Chapter II

 

Kelly needed a new extensively educated accomplice to fulfill his task assigned by the Syndicate. She looked like the one; he knew it the moment the two chatted at the wedding reception at the Air Force Officer’s mess in Lusaka. She looked lonely but intelligent. She sat alone on a table for three making her his easy target. Maybe she placed herself in his line of fire on purpose. Whatever the case, she looked like what he craved for. She looked beautiful in the tight sleeveless red dress; any warm bloodied man would want her. For a second, it appeared that her loneliness was inviting him. Maybe he just imagined a lot.

Kelly made Tamara believe he was from Ghana but shifted to Zambia for greener pastures. He had all planned it and it was his duty never to make the young woman doubt any of his tactics. He never owed her any apology because she would never confront him for an explanation.

Each second mattered from then onward; he needed to rekindle the affection he once alighted in her. Kelly knew what would come after-wards and his task was to reassure the young woman that everything was on track. He viewed himself as a reincarnated Ringo Phiri. His master did his part and as a faithful follower and prodigy, he needed to do it better. Kelvin never underestimated the trickery of the women of his day and age, they could appear cool and honest and yet they were something else. Tamara looked naïve, lonely in life and worthy of his trust. Though she mentioned a number of relatives occasionally, they all seemed distant and unimportant to the soon to be the most wanted young woman in the history of Zambia.

 

***

 

She was ready for the event. The young author walked elegantly towards her private parking slot and turned on the engine for her BMW. Her step and gait told it all – she was ready and geared for the show. A good number of media houses confirmed their attendance including a number of publishing houses. She was going to be a celebrity, the radio and television waves would be filled with the coverage of her new book. A book that only she and Kelly knew what it stood for. It was going to be her passport to the fulfilling life of adventure. Her motto struck vividly: We fly not to fool life but live life to the full. Her recent trips to Malaga, Venice, Tai Pei and Tokyo two years ago actualized her motto.

Her looks fooled her age; she knew the art of conquering such phenotypical traits. In her mid-thirties, she appeared fresh and tender as though she was ten years younger.

This was not the event for casual dressing. She needed to be imposing, to leave a mark in people’s mind. She preferred a vintage inspired style with earthly tones, loose fitting clothes and combined certain looks to appeal to an eclectic vibe. Her shape was not a factor, at least for now. It was her show, so she needed to manage herself well, sell her ideas and impress a certain belief into the public mind. Intuitively, the words in her book were accentuated even as they came out in her memory. She mastered them all but more so the middle two chapters. They were a message, not to the guests or readers but to herself - the author.

The author drove through Angel Boulevard road. The traffic was becoming heavier, as it was just minutes past nineteen hours on Friday. Many occasions and events took place on Fridays and Saturdays. It was during such times that relationships were made only to be ended the following Sunday.

She turned to the right immediately after the Intercontinental Hotel and proceeded up the road until she was three blocks away. For the last time, she removed a handheld mirror and did some minor patch ups. She moved her lips on top of each other for a smoother mixture of the Brazilian lipstick she recently purchased. All the make up on her was part of the authored book codes. The dress and the mini case she carried at the back of the posh BMW was according to the poetic language in the little but highly publicized book.

She rehearsed her salutations briefly, sadly a stammer still persisted. She wondered why, if only for the sake of the event, the stuttering wouldn’t excuse her. Then she realized her same deformity propelled her behind enemy lines and do the unimaginable things. She slowly drove into the alley, looking around for familiar faces. Kelly made it clear; his presence was going to be detrimental to the launch of the book. She was on her own, facing the reality of life. She had taken eight months to pen the most lethal weapon and concealed it in the poetic book. The book was a masterpiece of real life situations which people were ashamed to bring out in the open. Partly it painted her struggling and introvert life. For many years she endured stigma because of stammering, children of her age laughed at her whenever she failed to produce certain words.

Diverse media houses and freelancer cinematographers filled the venue. This she expected because much money was pumped into good publicity for the excellent launch. Everybody seemed eager to see a Zambian poetic author who by then was barely known.

‘Could she be the one?’ she heard someone asking a friend as she strolled towards the reception. Tamara hoped the friend gave a correct introduction.

As celebrities do, she walked majestically passed them pretending she didn’t hear the inquiry. She was not used to so much publicity, which proved that she overestimated herself. Tamara continued walking to the front when she almost lost a step because of the gazes of the people around. The young banker feared the large number of guests that were too much than she anticipated. It appeared that majority of them already knew her.

‘Hello princess!’ screamed a male voice from the crowd.

‘How did you manage the book project sweetie?’ another female voice interrupted.

‘I want to be your Sales Manager! How much do you hope to raise tonight? Who was your editor?’ Series of questions kept flowing without giving her chance to reply. From the front pews, she saw Mwila getting to her feet. Her dressing was more casual emphasizing her pivotal role in the event. She was the one in charge of her publicity and ensured that all relevant organizations and individuals were invited. Mwila paid attention to detail and made sure the event was a success. Her face beamed with excitement when she saw Tamara walk in. The timing was as planned by herself, Tamara to walk in five minutes before the guest of honor. She was at arm’s length and finally the two exchanged friendly hugs and whispered one or two words into each other’s ears.

Mwila held her friend’s hand and guided her to her chair at the front of the auditorium. She was positioned exactly two chairs from the guest of honor leaving her enough space for a full view of the attendants. The entrance point was also in her clear view. She scanned throughout the hall checking for any unoccupied seat. There was none, the place was full to capacity leaving some standing around the perimeter walls. She recognized a few familiar faces - some from her work place and the media. They all came to offer moral support.

 

***

 

Two Kilometers away, in a dimly lit room on the seventh floor of the Taj Pamodzi hotel were five people all dressed in black suits around a conference table. The conversation was getting tense and tempers were rising. General Zulu was almost standing up to emphasis his point. Before he could even finish, the young civilian interjected and reminded the war veterans of their commitment to the country and to the project at hand. He reiterated the expediency of the subject and the need to speed up the forward linkages.

‘That’s exactly my point,’ agreed a retired Colonel.

‘But that’s not what we agreed from the previous meeting, and moreover, she is the one who penned down the words of the book.’

‘She was just dictated to, the words were ours, and everything was ours. The girl is just a label,’ the war vet reminded the friends.

These were not politicians, nor ordinary people but servants of the people in principle. Their careers were to plan war and ensure security of the nation was attained. They were tacticians, murderers, and killers and ultimately, they were national arsenals. They were men of orders who did not take lightly the flexibility of civilians. They never believed in crooked paths but rather enjoyed the rigidity of the natural forces.

These were one of the rare moments they could gather around on the same table with a non-military personnel and debate matters of national security. They knew their mission; their orders were clear and left no shade of doubt or ambiguity. The country needed their services and it was now time to prove their worth. Nobody knew their agenda beyond the walls enclosing them. It was a very highly classified mission such that even the president was spared from knowing the details. The country’s democracy was at stake, its survival depended on the decisions the five member Syndicate was going to make.

On the far right side of the table was Brigadier General Zulu, a highly decorated retired Army General born two years after the Second World War. He was one of the first of Zambia’s finest officers trained at Sandhurst Military Academy in the United Kingdom. He served the country until he was asked to retire on national interest in 1999 after the attempted military coup by Captain Solo in 1997. After acquittal of the charges, he was appointed Army Commander and then later then President FTJ Chiluba sent him on diplomatic missions.

The vice chairperson was a female Lt Colonel Chulu who sat directly opposite to General Zulu. She was the first female pilot in the history of the Zambia Air Force who was later cashiered before her promotion to the next higher rank. Colonel Chulu was sent away with nothing to talk about regarding her career until there was a change of government in 2011. After a vigorous legal battle, she won the case and was heavily compensated and reinstated to the same position and rank. Two years later in service, she voluntarily retired and settled at a farm in Chongwe.

The third in command was by all official records a dead man and buried next to Memorial Park five years ago. His name was Charles Mulenga, a spy at the Red Brick Building. During a routine field operation, he came face to face with the presidential Sangoma near State lodge. With the magic powers that the Sangoma possessed, it struck the field operative with a bright light straight into his eyes and instantly collapsed. His friends knew the drill - their friend had seen the sacred and holy secret that perpetuated presidential powers in office that only the incumbent and his handler were the only ones allowed to see.

After a day, the spy woke up and immediately got redeployed in missions abroad in order to conceal the vengeful retribution by the Sangoma followed by a military funeral held within Burma Barracks in collaboration with the Red Brick House and burial conducted as per military ethics.

The forth was an Albino, and a very junior medical doctor at the University Teaching Hospital. His presence at the hospital was more ceremonial than professional with no chances of promotion. Nobody knew his net worth was the highest of all medical professionals in the country. The Albino was the only trained dermatologist countrywide and was a genius and thorough in the execution of his duties. His calmness and dexterity earned him a seat on the influential table of the Syndicate. He was a man with no family and despised by most people simply because of his color. However, he sat among the five with the authority from the president of Zambia.

The fifth on the table was Kelly, an architect by profession. He was the youngest on the group and the only one who knew Tamara personally. He was good at establishing and maintaining contacts with allies probably because of the skill he learnt from Ringo Phiri before he escaped from Mukobeko Maximum Prison ten years ago. Officially, he was on the run and his looks were completely altered by the Albino.

‘We have done all that we should tonight, Kelly it’s now over to you,’ concluded the ex-Red Brick officer

‘Let’s meet again after phase 1 is complete,’ said the General while closing the folder in front of him.

 

***

 

The launch was a success. Everything went as planned. The many private interviews were concluded with the last one being with a young and vibrant journalist from the Muvi TV news crew. Tamara kept the interviews brief and to the point. She wasn’t a talkative type of a woman. Deep down in her heart she wanted to talk but the stammering hindered her. For the first time, Tamara opened up to the public and complained about her disability. To the contrary, the interviewer said her stuttering wasn’t very bad and was manageable..

People liked the new book and many pledged to support it. Media houses were around, ready to print many copies of the Captured in a rucksack. It was her first book and probably her last. The contents and the message were loud and clear. Tamara was ready with her plans. Kelly was her best ally, and it was clear he meant well towards her. The pieces were falling into place one by one and she was in control. It was time to engage into high gear and attain her freedom with much happiness. For too long she dedicated her time to make other people happy. She tried all she could to derive satisfaction in her career but nothing worked. She worked hard to get two bachelor degrees in banking and finance and secured herself a good job at one of the prestigious banks in the country.

Banking was part of her family life, even her uncle headed the Central Bank of Zambia at some point. From her childhood, all she knew was working for the bank and giving financial advice, loans and mortgages. Tamara had no difficulties in choosing her career path, because everything seemed to be predetermined. Mr. Gondwe made sure her niece took over his banking path, and so he took her to the most expensive schools in Lusaka. She was the best example of a person who led a good life with a silver spoon in her mouth.

In spite of all this, satisfaction was far from the young banker. The harder she worked the more she felt the need to break free and be on her own, far from the influences of her relatives and over demanding uncles. She had been exposed to many parts of the world and was able to compare life styles of different cultures and ethnicities. As a result the affinity for a better and exciting life grew and gave birth to the yet to be the most wanted Tamara.

People cheered the bulldozer as he was leaving. She didn’t have to guess who it was, everybody knew the Provincial Minister was called by that name. Tamara wondered how Kelly managed to convince the minister to come and officiate at her book launch. She called it specialization.

It was time for her to leave as well. She started towards her car when she received a white paper in her hands from someone she didn’t even know. Before she stopped to look at her, the messenger disappeared after shoving the paper in Tamara’s hands. She stood for a minute understanding what had just happened before she unfolded it. It was handwritten with only one word: Omega 23.

Tamara stood motionless, trying to understand the message. So many things raced in her mind, the writing was clear and simple to understand. But what was it for? The young woman wasn’t sure.

‘Was she directing her attention to Chapter 23 of the newly launched book?’ she wondered.

‘Maybe it was a code? Then for what? The 23, what was it?’ It was a number without any significance to her! ‘What does it mean?’ stress started building up inside the young woman.

She tried locating the messenger, but to no avail. She couldn’t even remember what she wore, her looks or anything. She hated the thought bothering her mind at that time of the night. She needed to go home and rest.

Five minutes later, she was in her BMW descending the Independence road with the note on the dashboard. She gave up on her quest to interpret the message. Few minutes later, Tamara was in her two-bedroom apartment in Kabulonga Kudu Road. She lived with a puppy she recently bought from a street vendor in the town center of Lusaka. Her uncle had advised her to find a place of her own for obvious reasons. She also wanted the freedom of staying by herself. It was a Zambian custom that a woman of her age must be married and settled down, therefore, she needed to be able to accommodate would be suitors without disturbances.

To the contrary, Tamara did not condone any man in her house. She wanted to be alone at least for now. She did not cherish the idea of flirting, nor of marriage. With the high divorce rates in the country, marriage did not make sense to her. It just infringed women’s rights and blocked the success that could be achieved if they remained single. Most people advised her to find herself a man and eventually marry, but it wasn’t her priority. She had other things on her mind, no wonder she lived alone. Quietness was a recipe for planning and scheming. For three years, she lived alone and was never bored because in silence was wisdom deep rooted.

Since she had already eaten at the book launch, she grabbed a copy of Captured in a rucksack and started digesting and memorizing the phrases. She needed the words in her memory, because time would come when she would not afford a hard copy. Then the word came again Omega 23! Still it did not make sense. It was now evident; the message was delivered to her and for her.

‘What was it? A code? A name?’ She was clueless. She reached chapter 2 of the book and she dozed off.