Chapter 6

“No, sir, but she would like to believe that her husband died that way, and who am I – indeed, who are we – to say otherwise? If you wish to conclude that the President died fighting the assailants, I shall be happy to step into the background, as a butler should.”

“Thank you, John. Your consideration for sensibilities does you proud. It may indeed, for political reasons, be best to have the story come out in that way. You would be amenable to that arrangement?”

“Certainly, sir. As his butler, I would officially be a passenger anyway, unable to take part in any altercation, while the President may have defended his person with a gun which he happened to find in the glove box of the car. You might wish to place the gun in the President’s hands, to confirm that understanding of the events, sir.”

The officer in charge looked at Rufus. “You, man! Do you have the gun that was used against the assailants?”

“Yes, sir. It is here, in our evidence box.”

“You had best place it back in the president’s hand, just as it was when he used it, so that we can take a photograph. Make sure the President’s fingerprints are on the gun, young man, when you do so.”

Rufus got up, removed the weapon with plastic gloves, and went to the Land Rover and the President’s body. The investigation team were measuring distances between the cars, and the positions of the bodies. One man was taking pictures of the dead bodies, the man in the ornate uniform went over to him and directed him to retake the pictures of the President.

“Make sure that the gun in the President’s hand is noticeable. In fact, take a close-up of the gun being held by him. Delete any pictures that were taken of the President earlier. The gun should not have been removed beforehand. This will restore the true facts to their rightful position.”

He returned to John. “I think we have things as they should be now. Thank you for your cooperation, Jeeves.”

“Delighted to be of assistance in my small way, sir. May I drive the Land Rover home to the Presidential compound, if your men have finished with it?”

“There is some blood still on the seat. I shall have my men clean it up for you. They will have taken samples of the blood for confirmation that it is the President’s blood; and the photographer will have photographed the cars.”

“Did he photograph the impact of the first bullet?” John enquired helpfully

“Wait there, Jeeves.” The boss man marched to the photographer and asked him a question. The photographer at once turned to the Land Rover and examined it. Spotting the damage caused by the bullet, he got his camera and recorded the damage.

The boss man came back to John. “Thank you for noticing that discrepancy, Jeeves. You wouldn’t like a job in the police force? We could do with more men of your calibre.”

“Alas, sir, I retired from the army to escape the excitement that suits a younger man. The police force would also be too much excitement for me. Today was quite overwhelming, as it is. I am looking forward to getting home, and having a quiet drink of scotch in my quarters, to wind down. I shall shortly be looking for another post as a butler, elsewhere.”

“When you get back, tell the widow that Colonel Ahmed sends his sincerest sympathies on her loss. If there is any help she requires, she should feel free to contact me. The President was a distant cousin of mine.”

“Indeed, sir? May I in return offer my condolences on your extended family’s loss?”

“Thank you, Jeeves. I think you may leave now. The men appear to have finished with your vehicle. The President’s body has been removed to the helicopter for transfer to our mortuary, prior to a state funeral.”

Murmuring his thanks, John resumed his driver’s position in the Land Rover, and drove off, conscious of the slightly cold and damp seat under him, left by the cleaning fluid evaporating in the heat.

He allowed half an hour to go by before he took a break, checked that the hidden gun was in its place, and stretched his legs under a small grove of trees. Making sure he was not observed, he used his phone with its military linkages and reported to his chief, “Boss, the target is deceased, after being shot by a bunch of druggies in a passing car. They did not survive the attack, themselves. I am now on my way back. If you get my phone location records, you will be able to identify the house we visited this morning. The diamonds he came to get were in the room to the left of the corridor, coming from the front door. Inside that room, there is no visible safe.

The only incongruous item is a wall gun safe, so that may be a target worth exploring. It may be wise to get in smartish, as the owner, a cousin of the target, knows what is held there, and may feel it safe to appropriate it for himself. I am going back to the target’s residence, to commiserate with the family, and conclude my employment situation. It was not the scenario we had in mind, but satisfactory all the same, I believe.”

He listened, then said, “I am aware of my responsibilities in that line, boss, and will deal with it shortly. Goodbye, and good luck with the diamond hunt.”

After a long drive, he got back to the Presidential compound, and reported in. He found that the media already had the story of the President’s fatal encounter with drug-fuelled assailants, and the brilliant defence of his person, killing all four attackers before succumbing to his own wounds. There was no mention in the story about the presence of his butler, or a bodyguard, for which John was glad. Some readers might wonder why no bodyguard, but it would be left at that. The political elite would keep the story in their favour, and all alternative readings would be ignored.

He met the tearful widow, and apologised for being unable to assist the President, having no weapon himself. The President, he said, had taken over the driving for a spell, and luckily had access to their only firearm, a handgun in the glove compartment. The President had used it to full effect, he said, again expressing his own inability to intervene.

The widow asked what the trip had been all about. “Ma’am, His excellency said he wanted to visit a relative, a cousin I believe, over the border, but for some reason he did not want me to know the exact location. At a certain point, he took over driving, and asked me to wear a blindfold. This I did, until we were at the house. All I can say is it was a private house, and a man met us at the door. That man took me into another room, where there was a safe, and handed me a package of money – at least that is what he said it was. Oh, I forgot! It is still in the car, if the police did not impound the package. I shall fetch it now, madam, if it is still there.”

He returned to the car. The package was in the glove compartment, untouched. At this point he recalled not mentioning anything to the police about the visit, being as it was over the border and outwith their jurisdiction. He shrugged. The event over the border had no relevance to the firefight.

Taking the package to the widow, he allowed her to tear it open, revealing bundles of high-value notes in US dollars. She burst into tears. “Zimba was thinking of me. That was the cause of his visit: to get cash to pay for my dresses. I don’t know if you heard, Jeeves, but his bank account had been plundered.”

“His Excellency deigned to inform me of that unfortunate fact, ma’am,” he responded.

“You will lose your job now, Jeeves, is that not so?”

“It is, ma’am. My employer is no more, so likewise my job. It has been a pleasure, serving your household. I trust that the state will award you a life pension in recognition of the Life President’s service to the nation.”

“You are probably right, Jeeves. You usually are. You will not refuse a leaving gratuity, will you?”

She peeled off a batch on notes, handing them to him. He accepted them, remarking, “I shall remember you fondly, my lady. May the future be kind to you. I shall take my leave immediately, once I have collected my things, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Jeeves. You were a light in our lives for such a short time. Goodbye.”

After a shower, and getting dressed, Jeeves made himself a snack in the kitchen while he mused about his next move. He pulled out the notes Mrs Mazimba had given him and did a recount. His count was the same: ten thousand dollars. He could afford to give Joy’s parents a thousand dollars, to enable them to survive with dignity.

He was near Tom’s home by the time night was falling. A bad time to take her away. Perhaps Tom and Bronwen would let him sleep there for a night. He rang Tom’s number. When Tom answered, John said, “This is John. Any chance of a place to sleep tonight, Tom? I can be there in two minutes.”