"Fantastic job! Just marvelous lieutenant, you did good kijana, you have made a great friend, you're on the fast track to captain young man, you wait and see," the lieutenant colonel was happy, he was also a bit drunk even though it was just eight in the morning. He was celebrating or mourning something, it was impossible to tell which. His facial expressions and mannerisms always remained the same, whatever the weather. It was the morning after lieutenant Derrick Masaku had shot the famous Somali doctor in his home and he was seated in lieutenant colonel William K. Rono's office, trying hard to go over the details but getting shot down everytime.
The colonel did not care how he did it he just wanted to know if he had done it.
"It doesn't matter how lieutenant, it was a quick hit right?"
"Yessir."
"In and out kind of thing, SEAL team 6 style?" The colonel asked as he rose from his chair.
"Yes," he wanted to tell him about the pathetic withdrawal but kept his mouth shut, the colonel was barrelling ahead. What if someone had seen them? Were there cameras, would their faces be on Al Jazeera in a week's time? He shivered at the thought, he would be finished.
"Fantastic kijana, absolutely marvelous, come here, come see," he suddenly beckoned with one hand, the other holding a bottle of brandy. Derrick obeyed and moved to the other side of the big man's desk, catching a hint of expensive perfume and rich wood as he did. The colonel was standing by his large window, looking outside dreamily, he was craning his neck so he could see directly below. Derrick stood beside the taller man and when he saw what the commotion was all about, he let out an inner sigh, who could have guessed?
On the tarmac below was a small group of female officers, their plastic ponytails deliciously hanging over their shoulders as they walked towards a green staff bus. They were mostly air force, the women who made the magic happen behind the scenes; air control, ICT, et cetera. One female stood out because she had long purple braids and walked like she had just eaten a horse, all by herself, the kind of walk that earned you a tongue lashing by the drill sergeant. The walk was a slow side to side waddle that made her stand out from a crowd, even one where all the members of the crowd were in the same garb. The colonel cursed softly and let out a low whistle.
''That's the girl lieutenant, that's the girl you need to stick to like glue,'' he said as he put an arm over his shoulder. For a second Derrick thought he was referring to the leaner more graceful girl at the head of the group, beside a giant light skinned officer but he knew he wasn't. Damn! The yellow female officer was big, she looked like an SAS NCO rather than a female air
force officer.
"Sir?"
"I know deep down your altar boy exterior is a tiger, itching to burst and have all that," he pointed expansively at the group of female officers. "Now you could end up like other officers; have sex with all the bunnies of this airbase and stagnate in your career, or you could play the long game like I once did and eat the spinach first."
"I don't follow sir."
"That's why I'm here kijana, to guide you. See that lady down there? The short, slow one? That is major general Ali Hussein Kariuki's niece and daughter to airforce colonel James Kariuki-guess it runs in the family. Now if say a young buck like you were to woo her, who knows, maybe even go all the way....the possibilities would be endless. I would woo her myself but I'm getting old and tired. Back in my day I was the jogoo, oh the stories I could tell you…besides there is no one else I'd prefer to follow in my footsteps, you hear me."
"Yessir."
"Good, that's good. I'll be having a party at my town house tomorrow night, you're invited, you and a date mind you. My driver will track you down, don't worry about the time," the Lt. colonel then gave him a knowing wink and sent him on his way. It was only when he was outside when he understood why Lt. colonel Bill Rono had winked at him.
"Who's the altar boy?" Air Force captain Christine Oludhe asked as she sipped her cocktail, the officer heading for their end of the bar did not impress her at all. He was handsome alright, athletic and lean but his face was too earnest, too fresh. She had learned not to trust men with such faces. Chris as she was called was 6"4, built like a box, wore her blondish hair like a marine and had tattoos all over her giant muscled arms. She was so light skinned she looked like a half-caste, which she was, the daughter of an English lawyer and a Kenyan air hostess. Her size and rank made men in the airbase bar avoid her like a plague, which was why second lieutenant Joan Mueni and three other female officers sat with her, otherwise they would be hounded by horny soldiers and officers. Christine laughed loudly and was willing to smack any man who dared pick up one of her friends.
The altar boy in question was lieutenant Derrick Masaku, after an hour of working up his courage he had finally decided this was it. The white girl or whatever she was did not seem to be going away anytime soon so he had known it was now or never.
"Good evening ladies," he said cheerfully, smiling his best smile and that was the moment Joan Mueni knew she was a goner, he had struck home and she had given in without a fight. Still, like her friends she acted unimpressed.
"Good evening pal," Christine had her hands in fists. "Are you lost or something?"
"Nice to meet you too captain, you look as dashing as ever," Derrick was not getting intimidated, not tonight, not after two cans of Red Bull, the strongest drink he had had in years. Christine was annoyed for a second then she let out a deep laugh and held his shoulder lightly, like a man to another man, oddly enough Derrick felt like she was just that, another guy.
"I hope it's not too much to ask for a moment of one your friend's time."
"You don't need my permission pal, right ladies?"
The ladies nodded, Joan waited expectantly, smiling along with her friends, all of them of course knew she had a crush on him and were waiting for his move.
"I would like to see Mary for a second," he pointed at the least attractive of the three. Mary almost choked on her beer, even wanted to correct him, she wanted to say 'that is Joan, not me' but he kept looking at her, smiling like he was a toothpaste commercial model. He was dashing in a pressed checkered shirt, black pants and brown shoes-the army's hottest civilian wear. To Joan Mueni though it did not make any difference, to her he was dressed in golden armor and had just descended from a giant thoroughbred horse, with a giant sword made of gold in his right hand. She had not heard him say Mary, she was sure it was her he had just invited for a quick word. She however went stiff when she saw Mary plop out of her bar stool and follow Derrick to a discreet distance.
Christine saw the look on Joan's face and quickly made a joke about her squadron commander. It did not work.
"Hey Mary," Derrick not far away began seductively, what am I doing? Was he really doing this?
"Hey," came the shy reply, Mary felt like a thief, no man, especially one like Derrick had ever paid any attention to her. This was wrong but the craned necks of other female officers was too intoxicating.
"I must confess I'm a bit high on Red Bull, I have been trying for a week to ask you out but never worked up the courage," he said with a straight face. He was beginning to believe himself, boy he was smooth! He was so good with words. Up close lieutenant Mary did not look that bad, this could work, he tried imagining her naked and failed, thrice.
"Really?"
"Yes and a woman like you is well above my league..… I had no idea where I could take you in this godforsaken part of the country."
"Woow."
"So when colonel William Rono invited me to dinner tomorrow I thought of you, I decided I had to ask."
A minute later Mary Kariuki was back on her barstool, so giddy with joy she could barely sit. She had even forgotten about Joan, she was now already counting the hours to the date with Derrick.
"Come on Marie, tell us," it was Christine, she was hoping the coward had asked Mary to reach out to Joan for him.
"Well," Mary paused, she was going to have her moment and no one was going to deny her. She looked all her friends in the eye like she had all the time in the world, "he asked me out, tommorow night at lieutenant colonel William Rono's home."
"Woow, congrats girl," it was Joan, she was smiling broadly. The others also congratulated her profusely. Christine kept her mouth shut.
"Are you o.k?" It was Christine Oludhe, Joan's best friend, later when they were alone in her quarters. They spent two hours every night playing chess and chatting amongst themselves when Christine was not airborne.
"Of course Chris, I'm fine," she forced a smile and moved her knight. It was a careless move but she did not care.
"Are you sure?"
"Stop it Chris, I said I am fine!"
"Okay, fine, fine, I'll stop."
"Now this here is colonel Peter Mwaura," lieutenant colonel William was seated across from a wiry man with a thin moustache and a tired smile. He was in uniform, so were Bill Rono and Derrick Masaku. It was just after sunrise and Derrick had been summoned into the big man's office and instructed to be at his sharpest. It was now becoming a habit, these visits to the colonel's office.
"Colonel Peter Mwaura is from unit 1200 lieutenant," Bill said and smiled when he got the reaction he had expected; Derrick's mouth had fallen open and remained so for a few seconds.
Derrick had heard of unit 1200, but that was all, it was a mirage, a fantasy. Even now he still could not believe it was real, it couldn't be, the things said about the unit made it so. The unit was said to have been founded in the eighties to counter enemies within and without, using any means necessary. Three men were said to have founded the unit; a military intelligence officer, a private contractor from Israel and a crazed deputy interior minister. The unit had then gone underground, doing everything they needed to with absolute immunity from the law and had grown in leaps and bounds over the years, it was the sacred cow of Kenyan intelligence, no one wanted to touch them or deny them support.
"Nice to meet you sir, it's an honor," Derrick saluted then found himself shaking the colonel's hand with both of his.
"The honor is mine lieutenant, I've heard good things."
"Thank you sir."
"Well Bill, " the colonel turned to William, "see you tonight, and congrats again on your promotion, you deserve it."
"Thank you Pete, it's nice having you around." Bill rose from his chair simultaneously with Pete and shook his hand warmly.
"See you around lieutenant," the colonel said with a nod and a smile then smartly marched for the door. Bill pointed Derrick to one of the guest chairs, he was about to begin a lecture.
"See that man?"
"Yessir."
"That is a legend lieutenant, and he's taken notice, who knows, one day the unit may come a'calling," he winked. "Now straight to business, you boys have a new mission, to be carried out as soon as you can."
A brown folder appeared from the colonel's drawer and was passed to Derrick.
"Now get out of here lieutenant, see you tonight, you and your date."
"Yessir." Derrick stood ramrod straight, clicked his heels and saluted sharply. Colonel Bill nodded and produced a bottle of schnapps from a bottom drawer.
Derrick an hour later was outside the entrance of the biggest mall in Mandera in a black Mazda SUV, listening to news over the radio and trying to shut out the sounds of chattering Somalis outside, oblivious of anything but the audience of their orations. Two privates and a corporal were with him, the corporal was the one behind the wheel and each man had an earpiece, that way they stayed in contact with the other two teams around the exits of the giant mall.
Their surveillance of their three targets was going smoothly. All three were brothers, co-owners of the mall and power brokers in Mandera county and even across the border in Somalia. The folder he had read had the usual allegations; conspiracy to commit a terrorist act, funding the Al Shabaab, providing safe houses and logistics to terrorists and even money laundering. They were to stay on the brothers until their planned late morning meeting. They were meeting a so-called Al Shabaab moneyman from across the Red Sea, their mission was to grab this moneyman and deliver him in one piece to their CO. It sounded easy enough, too easy for a twelve-man team of highly trained soldiers.
They waited until the vehicle watching the Eastern exit reported movement.
"Team leader, we have the three brothers heading out, a red Rav 4 is picking them up, " staff sergeant Leonard's voice crackled in Derrick's ear.
"Stay on their tail, " Derrick instructed. He then picked up his phone, it was Mary, he had given her his number. "Step on it corporal, " he ordered softly.
"Hello Mary, " he had swiped right on his Huawei smartphone.
"Hello Derrick, good morning, hope you are well."
"I'm doing well Marie."
Their had gone round the mall and they quickly located the red Rav 4 being tailed by staff sergeant's Leo's team. Derrick was still on the phone.
"Well I was wondering if we could meet up today evening, in the officer's mess, say around half past five?" Mary was trying to sound seductive.
"Sure, no problem," he answered distractedly. He heard a squeal from the other end but Derrick was never one to get excited over human reactions. "How about I call you later Mary, I am in the middle of something here."
"O.k, byeeee."
He hung up and almost immediately another call, this time it was Haggai Ongaya. He swiped left and concentrated on the two vehicles ahead, Leo's team was in an aging Toyota Prado, caked in dust and mud to blend into the Mandera countryside. Behind them the rest of his team followed in a black Toyota saloon car. They tailed carelessly for about ten minutes until the Rav 4 came to a stop outside the town oblivious of the tails.
The Rav 4 parked outside a large hotel and restaurant called Tawakal. The parking lot was busy enough to ensure they were able to disembark without being noticed. The horseshoe-like entrance curb was only for the VIPs, the ones willing to pay for valet parking so they had no problem watching the three brothers get out and rush into the Tawakal without even giving the valet a glance. A uniformed doorman smiled at them and opened the large glass doors. Lieutenant Derrick decided to wait for a minute then he instructed staff sergeant Leonard to meet him outside, only the two of them were going in.
After alighting the two met outside the restaurant and a bored doorman opened the doors reluctantly, non-Somalis were frowned upon in the premises of the Tawakal. Only wealthy non-Somalis were tolerated but the two officers were dressed like seventies' church deacons. A Somali could walk in with a stained kanzu and a dirty beard but be welcomed with a smile. They met one such Somali on the hotel lobby, he had a red beard and red eyebrows but his skin was the color of dirty copper, he had a chewed stick in his mouth and had assumed the posture of a bored woman; his right hand was on his waist and he had leaned back on his body carelessly. He was talking on the phone loudly, like he was about to come to blows with the person on the other end of the line.
They walked past the old man, a chattering group of women in black hijabs and a gaudily dressed young man in a very tight Armani shirt that really brought out his potbelly. He was talking loudly too like the rest of the people in the lobby, even the three receptionists ten meters ahead were talking loudly. Derrick and Leo walked over, not intimidated in any way despite the hostile looks they got from everyone. They marched to the reception area and asked for directions to the restaurant, the woman behind a black monitor pointed upstairs. She then went back to her loud and passionate chatter with her colleagues.
Two flights of stairs later they were on the restaurant floor of the Tawakal, a vast open space with commanding views of Mandera and beyond. They quickly located the three brothers and took a corner table three tables away from their targets. After ignoring them for ten minutes a waiter walked over and took their order, they both ordered cold sodas and pretended to be engrossed in a deep conversation. Across from them in the best table in the restaurant was their target, the so-called Al Shabaab moneyman.
He was dressed in a light cotton suit and wore a beautiful beard. He had thick black hair in a wallstreet haircut. His shoes were pure Italian and called attention to themselves without even trying. Unsurprisingly he was an Arab or something like that but his eyes were blue, a weak and watery kind of blue that immediately disqualified him from being European. The man looked sick, even the three brothers seemed to feel this, he just looked delicate, like he was a sneeze away from death. He kept dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief but stubbornly kept his tie as tight as possible. He also kept stealing glances at the briefcase beside his left leg.
The eldest Aden brother did the talking, he was Mohammed Aden, the CEO and chairman of Aden enterprises, the company that owned the Mandera Mall and several other small businesses in Mandera. In fact the three brothers collected rent from a third of Mandera citizens. Mohammed had slicked his balding hair back and grown a goatee, he had delicate lips and was as aggressive as a badger, even when he ate, it felt like he was fighting the food for dominance. When talking to the Arab he was a bit respectful but it was like he was not sold on what the Arab was selling.
The Arab after a soft and slow sip of his sweet water that made them hold their breath, cleared his throat. He talked softly too, Mohammed Aden's brothers looked like they were going to fall asleep. They talked and talked until finally the Arab cracked a very little smile, they had reached an agreement. To celebrate, the elder Aden snapped his fingers and a hijabed attendant rushed over with a tray on wheels that carried a giant cake. The Arab moneyman was embarrassed by this but smiled as required and ate a little of the cake as his partners devoured it mercilessly.
After ten minutes of eating the brothers gave up on the cake and left the restaurant after a lot of thumping and hugging with the shy Arab. He remained alone and after a long sigh he made several phone calls on his white i-phone then called for the bill, the brothers had not settled it for their guest. He paid promptly with six one thousand shilling notes and refused to take the change. He then rose softly, like his legs were made of glass, picked his briefcase and headed for the stairs. His movements on the marble floor were so soft and controlled Derrick and Leo almost did not notice him disappearing below the stairs. They paid their bill and pursued their quarry.
"We have him sir," lieutenant Derrick crowed proudly, "It was fast. We followed him into the hotel parking lot and slipped into the car's rear seats and ordered him to drive here at gunpoint."
"Fantastic Derrick, you're a winner kijana, you're my golden boy. This is just awesome. So you're in the motel as we agreed?"
"Yes, we are in the Palm motel, room 20, facing away from the parking lot as you instructed."
"Marvelous absolutely marvelous, I will send over someone later, drive back to base, leave the Arab with a few men, you deserve a break."
"Yessir," he hung up and slid the phone into his pocket. He was standing in the living room of the motel suite they had rented for three days.
"Well?" It was staff sergeant Leo.
"The boss wants you and your best men to stay put, he'll send over someone later, whatever that means."
"Yessir."