The Carolina Coup: Another Rwandan Genocide? (The Jeannine Ryan Series Book 4) (29 page)

In North Charleston, Maximilien Gutera stubbed the Cuban cigar in the ashtray.  Tomorrow morning the container with the rockets would be safely on board the
Étoile d’Afrique
.  He had paid a high price to several port officials, but the paperwork for his container was now in order.  He awaited only the arrival of his ship.

The phone rang.  Claude Senteli picked up.  After a brief interval he hung up and turned to his chief.

“Eric Nyonzima is dead.  But they missed Pierre Sehene’s wife.”

“No matter.  She’s not important.  Denise Guerry has betrayed us.  I have called France and informed our backers of her treachery.  She is now the enemy.  Inform Pierre and the others.”

He continued.

“That means GES will no longer launder our funds.  We shall receive them from another company.  We have sufficient monies for those remaining in Florence.  For those of us sailing on the
Étoile d’Afrique
to Mombasa, our money will be there when we arrive.”

Maximilien sighed.  As supreme leader, he was as good in disposing of details as in formulating the grand plan. He leaned back in his chair and signaled Claude to hand him another cigar.

How fortunate his people were to have him.

Jack Marino and his temporary partner, Sam Smith, were on Interstate 26 in South Carolina when the phone buzzed.

Sam answered.  Moments later he turned to Jack.

“That was Wilmington, your friend Stew Marks left the hospital four hours ago without checking out.”

Jack frowned.

“That’s just like Stew.  So what?”

“A nurse saw him get into a car with a woman.  They drove off together.  The woman had red hair.”

“Ryan!  Damn that woman, and damn Stew.  What the hell is he doing?  Do I have to arrest him too?”

Sam did not speak.  He did not share Jack’s impatience with Stew Marks.

Jack grew silent.  He stared at the road ahead, his hands tight on the wheel.

They were still twenty miles from Charleston.

On Meeting Street in Charleston, Jeannine waited for the traffic light to change.  The café where she was to meet Angelique was in the heart of the old city, near the College of Charleston.  She turned to Stew Marks in the passenger seat.

“We’re late, but we’re almost there.  How’s the eye?”

“It’s fine, but my shoulder is a problem.  I won’t be much good in a fight, and I don’t have a gun.  I’m pretty much useless.”

Jeannine glanced sideways at him.  The man was muscular and his one good arm was stronger than both of hers.  Aside from Bill, there was no one she would rather have as backup.

“Jeannine, why do you want to meet this woman.  What can Uwimana tell you?”

“I’m not sure.  She’s a grad student at Carolina Tech, where some of Maximilien Gutera’s sympathizers congregate, and she’s from Rwanda.”

“But she’s a Tutsi and they are Hutu.  It seems she would avoid them.”

“That’s logical.”

“What you really hope is that she has information that could lead to Bill.  Am I right?”

“You read me pretty well, Stew.  That’s what I hope.  I’ll take any lead I can get.  Bill and I go way back.  I’m worried.”

Stew worried that Hamm was nearby.  He would prefer him to be on the way to France with Denise Guerry.

Stop it Stew, you don’t want to see this woman hurt.

He stayed silent as Jeannine turned onto Calhoun Street.

The café where Angelique waited was only blocks away.

At the café, large Kudu horns hung on the wall near where Angelique Uwimana sat with her laptop.  Fun-filled and relaxed after their afternoon classes, students filled most of the tables.  High-pitched chatter and laughter rose and bounced off the ceiling.

Angelique was grateful for the crowd.  Henri Duval’s warnings had lessened her confidence, and the abundance of carefree youths provided her a measure of safety.  But she was not too concerned.  Henri had surveyed the occupants of the café before withdrawing outside to watch the entrance.

She looked about the room.  Several African women, wrapped in colorful robes, chatted in English at a nearby table.  Angelique surmised that they were from West Africa, probably Ghana.

Then in the far corner, two African men, emerged from the rest room.  Their expressive gestures showed that they could be speaking French.

Mon Dieu!

She recognized one of them.  He belonged to Maximilien!

They must have been in the Men’s Room when Henri had inspected the clientele.

They headed towards her.

Angelique hunched down at their approach, before a voice from behind startled her.

“Miss Uwimana?  Angelique Uwimana?”

She turned.  The speaker was a tall man whose left arm was in a sling.

“I am Angelique.”

“My name is Marks, I’m an FBI agent and a friend of Dr. Ryan.  She was to meet you here.”

“Do you have ID?”

Stew waved his FBI badge in front of her.

Angelique looked across the room.  Maximilien’s men had seen the badge and stopped.  She caught her breath.

Stew followed her glance.  He recognized one of the men from his FBI photo. 
Damn
.

“Miss Uwimana, those are Gutera’s men.  You should come with me.”

She grabbed her laptop and stood.  Stew pulled out his cell.

“Jeannine, drive around back.  Angelique is here but so are Maximilien’s men.  We’re coming out through the kitchen.”

Stew pushed Angelique through the crowd towards the rear of the café.

Jeannine Ryan had the motor running as Stew Marks and Angelique Uwimana slipped out the rear door and into the alley.  They boarded quickly.

“What happened in there, Stew?  What went wrong?”

“Ask Angelique.  Two of Maximilien Gutera’s men were there.  They were after her.”

Jeannine spoke over her shoulder.

“It’s good to see you again, Angelique.  But tell me, why is Gutera after you?  Is it your thesis?”

“Dr. Ryan, I can’t leave.  My friend, Henri Duval, is waiting for me outside the café.”

“Call me Jeannine, and I’m sorry, but it’s too dangerous.  Stew doesn’t have his gun and we can’t fight Gutera’s men.  You see his arm.  Gutera did that.  He’s lucky to be alive.  We have to go.”

She continued.

“But why is Gutera after you?”

“He hates Tutsis.  His father helped organize the genocide, and the son is just as bad.”

“Do you know a company called GES, and Denise Guerry?”

I should, she wants to bed my Henri!

She replied with caution.

“My friend, Henri Duval works for her.”

“What about Bruno Belli?”

“Henri says Mr. Belli works for GES.  He was at my seminar on RSA factorization.  He implied I knew government secrets.  He knows Gutera.  They were together at a restaurant when Gutera’s men tried to kill me.  Henri saved my life.  That’s all I know.”

Jeannine eased off.

“Thanks, and by the way, I would be happy to serve on your doctoral committee.”

Stew broke in.

“Angelique, we think that Maximilien Gutera is plotting to take over your country and restore Hutu Power.  Denise Guerry and GES are involved.”

Dear God, not another genocide!

She froze in horror.  She needed to tell Henri, but she could not recall his cell number.

She shook uncontrollably.

Across the street from the café entrance, Henri Duval waited.  He rubbed his arms in frustration.  Half an hour had passed and no woman with red hair had gone in.

Something was wrong, Dr. Ryan had not come.  He was about to go inside, when two Africans stepped out of the café.

Claude Senteli!  Where did you come from?  Where were you when I checked the crowd?

Henri did not know the other man, but clearly, he too was one of Maximilien’s thugs.  The man called ‘Claude’ took out his phone and punched a number.  Henri strained to listen.

“He had a badge and took her.  He could have been that FBI agent.  They left out the back.  There were too many people.  Just pick us up out front.”

A gray Audi rounded the corner and stopped.  Claude and his companion got in and the car roared away.  Henri dashed across and into the café.

Angelique was indeed gone.  The authorities had her.

He had to find her, but how?  He only knew one person who could help, but that individual despised Angelique.

Denise Guerry.

In Summerville, Bill Hamm gripped the wheel of his car while Denise Guerry seated herself at his side.  She spoke.

“What do we do now?  Where should we go?”

Bill noted her “we.”  He chose “I.”

“I’m going to the North Charleston container terminal.  It’s on Remount Road.  The
Étoile d’Afrique
is scheduled to arrive there this evening.  I need to study the layout”

Denise touched his arm.

“Let me help you.”

Bill felt a vibration against his thigh.  It was Denise’s phone that he had taken from the dead Jules.  A man spoke.

“Who is this?  Where is Denise?”

Bill clicked the phone to “Speaker” and held it in front of her.

“Henri?”

“It’s me, I need your help?”

Denise responded in French.  Bill understood some words, but they spoke too fast.  Finished, Denise turned to him.

“Bill, do you find me attractive?  Do you like me?”

He jerked the car onto the shoulder and stopped.  He kept the motor running.

“Denise, what was that call about?  Who is this Henri?”

“Are you jealous?”

Bill seized her arm.

“Damn it woman, get real!  Stop thinking of yourself.  I have to stop Gutera before his ship leaves with those missiles.”

She pulled away.  His tone softened.

“Yes, you are attractive.  Now who was that?”

Denise recounted Henri’s infatuation with a Tutsi named Angelique who was missing, that Maximilien’s men were hunting her, and that Henri wanted Denise’s help.

Bill understood more from her tale than she had intended.

“So you are jealous of this ‘Angelique,’ and angry that this ‘Henri’ would prefer her to you.  Denise this is not a game.  You can use your beauty and your body to twist men like Henri to your will, but you won’t find love that way.  Henri is a person, not just a man.  He has a will and an intellect, as much as you do.”

She turned to him.  But she had heard only the words she wanted to hear.

He thinks I’m beautiful and he admires my body!

But he kept on.

“Truth is, Denise, you are selfish.  You think only of yourself!”

She sulked.
Zut! Why should I care what this man thinks?

She fell quiet.

Bill pulled back onto the highway.  Moments later, he turned onto Remount Road and headed for the North Charleston terminal.

He noted her silence and reflected.  She had helped save Stew Marks, and without her accurate shooting, Bill himself might be dead in that field behind the shack, the target of circling vultures.

He softened.

“Denise, I’m grateful, I am.  Without you, I might not be alive.”

Her smile returned.

“Bill, this Henri who called is like you.  He was a soldier in Rwanda.  He’s a man you would want on your side in a fight, and he knows Maximilien’s ways, the ways of the Interahamwe.  He can help us.”

“I don’t think you should tell him what we’re doing.”

She stopped him.

“It’s too late.  I told him we’re going to the terminal.  He’s on his way there now.”

Bill fell silent.

Now he had to watch Denise, plus a stranger too.

Henri Duval was on his way to North Charleston to rendezvous with Denise Guerry as agreed.  The traffic light in front of him turned red just as his cell phone buzzed.  The call was from his superior at SÉGAG in Paris.

“Henri, listen carefully.  Maximilien Gutera informed
le ministre
that Denise Guerry has joined the enemy.  Her uncle is taking her off the project to protect her.  He has called her back to Paris, but the minister’s aide says that she knows too much.”

He paused for emphasis.

“They want her dead.”

Henri was silent.

“Henri, did you hear me?”

“Yes, but why me?  Tell me what you want me to do.”

“She knows too much, and she is linked to the missing documents.  You must eliminate her.”

“Will
le ministre
confirm that in writing?”

“His aide will send you a message with the authorization.”

Henri felt the thumb drive in his pocket.  The decryption program and key were stored on it.

“Henri, do not fail.  Eliminate this woman or the minister will have both our heads.  Understood?”

“Understood.”

The traffic light turned green.  Ahead was a Public Library.  He drove into the lot.

A few minutes later he was sitting at a library computer, waiting for the message from Paris.

To Henri, the wait seemed interminable, but only a minute elapsed before it arrived.  He stared at the numbers on the screen.

Henri’s hand shook as he plugged his drive into the USB port.

Kill Denise?
 
I am no assassin.  I protect people.

The minister’s aide used the pseudonym, “Gironde1.”  His real name was Charles and his key was the Latin form “Carolus.”  Backed by
le ministre
, Gironde1 was more dangerous than Denise’s uncle.  For Henri to disobey would be to sign his own death warrant.

But Gironde1 was a coward and Henri hoped that the man would not commit himself in writing.  Henri longed for any excuse to avoid this assignment.

Henri tapped a key and the decoded message appeared.

h.duval|removal|of|

d.|guerry|authorised|

by02001714112018

|gironde1|||b7

The message was lethal and clear.  Henri stared at the screen in disbelief.

Denise Guerry must die!

Jeannine Ryan stepped out of the coffee shop in Mount Pleasant, across the river from Charleston.  She handed her laptop to Angelique in back, and turned to Stew Marks seated in front.

“They had WiFi.  I checked the Port Arrivals.  There’s good and bad news.”

“I’ll try the good news first.”

“I know where Bill will be tonight, if he’s able.”

Stew frowned. 
Great, where Hamm will be!  If that’s good news, what’s the bad?

“Okay, what’s the bad news?”

“The
Étoile d’Afrique
is two days ahead of schedule.  It’s arriving at the container terminal in North Charleston tonight at ten.  If Bill is anywhere near Charleston, he will be there.”

Jeannine looked at Stew.

“What do you think?”

“We need to stop Gutera’s rockets before they leave the U. S.”

Angelique joined in.

“Shouldn’t we call the FBI Agency in Charleston.”

Stew answered.

“I already did.  My old partner, Jack Marino, is here in Charleston.  I talked to him.  He wants Jeannine and Bill Hamm to turn themselves in now, and me too.  Jack is a stubborn man.  He will not look at our evidence unless we come in.  And my supervisor in D. C. backs him up.”

Jeannine added.

“Jack is an ass.  By the time he looks at the evidence, Gutera’s ship will be in International waters.”

She started the car.  Moments later they crossed the Cooper River on the grand Arthur Ravenel Jr. Bridge to join I-26 to North Charleston.

In Maximilien Gutera’s suite in North Charleston, his right-hand man, Claude Senteli, answered the phone.  The caller was Pierre Sehene.

“Claude, let me speak to the Chief.”

“Maximilien cannot be disturbed.  He is taking a nap.”

“Wake him anyway.  That Guerry woman and some man are at the port terminal.  They are checking the rows of stacked containers.  They’re looking for our missiles.”

Claude looked at his Rolex, a perk of being Maximilien’s right-hand man.  It was just after 6:00 pm, the terminal was closing.  And the
Étoile d’Afrique
would not arrive for four hours.

“The man must be Bill Hamm.  But what can Guerry do?  Tell the port guards to arrest her.”

“The guards at the gate knew her.  She’s rich and runs GES and the cash we used to bribe port personnel came from her company.  Wake Maximilien now.  He has to know.”

But it was too late.  A growl came from the bedroom.

“Claude, who is calling?  What is their problem?”

After two minutes Maximilien, fully-informed and wide-awake, had his shoes on.

“Claude, call the North Charleston terminal and get superintendant Morris on the phone.  Tell him to stop Guerry.  And get me a driver.  We are going to the port terminal.”

“Now!”

At the North Charleston Terminal, Denise Guerry and Bill Hamm stared in awe at the long lines of containers stacked three and four high.  At random intervals, mobile Rubber Tire Gantry Cranes (RTG’s) straddled the rows.

A crane operator named Tim approached and handed them hard hats and fluorescent vests. They mounted his electric cart and rolled along a line of containers that ran at a right angle to the quay on the Cooper River.

Tim was expansive.

“There are 15 rows here.  We’re closed for the evening.  That’s why the RTG’s aren’t moving.  This place hums during regular hours.  If your container is to be loaded on that African ship first thing tomorrow morning, I expect it will be here on row BH, near the wharf.  There’s an RTG ready at the end of the row, and I had them move an empty truck chassis there too.  I’ll load it for you.”

(Tim was happy to oblige the visitors.  Denise Guerry had handed him four crisp fifty dollar bills.  He would be late for supper, but his wife would not complain once she saw the money.)

As they reached the wharf itself, Tim pointed to a huge crane that projected over the water.

“We have six ship-shore gantry cranes here.  This one is a ZPMC Super Post Panamax.  We have two of them.  They can reach over and load a ship over twenty containers wide.  The other four are IHI Post Panamax gantry’s.”

Bill was anxious to find Gutera’s container and had no time for a tour, but curiosity overcame him.

“What does ‘Post Panamax’ mean?”

“It means that the crane can load a ship too large to go through the Panama Canal, maybe eighteen containers wide, but less than a ‘Super Post Panamax ship.’

“How many containers wide is a ship that can pass through the canal?”

“A Panamax ship?  I’d say with normal-width containers, thirteen.

Tim stopped the cart.

“Ok, here we are.  Your container should be about here.”

Denise stepped out of the cart.  Sure enough, there atop a three-high stack was a container on whose side was displayed,
Kenya-Carolina Apex Distributors
.  She turned to Bill.”

“That’s it.  That’s the company Gutera and SÉGAG use.”

Tim nodded and mounted a metal ladder to the control cab atop the RTG.  He waved to Bill.

“Climb on up if you want.  You might like this operation.  It’s not too bad if you like joysticks.”

Bill looked up as he climbed.  He noted that the control cab had a glass bottom.

Tim called down to Denise.

“Ma’am, you must stand clear.  There’s a rest room near that next line of containers.  Wait by that door.  This won’t take long.”

Denise shrugged.  It had been a long day.

She stepped into the rest room.

The glass-floored cabin was mounted on the crane’s cross bar that straddled the row of containers.  On each side the cross bar was supported by steel uprights mounted on rubber tires so that cabin and cross bar could roll freely along the row.

Bill Hamm watched through the transparent floor as Tim used two joysticks and maneuvered over the desired container.  When the spreader attached to the corners, he lifted the container and rolled the gantry forward over the waiting truck.  Then Tim lowered the container onto the chassis.

“Clank.”

Tim turned to Bill.

“Your container is loaded and ready to go.  Not bad, right.  This is a great job.  You should try it.”

Bill nodded and gave Tim two more crisp fifty dollar bills, giving him a total of $300.00 with which to pacify his wife for missing supper.

Tim handed Bill the keys to the truck.

“Tell Miss Guerry the boss wants his rig back in 48 hours.”

Bill left Tim in the cabin and climbed down the ladder.

On the ground once more, Bill climbed into the truck and turned the key.  The diesel rattled and settled into a low rumble.  He stared at the door to the rest room.

Denise heard the engine and stepped out.

“Denise, the container is loaded.  We’re set.  I’ll drive the truck.  You get the car and follow me to Summerville.”

She started away, but her phone buzzed.  She turned back to Bill.

“It’s Henri.  He’s outside the terminal.  Gutera’s Audi just passed the gate.  Maximilien is here, on the grounds.”

“We have to run.  Tell Henri to meet us in Summerville.”

She ran to their car.

He rammed the truck into gear.