FATHER CONFESSOR - For The Motherland Book 2

Chapter 2

The Harare International Airport remained largely unchanged, despite its name change to Robert Mugabe International Airport in honour of the long time ruler of the southern African nation. The gleaming white control tower presided over the giant spaghetti-like runways, with the squat grey Immigration and Customs building standing on the other side of the labyrinth like a weary spectator.

As Garikai stood in line in the arrivals hall, listening to the Born Free Crew's nationalistic music through the public address system, a feeling of déjà vu engulfed him, sending him hurtling through time, reminding him of his last arrival at the airport.

He had been posted to London for two years as a NISA station chief and he was having a blast. Under his leadership, NISA had managed to infiltrate the British Foreign Secretary's office and, just before the end of his tenure, he had had an agent inside Number 10 Downing Street, posing as a public relations aide. It was the best time of his career, the peak that was destined to earn him a place on the National Heroes Acre, especially when his moles began digging in and giving him gold mines of intel. He was a shining star. Until abruptly, he received an urgent summons back to Harare. His replacement was already on the ground, and his flight was booked. He caught a Fly Emirates plane to Dubai, then an Air Zimbabwe flight home. As soon as he landed, a Counter Intelligence team had snatched him and kept hammering at him over and over: was he in cohorts with Jeremiah in his traitorous deals with Americans in North Korea?

"Next, please." The call by the Immigration officer brought him back to the present.

He knew the airport was an important entry point to the country, and NISA kept it under tight surveillance, both electronic and physical. As he scrutinised the mild traffic in the hall, Garikai spotted one agent in the corner. Conspicuous by her aloofness, the agent wore a moderately priced suit, and as she sat on a high chair, her shaded eyes were constantly moving, taking in every occurance in the arrivals hall without turning her head.

Garikai winked at her and was rewarded with a small frown which vanished in a fraction of a second. He knew without a doubt that a report about him was being sent. The ball was rolling. The sooner it was done the better. This way, he would not have to spent his time looking over his shoulder, wondering when the other shoe was going to drop. His erstwhile employers had a persistent hard-on for him, despite the fact that he had recently saved the country from the brink of a war with Botswana. Jeremiah had seen to that.

A few minutes later, Garikai was outside, looking for a ride into the city. A grey Toyota Hiace screeched to a stop in front of him with two men in the front, and its side door slid open, revealing a white tuxedoed man with dark, pockmarked skin, big eyes and a grin akin to that of a Tom that has successfully cornered Jerry. His hands lay on an AK 47 rifle on his lap.

"He-he-he! Comrade!" The man's voice reminded Garikai of Chris Tucker in the Rush Hour movies. "Welcome back home, man. How was exile?"

"Frank Furange," Garikai said, a feeling of fatalistic acceptance sweeping over him.

Officially titled Special Agent-In-Charge of Detention, Furange was Counter Intelligence's chief jailer. The man had a sadistic streak that made him a fearsome interrogator, and that had earned him the nickname Frankenstein The Patriot, the last part due to his tendency to play old war songs during torture sessions.

"Nice to see you too, Comrade Rukope. How was the diaspora? How much did you get from selling out our motherland?" The Patriot was still smiling.

"What do you want?"

"Wanna give you a ride." When Garikai shifted his weight from one leg to another, Furange raised the rifle and cocked it with a flourish, aiming at Garikai's middle. He chuckled and said, "Ha ha ha! You have two choices, babe. The easy way or," he wagged his brows suggestively, "the hard way. Ha ha ha! Come on, make my day."

Garikai looked around. People were coming and going, paying no attention to him and his imminent captors. Sighing, he climbed in.

"Oh, man," Furange moaned in disappointment. "You are no fun, you know that?" He closed the door door and Garikai found himself in semi-darkness as the minibus lurched forward into the flow of traffic.

***

After four hours of paperwork, Lynnette rose to stretch her legs and let her mind wander. She was still in the dark about Jeremiah's motives for coming back. Max D had not updated her on the hunt. Did that mean there was nothing new to report?

Deciding against remaining cooped up in her office, she went out. Helen, her secretary, stood up as Lynnette emerged into the foyer.

"Ma'am, do you need anything?"

Lynnette did not stop. "Route all calls to my cell."

Taking the stairs two at a time on her way down, Lynnette nodded to the security guards who buzzed open the reinforced glass door for her. She found herself in the hub of Counter Intelligence.

The open floor plan room held over thirty desks, each manned by two agents huddled over their keyboards, typing furiously away and squinting at the monitors. Pots of coffee littered the desks along with half eaten doughnuts. Supervisors scurried like worker bees from one desk to another, grabbing reams of papers from the perpetually whirring printers and congregating at the head of the room, where a colossal monitor hung, flickering ceaselessly as more data was fed into it. The entire scene appeared to be chaotic, but from experience, Lynnette knew it was anything but.

Standing framed in front of the huge screen, the short and slim Monica Shashe, the fifty year old Counter Intelligence chief, was typing something on a tablet in her hand, her face gaunt in the glare of the LED monitor.

Everyone was so deep in their respective work that they did not notice her until she was close to Shashe. Lynnette cleared her throat, and greeted the older woman.

"Morning, chief."

"Ma'am!" Shashe exclaimed. "I mean, good morning to you too, Comrade. I didn't see you come in." There was no hint of warmth in her tone or facial expression.

Lynnette smiled briefly. "I can see that. It's a busy day down here."

Shashe returned a thinner smile. "Indeed. We're following every lead to find Rukope. So far, zilch."

Lynnette nodded. "Any outside-the-box ideas?"

"Yes, we have people looking at all former associates of Jeremiah. Going through their calls and texts, social media accounts and financials. Max D is out with a team following up on a potential lead. Speaking of which, the brother just landed at RM Airport, and he's on his way here."

"You think Garikai has something to do with Jeremiah's reappearance?"

"It can't be a coincidence that he comes back the day after his brother shows up."

"Talk to him, but no enhanced questioning techniques."

"Ma'am..."

"I will hold you personally responsible for his welfare while he is in your custody." Lynnette's tone was as steely as the look in her eyes.

The latter gulped and pursed her lips. "As you wish, Comrade Director."

Lynnette turned to the room and clapped her hands twice, bringing everyone to a standstill. She addressed them.

"I understand many of you pulled overnight shifts. The threat is high, no doubt about it. We all know what Jeremiah Rukope is capable of. But we are not good if we are running on fumes. Coffee can only sustain you so much. The body needs to rest."

She gestured to Shashe. "As I have just discussed with the chief, you're going to take two hour breaks in shifts, starting now. Your supervisors will arrange the shifts. Keep up the good work."

From the corner of her eye, she saw Shashe's face scrunched up in annoyance. Lynnette mentally shrugged and walked back to her office. Trouble was brewing and she needed her people in peak condition