall, they shook hands and O’Brian slumped into a chair and yawned again, as if bored. The relationship looked strained, but Marshall opened his case and produced a small writing pad. O’Brian said something, pointed with his finger, and Marshall wrote something down. O’Brian then got up, sauntered back towards the lift, pressed the button, and disappeared. Marshal returned the pad to his case.
Telling Jimmy to stay where he was, I went over to Marshall. “Did I just see Greg O’Brian?” I asked.
Marshall looked up. “Sure. I just got a glimpse of him myself.”
“Is he coming back?”
“No idea, man. I got my instructions, and that’s it.”
“Will you be seeing him again?”
“Shouldn’t think so. He’s heading off today.”
“I’d better be quick then,” I said.
“I wouldn’t bother, my friend. He’s always in a fucking hurry.”
“Ah, well, if you see him, tell him you met Dr Mike Stevens from the Bangkok conference, will you? I’m sure he’ll remember me.”
“Sure,” Marshall said and walked away.
I returned to Jimmy. “Follow Marshall, and see where he goes. I’ll wait here.”
It was a mistake.
It was, as you will see, a bigger one than most, but that’s the business I’m in.