Hot Ice (20 page)

Ulf’s cabin cruiser is painted white and navy with a thin crimson line around the watermark. It rocks insanely at its berth beside the wharf. The Ovambo reaches forward, grabs Chris and lifts her over the gunwale. She is pushed into a padded seat beside the wheel. The boat gives a lurch forwards like a nervous horse. They turn and surge out into the open sea. She can’t hear her own voice as she attempts to question Skoog, so she gives up.

They appear to be in the middle of nowhere, in the pitch black night, when Ulf abruptly stops the engines.

‘Where are we?’

‘Right over
Rainbow’s End
, or what’s left of it. You’ve been asking about it and here it is. This buoy marks the spot. Plenty of reefs here. That’s why the sea is always rough.’

Chris looks around nervously. There’s nothing
but darkness in every direction. There’s no sign of land or any lights, but as Ulf switches on his powerful searchlight she sees how thick the mist is. It writhes in weird shapes, like ectoplasm, as it drifts over the water. The boat is rocking more gently now as most of the swell has subsided. In the silence she can hear the roar of the surf on the
far-off
shore.

‘Take a look here.’

Chris leans over the side and stares far down into the green channel lit by the searchlight. A dark shape moves across the green.

‘Can you see the shark? There are always sharks here. Great Whites! They can cut a man in half with one snap of their powerful jaws.’

She watches, fascinated, never having seen a shark outside of an aquarium. It’s at least five metres long and half a metre in diameter.

Suddenly, at a signal from Ulf, the Ovambo grabs her hands and ties them together behind her back. She screams and fights, but Ulf has dropped a slip rope around her waist. The tribesman lifts her with effortless ease and tosses her over the side. She takes a deep breath and grits her teeth hard.

She hits the water with a splash that hurts, but the shock of icy water is worse. She can’t swim with her arms tied behind her back. She’s falling into total blackness, but she can see a tunnel of green light from the searchlight some way ahead. Curbing her impulse to swim towards the light, she kicks
away. Hurry… hurry…she’s screaming at herself. She knows she has only seconds before she breaks surface. Bending her knees hard up to her chest, she pushes one leg up and through her arms. The effort is almost beyond her. She’s rolling, somersaulting, out of control, behaving like an injured seal, while desperately hoping that the shark is keeping away. One leg is through. The next one proves more difficult. She is blacking out by the time she succeeds. She breaks the surface and gasps for air.

The cruiser is surging away from her. They’ve dumped her in the sea to die. Her screams are cut short as the slack in the rope ends with a violent snap that sends her soaring in the air. Then she’s pummelled against the surface of the water as her body bumps behind the boat. In seconds she’s bruised all over. It takes all her strength to grasp the rope with her bound hands, pull it towards her and shift her body into a water-skier’s classic first posture, knees pulled to her chest, feet first, trying to keep her head above water.

The searchlight almost blinds her as it beams towards her, lighting the sea. She can see nothing but the glaring light. Glittering drops shower around her, as they haul her nearer to the boat. She goes under, but suddenly she’s pulled to the surface and for a few desperate seconds she can only choke and gasp for air and try to stop her shuddering sobs.

Don’t despair, says a voice in the back of her mind. Most of the crew swam to the shore from the
capsized
Rainbow’s End
. If they can do it, so can you. Just get free of this damned rope.

Ulf is shouting at her. ‘Talk or you’ll stay here as shark bait.’

She hears a high-pitched scream that ends in a sob and realises that it’s her own. Yet part of her is calculating the odds, as if she’s two instead of one. They can’t let her go. Not after this. She’d go straight to the police. They have to kill her.

‘Who are you? Who sent you? What do you want? Answer me truthfully and you’ll be OK.’

She keeps her mouth shut.

The Ovambo jerks the rope hard, pulling her up, and then throws out slack. She sinks deep into the water. Clearly he’s well-versed in this routine.

Holding her hands ahead of her, she kicks herself under the boat. Now she’s pinned against the bows by her own buoyancy. There’s no danger of surfacing as she struggles to loosen the slip knot, but it’s swollen with water and stuck fast. She can’t loosen it. She claws at it desperately, knowing she only has seconds left, ripping at the strands with her fingernails. At last she loosens the knot and pushes herself out of the loop.

She has to breathe. Moving towards the stern, her feet propelling her forward in a strong breaststroke, she surfaces briefly and gulps in air, filling her lungs before ducking down under the stern to saw the ropes binding her wrists against the propeller blades.

She can see the searchlight moving round the boat. They’re searching for her. If they catch her they’ll never let her go. The quicker she talks the sooner they’ll shoot her. If they start the engines now, she’ll be mincemeat. The light has moved away and from the way the boat is angled she guesses that both Ulf and his boatman are leaning over the bows. At last the rope is cut. She unravels the strands with her teeth.

She can hear their footsteps moving back towards the stern. The hardest thing she’s ever done is to slip quietly away from the boat, into the dark sea. She tries to hold back her fear. Sharks can smell fear, like dogs, she read somewhere, but her panic is rising again.

The crew got back, didn’t they? Not one of them was taken by a shark. That means something. The thought cheers her and sustains her as she silently treads water fifty metres from the boat.

The searchlight is circling slowly around, but she can see it coming in time to dive deep enough not to be seen. At last, with a powerful surge, the boat leaps forward, leaving evanescent gleams of phosphorescence in its trail. The sound fades away. Now all she can hear is the roar of waves on the rocky shore and it seems to come from all directions.

She’s heard that splashing sounds like a fish in distress, so she swims breaststroke, a smooth, easy pace, making no splashes. If she doesn’t succumb to
hypothermia, she can keep this up for some time. As her eyes adjust to the dark, she sees the red and green signal lights at the entrance of Walvis Bay harbour, shining dimly through the mist. She turns gratefully and heads towards them. The crew did it, so you can do it. You’re a strong swimmer.

Don’t think of sharks. No panic… No fear… Sharks can smell fear. Keep your mind blank. You’re meditating. Concentrate on your breath. In…out…you’re moving into a trance.

The swim back seems to last forever. She passes through periods of calm when she counts her strokes, concentrates on breathing, checks her direction and fills her mind with the need to keep going. Then come the bad times…the panic times, when she’s sure she can see a dark fin circling her. Tensed with terror she waits for the first bump that the shark always makes before coming in for the kill. Last of all, comes the pain which drives away all other sensations. Every muscle locks into cramps so painful she thinks she will die. And then, when she can’t go on, she falls into a trance-like state and her mind floats far away, watching her punitive efforts without much interest.

The mist thickens and now the lights are totally obscured. She has nothing but the roar of the surf to guide her in. When she finds herself in a maelstrom of foaming sea, surging backwards and forwards in currents too strong to fight, she gives up the battle and blacks out.

Petrus leans over the bed and shakes her softly. ‘Did you tell me everything?’ he is asking for the umpteenth time.

The DI is willing her to stay awake, but Chris closes her eyes. She wants to escape from his inquisition and sleep is the only way. With Sarah Vaughan dead, she should slip out of Namibia fast, before Ulf and his boss, whoever he is, work out that she’s still alive. This is becoming a habit, she thinks, remembering Soweto.

‘Wake up, Chris. I know you’re faking. You damn near landed up dead that time. I need to make a few arrests fast.’

Chris smiles absently and brushes her tangled hair off her forehead. ‘It’s so hot…oh, all right…but I can’t even remember what I told you.’

‘Not much that’s relevant.’

‘How long have you been here?’

‘A few hours. No one knows who you are. I’m holding back until I know what’s going on.’

‘Thanks, Petrus.’ She struggles to sit up. ‘So what are you doing here and how did you find me?’

‘I had to question someone local. Can’t tell you much, but I was here when Stark contacted the local police for help in finding a certain abducted female. Thank God I was here. Your hired car was found wrecked and abandoned in the desert. A boy on a motorcycle stumbled across it, so I checked with the car hire company and found it was the one you’d taken. Then I checked the mortuaries…and I was damned glad I didn’t find you there…lastly I checked with casualty.

‘OK…let’s start again.’ Petrus looks tired and she guesses he’s been up all night. When she tries to sit up she realises that her hands are covered in dressings. She thrusts them under the blankets, hoping Petrus won’t see, but he’s flipping over the pages of his notebook.

He reads: ‘“Feeling under the weather this evening, I went for a swim in my underwear, somewhere near Walvis Bay.” No clothes were found, by the way. “I was caught up in strong currents and swept out to sea. Eventually I managed to swim back to Walvis Bay beach where I passed out.”’

‘So how did I get here?’

‘You were seen by a passing motorist lying prone on the sand wearing only a T-shirt, bra and panties.
Your fingers were raw. Fortunately for you he brought you straight here. A truly amazing story.’

‘I’m a strong swimmer.’

‘I have no doubt of that, but I sincerely hope you don’t expect me to believe the rest of it. Who are you trying to protect?’ The question is slipped in slyly while he observes her with a swift, sidelong scan.

Even to Chris her story sounds absurd. It was the first thing she thought of when she regained consciousness.

‘Look, Petrus, I’m only protecting myself…or rather my investigation. Someone tried to kill me…he thinks I’m dead. He and his accomplice, that is. They’ll come after me if they know I’m alive. If you arrest them for kidnapping and attempted murder, I might lose the chance to find out who is running this laundering gang. Right now I have a lead. I need time…’

‘What if I agree to go along with your wishes and use my influence to see that this person is not arrested?’

‘Not now…believe me…I can’t tell you yet.’

Petrus is embarrassed, his cosmopolitan features are at variance with each other, his European nose pinched with displeasure, his Slavic eyes narrowed to slits, his African eyebrows knitted. He stops biting his beautiful lip and stands up abruptly to pace the ward.

‘Jesus…I hate having to pressurise you, but I
must,’ he says with a furious smile. ‘We’re working along similar lines, but we…that is the diamond branch…are cleaning up this entire area. Diamonds are filtering down from Central and West Africa to Walvis Bay, which has become a major depot for accepting and dispatching. I’m in charge. I have very little doubt that we’ll arrest Ulf Skoog in the normal course of our duties. You’d be far better off trusting me. Then I can give the order to lay off him for a while.’

‘How did you know it was Skoog?’

‘Someone told me.’

Chris sits up and considers the situation. Petrus makes sense, but can she trust him? It’s crazy to trust anyone in his situation. After all, he’s not a free agent. Yet Petrus has helped her, surely she can believe him. He’s smiling so warmly at her that she is quite disarmed. ‘OK…this is what happened.’

An hour later Chris is reaching the end of her nightmare story, but she’s exhausted now and she can hardly talk.

‘It took hours to swim back and I’m sure there was a shark following me…’ She shudders. ‘Just when I thought I would pass out with hypothermia and exhaustion, something took over and my mind drifted away from the pain. It’s been tough having to remember.’ She laughs shakily. ‘I was numb with cold…that was my only comfort…I guessed I wouldn’t feel it when the shark bit me.’

Petrus swears. His features harden and he looks what he is, a tough cop who has made himself as ruthless as the men he hunts.

‘I’ll lay off Skoog for the time being, as I promised, but you must keep me up to date with what’s going on your end. Remember, Chris, it’s possible to play things too close to the cuff and foul up for everyone else. You’re holding back on the reason why you went out on Skoog’s boat in the first place. You weren’t screaming for help. Who, or what did you think you were going to find?’

‘Visser, of course.’ Chris feels bad about lying to a friend.

‘Do you think he’s still alive?’

‘Possibly.’

‘The police went into it very exhaustively at the time.’ He frowns at her and Chris can see that he doesn’t believe her. ‘If it’s true, Skoog would never tell you, nor anyone else…’

‘By the way, Visser was an accountant,’ Chris interrupts, hoping to throw Petrus off course. ‘Do you remember what Freeman said? “That fucking accountant will put out my light.” He could have meant Visser.’

‘I always thought he might have survived the wrecking.’ Petrus says moodily. ‘If so, he got away with a fortune. Scuba divers have been searching for those diamonds for twenty-five years. Nothing has ever been found.’

‘I fancy he wrecked the dredger and killed the
skipper. The diamonds probably set him up with his scam.’

‘Your theory has far too many suppositions, but OK…it’s possible and we’ve got a deal. Eventually you’ll have to come back to testify at Skoog’s trial. I can’t wait to get the bastard under lock and key, or better still, see him dead. By the way…your friend has been waiting to see you…he’s been in and out all day. He’s down at reception. I promised to let him know when I left.’

Chris’s stomach does a double back flip. Jim makes her feel vulnerable. It’s not his doing, she feels, but has mainly to do with the way she lusts after him. If he knew, she would die of shame. Falling in lust with her prime suspect was not on the cards. Instinctively she reaches out and catches hold of Petrus’ hand, drawing him close. She wants to tell him that Jim is another unknown factor…not a friend, nor a security guard, but something far more devious, but how can she? She has to play along. Sooner or later, Jim will slip up and reveal his hand.

‘Thank you, Petrus. Go well,’ she whispers.

She falls asleep as Petrus leaves and wakes later to find herself alone, other than a uniformed police guard leaning against the glass partition between her ward and the passage. Glancing over her shoulder to the window, she sees that it’s dark outside. She fumbles for a light switch.

There is a note beside her bed which reads:
Stay 
put. I’ve packed your gear and booked you out of your hotel. I’m organising a private flight out of Namibia. We leave before dawn. Back soon. Jim.

Who asked him to help? For a moment Chris entertains dreams of fleeing back to London. She could call a taxi and wait at the airport for the early morning flight. She could even ask Petrus for police protection. But if she can’t take the tension, she’ll have to quit her job. Jim is just one of the many unknowns who must be fitted into the picture. He is the most dangerous of all, she senses.

Pushing away her fears, Chris rings her bell and a nurse hurries in.

‘Hello, Chris. I’m your night nurse, Val. You won’t remember me, but I was here when you came in. How do you feel?’

Chris vaguely remembers a tall Herero woman holding a glass of water to her lips.

‘Not too bad,’ she answers. ‘What happened to my second visitor?’

‘He stayed for a while. He’s coming back…or so he said. Did you see his note?’

‘Yes, thanks. What time is it?’

‘Two a.m. You’ve slept on and off since they brought you in yesterday morning. Do you have any pain?’

Chris sits up cautiously. ‘No, but I’m thirsty and my throat’s raw.’ She stands slowly. ‘Apart from an urgent need for a shower, I’m fine. I guess I should wash off the dried salt water.’

‘We did that when you were brought in. Don’t you remember?’

‘Not really.’

‘Are you hungry?’ the nurse asks.

‘A little.’

‘Soup and bread…that’s all we can run to at this time of night.’

‘Thanks…sounds great. It’s about all my throat can cope with. What happened to my hands?’

‘You tell me. It looks as if you’ve been picking oakum in prison. They still do that sometimes.’

‘What’s oakum?’

‘That stuff you were tearing at with your hands…rope! When it’s unravelled it’s used for caulking boat hulls. Been working in a boatyard, have you?’

‘Something like that.’

Val laughs. ‘Some might believe you,’ she tosses over her shoulder as she leaves.

Jim will be here soon. The thought panics her. Typical of him to take over when he thinks she’s too weak to argue. She sits up, raging inwardly, while she gobbles her supper. Pushing her tray aside she slips out of bed and stands at the window gazing towards the Namib, where the tall dunes are clearly silhouetted against the starlit sky. These are the dangerous hours, these hours before dawn, when she must leave behind all pretence of safety and follow her intuitive insight, hoping that the truth will find her, if she gives it half a chance.