Read Online Softly Calls the Serengeti by Frank Coates - Free Book Online Page B

years’ experience. Secondly, if he had to make an emergency landing, the country around Wajir was flat. Even if the Cessna had run out of fuel, Dieter Ramanova could have glided to any number of suitable landing sites.
    Sighing, Kazlana picked up the report and flipped through its pages. She found that it included the flight path, the details of the search and rescue operation conducted after the plane had been declared missing, and the coroner’s report. It soon became apparent that the media reports had been fabricated.
    The flight path was reported to be from Mombasa to Wajir, yet the plane was found over a hundred kilometres beyond Wajir, near the Somali border. The Cessna was completely burnt—that much of the newspaper reports had been correct—but it had not been damaged during the landing and it was considered likely that the fire had occurred after the plane had put down.
    Most damning was the coroner’s report. Her father’s body was burnt almost beyond recognition, but he hadn’t died in the fire. He’d been shot.
    She could imagine why the aviation department had wanted to keep this hidden. The Northern Frontier District was an embarrassment to the government because it was obvious they couldn’t police it. There was no law and order there, and heavily armed Somali raiders made frequent incursions into Kenyan territory. There was also the al-Awaab Resistance Army, always a threat to security in the area. The authorities didn’t want further proof of their incompetence made public so close to an election.
    Kazlana wouldn’t let that stop her carrying out her own investigation. Her father’s plane and his personal belongings had been left unplundered, which suggested this wasn’t the work of raiders. Besides, why had her father been near the Somali border in the first place? She wasn’t aware of any business dealings he’d been involved in there; not directly, anyway. She was going to find out who had killed her father, and why. And then she was going to kill them in turn.
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    â€˜Mark Riley to see Ms Ramanova,’ he said to the secretary, a slim black girl with beads in her braided hair.
    â€˜Good afternoon, Mr Riley,’ she responded. ‘I believe Ms Ramanova is expecting you. Please take a seat. I’ll inform her you’re here.’
    She stepped to an adjoining door, tapped on it and waited a moment before opening it and slipping through. Riley picked up a copy of The Nation , and was about to take a seat on the plush white leather sofa when the secretary returned, advising him that Ms Ramanova would see him.
    She came around her desk to meet him as he walked into her office. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Riley,’ she said, extending her hand.
    â€˜Afternoon, Ms Ramanova,’ he said. He liked her grip—firm, as it had been the night they’d met. And again it lingered. ‘When I made my appointment I wasn’t sure you’d remember me from—’
    â€˜From the Australian High Commission? Of course I do. Please, won’t you take a seat?’
    She indicated a white leather armchair and sat herself on another, across a low table from him. She crossed her legs and he noticed she wore no stockings.
    â€˜Well, I would have understood if you didn’t. We only had a brief chat and then you were gone.’
    She laughed. ‘Can you ever forgive me? I’m so sorry. I had to dash and I didn’t want to be rude during the speech.’ She placed a polished red fingernail to the corner of her mouth. ‘Would you like a coffee? Tea?’
    â€˜No, thank you. I’m fine.’
    â€˜How can I help you?’
    â€˜I found your business card; it had somehow got into my jacket pocket,’ he said, pausing to gauge her reaction.
    She simply smiled and said, ‘You’re a writer, if I remember correctly.’
    â€˜That’s correct.’
    â€˜And who do you write