Story by Stephen Mupoto
The new sheriff in town meant business. An upsurge in crimes of passion was so worrying that he had to think more robustly to palliate the criminal scourge. The trend was like the spread of a pandemic, hitting hard from one province to the other. He knew he had to do something to curb the ever increasing heinous crimes that were committed with impunity. The criminal gangs were well oiled and protected, and he knew he was going to step into Medusa's Lair. The previous sheriff was gunned down and his body thrown over the cliff into a nearby railway station to make it appear as suicide. His predecessor's body was heavily mutilated and his entire family disappeared without a trace. This was the world Powel Mutsure found himself in. He was aware of the odds against him in a place where vice was the order of the day.
He sat quietly in his spacious office pondering on his next move. He had gleaned quite a significant chunk of chilling intelligence, but determined as he was, he was ready to take the bull by its horns. One thing he knew was that he had already thrown himself to the apocalyptic wolves and he had to dance to their snarling. Any feet dragging, he knew, would be the gallows to break his neck. He looked outside for a moment and felt fear run its cold finger down his spine. This was the land where the wraiths walk in broad daylight. The land where the sanguine had perfected the art of killing.
He rose from his chair and walked to the door. A final glance at his office made him think he may never return to sit behind the giant mahogany desk and rummage through various murder and rape reports, possibly a horde of sitreps and memorandums from across the district. He locked the door and stepped into the ceramic tiled pavement towards the carport. He was careful enough to inspect his immediate surroundings for any suspicious people or vehicles before stepping into his convertible. As he sat inside his car, he adjusted his interior mirror and looked into it. It was all clear. He inserted the key into the ignition and his car roared to life.
His mind was engrossed on the task ahead of him. The transfer from Harare Central Police station to Bulawayo came to him as a surprise. He was aware of the kind of environment he had stepped into and that his commanders trusted him. Over the years, he had proven his mettle in criminal investigations. He had dealt with far more sanguine and dangerous criminals throughout his career. He hoped this would be his last assignment before he applied for discharge on retirement. At forty, Powel still looked as bright as he was in his twenties. He was athletic, short and muscular. His head was always clean shaven and maintained a well trimmed moustache. He was always clad in his favourite black denim trousers, a white golf T. Shirt, a red cap and a pair of white tekkies. His black leather jacket was cast at the back seat. A black Bible was neatly placed on the dashboard as he played gospel music. He always felt close to God when he drove around with his Bible, a few gospel music cassettes and a rosary.
He drove through the quiet streets of Bulawayo on his way to Nketa. Human traffic was fast thinning out and he fumbled at his watch. It was 2015 hours. He was a few miles from Rosaine's crib. She was his contact person. Rossaine was half caste, blonde haired with blue sparkling eyes and thick dark lips. She was in her early thirties, tall and plump, ripe and every men's dream. She happened to be reserved and many saw her as an introvert, possibly because she found every person around her so repulsive.
She had a history of her own. A past broken into a million shards. Shifting into her shell was the only way she had managed to survive through solitary avenues of her life. She had surfed through the turbulence, endured life's pernicious arrows and still survived. Nketa was her lair, a place where she felt safer than anywhere in the world and this was the very place she processed all the intelligence she gathered everyday. Her crib was a three roomed house that was at an advanced stage of construction. She had completed two rooms and the third was almost done. Her bedroom was cramped with an assortment of invoices, bill receipts, receipt books, betting cards and clothing. There was virtually little room for visitors. She preferred the topsy turvy arrangement in her room because it afforded security for sensitive material she kept at her place. Surprisingly, she knew where to find what with great ease. An old Dell desktop computer sat on one of the wooden tables to the foot of her bed.
The time Powel drove in, she was about to leave for an appointment in town. Powel was surprised at the time she wanted to commute into town in a place where death lurked everywhere. He turned into a small driveway in her yard and his car halted before the engine died. He watched her as she stood in the doorway, her purse loosely held by her left hand. Her hair was neatly plaited and she wore a broad smile. She walked to the car and they exchanged banalities.
"I was off to town." She said. She studied Powel carefully as she stood by the window.
"Oh, I see. It should be something important I guess." He said with an air of disappointment.
"You can drive me there and we discuss matters along the way. It is important. Another piece of raw intel." She said matter of factly.
"Okay. Hop in." He said and she walked to the passenger side and got into the car. They drove off from Nketa and ended up locked in a conversation.
"I came to see you regarding a sequel to Operation Rogue. We are putting in place modalities for Operation Smoke Wave. It is important that I fill you in on the important rudiments of the covert operation. Here is the Operation's Dossier. All details are there." He explained.
She took the OD and slit it open to rummage through its contents. She carefully studied the contents and felt a sudden chill run through her body.
"This is suicide!" She said. She gazed outside and felt the cool night breeze and drifted deep in thought. She knew how Operation Rogue ended. The sting operation gave them a tedious time as they filled body bags. The foe was simply invincible and to her, Operation Smoke Wave was simply a blueprint from the same template save for a few tactical changes. She was not sure if this was water tight. She had her own premonitions that this would not end well. The intelligence she had gleaned clearly told her that the enemy was a web's nucleus fenced on all sides by various rings of state security. It was clear that it had impenetrable layers which she had to know and understand. The insiders had told her of the twenty-four hour changes in security mechanisms and these were only known by shifts to take over duty. The fact that no-one was privy to these security modifications except a few people responsible for security meant that this was a dead end.
"This operation is a race in the direction of futility sir." She said as the car pulled off the road at a tavern in the CBD.
"Wait until you observe how this wave of smoke will subtly enter the supposed phalanx. Everything is well laid out." He explained.
"Not after participating agents append their signatures to their own death warrants. This is suicide." She remonstrated.
"What I want is your unparalleled support Rosa. I know I can pull this out with your help. Everything has been carefully laid out. We did our investigations fully and cultivated very rich sources of internal intelligence. We have sources in the very nucleus of the system we intent to break. The phalanx is strong but not indispensable. Our strategies are clear. We are a wave of smoke. You know what it does. It infiltrates even the most solid phalanx." He said and looked deep into her eyes.
"You are a hard man Powel. Very hard." She said as she stepped out of the car. He watched her disappear behind the tarven then an empty alley. He adjusted his seat and leaned leisurely against it.
"Cut this crap Rosa." He said to himself as he sighed. He was aware that Operation Smoke Wave was a gamble with life. The Dossier which he had handed to Rossaine was silent on other salient aspects of the operation. Dissolution was the term they used to refer to agent demobilisation, incapacitation or elimination. All such operations had a propensity of consuming those who participated and Rosa was no exception to the rule of dissolution.
Rossaine walked through the alley that was in between two large buildings. She walked with brisk but sure paces. She reached a dead end and stopped. She took her phone and checked on the loc stat. She was right on point. She had to wait for a while before her contact arrived. She heard the clatter of metal a few yards away from where she stood and her senses were triggered to the presence of another person. She poised herself for either a flight or defence.
Meanwhile, Powel felt a sudden wave of loneliness hit him like a plague. He fumbled at his watch for the umphteenth time and drifted in thought. The gory stories he had heard about his new station and how one police officer was murdered after the other and no explanation was given regarding the murders and disappearances. The day he packed his staff and the raging fight with his wife before he stepped out of the house to fulfil the call of duty in Bulawayo. He remembered how he started laying down his plan and how information slowly filtered through to him as he found knowledgeable informants whose information was to the point. He took stock of the successes he was making in purging the city of crime. Many people saw him as an able exorcist who had come to save the city from the criminal demons. He was in the right path until he was introduced to Rossaine. A lot changed since then. His baits started missing the targets and this made him skeptical about his own commanders.
He asked himself a plethora of questions. Why was he successful before coming into contact with Rosa. It was then that he realised he had to start dispatching the so called contacts and this was an opportunity to get rid of Rosa before it was too late. He came out of his reverie and stepped out of his car. He tucked his gun under his belt and followed Rosa.
Rossaine's body lay prostrate in a pool of blood. She was mutilated and her chest cavity was ripped open. Besides her body lay her .23 Kelvin Webbly revolver. There were no spent cartridges. No sound of gunshots was heard. The serenity of the night was disturbed as death lurked. Her pant was ripped and her genitalia swollen. Powel stood there gnawed by the horror that lay before him. Someone had done it but the question was who. The dossier he had handed to her was gone and he knew battle lines were drawn. Operation Smoke Wave had just begun. The hunter became the hunted. The sound of an explosion followed by a huge bellow of smoke brought him back to his senses. He quickly turned and left Rosa's body lying on the cold earth in a deathly alley. He sped towards the road and his car was engulfed in a raging inferno. He looked around him and found no traces of traffic or any people around. He felt trapped. He searched his pockets for his mobile phone and realised he had left it in his car, charging.
Things were happening fast. He had no time to think. This was called virtual isolation. A partner killed in cold blood and the means of getting away and communication destroyed. Powel found himself marooned in the middle of nowhere at the mercy of prowling sanguinary beasts who stalked in the night. Reality started unfolding before him. The deaths were well organised and he believed, beyond doubt, that there were people inside his own organisation behind these ritual killings. It also dawned on him that his transfer to Harare was a way of eliminating him. He had become a threat by foiling lucrative criminal dealings. This was it. He had to think of a plan to survive. He had to start running but the question was where.
THE BULAWAYO OBSERVER
Sheriff Powel Mutsure murdered
Bulawayo woke up to the sad news of the murder of Sheriff Powel Mutsure near George Tarven in Bulawayo late last night. The police is seized with a current spate of murders....
The newspaper screamed early the following morning as commuters gathered around the charred remains of Sheriff Powel's convertible. His body was not found and it was believed it was burnt to ashes as his car succumbed to the torrential flames.
_____
Powel found himself haggling on the pendulum of uncertainty. The death of Rosa came as a shock and the manner in which her body was mutilated send shivers down his spine. He was sure he was next. Whoever had killed Rosa was going to come after him. He held the newspaper in his shivering hands and read through the news of his death. He was sure the news article was misleading and likely to expose him. He was sure the enemy had a malicious intent and the publication was meant to draw him into the open. It was clear to him that the people who had killed Rosa were also after him. If they believed that he was dead then they would not keep chasing after him. There was only one way to find out. He had to start an underground investigation as to who these killers were and who was oiling the killing machinery.
His first port of call was Rosas apartment. The night had worn off and dawn was fast closing in when he reached Nketa. On arrival at Rosas apartment, he observed that there was a break in. He looked around for any foreign bodies but found none. It was clear to him that whoever had broken into the apartment was smart. For a moment, he stood there frozen not sure of his next move. He calculated his odds and eventually walked into the house. His first observation was the mess in the house. He did not know where to start and what to look for. The mess made the room difficult to navigate. On a second thought he started from the table where her desktop was left lying on the side of her bed. He carefully looked at it and observed that the hard drive had been removed. Every other thing was left intact. He left the computer and started rummaging through the papers for any possible clues.
He was sure Rosa was doing something that had attracted the wrath of the killers. The details of Operation Smoke Wave were in the dossier he had given her and part of the items had been burnt in his car. From what he saw, there was nothing worth salvaging at Rosas place and he decided to leave. He took a snap glance at his watch and it was 0335 AM. He had to step out of the house and find transport to Harare. He had close associates he knew would be willing to help him. The first person who came to his mind was Chipo Makuwe and Gary Marunga, the two astute criminal detectives he had worked with for over fifteen years.
He took his phone and dialed Chipo. Her phone rang and went on unanswered. As he stepped out of the house, he saw a pink diary that was hidden somewhere between the bed and the wall. He walked back and retrieved the diary. He perused through the entries and smiled. Without a moments hesitation, he stepped out of the house and walked to the road. Sure that all was clear, he started sauntering along the road.
Chipo woke up to see Powels missed call. She stretched herself and yawned before dialing Powels contact. He picked it up as soon as it rang and she listened.
Good morning Powel. I hope all is well. I woke up to see your missed call. She said as she slipped into her blue dress.
There is a code red dear and I need your help. I will be in Harare before midday. I would want to meet you somewhere in town. Make sure the meeting is covert. He said.
You sound frantic and alarmed. What is it? she asked.
I will fill you in when I get to Harare. He said and dropped the call. She stared at the receiver as it went dead. That was strange. The Powel she knew was candidly brave, shrewd and a matador in her own words. He was daring and took situations head on. This was not the Powel she knew. She walked to her bathroom and filled the rub with hot water. She poured some cold water on it to make it warm and stepped into the frothy tub. She lay there feeling the warmth of the water, her eyes closed on serious meditation. That was her routine, meditating while bathing.
She had planned to call Gary early that morning. Gary was her partner in crime and they had been transferred the same time to the Criminal Intelligence Unit and had been bosom acquaintances since then. They had fought together in the trenches of criminal investigations and nursed each others bruises. They had experienced it all at that time. She remembered how Powel and Gary met and eventually fell in love. She smiled to herself as she opened her eyes and stepped out of the tub.
Her apartment was a spacious four roomed core house in the high density suburb of Highfield. She lived not far from the old Robert Mugabe house, close to Zimbabwe flats. At thirty seven, she was still single and childless. More often, she would stand in the middle of the lounge and shed tears. She always dreamt of a time she would have children running around the spacious house and a husband to kiss her each morning before leaving for the office. Regrettably, the prospects of marriage were elusive and she ended up dating low-lifes to quench the fires smoldering in her loins.
She got ready and called Gary to meet her in her office that morning. She was sure Powel would be in town later that day and she had to prearrange for their meeting in town. She needed a place where there were very few eyes that could afford them the privacy Powel had requested. She stepped out of her house, locked the doors and walked to her car. In no time she was walking up the stairs to her office. Gary was already at work. She was always the early bird. The two walked into Chipos spacious office that was well furnished with a sparling brown mahogany table, a metallic silver cupboard, a water dispenser, a fan and a bookshelf. On top of her table were a globe and an assortment of books and calendars.
I thought you would be late. Chipo said as she pulled her swiveling chair.
You know me too well, I am rarely late. I prefer being in the office before anyone else. That affords me time to plan my work before the hustle and bustle begins. Gary said and laughed.
There was a knock on her door and she told the person who was outside to come in. Powel stepped in. he looked pale and unusual.
“Did you see a ghost? Chipo said as she showed Powel where to sit.
Its a long story. I felt I had to pass by your office before our official meeting. He said, frantic and shivering.
Calm down. What is it that troubles our hero? Gary said and looked deep into Powels eyes. There was a moment of frightful silence. The low din of the watch could be heard as the second hand lumbered by.
Rosa is dead! he said, finally summoning his courage.
Who is Rosa? Gary asked as she stirred uneasily on her seat.
The underground sleuth I was working with. She was my contact who lived in Nketa. I am sure we were both under the telescope. My car was buried in ashes. He said and pushed the newspaper over the table.
You are presumed dead? And who gave the journalist the information? Chipo enquired thoughtfully.
I do not know, but whoever dispatched Rosa was also after me. Are you aware of Operation he was cut short.
Smoke Wave? Chipo said. Yes, I do. She continued.
Take a look at this. Powel said as he handed Chipo the pink diary he had taken from Rosas apartment.
You took a gamble coming here Powel. If they know you are alive, I am afraid they will not stop until you are wasted. Chipo warned.
Who are they? Powel asked.
I will fill you in, but for now you have to find a place of safety. I will be in touch with you from there. She said.
Talk to me Chipo. I am not leaving until I get answers. He remonstrated.
If you need answers then go into safety. You will surely have all the answers you are looking for. She said and rose from her chair, walked to the wind
N