Юнас Юнассон - The Accidental Further Adventures of the Hundred-Year-Old Man

Not too well, she thought.

Julius and Agent Langer mostly stuck to the other side of the lounge, with a view of the camp’s organic garden. They were in agreement that the climate there, at an altitude of two thousand metres, certainly seemed suitable for asparagus. But the same wasn’t true of the iron-rich red earth. Julius said that white crap-sparagus could probably be grown in just about anything, but the green kind required a fine, sandy soil. Agent Langer countered, saying that the white kind required the same, but it hardly mattered what sort of soil one grew the green stuff in: it would still be inedible.

The two asparagus-lovers generally got on well, aside from the part about green versus white.

Arrogant Agent A called, interfering. He reported that, in cooperation with the BND-payrolled chief of border patrol and eighty of his men, an invisible wall had been constructed between Tanzania and Mozambique. It was only a question of time before the smugglers drove into it. ‘Pity you’re not here. I’ll get all the praise.’

The formerly so meek Agent B had been energized by her new asparagus relations. Enough, anyway, to wish all bad things upon her boss. ‘So lovely for you,’ she said. ‘If the uranium slips through anyway, I’m sure it will be possible to make it all my fault, don’t you think?’

Lead Agent A wasn’t used to B arguing with him. ‘Now, don’t be upset just because you didn’t have the sense to be in the right place. How’s it going with Karlsson? Have you found him yet?’

‘No,’ Agent B lied. ‘But I did get stuck on the savannah in the car I rented. In a few days I can get help to tow it out of a stream.’

Lead Agent A chuckled. ‘Funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time. So you’ll be staying up there.’ He told her that Honour and Strength was, according to reports, still heading for the Cape of Good Hope, Cape Agulhas and – in all certainty – the southern tip of Madagascar. That meant the smuggled uranium would be crossing the border between Tanzania and Mozambique any day now. ‘And then I suppose I’ll have no choice but to call the chancellor myself and tell her the news,’ said A.

Communicating it via the holidaying director of the BND, as instructed, would not give the proper boost to his career.

Agent Langer returned to Julius in the lounge. She noted that, in his company, she experienced something similar to a zest for life.

‘Hello, my misguided asparagus friend, may I join you?’ She smiled as she said it. It was an affectionate battle, this clash between green and white.

Julius responded, ‘Hello yourself, colour-blind one. Have a seat.’

The tourists left, satisfied after a few days in the area that’s called the eighth wonder of the world. Meitkini once again had time for Allan, Julius, Sabine and the German, who of course needed a hand with her car. Sabine had suggested that she and the old men stay a few more days at the camp, if that was all right. The lounge was conducive to thinking, but she still hadn’t got as far with her future business plan as she had hoped.

Meitkini was delighted. He would be more than happy to spend a little more time with the Swedes, now that he didn’t have work to get in the way. Except for the German and her car, of course.

‘The German’, thought Agent B. Or ‘Madame Agent’. Wonder what it would be like to exist in a context where you had a name and an identity you were allowed to talk about.

‘My name is Fredrika,’ she said. ‘Nice to meet you.’

Meitkini looked ashamed.

Fredrika Langer’s phone rang. What if the boss had captured…

No, he hadn’t. He just wanted, for the fifteenth time, to know if she was on her way. Fredrika gloomily responded that she was in the process. The car would be out of the stream in an hour or so, and then they just had to get the engine working. She could be at Musoma for a flight the next morning.

‘Fly straight to Madagascar and we’ll meet up there. Those bastards must have slipped through somehow.’

The call ended, and Meitkini went on: ‘Then should we just head out to the stream, all of us together, and tow out your car… Fredrika… make sure it works, and send you on your way? Then the rest of us can go on a real safari tour on our way home, before it gets dark.’

Allan said it would be interesting to get an even closer look at the activity he’d experienced at the watering-hole. He could always look up pictures of giraffes and leopards on his black tablet, but it wasn’t the same.

The others agreed. Julius was sorry Fredrika had to leave, but he understood that duty called.

With a few safari detours on the way, it took an hour and a half to reach the stream where Agent Langer had so infelicitously parked the front half of her Land Cruiser a few days earlier. The stream was still there.

The same was not true of the car.

‘It seems someone has already been along to help,’ said Meitkini.

‘And taken the car as thanks,’ said Allan.

Fredrika Langer hid her face in her hands. Someone had stolen the vehicle that was meant to take her back to Tanzania so she could continue her southwards journey. What on earth would she do now?

Meitkini urged her to buck up. He suggested that they return to camp after the promised safari tour. They would drop the Swedes off there, then drive to Musoma overnight. ‘You can report the car stolen, Fredrika, before you get a flight out. It could be worse, couldn’t it?’

Yes, that was true. Okay, that was the plan.

But things didn’t go as planned.

The safari tour was truly something special. Even Allan, who never allowed himself to be impressed, was impressed by what he saw. Meitkini had the right vehicle and the right status to be authorized to search for the animals where they lived, not where they just happened to be on a road. Or whatever one should call those rocky paths.

It was leopard cubs play-fighting while their mother kept watch for lions. It was herds of zebras, Thomson’s gazelles and wildebeest. It was a humongous female elephant with a week-old baby tripping along between her back legs. It was the snouts and eyes of four hippopotamuses waiting for night to fall so they could leave the water and find food. It was, in short, fantastic.

No one in the group noticed, but it was suddenly about to get dark.

‘Oops,’ said Meitkini. ‘Time to track down the road again.’

He found what he was looking for and they began their journey back to camp.

Near the equator, the shift from dark to pitch black happens fast. Wild animals’ eyes glittered along both sides of the road: many were beginning their work.

After just over half an hour through the savannah, they saw something glowing red in the distance. The taillights of a car? Yes, indeed.

‘Gracious me, it’s a traffic jam,’ said Allan.

They came closer. The vehicle was standing still. It seemed to be having problems. Meitkini gave the group their orders.

‘Stay in the car! Not one foot outside! That goes for you too, Allan.’

‘Don’t you worry about me, Meitkini. I never move unless it’s necessary.’

Meitkini could tell from the wrench on the ground next to the left rear wheel that the tyre had a puncture. It was a blue Hilux with a large wooden box in the bed. A lone man sat in the front, cautiously peering out of the rolled-down side window. Meitkini drove the Land Cruiser up alongside it. Allan was in the front passenger seat, decently worked up. It was always exciting to meet new people.

‘Good day, sir,’ he said. ‘My name is Karlsson. Allan Karlsson. Might you have a name as well?’