Spies!
Ben and Carrie relaxed in their swimwear under a wattle canopy sipping ice cold lagers. They gazed out over the lake at the small island which was a few hundred yards from the shore, whilst their little green motor boat bobbed up and down at the foot of the steps leading up to the lakeside motel. Earlier they had motored the short distance from their campsite to the other side of the island, hoping to find a private beach where they could relax in the mid-morning sun. But all they could see there were a few straggly tree branches reaching out from the bottom of the lake, the remains of a valley where animals and people once roamed. In the other direction, at least a mile away they could see the heat hazed shores of Mamberia. The valley between the two countries was now flooded by the Luamba River which had been dammed in order to produce hydro-electricity and the huge lake called Kassai. So, finding nowhere to land, they had lain in the boat reading their books for an hour or two before it became too hot and they chugged back, stopping on the way at the lakeside motel for a drink.
‘This is heaven’ sighed Carrie, stretching her tanned arms languorously above her blond head like a cat. ‘I could stay here all day. I’m glad we went out early. It would have been too hot this afternoon’.
Ben stood up and padded to the edge of the terrace in his bare feet. He looked out towards the far end of the lake. A band of cloud was beginning to appear over the horizon. He shook his head.
‘There’s a storm brewing. I don’t want us to get caught in a storm. We’d better drink up and get going.’
Carrie yawned and picked up her canvas beach bag reluctantly whilst Ben paid the waiter..
They were just getting ready to go when there was the sound of a motor boat approaching. As it came into view they saw that it was sleek and white with the green and red Luamban flag fluttering from the prow. It parked at the landing stage dwarfing their little green boat. Out jumped a young African in a sparkling white shirt and shorts. He ran smartly up the many steps and strode briskly towards them.
‘Is that your boat down there, Sir?’ He was very polite.
‘Er, yes. Is there a problem?’ replied Ben, uncertainly.
‘I am a Republic of Luambia Customs and Immigration Officer,’ he told them imperiously. ‘You must both accompany me to the Police Station immediately.’
Carrie and Ben looked at each other in alarm. What on earth had they done? They followed the Immigration Officer meekly down the steps and Ben helped Carrie into the boat, then hopped athletically in himself. Their driver was silent as he drove them along the shoreline to another set of steps which led up to a large, round thatched building perched on the headland; apparently the Kassai Lake police station. They disembarked and followed the Officer up the steps to a lawned area with a palm tree in the centre surrounded by colourful flowering shrubs. A flag pole with the Luambian flag hanging limply from the top denoted its official status. They were led inside where more white suited officials sat behind a counter.
‘Why have you brought us here?’ asked Ben. He had been thinking of the injustice of it all whilst in the boat, and was now indignant at the high handed way they were being treated.
‘I am arresting you on the charge of entering Mamberian waters illegally with the intention of spying for the Mamberian government,’ answered an older policeman, who was obviously in charge. There had been suspicion between the two countries ever since the uprising against migrant workers from Luambia entering Mamberia illegally five years before.
Ben looked stunned. ‘That’s ridiculous,’ he gasped. ‘My wife and I are on holiday here. This is the closest we’ve ever been to Mamberia.’ His handsome, tanned face took on the stubborn look that Carrie knew so well.
‘You will have to stay here until the Chief Immigration Officer arrives from the Bridge.’said the Officer. The Bridge was the border post on the dam wall which divided Mamberia and Luambia.
‘And how long will that be?’ asked Ben still recovering from the ridiculous charge.
‘We don’t know. The Chief Immigration Officer is a very busy man,’ replied the police officer pompously. ‘Maybe half an hour, maybe an hour. In the meantime you must both wait outside. I cannot allow you to disrespect the Police Station in a state of undress.’
Carrie and Ben looked at one another in disbelief and a smile played on Carrie’s lips. Less amused, Ben was about to protest, but Carrie put her hand on his arm,
‘Let’s just wait outside, Ben. It’s not far from the Bridge. He can’t be long.’
Reluctantly Ben gave in and they both went to stand under the palm tree, which was the only place with any shade. An hour later they were still standing there, humiliated and angry in their swimming costumes, moving around to catch the shade of the palm tree’s shadow, which fortunately became larger as the day wore on. But the Chief Immigration Officer didn’t appear.
Big black clouds were looming steadily closer and Ben was pacing up and down becoming more and more irritated. Ignoring Carrie’s warnings he stalked into the police station, incensed and ready to fight.
‘There’s a storm brewing’, he shouted fiercely ‘and my boat’s still moored back at the motel. I warn you, I will hold you responsible if anything happens to it.’
‘You can go now, Sir,’ said the Immigration Officer, ‘But you must report to the Bridge within the next two hours. My Officer will take you back to the motel.’
Ben took a deep breath. It was obvious that these officers had been amusing themselves at their expense. It was pointless to protest, but he hated the thought that they were laughing at him.
Back at the campsite they pulled their boat onto the small shingle beach in front of their chalet, changed into shorts and t-shirts and drove their volkswagen up to the Bridge for their interview with the Chief Immigration Officer. They parked in the empty car park beside the Customs post and walked into the long cool room, where the Officer on duty directed them to an office at the end of a corridor.
Ben knocked on the door and a deep voice responded, ‘Enter.’
He was a mature, heavily built man with a pleasant attitude. Rising politely from his desk he shook hands with Ben. He listened respectfully to their story and then took them to a large map on the wall where he showed them how the course of the Luamba River had originally zig-zagged through the valley.
‘That,’ he told them, ‘is the border between Luambia and Mamberia.’ He traced the course of the river with his finger. ‘So, effectively, when you went behind that island you were in Mamberian territory.’
They could see that the island they had visited, although it seemed as if it was in Luambian waters, was actually in Mamberia.
Ben nodded. ‘I see. We’re very sorry. What will happen now?’
The Officer looked at the young couple and smiled sympathetically. He knew the tricks the younger officers played on inexperienced tourists. ‘This time we will let you off with a caution. But next time it would be wise to take a map of the lake with you. It’s easy to be confused and you might not be so lucky in future,’ he warned ominously.
‘Thank you Sir,’ said a grateful Ben, ‘We’ll certainly remember that.’
The night sky was like diamonds on velvet and the waves lapped hypnotically on the small beach as they sat outside their rondavel waiting for boervors and steak to cook on the braai.
‘We’re like James Bond and Mata Hari,’ giggled Carrie, and Ben laughed as he turned over the juicy steaks.
Suddenly Carrie shouted out in surprise.
‘Look Ben!’ She pointed out across the lake.
A light was flashing from the Mamberian shore and a dimmer beam flashed out in response across the Kassai Dam. It came from the direction of the small island they had visited earlier in the day. Behind them they heard the sound of an engine approaching, and a dark blue G.R.Z. landrover crunched to a halt beside their chalet. The Chief Immigration Officer and his young assistant jumped down, their white uniforms gleaming in the light of the fire, their expressions stern and business-like.
‘What now?’ whispered Carrie fearfully, holding tightly on to Ben’s hand.
‘I don’t know,’ sighed Ben, ‘but I’ve a feeling we’re going to find out.’
To be Continued
Ben and Carrie relaxed in their swimwear under a wattle canopy sipping ice cold lagers. They gazed out over the lake at the small island which was a few hundred yards from the shore, whilst their little green motor boat bobbed up and down at the foot of the steps leading up to the lakeside motel. Earlier they had motored the short distance from their campsite to the other side of the island, hoping to find a private beach where they could relax in the mid-morning sun. But all they could see there were a few straggly tree branches reaching out from the bottom of the lake, the remains of a valley where animals and people once roamed. In the other direction, at least a mile away they could see the heat hazed shores of Mamberia. The valley between the two countries was now flooded by the Luamba River which had been dammed in order to produce hydro-electricity and the huge lake called Kassai. So, finding nowhere to land, they had lain in the boat reading their books for an hour or two before it became too hot and they chugged back, stopping on the way at the lakeside motel for a drink.
‘This is heaven’ sighed Carrie, stretching her tanned arms languorously above her blond head like a cat. ‘I could stay here all day. I’m glad we went out early. It would have been too hot this afternoon’.
Ben stood up and padded to the edge of the terrace in his bare feet. He looked out towards the far end of the lake. A band of cloud was beginning to appear over the horizon. He shook his head.
‘There’s a storm brewing. I don’t want us to get caught in a storm. We’d better drink up and get going.’
Carrie yawned and picked up her canvas beach bag reluctantly whilst Ben paid the waiter..
They were just getting ready to go when there was the sound of a motor boat approaching. As it came into view they saw that it was sleek and white with the green and red Luamban flag fluttering from the prow. It parked at the landing stage dwarfing their little green boat. Out jumped a young African in a sparkling white shirt and shorts. He ran smartly up the many steps and strode briskly towards them.
‘Is that your boat down there, Sir?’ He was very polite.
‘Er, yes. Is there a problem?’ replied Ben, uncertainly.
‘I am a Republic of Luambia Customs and Immigration Officer,’ he told them imperiously. ‘You must both accompany me to the Police Station immediately.’
Carrie and Ben looked at each other in alarm. What on earth had they done? They followed the Immigration Officer meekly down the steps and Ben helped Carrie into the boat, then hopped athletically in himself. Their driver was silent as he drove them along the shoreline to another set of steps which led up to a large, round thatched building perched on the headland; apparently the Kassai Lake police station. They disembarked and followed the Officer up the steps to a lawned area with a palm tree in the centre surrounded by colourful flowering shrubs. A flag pole with the Luambian flag hanging limply from the top denoted its official status. They were led inside where more white suited officials sat behind a counter.
‘Why have you brought us here?’ asked Ben. He had been thinking of the injustice of it all whilst in the boat, and was now indignant at the high handed way they were being treated.
‘I am arresting you on the charge of entering Mamberian waters illegally with the intention of spying for the Mamberian government,’ answered an older policeman, who was obviously in charge. There had been suspicion between the two countries ever since the uprising against migrant workers from Luambia entering Mamberia illegally five years before.
Ben looked stunned. ‘That’s ridiculous,’ he gasped. ‘My wife and I are on holiday here. This is the closest we’ve ever been to Mamberia.’ His handsome, tanned face took on the stubborn look that Carrie knew so well.
‘You will have to stay here until the Chief Immigration Officer arrives from the Bridge.’said the Officer. The Bridge was the border post on the dam wall which divided Mamberia and Luambia.
‘And how long will that be?’ asked Ben still recovering from the ridiculous charge.
‘We don’t know. The Chief Immigration Officer is a very busy man,’ replied the police officer pompously. ‘Maybe half an hour, maybe an hour. In the meantime you must both wait outside. I cannot allow you to disrespect the Police Station in a state of undress.’
Carrie and Ben looked at one another in disbelief and a smile played on Carrie’s lips. Less amused, Ben was about to protest, but Carrie put her hand on his arm,
‘Let’s just wait outside, Ben. It’s not far from the Bridge. He can’t be long.’
Reluctantly Ben gave in and they both went to stand under the palm tree, which was the only place with any shade. An hour later they were still standing there, humiliated and angry in their swimming costumes, moving around to catch the shade of the palm tree’s shadow, which fortunately became larger as the day wore on. But the Chief Immigration Officer didn’t appear.
Big black clouds were looming steadily closer and Ben was pacing up and down becoming more and more irritated. Ignoring Carrie’s warnings he stalked into the police station, incensed and ready to fight.
‘There’s a storm brewing’, he shouted fiercely ‘and my boat’s still moored back at the motel. I warn you, I will hold you responsible if anything happens to it.’
‘You can go now, Sir,’ said the Immigration Officer, ‘But you must report to the Bridge within the next two hours. My Officer will take you back to the motel.’
Ben took a deep breath. It was obvious that these officers had been amusing themselves at their expense. It was pointless to protest, but he hated the thought that they were laughing at him.
Back at the campsite they pulled their boat onto the small shingle beach in front of their chalet, changed into shorts and t-shirts and drove their volkswagen up to the Bridge for their interview with the Chief Immigration Officer. They parked in the empty car park beside the Customs post and walked into the long cool room, where the Officer on duty directed them to an office at the end of a corridor.
Ben knocked on the door and a deep voice responded, ‘Enter.’
He was a mature, heavily built man with a pleasant attitude. Rising politely from his desk he shook hands with Ben. He listened respectfully to their story and then took them to a large map on the wall where he showed them how the course of the Luamba River had originally zig-zagged through the valley.
‘That,’ he told them, ‘is the border between Luambia and Mamberia.’ He traced the course of the river with his finger. ‘So, effectively, when you went behind that island you were in Mamberian territory.’
They could see that the island they had visited, although it seemed as if it was in Luambian waters, was actually in Mamberia.
Ben nodded. ‘I see. We’re very sorry. What will happen now?’
The Officer looked at the young couple and smiled sympathetically. He knew the tricks the younger officers played on inexperienced tourists. ‘This time we will let you off with a caution. But next time it would be wise to take a map of the lake with you. It’s easy to be confused and you might not be so lucky in future,’ he warned ominously.
‘Thank you Sir,’ said a grateful Ben, ‘We’ll certainly remember that.’
The night sky was like diamonds on velvet and the waves lapped hypnotically on the small beach as they sat outside their rondavel waiting for boervors and steak to cook on the braai.
‘We’re like James Bond and Mata Hari,’ giggled Carrie, and Ben laughed as he turned over the juicy steaks.
Suddenly Carrie shouted out in surprise.
‘Look Ben!’ She pointed out across the lake.
A light was flashing from the Mamberian shore and a dimmer beam flashed out in response across the Kassai Dam. It came from the direction of the small island they had visited earlier in the day. Behind them they heard the sound of an engine approaching, and a dark blue G.R.Z. landrover crunched to a halt beside their chalet. The Chief Immigration Officer and his young assistant jumped down, their white uniforms gleaming in the light of the fire, their expressions stern and business-like.
‘What now?’ whispered Carrie fearfully, holding tightly on to Ben’s hand.
‘I don’t know,’ sighed Ben, ‘but I’ve a feeling we’re going to find out.’
To be Continued