Hot Ice (21 page)

Jim looks furious. ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’ He’s told her that three times. It’s four a.m. and they are late. He is pacing the ward, shooting exasperated glances her way.

‘I’ve a pilot and a private aircraft ready and waiting to take you to a place you never dreamed existed…sheer paradise…Northern Botswana. You can recuperate in safety, far away from everyone, for a long, or a short stay…it’s up to you. Come on! What do you say?’

Unexpectedly Jim reaches out and clutches her hand. Like a handcuff, she thinks, trying to pull hers away, but it remains in his powerful grasp.

‘You’re a donkey. What exactly were you thinking of when you put out to sea with Ulf Skoog in his motor launch? I searched your room after you stood me up for dinner. It was clever of you to leave a message.’

‘Not clever…a last minute panic attack.’

‘It’s always best to trust your intuition. So…tell me…’

‘I can’t tell you much.’ She pauses, searching carefully for the right words. ‘There’s another man involved… someone who is completely innocent…yet he might know a great deal. Skoog promised to take me to him.’

‘I don’t suppose that Skoog knows where Dan Kelly is?’

She gasps with shock and pulls her hand hard. ‘What’s going on Jim? How do you know about Kelly?’ For a moment she feels nauseous. ‘You’ve been talking to Skoog. You know him.’

‘Wrong. Listen carefully. We don’t have much time. It was midnight by the time I realised that you were missing. I drove to Walvis Bay and tried to find your car in the docks. Eventually I learned that there is only one locked garage in the harbour and it belongs to Skoog. I found a couple of crane drivers working overtime nearby who told me that Skoog had put out to sea with his boatman and a red-headed woman.’

‘More auburn than red,’ Chris mutters.

‘He told me you’d left a couple of hours back, which upset the hell out of me. I called Petrus for a police helicopter and I was still waiting for it when Skoog came back without you. Almost simultaneously the helicopter arrived with Petrus and a medic. We searched the locality for hours, but
in the dark…’ His voice is hoarse as he turns away.

‘You thought I was dead.’

‘Yes.’

‘Skoog’s a sadistic bastard. He wanted to make me talk. Basically, this is what happened…’

Chris tries to relate how she sawed the ropes binding her wrists on the propeller blades and then freed herself from the rope knotted around her waist, but at the memory of her fear, her eyes brim over with tears.

Jim is livid. ‘You’re too vulnerable for this type of work. You’ve got to give it up. I’ll get Skoog one of these days. I promise you that. We only stopped searching for you when we heard that a woman answering your description had been taken into casualty. Jesus! That was a bad night.’

Chris leans her face on her knees. ‘We both care for each other, Jim, but you’re a stranger to me. I don’t understand what you’re doing here.’

‘I came to find you. I was in the States, so I only just heard about your ordeal in Soweto when I returned to London. I flew straight over.’

‘But how did you know where I stay…oh, don’t tell me…my credit card.’

‘By the time we got to the hospital you were out for the count. Petrus arranged for a guard and we went back to the station. It was the sergeant who told us you’d been asking around for news of Dan Kelly…’

‘Petrus didn’t tell me that.’ So Petrus knew she
was holding back. She feels uncomfortable about it.

‘Petrus called the
Namibian News
librarian while I was buying you a few things to wear in Botswana and checking you out of your hotel. By the time I met up with Petrus again, he knew about the court case that ruined Dan Kelly and Herman Visser…plus the rest. So we had your two leads…Kelly and Skoog. Tell me, Chris, what makes you think Kelly will talk any more than Skoog did?’

‘Kelly is not necessarily a crook, nor one of them.’

‘If he’s not, he’s a bad judge of character.’

Chris doesn’t answer. She’s considering Jim’s reply. She suspects all of them, her father…Jim…even Petrus. Everyone’s heard of bent cops. If only there were someone she could be sure of. If only she could trust Jim, but the fact remains he was following her long before she met Prince Husam and he lied to her about the reasons for this. She leans back and closes her eyes.

‘Get up, Chris. It’ll soon be light. Skoog must have heard the helicopter searching for you and he might come snooping around.’

Playing for time while she considers her reply, Chris gets out of bed, opens her case and takes out the plastic bag lying on top. Three pairs of shorts, six T-shirts, trainers and socks. They are plain and functional, in greenish khaki, chosen and bought by
Jim. He’s packed her camera, too, and her spare bag. She opens it. There’s her cash and the credit cards she’d left in her room the evening before. She could be in London by nightfall. And then what? She came here to do a job and it’s not yet done. Reluctantly, she’s beginning to suspect that Jim is the very criminal she’s looking for…and he’s keeping tabs on her to find out what she knows. Her suspicions are so unwelcome that she pushes them away, but she can never entirely eliminate them. The best way to find out about him is to stick around, but surely London is safer that the African bush.

‘I don’t know if I’m coming, Jim.’

‘I don’t understand you…you need to get out of Namibia at once. You have a big advantage right now. They think you’re dead. For God’s sake get a move on.’

‘It’s your lies. I want to know what’s going on. Why, for instance, does Petrus trust you?’

‘Perhaps he’s a better judge of character than you.’

‘You’re a liar…’

All the danger signs are evident, the taut stance, the fixed stare at nothing, lips pressed so hard they are white.

‘Tell me who you work for. I have to know. It’s obvious that you have massive back-up.’

He groans with exasperation. ‘That’s not the sort of question you should ask me. It’s classified. You have to take me on trust.’

‘Otherwise it’s no go between us,’ she says, braving the icy chill.

‘Well, it’s not really classified. Nevertheless, I wouldn’t like it to get around.’ His glance warns her of the severity of her fate should she open her mouth.

‘I work for a Christian NGO. They’re a huge outfit in the States. I cover Africa. In fact, I’m in charge. After all, they bailed me out of prison in Equatorial Guinea and saved my life, so the least I could do was to join them. My job is to analyse the spread of Islam versus Christianity in various African countries and do what I can to improve the odds.’

‘But that doesn’t explain why you followed me long before I saw Prince Husam. Don’t argue,’ she snaps as Jim opens his mouth. ‘I have your picture and the precise date when you gazed into the jeweller’s window in Finchley.’

‘Very efficient of you.’

‘Is that all you have to say? And while I think of it, why on earth were you working for the prince in the first place? And how did you know that Ben was dead before Rowan knew? It was you who told Prince Husam.’

‘Some of the guys in our New York office were keeping an eye on Ben for me. I’m so sorry about Ben. He was infiltrating various Muslim fundamentalist groups and I needed to know why. I thought I’d find out what he was doing through
you. Later, of course…’ He breaks off and gives her a sad smile. ‘You must know there’s a fight on for Africa’s soul.’

‘Or its strategic minerals,’ Chris murmurs.

‘Well, that, too.’

‘And the prince? Ditto, I assume.’

‘Exactly. Chris…listen…I told the pilot to consider the trip cancelled if we didn’t get there by daybreak.’

‘Oh my goodness! I still have to pay to get out of here. That’ll take time.’

‘It’s taken care of.’

This is no time to argue. Moments later Chris is in the bathroom throwing on shorts and a T-shirt. To hell with underwear and make-up. That can come later. Suddenly optimism is seeping into her psyche through every pore.

They arrive before dawn at a private farm ten miles outside Swakopmund. The karakul farmer who greets them looks as if the desert air has sucked him dry, leaving only his amazingly youthful blue eyes gleaming from the wreckage of his face.

Breakfast is laid out on the balcony table overlooking a small dam: melon and ham, orange juice, eggs and toast. Chris seldom eats in the morning, but she discovers she is hungry.

As the sun’s first rays light the horizon in gold and rosy splendour and the birds set up their shrill song, they take off in a four-seater Auster, from a
runway behind the house, piloted by the farmer.

Hour after hour they fly over Namibia’s flat plains. It becomes hotter and more of an effort to keep alert. Eventually Chris slips into a
heat-induced
torpor and wakes much later when Jim touches her arm.

‘Swallow,’ he says. ‘We’re coming in to land.’

By mid-afternoon they have changed flights twice, eaten a late lunch at Maun and they are following a broad, gravel road towards Kasane, near the Botswana and Zimbabwe border, in a
four-seater
Bell helicopter. They soar over dark forests and glades shining emerald green in the sun, with occasional flashes of blue from water holes. Cresting a hill, their plane banks to the north. Before them lie tree-tops stretching in every direction. Soon the forest falls away steeply to the broad, Chobe river. Far off along the riverbank stands a huge and graceful hotel, designed like a Spanish
hacienda
, facing across the wide expanse of the waterway, looking towards the Caprivi Strip on the opposite bank, which separates Botswana from Angola.

Jim is in a hurry to make the hotel before sunset. They skim over tree-tops, sending buck and baboons fleeing in all directions. Dishevelled and covered in dust, they climb out on to the hotel’s helicopter pad and wave goodbye to the pilot.

‘Hurry,’ Jim calls, leaving their luggage to a porter. Arriving breathless at reception, they find
that the hotel’s paddleboat is about to leave for the sunset champagne cruise. The pretty receptionist issues two tickets and assures them that their luggage will be left in their rooms.

So that’s what all the hurry was about, Chris realises, smiling to herself.

‘Let’s go,’ Jim says. They reach the gangway as the steamer leaves the wooden wharf.

‘Jump,’ Jim yells, clutching her hand.

The steamer, built like a nineteenth-century Mississippi steamboat, chugs softly downstream, passing close beside a herd of elephants who have waded into the deep river water to bathe, the mothers prodding their squealing infants ahead of them. Hippos surface to protest as they pass too close. Fish eagles line the banks, perched on every tree-top. Chris wonders why they wait there until the boatman takes a bucket of fish and flings the contents over the water for the birds to swoop and catch while the tourists’ cameras click.

She knows she will never forget the sound and smell of Africa. Strangely it’s so familiar…like coming home.

It is dark when they return, happy, tired and full of champagne. They swim in the hotel pool and dine by candlelight on the balcony overlooking the river.

‘Oh Jim, it’s so beautiful. Thank you for bringing me here.’

‘Likewise. We both need a break.’

Why do her fears only surface at night when she’s vulnerable? Chris wonders, as she lies awake in bed. She is plagued by suspicions that Jim is not what he seems or says. Be careful, Chris, a voice whispers in her head.

She lists what she knows about Jim, but it doesn’t amount to much. Jim is the most exciting man she has ever met. He has a charm that cuts through all defences, but he’s also a very private person, hiding his true personality. An undercover man. She has tried, but failed to draw him out.

Unable to get back to sleep, she continues to analyse Jim. His eyes, beaming with affection and humour, tell her that he finds her alluring, but has he any idea how desirable he is with his lazy smile and his startling green eyes?

She longs to be close to Jim and feel his strong, muscular body pressed against hers. She’s running out of control and she has never felt like this. The thought that he’s just a few steps away, beyond a connecting door with the key on her side, is driving her crazy. Intuitively, Chris knows that she is in danger of losing herself to this man, but she senses that his allegiance lies elsewhere. Finally she gets up and tiptoes into his room. He’s asleep. This disappoints her as she climbs softly into his bed.

‘What kept you so long?’ he asks sleepily, ‘I’ve been longing for you.’ He pulls her close against him and sighs contentedly. She feels brain-dead, just a mass of thrilling sensations, her ego has
descended to her loins and nothing else exists. Jim is a skilled and sensitive lover, she learns, and at some time during the night he whispers that he loves her.

She lies on her side, facing away from Jim, acutely aware of his arm flung around her waist and his breath on her neck, while she tries to fathom out how she can lust over a man like him. I don’t even like him and I certainly don’t trust him. So why does he turn me on, even when we’re arguing? I shall ignore his intensely offensive maleness and his crass pretensions to find me irresistible.

The sad truth is, even now, after a night of incredible sex, Chris still desires him. She closes her eyes and indulges herself, remembering how they had fallen into an exhausted sleep, but he had wooed her tenderly in the night and once again the intensity of her reactions had stunned her. Even now, she must be sending out signals, for his hand moves over her belly and he pulls her closer into his lean frame.

Despite their passionate sex, Jim remains inviolate and she guesses that she will never
truly know him. His barriers seem impenetrable.

Don’t be a fool, she tells herself. You walked into this job open-eyed. You knew it wouldn’t be easy. You’ve always got your kicks from danger. That’s why this man excites you so…because he’s deadly. But what does he want from her. Play along and you might find out, she argues.

It is their fourth night at Chobe. Chris wakes in the cold pre-dawn knowing that Jim is not beside her. She sits up and listens intently. She hears Jim creeping down the stone steps to the pool. Someone calls quietly. It is someone Jim knows well, she can tell by his tone of voice. She’ll ask him when he gets back, but he will probably lie to her. Or he’ll say that it’s classified and she must trust him.

All the old familiar worries that she can cope with during the day seem unbearable in the night. She worries because she’s wasting time. Admittedly she has not yet recovered completely. She’s covered in bruises and her hands are tender, but she’s well enough to work. Even a day wasted is too much when Sienna is still imprisoned and living in fear of her life.

She had contacted Jean on her arrival at the hotel and asked if there was any news of Sienna, but the police seem to be completely stumped. She asked Jean to check with the various banks for any credit card purchases by Kelly. It is confidential, the banks told Jean. They can’t release that kind of
information, but Jim always succeeds. How does he do it? Finally she called Rowan, who used his influence to get the police to lean on those damned inflexible bankers. Yesterday Jean had called back. The information had come via the Johannesburg head office. Dan Kelly uses his American Express card in Maun fairly regularly. He bought provisions a month ago. So he must be prospecting locally. It’s time to search for him. He’s her only lead left.

It’s almost dawn when Jim returns. She hears something heavy being scraped along the floor to his walk-in cupboard. He pushes it in and shuts the door before climbing gently into bed.

‘Who were you talking to, Jim?’

His body stiffens. He’s annoyed that she’s awake.

‘Why, no one.’

‘But I heard you talking…in a foreign language… I couldn’t place the sounds at all. What language were you speaking? It sounded a bit like Arabic.’ She switches on the light. ‘Don’t stare at me like that.’ Chris is beginning to lose her temper.

‘Like what?’

‘Like a stranger. I’m going back to my room.’

‘It was an old friend from prison days,’ he says, pulling her back to bed. ‘Don’t be a cuckoo. He gives me information from time to time and we were speaking in Swahili.’

‘Don’t try to soft-soap me.’

Jim is always on a short fuse and his glance dares her to argue.

‘I didn’t want to raise your hopes, but I put out feelers all round. My informer tells me that Kelly was seen yesterday approximately forty miles south-east of Ghanzi. You won’t find a more desolate spot, but some traders were passing. Nothing’s secret in Africa.’

‘So how far away is that.’

‘Over 400 kilometres as the helicopter flies.’

‘Can a small helicopter go that far?’

‘If they stock up with petrol. But it would take three hours to get there, although that’s not the end of it. You’d be facing a long search once you arrived. We’ll drive there.’

Chris snuggles back into his arms. They make love again, which goes a long way towards wiping away her doubts and confusion.

Early the next morning, after Jim has left for Maun, Chris takes his bedroom keys from his dressing gown pocket and opens his walk-in cupboard. The suitcase is a reinforced, fibreglass trunk, which she hasn’t seen before and it feels as it it’s stuffed with lead. She hauls it out, wincing as she hurts her swollen hands. It’s locked, of course, but the key will be in his wall safe, and she knows the combination because she set it for him.

As she retrieves the key she begins to tremble at what she might find. Jim could come in at any moment, but she can’t stop now. The lid falls open revealing a fortune of rough diamonds. For a
moment she can only stare, as if in a trance. Is Jim an agent? He must be…or perhaps he’s running the show? She fastens the lid and locks the case. It’s heavy and it’s all she can do to haul it back to the cupboard. One more lunge. Then there’s a cracking sound as a hinge breaks and diamonds cascade over the floor in all directions.

Jim will know that she knows. She can’t disguise the broken hinge. She should have listened to David. She straightens up and looks around. He’ll be back soon. For a moment she contemplates staying and having it out with him. ‘Idiot,’ she tells herself. Jim’s not going to give her the answers on a plate, particularly since it will probably involve Prince Husam, too.

She must hurry. If she calls the helicopter company who ferried them to the hotel, she could be picked up within the hour, but an hour is too long. Jim’s been cheating her since he first followed her, pretending that he loves her while he spies on her. It would be wise to leave fast. At that moment the phone rings. She picks up the receiver.

‘Hi, Chrissie. I’m on the balcony, river side. It’s beautiful down here. Come and join me…monkeys on the lawn…elephants by the river. What’s your order?’

‘Orange juice,’ she mutters. ‘I have to wait for my nails to dry.’

She calls the helicopter company and arranges to meet them on the pad of a hotel further up the river.
It’s half a mile away, but Jim won’t think of looking for her there. It doesn’t take longer than three minutes to throw a few things into Jim’s haversack. She jots down her needs: a first aid kit, water, sun barrier cream, sunglasses, hat and a large scarf to keep the sun off her neck, a compass…it will have to be Jim’s…a knife, a torch, matches and a packet of biscuits. If she doesn’t find Kelly, she’ll return to Maun, and fly on to Gaborone, where she can pick up a flight to London. When she’s finished packing she finds that her haversack is too heavy to carry, so she sheds some of the water.

Within twenty minutes she’s airborne and they’re heading for a certain spot south-east of Ghanzi, where she hopes to find Kelly’s camp. As they near their destination, the pilot begins the search, taking a circular route over the featureless gravel plains. Hour after hour they search the barren landscape, which is monotonously flat except for an occasional row of dunes stretching for hundreds of miles towards the sea.

Chris spends the journey wallowing in guilt. She’s lost the plot and lost control and wasted almost a week of her time, all because her knees turn to jelly and her stomach churns at the sight of Jim.