She pulled up outside Mustafa’s gates. The guard was expecting her; he hurried to her window to let her know that Mr Habib’s daughter Ahdaf was coming out. Rebecca felt a twinge of alarm, but the guard knew nothing else and only shook his head at her questions. Ahdaf then appeared, looking flustered. ‘What’s going on?’ Rebecca asked her. ‘Where’s your father?’
‘He went to Ilakaka last night,’ Ahdaf told her. ‘He just called to ask me to tell you that he had to go there on your behalf, and that he’s been successful. He said you’d understand what that meant.’
‘Yes,’ nodded Rebecca. Ilakaka was the shantytown hub of Madagascar’s recent sapphire boom. If you needed cash in a hurry, Ilakaka was an obvious place to try.
‘He said to tell you he’s finalising everything now, but he’ll be setting off very shortly. He says he’ll meet you in Tulear. Do you know La Terrasse? It’s on Independence Square?’
Rebecca nodded. Independence Square was where the kidnappers had told her to wait with the ransom. ‘When will he get there?’
‘He couldn’t be sure. As soon as he can.’
Rebecca thanked her and sped off south. Anxiety came in hot spasms as she drove. She passed a petrol station. It was as well to fill up while she could. A doddering antique of a man held a hose-pipe in her tank while his great-grandfather turned a rusted hand-crank. They changed places every five litres, the effort too much to sustain. When they’d finally filled her up, one of them produced a pocket calculator on which he tried to multiply volume pumped by price per litre, while the other watched over his shoulder and chided him for doing it wrong. It took them five attempts and still they couldn’t agree. She checked her watch. Eight fifty-six. She was supposed to be in Independence Square in less than five minutes. She wailed in exasperation and thrust twice what it should have cost at the two men, then sped off in a cloud of dust.
II
Boris woke to a pounding headache as the sides of his tent grew light with dawn. They needed an early start, but he decided to give himself another five minutes. With luck, Davit or Claudia would get up and start brewing coffee. But there was no sound from the other tent.
Not even snoring.
He pushed off his sleeping bag, grabbed the Heckler amp; Koch, hurried out. Their tent was still there, but that meant nothing. He strode over, pulled back the flap. Davit’s sleeping bag was still inside, but the man himself had gone, Claudia with him. There was a note lying on the bag: an apologia from Davit, claiming that he’d never have signed on to this mission if he’d known there’d be guns; that he’d decided to take Claudia on a tour of the island, see how things worked out between them. Sorry.
The sleeping bag was still contoured from the weight of Davit’s body. Boris touched the synthetic fabric; it still felt slightly warm, as though they’d slept here last night, and had only left at first light. But it was still first light right now. Maybe the sound of their departure was what had woken him in the first place.
He took a moment to listen, heard a faint noise. Yes, the outboard. He swore and took the safety catch off the Heckler amp; Koch as he ran down to the beach, holding it out to the side lest he trip and shoot himself. But even as he reached the sand, he saw them already well out to sea, heading north back towards Morombe.
He splashed out several paces into the sea. ‘Come back,’ he yelled. ‘Come back.’ Davit heard him or, more likely, saw him. He pushed Claudia down in the boat, then ducked down himself. ‘Come back,’ yelled Boris for the third time. But they couldn’t have heard him over the motor, and wouldn’t have obeyed even if they had. He aimed the Heckler amp; Koch, but they were already out of his effective range; all he’d achieve by shooting was wasting ammunition and drawing attention to himself. He yelled out in frustration as he walked back ashore; but in truth it wasn’t that severe a blow. He hadn’t wanted Davit along in the first place; he’d just been slowing him down. He still had his gun, his bags, the laptop and IP terminal. And he was close enough to Eden that he could walk from here.
He trudged back to the camp, then began to pack what he needed.
III
Knox made his way early to Eden, hoping that Rebecca had calmed down overnight, but instead he found the Jeep gone and the lodge locked. He needed to get inside; his bag was in there, as well as the information about Michel’s date of birth. He circled it looking for an open window, but without result. That was when he remembered the keys dangling from the hook on the backside of the Yvette’s water tank.
He waded back out. They were wrapped in sticky tape to stop them jangling. He peeled the tape off as he made his way back to shore. All bar one were standard issue house, car or motorbike keys; but that one intrigued him. It was a double-bit key, modern and highly sophisticated, similar to the one MGS had for its safe-room, where they kept their most precious discoveries and confidential documents. Emilia had asked him several questions about it during his office tour. He ran his finger along its edge. Surely it had to open something both important and recently built.
The boathouse was ugly and blockish, but it was also new and large and close enough to the Yvette to make it an appropriate mission control for the salvage. He hadn’t seen anything unusual on his previous visit, but then he hadn’t looked very hard. One of the standard keys fitted its front door. It was so gloomy inside that he couldn’t see much. He took the tour nevertheless, looking for anything he might have overlooked. He was about to give up when he noticed the air compressor’s rubber wheels. Mobile compressors typically came with their own generators; there wasn’t much point to them otherwise. He pulled off the brown sacking and yes, there it was. So what was the second generator for? It was quite modern and powerful enough to run a number of appliances simultaneously. He checked behind and beneath it, saw a single fat grey cable that vanished into the concrete.
On his hands and knees, he went over every inch of floor, found nothing. He paced out the boathouse’s length, inside and out. It was a full pace longer on the outside. He went to the rear internal wall, took the dive-gear from the pegs, knocked on the plasterboard panels. The right one was solid; but the left sounded hollow. He put his shoulder to it and pushed. It gave an inch or two, then slid to one side, like a closet door opening, revealing empty space behind.
A solid steel door gleamed dully to his right. The threebit key fit perfectly in its lock. He turned it, heard the elaborate internal mechanism smoothly cede, then pushed down the handle and pulled it towards him. It was heavy and stiff and it exhaled a sigh of stale air. A flight of steps led down into the darkness. He flipped a lightswitch inside the door, but nothing happened. He started up the generator and the stairwell began to glow.
He walked over to it and then down with a growing sense of trepidation, fearful of what-or, more accurately, who, and in what state-he might find waiting for him at the foot.
IV
La Terrasse proved to be a chic sidewalk cafe with glossy white furniture beneath a blue-and-gold striped canopy. Rebecca parked on a nearby side street, took a table facing the square and watched the traffic, constantly checking the time, praying that Mustafa would arrive with the money before the kidnappers got in touch. The town and its people seemed extraordinarily vivid to her, as though burnished by her adrenaline. She found it hard to stay still. Her father and her sister were just one hurdle away. She kept daydreaming about their reunion but then she’d panic about everything that might still go wrong. She tried to quash any negative thinking before it could take root, for it was like woodworm: once it was inside you, it never seemed to go away.
Her cafe-au-lait arrived, a jug of steaming black coffee, a small steel bowl of condensed milk. She scooped up a bulb of the sweet white treacle with her teaspoon, dangled a thin strand to make patterns in her coffee. She wiped it off with her finger, then licked it clean: sickly yet delicious, just what her body craved. She stirred in a
