The Undercover Agency

The Undercover Agency

Published by James K. Ngubiah at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 James K. Ngubiah

This is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in novel are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

License Notes

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And I saw a beast coming from the sea.

He had ten horns and seven heads, with ten

crowns on his horns, and on each head a

blasphemous name.

Revelations, 13:1.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PART ONE

Chapter 1: Pilgrimage to Ras Ngomeni

Chapter 2: Operation Burst Skull

Chapter 3: No dirty Tricks

Chapter 4: Risa Lusiano

Chapter 5: Orchids and Tender Kisses

Chapter 6: Grandmother

Chapter 7: Under the Sea

Chapter 8: Accident was necessary

Chapter 9: Snooping Mole

Chapter 10: Worth Kenya Pounds 168 millions

Chapter 11: Brown Dog

Chapter 12: Meeting of Managers

Chapter 13: Professor’s Revenge

Chapter 14: Two Green Mambas

Chapter 15: Holy of holies

Chapter 16: Risa Plans her revenge

Chapter 17: Escape!

Chapter 18: Gun battle at Kapsoit.

PART TWO

Chapter 19: Hari Chandri

Chapter 20: Daksesh Chakur Bhut

Chapter 21: Laying the Foundation

Chapter 22: Nourishing the Syndicate

PART THREE

Chapter 23: Knock Out Strategy

Chapter 24: Bulldog, Dynamite and Omena

Chapter 25: The Sack of potatoes

Chapter 26: Cheeers!

PART ONE.

...on each head a blasphemous name.

Chapter 1: Pilgrimage to Ras Ngomeni.

The hour was well past mid-night. The night was a charcoal-black. The maritime weather was cool, characterized by a gusty eastward wind that also propelled a procession of low but fast tides towards the forested coastline. The barge now had all its lights dimmed as it cruised silently on the choppy and chilly Indian Ocean waters, from the border with Somalia down along the coast of Lamu district, but strictly keeping within the limit of Kenyan territorial waters.

This whole Indian Ocean region, stretching from the Red sea and Gulf of Aden, all the way down to the Kenyan port of Mombasa, has recently been on everyone’s mouth due to unparalleled maritime insecurity. According to reports by the International Maritime Bureau, in the year 2009 alone, pirates who were mostly operating from the gulf of Aden, attacked a total of 217 vessels, hijacking 47 0f them and taking 867 crew members hostage. The pirates were also reported to be equipped with high technology armaments supported by communications gadgets like laptop computers, satellite cell-phones and other modern military hardware. For internal communication they were relying on the internet and related social media using encrypted messages.

Furthermore, far deep in the interior of East Africa, insecurity was climbing high and higher as Somali pirates and Al Queda underground operatives, on 11th July 2010 detonated two bombs, using cell-phones and suicide vests, at Lugogo and Kabalangala in Uganda, killing a total of 79 victims. And as if that was not enough destruction, in September 2011 they kidnapped a British tourist and murdered her husband at a Lamu resort. Those terrorist actions prompted the Kenya Defense Forces (KDF) to invade Somalia, targeting Kismayu. Their goal was to crush the Al Shabaabab warlords who were believed to be behind the maritime piracy and intolerable coastal insecurity. And yet still, the spiral of violence widened as on Saturday 21st September 2013, the Al shabaab struck back when heavily armed commandos shot their way into the WestEnd shopping mall complex in up market Nairobi; they massacred more than seventy innocent civilians.

But even before this recent sea-raider induced infra dignitaten, this vast ocean of a million million creases, eternally under influence of the timekeeping monsoons, has been a distinct sea lane for west-bound contraband, since opening of the Suez Canal in 1869. And owing to their strategic locations alongside narcotic trade routes, the Red Sea and the Gulf of Aden, have always been under constant surveillance by leading world narcotics control agencies. Those agencies use state of the art surveillance devices including: reconnoiter vessels which basically would be small highly maneuverable crafts designed and armed for hunting smugglers and pirates, unmanned spy-planes with automatic built-in range-finders, as well as American space satellites equipped with high precision radar tracking antennae.

Lamu district lies to the south-western part of Kenya, straddled by the Tana river delta to the south-east and the Ishakani reef at the boarder with Somali Republic. It is a ragged coastline stretching about 130 kilometers on a north-east, south-west bearing. Most of the land lies less than 100 meters above sea level and is covered by thick mangrove swamps and leafy bushes. Road transportation is very poor as the muddy truck-roads become impassible after the destructive flooding rains. Thousands of people are rendered homeless each year. Armed bandits and robbers attack and kill people with impunity in many parts of the district.

The barge, now cruising very silently on an even keel along this ragged coastline, had had an arduous journey. It sailed from lands far beyond the Bab el Mandeb, which is the jaw of the Red Sea. The journey was made worse for the reason that the barge only sailed during the night, its strictly oriental crew preferring to relax during daylight hours. The effect of daytime on the premium cargo that the barge carried would also not be good. Too many eyes are usually open during the daytime. And so the crew had rested at Bosoga, Mogadishu, and Kisimayu- all the time hiding their barge at the outskirts, in the backwaters of those port towns.

But now, Allah akbar! Allah is great. The journey was coming to an end. It had been a successful journey, another successful journey. The crew was safe, the premium cargo was safe, and the Professor was safe. Inside the control room a digital electronic compass was poised above the rudder and dashboard. Now it read: 41.6 East of GREENWICH, 2.5 South of EQUATOR. Usuman, the captain of the barge, was now quite sure that the long journey had come to a grand finale; this was so because now the barge was pulling out of Ziwa la Juu, into Ungwana Bay, cruising on an even keel for Ras Ngomeni, the last destination.

At precisely 5.0 nautical miles to the mouth of Sabaki a.k.a. Galana River, the barge stopped. All the lights went off. Usuman spoke into an oval mouthpiece held in his right hand. And within a few moments a fleet of tiny vessels appeared speeding towards the barge from the shoreline. There were several motorboats, paddleboats, including log-canoes. They had powerful neon floodlights. They moved extremely fast quickly surrounding the barge. Rapidly, several short ladders were lowered from the barge to the tiny vessels.

Some men at the top deck of the barge started off loading large bales from the barge into the waiting boats. The bales were labeled: DRY POWDERED MILK (UNSWEETENED). Everything was happening as planed, very fast, efficiently and in total quiet. Judging by the way they loaded, the bales were not very heavy but were fairly large, the size of an office briefcase. Every time a boat became full, it sailed off, speeding towards the shore, past the mouth of the Galana and into a shallow berth raised with stone embankments. There they found scores of waiting men. As soon as each boat arrived, the men off loaded the bales into some waiting lorries. And as soon as each lorry was full, the driver started the engine and sped off through the darkness towards Mombasa. All this was happening in complete silence under the frown of night. The lorries were labeled in large black numbers: Mountain of the Moon Relief Agency. They were all painted white, the color of UN vehicles bearing cameo-pink number plates.

The speedboats kept on coming, loading and going. The loading men, in spite of the cool night breeze blowing from the ocean, became tired, panting and sweating with exhaustion. Each of those bundles, neatly sealed in opaque-blue polythene sheets, contained 15.0 kilograms of pure heroine acetyl, a derivative of morphine that has powerful analgesic effects and is a very addictive drug.

And already out were the early signs of the approaching dawn, as symbolized by threads of orange and blue, far beyond the oceanic horizons. Now the cargo was safely off loaded and ferried inland. Usuman had done his part. Now he wished to inform his master that responsibility for the premium cargo was no longer in his hands. His work was successively accomplished and The Agency could pay him quid pro quo.

Usuman was a tall handsome man with crystalline sandy eyes. He headed a crew of thirteen men all of whom he had interviewed and selected himself. He had confidence in each of them, just as each of them had full trust in his leadership. They were all Pakistanis from his native district of Quetta, near the mountainous border with Afghanistan. Jointly they had devised this relatively foolproof way of transporting heroine across the hazardous Red Sea and Indian Ocean. Usuman's barge was built and fashioned after a harmless pilgrimage vessel. Those high-tech narcotic control agencies would not be interested in an innocent pilgrimage boat carrying some poor devotees of Islam to their holy shrines. According to the available records, the boat was registered as belonging to Sheik Abullah Salawi of Aden, Yemen. It was later donated by him to a Shiite Muslim community in Malindi, Kenya. Reason? To enable as many Muslim devotees as possible fulfill their life long obligation, to visit Makkah at least once in their lifetime, by providing low cost transportation. Haji, pilgrimage to Makkah, is the fifth pillar of Islam and is obligatory for all well-to-do Muslims of good health, at least once in their lifetime. In the furtherance of this, Usuman who seemed to be very well versed in the teachings of the noble Qur’an, always wore a Kikoi white shawl that stretched down to the feet, an Islamic turban and loose camel-hide gaiters. For seats, the barge had only wooden benches and stools. At the edges of the floor were spread several jute mats for worshippers to kneel on during prayers. This was necessary because each Muslim, male or female, is obliged to offer his salat, prayers, regularly five times a day at specified times.

And so from all appearances the barge was entirely a travel vessel, equipped with religious and worship garnishes. There was, however, a carefully sealed lower deck and cabin situated at the stern of the barge. These secret chambers were used to carry the illegal cargo from Dahlak Archipelago, through Bab el Mandeb, down to one of the many Somaliland ports- Berbera, Bosaso or Mogadishu. This stretch of coastline is considered a danger zone by all travelers. From Somaliland, all three decks would be fully loaded as the barge sailed at night down the coastline to Malindi or Mombasa. Here, along the ragged coastline, even the telephone transmissions, which usually would be battery powered, are not reliable.

How the premium cargo landed in Dahlak Archipelago from the Far East, Usuman did not know and perhaps didn't care either. He knew that the narcotic load originated from as far as Haipong in Vietnam or even Rangoon and Medan, along the straits of Malacca. But how it was transported to the Red Sea, that was not his funeral, it was the funeral of Giovani Malde. Usuman's own work started at Dahlak Archipelago and ended at the mouth of the Galana River. Full stop. And right now it had just been completed. He and his crew needed to take a two weeks holiday before the start of the next journey. Rest? Yes- and why not? There was a lot of money and time for it. Usuman knew that for decades the Lamu archipelago has been accepted as the Shangri-La of Kenyan coastal tourism. Well, very true; what with those charming, even though veiled, Bajuni maids and not-so-veiled Akamba dancers, to grace the tourist havens and discotheque halls? Yet Usuman did not want to go to Lamu or Malindi or even Mombasa. He wished to be away, far away. Perhaps Pretoria or Tokyo would be acceptable this time. But just before that, he needed the cash. He dialed a coded number into the cellular phone. The answer from the command center was as immediate as it was clear.

Yes Usuman, I have been expecting your call. That was exceptionally good work. Congratulations!

Yes.

The Professor is happy too. He has told me to tell you so.

-Eh Professor? When?

Don't worry about time. There will be something good for you soon. But just for this one, your money should be in your Mombasa Timezone bank account by noon tomorrow. It computes out as USA $80,000. Anything else you want?

Well, no. But... The cell phone was already disconnected.

By successfully importing the premium cargo into the country, Usuman had accomplished one of the assignments considered very difficult within The Agency. And the dollar reward was matching with this unique achievement. Furthermore the name and file of Usuman had been forwarded to the headquarters of The Agency by the head of the local East African branch organization. Usuman was a very lucky man, great things were in store for him.

Apart from the trafficking and distribution of the narcotic hillocks across the continents, the only other very risky matter was the laundering of the money from drugs and related criminal activities. Simply stated, it was the delicate problem of moving the criminally acquired wealth of The Agency globally through banks and businesses, as discreetly as possible, so as to make it seem to have been obtained legally. That way the drug Moguls could afford to sleep and snore, and during the day, spend the illegally acquired wealth without pissing in their pants every time a policeman happened to pass nearby. The Agency earned billions of dollars from clandestine sales of drugs, smuggling, theft and extortion. Its undercover operatives routinely banked the money daily in different secret bank accounts using pseudonyms. In East Africa alone, the daily sales collections were in the region of hundreds of millions of Kenya, Uganda or Tanzanian shillings. Most of the accounts operated for short periods only after which they were abruptly closed. Yes, closed but only to be replaced by other accounts elsewhere, in different branches of the retail bank network. And the recent blast in electronic banking using ATMs, mobile phone fund transfers had but added perplexity into complexity. The Professor and his team of assistants knew that theirs was illegal money. They also knew all too well that the taxmen and the Criminal Investigations Department (CID) detectives were always close by, poking their noses into private bank accounts, examining with magnifying lenses backed by a computer spreadsheet, any suspicious entries or movements in those accounts. So the risk of being snared was enormous. That meant that the line between safety and danger was indeed very thin. And all The Agency employees lived with that knowledge…and dread.

So the surest way out was to convert volumes of illegal cash into legal cash as quickly as possible. Usually that meant converting local currencies into internationally convertible currencies- the so called 'hard' currencies- the USA dollar, the Yen, the Pound sterling, the Euro among many others. And now, at least within East Africa, the Kenya shilling had also joined in the fray. This was achieved by The Agency rather intelligently by trading on the international currency and options futures markets. These markets together with the interbank foreign exchange markets represent the largest financial markets on the planet. Their daily trading volumes are in excess of $400 billions. The markets are situated in all the major financial centers of the world such as New York, London, Tokyo, Zurich, Toronto, Taipei, Chicago, Kuala Lumpur and Sydney.

Most of the forex dealers and brokers are in constant contact with the market centers for 24 hours a day. There are also series of state of the art communication devices that have recently revolutionized operations of these markets by linking then together through cell telephone, internet, facsimile, and satellite networks. The high efficiency of the markets is illustrated by the thrilling speed with which foreign currency exchange rates react to the constant inflow of information that bombards the markets. The responses are practically instantaneous. The frenetic pulsations of this global market keep almost all the participants on tenterhooks- their eyes solid on the video screens that provide latest price movements. Each dealer thus trying to get 'a feel of where the market is going', and also striving to outsmart the market by foresight and skillful judgments.

The Agency had its team of foreign exchange wizards working in each of the leading financial centers. The Agency was therefore able to not only keep track of its illegal operations but also keep track of the laundering of the accumulated cash balances. And, amazing enough, once you're in it, the billion-dollar game becomes as easy as ABC. For example, having considered the two-way price quotation for, say the Japanese Yen, adjusted to the underlying trend as advised by The Agency's expert on the ground in Tokyo, the Professor in his operational base in Naivasha Kenya, could just call the nearest dealer any time of the day. After a squat interlude of the phone ringing, a pleasant feminine voice would answer.

Hello. Diplomat Forex- can I help you?

Yen. Account number TA-009081.

Then a short pause during which the up-to-the-minute quotation for the Yen is ascertained from the computer screens at the Diplomat Forex Limited.

40/60. Any deal? The expected answer would come at last.

Buy ten. The Professor would instruct.

Confirmed! The sweetly feminine voice would return, but this time spiked and final.

That 'confirmed' meant that the instructions were accepted, and the dealer should present his order through the designated bankers. And that would be all. The Agency has effectively purchased 125 million of the Japanese Yen, using local Kenya shillings. The Kenya shillings have been earned from drug sales then stashed in various bank accounts country wide, all managed by The Agency's secret employees. Now the legal Yen, offspring of an illegal Kenya shilling, could trade on the international futures markets, or be transferred to a Zurich secret bank account owned by The Agency.

Back at the Diplomat Forex Limited, profits on the value of futures contracts are added to the private trading accounts and the balances may be withdrawn by the owners at will. Such profit and loss adjustments are done on a daily basis. In the idiom of the dealers this balancing procedure is termed marking to market.

Such was the vicious and convoluted crime syndicate created by those who strive to always enjoy life in ignoble comfort and simple sloth. It is an invisible octopus owned by two-faced men and women, who bathe daily along the shoreline of luxury, then lay out on the sands, basking in the rays of bliss, shit-eating grins on their lips. And this world-wide realm of crooked billionaires is governed by gangster ethics that include cut-throat greed, torture, extortion and vengeance.

Chapter 2: Operation Burst Skull.

The meeting at the police headquarters comprised of the top brass of the Kenya police force. The provincial and county bosses along with the provincial intelligence officers were present. Seasoned specialists from the criminal investigations department (CID) were also invited. There were too the secret security agents from the foreign diplomatic services of America, Britain, Germany, and France, the traditional western allies of the Kenya government. And now with Kenya looking East, Chinese and Japanese agents were also called. The under cover agents from those missions were invited so as to provide logistical advice to the local investigators. Jim Lickiss Simba was one of the sleuthhounds recalled from Britain to boost the local team of detectives.

The atmosphere was tense with uneasy weariness as the Inspector General of police called the meeting of uniformed officers to order. In all there were about fifty-sixty officers and thirteen foreign agents. He explained that the crisis meeting was intended to generate new strategies that would enable the police force resolve the twin mysteries: the inexplicable disappearance of vehicles and the narcotics related murders. The two problems were probably unrelated, and so far, there was no evidence to link the two. Cars were just disappearing in the light of day and in full view of the general public. How such a thing could happen was the most astonishing riddle ever. There was probably more to the mystery than disappearance of cars, the Inspector General explained, eye witnesses had reported seeing strange looking creatures carrying some wire-and-solder contraptions, prior to the disappearance of the vehicles. And when the vehicles started vanishing, the witnesses recalled hearing a very high pitch hissing sound, like that from an aircraft engine. Could the strange creatures be barbarous extra-terrestrials from outer space? Could it be that the usual car-jackers had invented a new technique to achieve their evil designs? Could the mystery be the result of diabolic magic, of a powerful traditional sorcerer, working from yet unidentified ant-bear hole?

About the narcotics problem, the picture was not much clearer. There was a lot of talk about drugs being imported into Nairobi through the international airports and the port of Mombasa. There was a lot of talk about drugs being imported into Kampala and Dar es Salaam too. The global narcotics surveillance agencies had also reported increased drug trafficking and consumption within the East African region. The local narcotics police had made important arrests of foreign drug traffickers at the entry points in the airports and boarder crossing posts. There were also specific cases where the local chiefs and other senior county administration officers had discovered huge plantations of Cannabis Sativa inside forests both in and outside Kenya, such as mount Kenya, the Elgon, Kilimajaro, the Usambara and the Ruwenzori mountains. As a matter of routine, in all cases, these lethal crops had been uprooted, destroyed, and the owners put into jail. Yet new plantations always sprung up, not too far from the old ones. And again the law enforcement agents would swing into action with guns, kerosene and handcuffs; and the cycle would repeat itself endlessly. So were those ever-present plantations a hoax, a smoke screen meant to hoodwink the public by diverting attention from some more sinister crimes being committed elsewhere? For instance, crimes like the bank robberies involving mega-million Kenya shillings; or the brazen Al shabaab terror attack at WestGate mall complex in up market Nairobi city.

The reports and on-site observations all pointed to a mysterious underground gang. But the hard evidence was pretty scarce. Just some mysterious murders and, the more intriguing, disappearance of cars. Further, the returns from the narcotics department showed a rapid deterioration in the consumption of hard drugs, particularly hallucinogens like the LSD, lysergic acid diethylamide, and the injectable amphetamines such as methadrine. Available evidence also showed that the suppliers of the drugs were very well organized and very careful in covering their tracks. It could have been several gangs, or one large gang - but whichever the case, there was a meticulous methodical organization. And they seemed to excel in carefully planned and properly executed assassinations.

One such a case was the recent murder of one Mr. Wainaina, a police informer who had just started to provide useful information to the Criminal Investigation Department. That information led to some crucial arrests, prosecutions and jailing, of certain drug traffickers and retailers. Then one frosty morning Wainaina was found with a wound in his heart. A sharp murder weapon, probably a long-bladed knife, had broken the rib cage, ruptured the diaphragm and sliced off the coronary artery, effectively dislodging the heart from the rest of the body. That was the reason why his clothes did not have even a single stain of blood. The autopsy report indicated the presence of very high levels of pentobarbitone, a long-acting barbiturate, a class of sleep-inducing drugs. That suggested that Mr. Wainaina had been murdered while lying down in deep drugs-induced sleep, as there were traces of black cotton soil on his back, trousers and hair.

Wainaina's body had then been placed on the driver's seat of a saloon car and the car left in the middle of the Nairobi-Nakuru highway, with all light reflectors covered. All was done under the shroud of darkness. Obviously, the vicious killers expected another speeding vehicle would ram into the stationary saloon car - and 'another road accident' would have been blamed for the death of Wainaina. However, no such accident occurred and it was now quite clear that Wainaina was the victim of a heinous scheme of cold-blooded murder.

Another mysterious drug-related death was that of Nzioki, a twelve years old pupil at Westend Shield primary school situated in Kangemi estate in Nairobi. Nzioki's parents had lived in Kangemi for many years before shifting to stay at Njiru, in the far Eastern outskirts of Nairobi, where they had purchased a residential plot and constructed a maisonette for owner occupation. Not wishing young Nzioki to suffer unnecessary social and curriculum changes that could adversely affect his performance in the final certificate of primary education examination, they let him continue schooling at Westend Shield primary school; the distance and daily travelling costs not withstanding.

This happened at a time when a combined crack force of international narcotics detectives and local police had turned the cities of Nairobi and Mombasa upside down, looking high and low for drug barons, distribution merchants and their go-betweens. It was another secret operation code named 'Operation Shut Dreambox'. There was an undercover agent at every airport departure gate, every ship loading berth, every rail embankment, at every hotel and night-club, every bus loading bay and at every street corner. And all those spies were highly skilled and communicated using cell phones and coded language through data encryption devices across the internet. And so business had suddenly become a nightmare for the drug traffickers and their Godfathers. Like burning swords falling by night from the moon, there were endless cases of random arrests, prosecutions and jailings that resulted in multi-billion shillings losses to the drug Kingpins. There was a rumor that the mastermind drug tycoon, only, remotely mentioned as the 'Professor', had been assassinated by his own cohorts who turned traitors. And now the entire crime underworld was shaken, awestruck and routed- in headlong flight, leaking its own lifeblood of treachery, retribution and cruelty. But as usual, a drowning man will clutch at straws.

Before his death in the hands of vicious criminals, young Nzioki had already reported to the headmaster of Westend Shield primary school that he was being used by some men to transport for them hashish, three times a week from Kangemi to the Eastlands. The two tall men in smart suits waited for him at the Kangemi bus stage after 4:15 P.M. when the day school officially closed. The first time they told Nzioki that they were close friends of his father but that his father should never know about their meetings, otherwise he would become unhappy with Nzioki. Everyday they gave Nzioki 'a lot of money'. If Nzioki talked to anybody about them, the men threatened to do great harm to him, besides stopping the daily cash gifts. In any case, Nzioki was only supposed to carry for them another small school bag, from Kangemi