meeting in Lokichokio, the one at which he’d suggested that the company hire Timmerman as marketing manager. To prepare for the meeting, he’d examined Knight Air’s bank records, having persuaded the manager that, as the airline’s principal investor, he was entitled to review them. At the time, Douglas had raked off almost a hundred thousand dollars and had been even less cautious than he was now, transferring the money to an account in his name in a Channel Islands bank. Adid kept his discovery to himself. His instincts told him it was like a cash reserve, to be held until the time was right to put it to use. That time came when he decided to make his move and bring the airline into the fold of his conglomerate. He confronted Douglas with what he’d found.
“He was most nervous, terrified as a matter of fact,” Adid continued. “I reminded him that embezzlement was a crime even in Kenya.” Another laugh. “One phone call to my friends in the Justice Ministry and he would be in very deep trouble. My friend—” he was addressing Fitzhugh directly—“do you recall what I said at our cordial dinner? I don’t care who a man lies to as long as it is not to me. Embezzlement is a form of lying. Douglas assured me the money was not for his personal gain, oh my, no. He had some idea about opening a chain of coffee shops, and was going to consult me about it when he thought he had sufficient capital.”
“Yes, the coffee shops,” Fitzhugh interjected. “He told me about that notion a long time ago. Everyone would benefit.”
“Of course. Our American friend is concerned about bringing the greatest benefits to the greatest number. I was not interested in selling coffee. I told him I wished to acquire Knight Air and with it take one hundred percent of the aid market in Sudan and as much of the market elsewhere as we could get.” Adid was so absorbed in his reverie that he gave not one glance to the magnificent scenery, or to the herds of elephant and zebra in the distance, to the pride of lions lazing in the yellow grass a hundred meters from the road. “But I had no intention of paying full price, and presented my plan. Douglas could help me implement it or he could refuse, which would have certain consequences.”
“So you blackmailed him into staging that charade,” Fitzhugh said.
“I convinced him, my friend. I also convinced him to take his name off the account in the Channel Islands and move his money to a numbered account in Switzerland.”
“Which I would think has become a joint account, yes?”
Adid laughed again. “I have no comment.”
No one but the Somali would have confessed so freely to being a swindler and a blackmailer—he was bulletproof. His revelations were the product of his vanity; he was proud of his jujitsu, flipping Douglas’s greed to satisfy his own. But Fitzhugh saw how he could do a little jujitsu himself and use Adid’s admissions to further his plan.
“The money that’s going to Switzerland—do you know where it comes from?”
“Of course I do,” Adid replied.
“I don’t think so.”
Now it was time for Fitzhugh to make a confession, the confession he had wanted Douglas to make. Yellowbird, Busy Beaver, the real story that Phyllis Rappaport had been pursuing—he told him everything, omitting only his belief that Douglas had murdered her and the others. He assumed Adid would draw that conclusion on his own, which he did.
“You don’t care who a man lies to as long as it’s not to you? Our American friend has been lying to you for months, and he still is.”
“You were a part of it as well,” Adid remarked with a sour expression. It wasn’t only the fact that he’d been lied to for so long; it was that he’d been deceived by people he regarded as rank amateurs. His pride was hurt. “And now that you are no longer employed by Knight, you feel safe in informing.”
“I don’t think of it as informing.”
“However you may think of it, that is what it is, although I appreciate it. Very much appreciate it. As soon as I am back in Nairobi—and that will be day after tomorrow—I will tell that fool that he is through. Halas, finished.”
“Yes, you will do that,” Fitzhugh said, “but not the day after tomorrow.”
The Shetani beds came into view. Stopping the Land Rover, Fitzhugh stood on the running board and,