“Well, you can do the washing up.”
“Still making jokes? We’ll see if you find this all so amusing tomorrow.” She spun around and left him. It occurred to Alex that she might be annoyed that she hadn’t been invited. He still hadn’t worked out what her part in all this might be. She was a scientist, after all. What had persuaded her to throw in her lot with Desmond McCain?
Alex sat down. A bottle of French wine, already opened, stood next to a jug of water. He helped himself to the water. His eye fell on one of the knives. It looked sharp, with a serrated edge. Would anyone notice if it was missing? He glanced around, then slid it off the table and into the waistband of his pants. He felt the blade against his skin, strangely comforting. He would use his bread knife when it was time to eat.
He glanced over at the river, wondering what animals might gather there in the night. There was no fence, no barrier between them and the camp. He had seen monkeys and antelope. Might there be lions too? Despite everything, he had to admit that this was a memorable place, with the river sweeping around, the fire blazing, the African bush with all its secrets. He looked up at the night sky, packed with so many stars that even in the vastness of the universe they seemed to be fighting for space. And there, right in the middle of them, huge and pale . . .
“They call it the Wolf Moon.”
The voice came out of the shadows. Desmond McCain had appeared from nowhere, walking up to the table in no particular hurry. Alex wondered how long he had been standing there, watching him.
McCain was dressed in a gray silk suit, black polished shoes, and a black T-shirt. He was carrying a laptop computer that seemed to weigh nothing in his hand. His face gave nothing away. He sat at the table and laid the computer down. Then he unfolded his napkin and looked at Alex as if noticing him for the first time.
“American Indians call it that,” he went on. “But I have heard the name used here too. It is also known as the Hunger Moon, which is strangely appropriate. I have been waiting for it. The moon is important to my plans.”
“There’s a name for people with an interest in the moon,” Alex said. “They’re called lunatics.” McCain laughed briefly but without making any sound. “The late Harold Bulman told me a great deal about you,” he said. “I was impressed by what I heard, but I have to say I am even more impressed now. Any other boy who had been through what you have been through would be a sniveling wreck.
Far away from home. Transported in a manner that could not have been agreeable. And you’re still brave enough to trade insults with me. At first I was disinclined to believe that the British intelligence services would have recruited a fourteen-year-old child. But I’m already beginning to see why they chose you.”
“Bulman is dead?” Alex wasn’t sure what else to say.
“Yes. He told me what I wanted to know and then I killed him. I enjoyed doing so. If you have learned anything about me, Alex, it won’t surprise you that I have a strong dislike of journalists.” McCain picked up the bottle. “Will you have some wine?”
“I’ll stick to water.”
“I’m glad to hear it. You’re too young to drink.” McCain poured himself a glass of the wine. Alex saw the swirl of red against the side of the glass. “Did you have a good day?” he asked. “Did Myra look after you?”
“She took me for a ride in the crop duster.”
“Do you know that she taught herself to fly? She never had a single lesson. She merely had a complete understanding of the laws of physics and worked it all out. She is a remarkable woman. When this is over, she and I plan to get married.”
“You must let me know what to buy you.”
“I doubt that you’ll be invited, Alex.” McCain still hadn’t drunk any of the wine. He was gazing into the glass as if he could see his future in it. “The meal will be brought over very shortly. Have you ever eaten ostrich?”
“They don’t serve it in the school cafeteria . . . at least not that I’m aware of.”
“The meat can be quite tough, and you will need a sharp knife to cut it. I notice that your knife is missing. Can I suggest you return it to the table?”
Alex hesitated. But there was no point denying it. He took out the knife and placed it in front of him.
“What were you going to do with it?” McCain asked.
“I just thought it might come in useful.”
“Were you planning to attack me?”
“No. But that’s a good idea.”
“I don’t think so.” He raised a hand and almost at once something whipped past Alex’s head and buried itself in a tree. It was a spear. Alex saw it quivering in the trunk. He hadn’t even seen who’d thrown it.
“You can see that it would be a great mistake to try anything unwise,” McCain continued, as if nothing had happened. “I hope I have made myself clear.”
“I think I get the point,” Alex said.
“Excellent.”
“Are you going to tell me why I’m here?”
“All in good time.” McCain turned his head and for a moment the flames were reflected in his silver crucifix. It was as if there were a fire burning on the side of his face. “I am sure you will have worked out that I risked everything bringing you here. Your disappearance has already been reported on the English news and the police forces of the world are united in the search for you. But I am also playing for an enormous prize, Alex. It is a little bit like that poker game that first brought us together. All gamblers know that the greater the reward, the greater the risks.”
“I suppose you want to take over the world,” Alex said.
“Nothing as tiresome as that. World domination has never seemed particularly attractive to me.” He glanced up. “But it seems that dinner is about to be served. We can talk further as we eat.” Two guards had appeared, carrying the dinner. They laid the food down on the table and disappeared.
