Chapter 2

Joseph Okuru sat nervously across from Igwe Orizu as his boss perused the folders he had presented to him. Joseph worked in the personnel department of Orizu Building. One of many companies that Igwe owned. It was a very busy department. Four hundred Africans worked for the company, a mix of men and women. The problem for Joseph was the workforce turnover. It was not because people left the company for another company. The problem was simple and stark. Death was the biggest cause of turnover. He had carefully studied the figures himself. In the last two years over 100 staff had died from illness, variously described as flu, cold, fever. None stated the true reason.

Aids.

According to the country's President there was no such illness, and so it never appeared on Death Certificates. Finding replacement staff was not so difficult, but since half the population of the country were under 15 years of age, skill and experienced workers were hard to come by.

Fortunately for Orizu Building the government had set pay levels for all categories of employees. Good for business if not for employees! So an experienced and skilled older work could not leave his company for a better paid job elsewhere. Since all the pay rates in all Zimbabwe Company's were exactly the same switching from one employer to another led to suspicion of incompetence, or worse misdeeds. So Africans rarely changed jobs. That still left Joseph very busy man finding replacements for the staff and organising whip rounds for grieving widows and children.

Not that the folders Igwe was perusing related to African staff and workers.

The folders Igwe was reading comprised the latest CV's and backgrounds on UK professionals being suggested by International Recruit. Joseph suspected that the company would grind to a halt without the input of the white engineers, quantity surveyors, project managers and accountants like David Burton.

White expats did not die of aids. They came for two years and usually left after that. In those two years they brought modern management skills. A desire to work hard, a notion Joseph struggled to understand, and a drive and energy that sometimes alarmed the African staff.

Igwe was an intimidating and powerful African. Joseph knew well his history in the war of liberation that they had fought and lost against the whites. Igwe's friendship with the new African rulers meant that he now sat in the Chair of one the biggest developing new construction firms. Joseph could not really comprehend the wealth Igwe was reported to own. That wealth and his contacts drove the business development. He could afford to employ the white expats that made his business profitable.

He was also ruthless, and Joseph believed the rumours that at least some of the disappeared staff had been fed to the local crocodiles inhabiting the water holes at the golf course.

Certainly the tax inspectors that Igwe had taken for a game of golf had never been seen again. Tax inspectors had not visited Igwe's business since.

Igwe's thoughts as he perused the folders in front of him could not be further from his own. He held in his hand the picture of Diana Windsor. She was a blond bombshell with a cascade of yellow hair that perfectly set off her blue eyes. He could sense the spark in those eyes. He suspected fire and passion smouldered behind those eyes. He turned the photo over and scanned her statistics. She was 26 years old. Her figure had been discreetly written noted on the sideline 36-28-34. He shivered at the fought of getting his around the waist of this lovely creature and then exploring the fuller curves. Yes, she was just what he required from the wives of a potential employee.

Having satisfied himself with the important issue he picked up the file of her husband, Paul Windsor. He was a Contracts Manager. Twenty years experience. A quick scan revealed that he had owned his own business up until 9 months ago. Then the recession that was doing so much damage in the UK had closed his business.

Igwe liked recessions in Europe and America. It guaranteed desperate professionals running from the taxman and in need of work and an escape from debts.

Looking through the papers it seemed Mr Windsor had all the competence to be a skilled Contracts Manager. He turned over the photo and was surprised to see in the notes that he was 19 years old and had a figure of 34-26-30!

Igwe looked across at Joseph. He had little time for incompetents. He could see Joseph quail under his gaze. He liked that in an employee! He continued to stare at Joseph, who squirmed in his seat.

Joseph was struggling to overcome his sudden fear. His boss had missed something but if Joseph mentioned it he might be accused of suggesting Igwe had made a mistake. Making such a suggestion to his boss filled Joseph with terror. So her squirmed under Igwe's gaze and dithered.

Igwe stared.

Joseph realised inaction was going to get him into more trouble than he was in already. He coughed and gestured towards the photo. Igwe stared at him. Hiding his amusement. Joseph edged forward and took the photo from Igwe's hand he carefully peeled the two photo's apart. Photographs did not travel well in the steamy African heat. He handed the photo's back looking apologetic and embarrassed. Igwe took the two photographs. His interest was not so much in Paul Windsor as the 19yo with the figure. He looked down at the pretty face of young woman.

"That's Lauren. She is Mr Windsor's oldest daughter".

"Oldest daughter?"

"Yes he has two daughter's... there should be another photograph".

Igwe shuffled through the papers and found another photograph. He pulled it out and looked it over. Sweet sixteen and never been kissed.

"16?"

"No, she is 15 years old. Her name is Samantha".

Igwe smiled, even better.

Joseph relaxed.

He turned over Paul's photo and saw that he was 42 years old.

"His first wife died and he re-married," Joseph explained.

Igwe pondered these facts for a few moments. A 42 year old man with, no doubt, a demanding younger 26 year old wife, and two nicely developed teenage daughters who had become young women in their own rights. He would imagine there would be a few tensions in this family. No doubt Paul was struggling to keep his new pretty wife happy, and two daughters clashing with the new wife would add to the tension of his company going bust. Yes Paul Windsor was looking for an escape route.

"Hire him."

He opened the next folder. He glanced over the features of a young white man, then glanced down his details. They described a recently qualified engineer of 26 years, single. He frowned. He did not employ single white men!

"Joseph?"

Joseph, who had been relaxing and his thoughts drifting, was startled back to attention. He immediately saw the folder spread across Igwe's desk, and realised Igwe's concern.

"If I may... Sir?..."

Igwe leaned back allowing Joseph to shuffle through the file.

"Here," he handed over a hand written blue coloured letter. There was a paper clip attaching a photo of a very pretty young woman, with long dark brown hair.

"His fiancé," Joseph explained. "If he is offered the job they will marry and have their honeymoon on the way here. She is a Sunday School teacher."

Igwe's interest picked up at that last point. A Sunday School teacher! That would be an interesting challenge, and fresh from her honeymoon! There would be a few high level bets on how quick she could be introduced to a black cock in those circumstances!

"Hire."

Igwe shuffled the papers together, and pushed them aside.

"Do you have the new contract I told you to prepare?"

Joseph nodded and handed the crisp white sheets over.

"Good! Send Mr Burton to me".

Joseph quickly rose, he was glad to escape the risky confines of Igwe Orizu's office.

David knocked politely before entering the office of his domineering African boss. He dreaded his boss. He had always treated him with professional courtesy. David knew his worth and value, and that he was an invaluable key player in the company's affairs. David liked it that way. However, Igwe Orizu had seduced his wife. In one sense that was OK. They had been married 19 years and things had gone stale, his wife boring.

Igwe had seduced and transformed his wife and rather than being annoyed David had found the situation arousing and exciting. Who would ever have believed his wife would have allowed a black man between her legs? Now his wife did things in bed without him asking or needing to encourage her.

Igwe had taught her things to do with her tongue that made David shiver at the memory.

But that was his wife. The horrifying discovery that his pretty daughter had been drawn into Igwe's depraved circle had shocked him to the core. He felt intensely guilty that seeing his pretty teenage daughter underneath a rutting middle aged African had given him an erection! He had thought it had been his wife!

When he had discovered it was his daughter, and not his wife, his erection had not subsided. He had felt guilty since and confused ever since.

Over the week since he had witnessed his daughter's ravishment he made up his mind not to renew his contract. There were three months to go and he suspected that this was what Mr Orizu wanted to see him about.

He entered the office and sat comfortable in the chair opposite the owner of the company. Igwe had never stood on ceremony with his key expatriate staff. Igwe was checking over an A4 sheet of typed paper, which he could see had the company seal on it. Igwe looked up.

"A new contract", he waved it at David Burton.

David coughed, and shifted on his seat. His decision to leave crystallized but he struggled with the nerve to tell this man that.

"I had been meaning to speak to you about that. I... I have decided not to renew my contract". He looked across at Igwe, who was looking back at him. David saw no hostility in that returned gaze. His confidence rose.

" I have had a long thought about this, and after two years here it is probably time we returned to the UK."

Igwe nodded across the table at him.

"That is of course your decision and you have every right to make it. I respect your decision and will regret your departure, but that is expected after all we only offered you a two year contract, and I had not yet considered whether to renew it".

David nodded relieved this was going so easily, but then his eyes turned to the contract that Igwe held in his hand. What contract was that? If he had not been planning to offer him a new position, what was he holding in his hand?

Igwe noticed David's focus on the contract in his hand, and laughed.

"You misunderstood. This is not a contract for you. I would like you to give Tammy her copy".

"Tammy... my daughter... what contract?" David's throat went dry. His chest tightened. He felt suddenly ill.

Igwe pushed the contract across the mahogany table. David's eyes fell to it. Not really wanted to read it. He could see the company seal. His heart pounded.

"I have offered your daughter a contract of employment".

"But... her visa is tied to my contract. She is not allowed to work".

Igwe waved his hand in casual dismissal.

"You should know that such technicalities are easily overcome in Africa".

"But she is my daughter! She is only 18 years old!"

"Quite old enough to work. Had you not noticed... she is a young woman now". David cursed inwardly. Talk of his daughter being a young woman brought up the image of her eagerly thrusting her jutting breast into the mouth of the greedily sucking Nasam Togbi.

"I'm her father I think you should have discussed this with me first".

Igwe smiled confidently back at David.

"What sort of job have you offered her?"

"Marketing... public relations... that sort of thing."

"But she has no experience of that". David protested.

"I have found your daughter to be biddable... easily trained".

David's stomach tightened.

"But... what would this job entail".

"Corporate entertainment."

David dithered. He did not really want to know what Igwe meant by corporate entertainment, especially in relation to his pretty daughter.

"This contract. It's for eighteen months. That cannot be we leave in three months!"

"You are perfectly at liberty to leave at the end of your contract Mr Burton, and of course Sarah. You will see that Tammy's contract is under seal. Whatever you may do Mr Burton Tammy will not be leaving. Don't worry your daughter will be well looked after."

David's heart sank. The thought of his white teenage daughter being well looked after by Igwe Orizu and his black cronies was intolerable, but if they did not stay she would be on her own. Much as he disliked the situation, he could not leave Zimbabwe leaving his daughter behind.

"But you cannot just sign up my daughter like this! Didn't you think to discuss this with me first?"

"With you?" Igwe's incredulous tone, betrayed his view of David's importance in the matter.

The moment was disrupted by bedlam breaking out. From the direction of the railway siding raised male voices were accompanied by a shrieking female voice.

Igwe sighed.

Why was running a business such a trial! Incompetents surrounded him!

"Just give this to Tammy and tell she is expected at L'Escargo tonight at 7pm. If you want your contact renewed I will expect you to take her there to make sure she gets there safely."

He rose, and crossed to the window, peering out in the direction of the railway siding.

David rose, staring at the contract in his hand, while at the same time wondering at the escalating commotion outside. Was Igwe really expecting him drive his daughter to an assignation? L'Escargo was one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city, and the food was tremendous, as he knew only too well.

Igwe released a curse, and turned for his office door, momentary surprised to see David was still in his office.

"I..." he waved the paper in his hand. "Errr... what time should I pick Tammy up afterwards".

Igwe frowned at David, was the man mad. Did he really think his daughter would be going home afterwards? He needed to get down to the siding.

"Mr Burton I have things to do".

He strode out the door.

"Back to work!" He roared at the faces pressed to the windows of the offices.

He grinned as everyone jumped and quickly returned to their desks. He reached the end of the corridor and bounded down the stairs.

"Michelle! You man the phone not the door!"

Startled the young lady jumped. She glanced at Igwe's. A glance filled with fear and concern. Then she scuttled back to the reception desk. Igwe took a moment to enjoy the shock of wavy blond hair. The slim neck and as she leaned forward to tuck her chair in he enjoyed the view of the full firm orbs struggling not to burst from her low cut top. A sweet voice and a full bust were Igwe's primary requirements for a receptionist, and of course being pretty and white.

It encouraged African businessmen to call and do business. Michelle oozed sexual promise, and one way or another Igwe delivered her up whenever a new contract was in the offing.

He pulled open the door and strode outside into the hot African sun. It beat down hot and hard but Igwe thought nothing of it. Sun and heat was normal. Bedlam was also normal, but Igwe had little tolerance of it within his own business. Bedlam affected production! He roared at the milling Africans pushing and pulling each other around an opened railway carriage. The train had delivered a cargo of marble from the port of Beira in Mozambique.

Had his workers found a stowaway? That was hardly new, or warranted this uproar!

"Roger. What is going on?" He roared at Roger Bullivant. His 60 year old white head of security. The 60yo was a former Rhodie commando who had been happy to stay on a black controlled country.

While Roger was normally belligerent and aggressive in his job, as fitted his history and role, he seemed to be on the outskirts of this group as an observer rather than breaking it up. At the sound of Ugwe's bellow he immediately burst into the group scattering the squabbling, grabbing and pushing Africans. Even at 60 years old he still commanded the respect of the Africans, whose respect for white people had grown rather than diminished as ordinary Africans watched with despair as more powerful Africans seized not just political power, but stole the country's wealth in blatant acts of corruption.

Roger needed nothing but the power of his voice and a few shoves to separate the milling Africans from their frightened quarry.

The sudden sight of long blond hair appearing as the Africans parted allowed Igwe to realise the cause of the bedlam. They had found a white female stowaway on the train, hard to believe as that was! Africans regularly risked life and limb to leap from bridges on to passing trains for a free ride back to Harare from Mutare, but a white doing the same was rare indeed.

The African workers now that their attention on the blond white woman had been disrupted noticed that Igwe was bearing down on them and promptly scattered.

"Chuku," Igwe shouted.

Roger was speaking into his two-way radio, and a number of security guards were quick to respond. His chauffeur Dominic was already rushing to the scene.

The young blond woman remained curled in a ball, her fear palpable. The rough attention of the African workers had left her in a state of terror. Igwe could see her trembling.

"Here girl," he reached down offering her his hand.

She looked up and quickly glanced around as though looking for a bolthole. She found none and returned to the speaker. She took in his immaculate suit and his well-groomed appearance. This was the man who had scared off much larger group of rough Africans. He looked like a Government Minister, or someone important.

She reached up and took his hand, allowing him to pull her to feet. Even as she did so she glanced around. There were a few Africans workers still present, as well as the elderly white man who had done nothing to protect her from them. Her hand tightened on the black hand she grasped.

"Tell Sarah to go and fetch some of Tammy's clothes. They should be suitable. Best if you take Sarah to her villa and bring her back Dominic with some clothes."

His chauffeur strode off.

"Roger, we will take her to the guest villa for her safety. Make sure it is guarded day and night."

Roger nodded before delegating that job to two of the security guards present.

"Chuku. Go and calm down the office and fetch some food from the canteen, and plenty of water!"

He turned to the white girl tightly holding his hand.

"Are you from Mozambique?"

She nodded.

"My parents farm... overrun by the rebels... they... they are dead!!!"

He watched her brief struggle to control her emotions, but she held them back. She was tough, not like his soft expatriate staff. He guessed she had been brought up in Africa. Taught to control her emotions, especially in front of black men!

No doubt she had experienced many days of fleeing and hiding to during which she had learned to put these things behind her. Lucky for him the rebels had not caught her.

Was that a sign of resourcefulness?

"What is your name?"

"Hayley."

"Well Hayley, you come with me and we will have a chat. We will have to decide what is to become of you."

Igwe turned and led Hayley away from the offices, and the railway siding. They came upon an area that was marked by a pristine lawn and flowering shrubs. In the centre was a white washed cottage with a shaded veranda.

Even as they approached Africans rushed to the building carrying trays, and even from this distance Hayley could smell the delicious aroma of hot food. Her body tensed and she leaned forward ready to run for the food, but the last remaining vestiges of her shattered dignity held her back, with Chuku strolling along behind grinning and swaggering.