Frederick Ramsay_Botswana Mystery 02 by Reapers

his chair. “You have news for me?”
    “Not about the shooting, but about some things of interest to us in other ways.”
    “Why do I not hear about the shooting? It is not good for us, this killing. The people who depend on us for our services, who pay us, will find others to do their work. And then there is a need to have a talk with the game ranger. What does he know of this?”
    “I will talk to the ranger soon. He is frightened and lying low. He will surface soon enough, him or one of his fellows. As for our people, I have talked to the most likely, the ones who would know. I must now determine who they might have spoken to. There is a weakness in the system but we will find it. But the news that you will want to hear is better.”
    Botlhokwa motioned him to a chair. Noga nodded and sat. He accepted the Cuban cigar offered and the two men lit up. Soon the room was filled with the strong aroma of tobacco. If a visitor were a cigar smoker, he would have been ecstatic. A non-smoker, a reformed smoker, would have staggered from the room gasping for air.
    “Several important visitors will soon be with us,” Noga said between puffs. “The American Secretary of State and her entourage, including the husband, will arrive during the matches.”
    “And?”
    “There will be emissaries from some Near Eastern nations as well. They will talk politics, settle issues of sovereignty over lands they do not own, and make deals with other people’s resources. It is politics as usual. And there are the rumors about the Okavango.”
    “And that concerns me, how? I have no interest in the Machiavellian movements of the rich and powerful. If I had, I would be president by now.”
    “You could be still, if you were willing to create the illusion of incorruptibility. However, the arrival of these people is important to us for several reasons. The Emirs will be in the market for some of the things and activities we can supply. The Americans may wish to confer in private with certain parties across the border in Zimbabwe. They cannot go openly. They may use their CIA people to approach us to help them, I think.”
    “There is no money in those transaction.”
    “There is good will, indebtedness, you can say, that may be useful to us in the future. It is not a bad thing to be on the CIA’s list of preferred providers.”
    Botlhokwa flicked the ash from his cigar and stared out the window. He would be in Cape Town now except for this business at the borders. He needed to keep a tight rein on his people. He would be happy when these football matches were over and he could enjoy his wine estate again. And then, there had been the call from Gaborone earlier. He would have to spend some scarce political currency to muzzle the attorney general. Politicians!
    “The Koreans, I am told, will find their way to the Okavango. The North Koreans, that is. The South will locate in one of the local lodges. Who knows what sort of business that is about. Besides wanting to meet with the Americans or perhaps the Russians who will also be here, informally of course, they will be anxious to procure hides, horns, and ivory, perhaps other things. They have peculiar tastes, I hear. Perhaps we should stock up on Snake Wine.”
    “And compliant women?” Noga shrugged. Some things, he reasoned, were self evident.
    “You realize,” Botlhokwa said between puffs, “the BDF will be out in force. They will not permit poaching of any of these things and will be patrolling the borders. They can be very difficult.”
    “You mean unapproachable for the sort of inducements you might offer. Of course they are. We can manage them. What we need is a supply of merchandise from Congo, Uganda, Rwanda, and possibly Kenya. Who knows what the West African people might do for us? They are all in need of negotiable currencies. And there is coltan, easy to move, hard to detect, good return on investment, you could say. It is a big continent and the borders are wide. We will