The Marionette, page 16
After what can only be described as the multi-step process of opening that very secure door, Monique entered the bunker, and Coop and I filed in behind her. With my help, Monique swung the massive door closed behind us, then relocked it from the inside. There were counters along one wall of the bunker, and cupboards and shelves along another. A sink and a large safe were set into one of the concrete walls, and a central table with some scales and other instruments rounded out the furnishings.
Monique walked over to the wall safe and started yet another multi-step process to open it. It took a few minutes, but she got there eventually. She swung open the heavy door, pulled out a drawer, and showed us some of the rough diamonds that had been mined on the property. They were not lustrous and glittery, but rather dull, rough-edged, and irregularly shaped.
“These samples are actually extremely high-quality and, when cut, will be visually stunning and of extraordinary value,” she explained.
On a hunch, I pulled out my mobile phone and was pleased to see that there was absolutely no cell signal registering within the diamond bunker.
“Can you both check the cell signal on your mobile phones?” I asked.
“Mine was confiscated,” Monique said.
“Right.”
Coop complied and turned her phone to show me that she had not even the slightest hint of a signal bar.
“Excellent. Thank you.”
While my phone was in front of me, I noted the time.
“We should get going,” I said to Coop.
After emerging from the bunker and thanking Monique for the tour, we walked to the security house where the guards were hanging out. I found our PPPF guard and told him we were walking into Kéniéba for lunch and to explore. He didn’t look very happy and released a heavy sigh. He was still in the process of raising himself to his feet when Coop and I walked underneath the raised security barrier and started along the road towards Kéniéba. A few minutes later, I looked behind me and saw our guard dragging his feet quite a distance back, but still in sight of us. It was a hot day, but walking was part of our plan.
We strolled along the right-hand shoulder of the RN24 into town. It took us about twenty minutes. Perhaps predictably, Kéniéba, much more than Bamako, reflected Mali’s reality as a developing nation, a country still struggling to find herself. A few long-in-the-tooth low-rise buildings in less than great shape. Slums not far off the main road. An old man herding goats through the streets. Dust in the air. Dilapidated market stalls with sparse offerings. Old, beat-up cars—some running, many not. And again, the dust. It was just how Kéniéba had been described in our initial briefings, so I ought to have expected it. But an antiseptic location briefing in Madrid was just not the same as being right there on the streets.
We reached our destination and walked through the front door of Restaurant Fanta Sow. Without slowing down we moved right past the dining area, into the kitchen—where we nodded to the staff—and then out the back door into an alley. And exactly where Kiran said it would be, just a little ways down the alley, we found a banged-up black Toyota Corolla. Discreetly, Coop reached up under the rear bumper, pulled out the keys, and opened the door. No more than ten seconds later, we were driving away from the restaurant, with Coop at the wheel. Our guard was nowhere to be seen—just as we’d planned.
“So, you’re finally commuting in a Toyota Corolla,” Coop said.
That made me laugh.
We drove south for a time before taking a right turn to head west and connect with the RN2, the highway to Kofeba. There were lots of other cars on the road that looked like the Toyota we were driving. We kept a vigilant eye out for tails, but none appeared.
Forty minutes later, we reached Kofeba. There wasn’t much to the small village, which was just fine with us. We drove through the western outskirts and managed to find the dirt track we had previously only seen in satellite photos. To be sure, I also used my phone’s GPS and followed the moving arrow on my screen directly to the Falémé River and our crossing point. It was slow going, but we eventually made it to the end of the road, the river beckoning just beyond. There was not a soul around that we could see. We were in the middle of nowhere. It wasn’t just rural—it was untouched scrubby outback.
We got out of the car and walked to the river’s edge.
“It’s running deeper and faster than I expected,” I said.
“Yes, but it’s still manageable on foot, at least right now.”
The water was only about a foot deep in the middle and still did not stretch from bank to bank. But there was definitely more water than in the original satellite shots that Vivian had shared in Madrid, and maybe even more than in those Kiran had shown us the day before.
Looking at our surroundings, we agreed that the bus could make it along the dirt track, though it would be a rough ride, and that there was room on the flat riverbank to park close to the water before we started wading across to Senegal. So far, so good.
I admit, it felt strange looking at the far riverbank, knowing that it was in fact the sovereign territory of Senegal. It was right there in front of us. Crossing seemed simple enough. We could have easily trotted across right then if we’d wanted to. The harder part of the operation would be getting all seventeen of us to the river safely and, ideally, undetected.
We gathered as much info as we could and then drove back to Kéniéba, parking the car just where we’d picked it up. To complete the charade, we walked through the Restaurant Fanta Sow, this time from back to front, as if we owned the place, and started strolling back to the compound. We didn’t see our guard, though we certainly weren’t making a show of looking around for him. The town was hopping so we blended in, and we made it back to the Tardif mine site in good time. We presented ourselves at the security gatehouse and found our PPPF guard lounging inside with the other security staff. He scowled at us but said nothing. We had gambled—and won—that he’d never report up the line that he’d lost us. It would not reflect well on him, and if Demba’s reputation was well-earned, there would likely have been unpleasant repercussions. At any rate, it seemed we were expected, and we were admitted.
I was quite tired by the time we made it back to the Tardif site office. I was hoping to head back to the compound and lie down for a bit before dinner. But Monique had other plans.
“Glad you’re back,” she said when we appeared outside her office. “Let’s go.”
She stood up and walked past us to the front door. We followed. What else could we do? A Ford Explorer with the Tardif logo on the door was parked outside. Two guards were in the front seat, so the three of us climbed into the back.
I hoped she was taking us back to the compound for my aforementioned nap. But no such luck.
“I want to show you what we’ve done in the community. It’s a big part of our story,” she said. “You’ve seen the mine, but we’ve also invested heavily in Kéniéba. You should see that, too.”
“Lead on,” I said.
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but what Monique had achieved in the community was really impressive. It took an hour, but we toured a family planning and health clinic, a secondary school, a fully stocked pharmacy, a small library—including several computers with internet connections—and a career counselling service, all conceived, built, and funded by Tardif Resources. You might expect that there would be large and colourful Tardif logos plastered on every flat surface, but you had to look carefully to see any corporate identity at all. When I asked where all the Tardif branding was, Monique shook her head.
“That’s not how we work,” she said. “It’s not about the Tardif brand, it’s about the delivery of much-needed services to an underserved population that has never had access to the basic social infrastructure and community supports that much of the world takes for granted.”
“This is definitely not your father’s company anymore,” I said. “Congratulations.”
“It’s very impressive, Monique. Really great,” Coop said. “I think President Camara needs to see this, too.”
* * *
—
The guards dropped us off at the Tardif compound before they drove back to the mine site. The three of us walked the dog again so we could speak freely.
“Okay, we made it to the site of our river crossing today without any issues,” I said. “And there were no real surprises. It still seems like the right plan.”
“But we have to move as quickly as possible,” Coop cut in. “The water levels in the river are rising, and it could be impassable in another week or so.”
“So, what can I do?” Monique asked.
“Well, you can respond quickly and favourably to the request for a presidential visit to the mine and a tour of the community.”
“So that’s going to happen, is it?”
“I figure I’ll be writing the official request as soon as we get back to Bamako,” I replied. “But to respect diplomatic protocols, it will have to go to the Canadian embassy first. Then they will reach out to you. The sooner you say yes, the sooner we can get it all arranged and nail down the date. But we’re talking a matter of days, not weeks. We’re in a race with the river.”
“Got it.”
Coop looked around and then reached into her pocket. She pulled out the cheap phone that Kiran had provided and handed it to Monique.
“This is a burner phone with no ties to you or to us. It’s totally clean,” she said. “You can use it to reach us, and we may need to call you on it, so keep it close, but hidden. We don’t want to draw attention to the fact that you all of a sudden have a mobile phone. I’ve put the ringer on vibrate. Do not call anyone else on it but us.”
“Understood,” Monique said, as she pocketed the burner. “I’ll keep it safe and close.”
CHAPTER 14
Mali: Day 6
ON THE way back to the mine site early the next morning, once again the guard sat up with the driver of the school bus. I positioned myself in the second row so I could surreptitiously watch the driver, just to familiarize myself with the business end of driving the bus. After all, I’d be the laughingstock of the intelligence world if we succeeded in putting the driver and guard out of commission on E-Day but were then stymied because I couldn’t figure out how to put the bus into gear. But it all looked quite straightforward. I noted that both the driver and the guard were drinking from plastic throwaway water bottles. Good to know.
As we turned onto the mine site, we heard and saw our ride back to the palace. The presidential helicopter was cruising in to land, right on schedule. Monique walked us over to the helipad as it touched down.
“If the second part of our plan—the very unofficial, never-to-be-admitted part of the plan—is to even have a shot at success, Demba has to be here the morning after we cross that river,” I said.
“Yes, but he’ll have plenty of incentive to be here when he finds out the entire Tardif team—minus Monique, of course—and the two of us have turned up in Senegal,” Coop replied.
“Yes, but just to be sure, I think I have an idea that will almost guarantee Demba will be here that morning, whether or not we’ve made it to Senegal.”
“Well?” Coop prodded. “Go on, then.”
“Right. Okay. Well, what if Monique were to call Demba sometime during the presidential tour and suggest he come up ASAP because of a particularly bountiful diamond harvest, including the biggest diamonds yet extracted? Let’s capitalize on Demba’s greatest weakness—his greed.”
No one said anything for a few beats as we approached the chopper.
“I like it,” Monique said. “Believe me, his greed knows no bounds. He’ll make the trip. You can count on it.”
“Of course, when you call him, don’t use your…” Coop started.
“I know, I know, don’t use my burner phone,” Monique interjected. “I’ll call him from my office land line as I usually do.”
“Good,” Coop replied. “Just making sure.”
By that time, we’d reached the helipad.
“Thank you for having us up here, and for agreeing to help us get your team out. There’s no way we could do this without your support,” I said. “You know, you can still change your mind at the very last second and come with us.”
“I know I can, but I also know I won’t,” Monique replied. “But I’m grateful for everything you’re risking in getting my people out. The team has been through a lot. They deserve to be safe.”
“So do you,” Coop said.
“I’ll be just fine,” Monique replied, “and so will the mine, and the community, too.”
What happened next surprised me. Monique hugged us both before turning and heading back to her office. She didn’t strike me as the hugging type. By the surprised look on Coop’s face, she hadn’t expected Monique’s embrace, either. Maybe we hadn’t quite figured out Monique as well as we thought we had. The hug felt good, and it occurred to me that the ever-evolving Monique was growing on me. Perhaps I was beginning to see what Pierre saw in her.
I felt a little sorry that we hadn’t told her about Amina, but it was too risky.
We were seated in the presidential compartment for the chopper’s return trip to the palace, while our PPPF guard was up front in the cockpit with the pilot. As with our flight to the Tardif site, there wasn’t much to see on our return journey, so my eyes were wandering around Adama’s luxury cabin. Yes, it was a rickety flying machine, but the president’s compartment was done up right. There were curtains on the windows, extra soundproofing, three comfortable chairs—the kind you see on private jets—and a single bed made up and ready, positioned against the aft bulkhead. Painted in red letters across the bulkhead were the words Emergency Escape Hatch. Hmmmm.
The idea came rushing in, fully formed, filling my mind as if it were a vacuum—and believe me, sometimes it is. I let it sit, steeping in my brainpan for a time as the scrubby terrain rolled by below us. Each time I reviewed the idea, it was still in one piece at the end. Somehow, it held together. Then I waited a little longer—I thought about something else for a time. I wondered if I should grow a moustache. I wondered why I still wasn’t able to touch my toes with my legs straight. I even wondered where Amelia Earhart might be. And then I came back to the idea once more. And still it held.
With all the rotor noise in the cabin, Coop and I could speak freely, but still I leaned in close to her ear and explained my idea, step by step.
“Run it by me again,” was all Coop said in response.
I did as I was told. Partway through my second recitation, she started nodding, and kept it up until I finished.
“That’s not bad, writer man. Not bad at all,” she said. “I can’t think of a better way to pull this off, despite all the inherent risks. But if Adama does his job well, it could just work—it should work—and then maybe, just maybe, Demba goes down, too.”
“That’s my favourite part,” I said.
* * *
—
“Since you came to the palace, has Amina ever been off the property?” I asked the president that afternoon, not long after we landed.
Coop, Adama, and I were once again doing what we always did when we needed to speak freely. We were walking outside, through the palace grounds, passing the lovely flora growing along the path. By this stage, I’d had my fill of the presidential gardens, but it remained the only option we had for conferring with one another free from prying ears.
“Twice so far, that I can think of,” Adama replied. “Her online teacher has taken her to our national museum and to the art gallery. For security purposes, both institutions were closed to the public so Amina and her teacher could tour them on their own. Demba permitted it but he required four guards and me to accompany them.”
“Good, there’s precedent,” I said. “If this is going to work, we have to get Demba to agree to let Amina accompany you on the mine visit.”
He nodded.
“Could you instruct Amina to ask her teacher if she could do a special project on mining?” Coop asked. “Then it would make more sense for her to go with you on the Tardif visit.”
“Hmmm, I see. Very clever,” Adama said. “Yes, I think Demba would permit it as a school project. There would already be guards accompanying me anyway, so that might just work.”
“Good. So that gets Amina to the Tardif mine,” I continued. “We haven’t yet finalized precisely how to get her on the bus with the Canadian expats, but we’re close. We do know it will require some theatrics on your part, particularly when you land back in Bamako after the trip to Kéniéba.”
Adama nodded, a determined glint in his eyes.
“ ‘All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players; they have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts.’ For my daughter’s future, I can play any part.”
I stifled a smile and the early inklings of a giggle when I realized he wasn’t goofing around. I actually thought his response was a little corny. And maybe more than a little. But then again, I’m not a father, so what do I know? I decided not to spoil the moment. He had a lot riding on this plan. For one, his daughter’s freedom. So, I cut him some slack on the Shakespearean soliloquy. Even Hunter Chase would never reach for Shakespeare, and believe me, I’ve put some cheesy lines in his mouth over the years.
“There’s one more thing, Mr. President,” Coop said. “To make sure Amina understands what’s happening and why we need her to be ready to play her role in all of this, you may want to tell her the truth about Demba and why she is living in what you described as a gilded cage. It’s obvious she is intelligent beyond her years—she’s the smartest ten-year-old I’ve ever met. She can handle the truth. And it may give her the resolve and the motivation she’s going to need when the big moment comes.”
