Hot Ice (22 page)

They have been searching for hours, occasionally sighting ostriches, strung out in a straight line, racing over dunes and plains. There’s the occasional oryx standing alone, as if lost, but mainly they see sand…hundreds of square miles of sand, of a pale, washed-out hue, almost grey. Even the sky looks bleached by the sun. Can this be planet earth? Chris shudders to think of her father endlessly prospecting through this awful barrenness. When they land to refuel from the spare tanks, the pilot says: ‘This is it…the last of the petrol. One more hour.’ Her heart sinks as they climb back into the helicopter to continue the search.

Chris has been glancing surreptitiously at her watch. The pilot said an hour, which means they have ten minutes left. Her anxiety has become a physical lump in her throat. Kelly is her last chance to follow her leads to the diamond launderers.
More important still…she longs to find her father…and he’s so close…she can’t give up now…but she may have to.

‘Look,’ the pilot says. ‘Do you see that smoke?’ She can’t see a damn thing. Despite her sunglasses, her eyes are sore and burning from the glare. When the pilot swoops low, they see a shimmering image of man standing beside an orange blur. ‘Is he for real?’

‘Heatwaves,’ the pilot calls. As they swoop and soar over the fire, they scatter the burning embers and set up a mini sandstorm. The man is shaking his fist.

‘This is him…must be,’ she calls excitedly.

‘And if it’s not?’

They put down at a safe distance. Chris opens the door and the heat blasts her.

‘Mind the blades,’ the pilot yells. Bent double, Chris runs to a man who is shaking the sand out of his gear and kicking bits of smoking wood into a heap.

For Chris, there is a brief moment of impact as their eyes meet. It is like nothing she’s ever experienced before, part recognition, part dismay, for he is staring blankly at her. She wants to scream:
Look at me. Don’t you recognise your own genes?
Disappointment makes her speechless. She stares for too long. Kelly looks old for his age. His white hair is so short you can hardly see the stubble, his skin is like old leather and then there’s his limp. He
seems to collapse slightly when he stands on his right leg. Great eyes…youthful, alert and very blue, but right now they’re blazing with fury. She likes what she sees, except for the limp…and the scowl. Surely he should suspect that she might be his.

‘Dan Kelly, I’m…’ She has her story ready to trot out…Sarah Vaughan, journalist…but must she lie to her father the very first time she meets him? ‘You
are
Dan Kelly?’

‘So…?’

She waves to the pilot who drops her haversack on the sand and slams the door. As the blades begin to turn, her father looks stunned and then horrified as he gazes from her to the pilot. The next moment he’s running towards the aircraft, waving his arms, shouting. The helicopter soars over the nearest dune, and they watch it disappearing into the blue haze.

Kelly walks back slowly. ‘You probably think I won’t go off and abandon you here, but you’re wrong. If you have any communication with that pilot, call him back now before it’s too late.’

His voice is deep, his accent American, as she’s guessed it would be. As he speaks he is thrusting his gear into a haversack.

‘I don’t.’

‘Who the hell are you? And what the hell are you doing here? As if I don’t know.’

What does he mean by that? ‘I need information.’ Perhaps lying is her best option. He’s
hardly in the right mood for a happy reunion. ‘I’m Sarah Vaughan.’ She pushes her hand towards him, but he turns away and stares at the sand looking frantic. He reminds her of a cornered animal and she wishes she hadn’t come. How can Kelly be a crook? He’s too vulnerable.

‘I’m not here to harm you,’ she stammers.

‘You won’t get the chance.’

‘Look here. I work for FI in London, that’s a company…’

‘I know the company.’

‘You do?’

‘Do you think I’m Rip Van Winkle?’

‘God! I seem to have got off on the wrong foot.’

‘Any foot would be wrong. You have no right to do this to me. Do you have any business cards?’

‘No.’ Another lie. She has, but they give her name and she’s not ready for that yet. First she must find out if Kelly is involved in the laundering.

They are glaring at each other like two fighting cocks waiting for the first lunge. Chris sinks to the sand and sits cross-legged. ‘Even the sand’s hot,’ she complains, stirring uncomfortably.

‘How did you find me?’

‘A colleague back in London checked on your credit card purchases. You’ve used the card in Maun and round about Ghanzi, Kalkfontein and Tshwane. I guess right now we’re nearly dead centre of the triangle. You used your mobile in Kalkfontein. They have a radio mast there. You’ve
been seen around this area. I hired a helicopter…of course, we were lucky to spot you. It was the smoke.’

While they talk, Kelly is moving around packing up his gear. It goes into a haversack that looks as if it weighs a ton. She can see how he got those bulging biceps and thigh muscles. She can’t help comparing him to a statue roughly hewn out of stone. As for his neck, he could hang millstones from it. Perhaps he has. That might account for the pain in his eyes and the way his mouth folds into a slash when he’s not talking. Yet he has a certain charm and he looks straight…like someone you could trust.

‘What exactly are you investigating?’

‘That’s confidential…I mean…for the time being.’

‘Listen here, Miss Vaughan. You’ve put me in an unenviable situation. There’s no transport. Mobiles don’t work here. We’re completely cut off. I’ve brought only survival rations, not much water. I’ve no camp. I roam the territory prospecting for just about anything. There’s no shelter…’

‘I get the picture,’ she says sulkily. ‘I’ve brought my own food and water.’

‘What sort of provisions have you got?’

‘Two packets of biscuits, six litres of water.’

‘It’ll be three days before we reach the nearest village.’

‘That’s OK. I’m on a diet.’

‘When I hand you back to civilisation, that might sound funny. Right now it’s tragic.’

‘Oh come on, Kelly. You’re making a big deal out of very little.’

‘Possibly, but you’ve made a mistake if you think I’m altering my schedule in any way, or discussing anything with you. Please remember that people die in this sort of heat…kidneys pack up through lack of water. It’s sudden and it’s fatal. Drink plenty of water, Miss Vaughan, but ration it out. We’ll stop for water every two hours… that’s if you’re still around.’

He shoulders his pack, picks up his rifle and gazes around. ‘Keep up, because I won’t be looking over my shoulder, but I won’t deliberately abandon you because that would be murder.’

‘I know a lot about you, Kelly,’ she calls at his retreating back.

‘You’re wasting your energy,’ she hears, like a sigh in the wind.

‘Fuck you.’ Tears evaporate fast in the desert leaving a salty crust, she discovers.

They have tramped for hours across the harsh gravel plains of the flat highlands and now it’s late afternoon and she feels as if she might pass out. Her limbs are heavy and inflexible, her head aches, her eyes burn and she’s as thirsty as hell. Thank heavens for the canvas boots and thick socks she bought in Maun.

So far the frosty tension shows no sign of abating. On the plus side, the terrain is subtly altering. They are moving through a wide valley between gently sloping dunes, following a line of green made up of thorn trees, fever trees and patches of thin grass. She guesses that they are following the course of an underground river. Furthermore, they aren’t alone: goshawks are circling overhead, there is a hum of insects and the call of many different kinds of birds. Around them lie the spoor of jackals and she guesses there must be water somewhere around.

After two hours Kelly pauses and squats beside a thorn tree. She notices that he leaves the shadiest part vacant. She almost laughs. He’s not the ogre he makes himself out to be.

‘It’s beautiful here,’ she says, collapsing beside him.

‘You’re pretty tough for a London girl.’ He digs a piece of dried meat out of his haversack. ‘Ostrich
biltong
. Have some.’

She takes it, smells it and hands it back. ‘No thanks.’

‘Then eat some of your biscuits.’ She isn’t hungry, but she fears that her thirst will never be quelled, not if she drinks all six litres she’s carrying. Five and a bit she reminds herself.

‘Listen, Kelly, Is this tension ever going to end?’

‘Not unless you tell me why you’re here.’

‘OK. This might come as a shock to you,’ she
says, choosing her words carefully. ‘I’m investigating a gang who are engaged in illicit diamond trading. It’s a scam and it wouldn’t be criminal, not in Britain anyway, if it weren’t that murder and kidnapping are involved. Huge profits are being made.’

‘And they’ve put a girl on to this?’

‘I’m not investigating the gang, or their crimes, but their method of laundering the gems. Business fraud…that’s my job.’

Kelly gives no indication that he’s listening. He’s stretched out on the sand with his eyes closed. She decides to carry on anyway.

‘I’ve found that it’s like knocking down a row of dominoes. One clue leads to the next.’

‘And what led you to me?’ he mutters.

Chris conceals her satisfaction. If Kelly’s asking questions he must be interested. ‘Herman Visser and, later, Ulf Skoog.’

He doesn’t believe her. She can tell by the way he’s looking at her. He props himself on his elbow and leers at her. ‘I can tell you a more probable story. FI is contracted to one of the big mining houses and you’re the fall guy chosen to follow me around and find out where my claim is.’

‘What claim? What are you talking about?’

‘Nevermind.’

‘Look…I need to know if Visser really is dead. Are you in touch with him?’

She breaks off. In the distance, but coming closer,
she hears the unmistakable drone of a helicopter. Jim’s coming after her and she’s endangering her father. She looks up. The tree isn’t much shelter and anyway he’ll see their footprints. ‘Do you have a gun?’ she asks.

‘Please stop this absurd charade.’ His mouth sets in a tight line as he gets to his feet, shoulders his pack and limps away.

‘I was only asking…I need information and I need it fast. Listen, just tell me about Visser and I’ll make my own way to the nearest village.’

‘I warned you…’

Soon Kelly is a distant blur, shimmering in the heat. Who needs a father, she wonders, hating his retreating back.

The helicopter is moving away, zigzagging towards the west, but they keep up the same impressive pace, with pauses for water every two hours and once Kelly reminds her to eat four more biscuits.

By early evening, the sun has become her enemy and there’s no escape anywhere. Chris turns to watch the crimson globe falling against a turquoise backdrop. She feels exhausted. Visser and the laundered diamonds are far from top priority right now. She just wants to drink and drink. She sinks on to a hump of sand to watch the sun disappear. Dark as blood, it is losing shape and melting over the horizon, and then it’s gone, leaving a pale,
translucent green in its wake. After hesitating, Kelly joins her. It’s then that they hear the drone of the helicopter coming closer.

‘You don’t often hear helicopters around these parts,’ Kelly says.

‘I’m not surprised.’ She drains the rest of her second bottle of water. She deserves it.

‘That’s it,’ she says, flinging down the plastic bottle. Kelly retrieves it and thrust it in his pack.

‘We don’t want to spoil the desert, do we.’

‘Fuck the desert and fuck you.’

‘Why me?’

‘Because you won’t tell me about Visser.’

‘Give me a good reason why I should tell you about him and I will. As far as I’m concerned, selling diamonds is not breaking the law.’

‘Does that mean that Visser is alive and selling diamonds?’

There’s no answer, but she tucks that knowledge away without commenting. ‘My colleague, a dear friend, who was running this investigation was murdered recently. My best friend from school days, Sienna, who is Mohsen Sheik’s daughter, was kidnapped on her wedding day. I was standing watching her drive past in her father’s car. I tried to get to her, but I was shot.’

‘You were shot. So this is where the fairy stories come to an end. Where were you shot and where’s the scar?’

‘Ah…’ She is whipping off her T-shirt, stung by
his disbelief. ‘Bloody apologise,’ she says, thrusting her shoulder towards him, careless of her braless state. ‘Now do you believe me?’ She swings around. ‘Damn you, Kelly.’ She pulls on her shirt.

‘OK. I’m sorry.’

‘Now tell me about Herman Visser and the wrecked dredger.’

‘Is Visser implicated?’

‘Do you care?’

‘I suppose I do in a way, although I lost touch with him years ago. I don’t understand how you got on to Visser in the first place.’

‘Same place I got on to you…in the newspaper archives.’

‘But why Visser…why pick on him?’

‘I was looking for anyone I could find who was in prison at the same time as Moses Freeman.’

‘You’re talking in riddles. Who is Moses Freeman?’

It took a while to explain and by then it was dark.

‘We sat too long,’ Kelly says. ‘We might as well camp here.’

Making camp consists of eating three biscuits, drinking water, lying on the sand and trying to sleep, but sleep evades Chris. Thoughts of spiders, scorpions and jackals keep her alert. Even worse is her anxiety about her father. Kelly seems to be protecting Visser. Why should he do that? Some sort of a misplaced sense of loyalty perhaps. Or
maybe they are still partners. She can’t accept that Kelly might be one of the gang…if she did, she would never have told him so much.

‘Are you asleep?’ she asks after a while.

‘No.’

‘So tell me about Visser. What happened after you and Visser lost out with your mine?’

‘I went back to diamond dredging off Port Nolloth. There were good pickings in those days. Visser joined me, but he was angry…deeply angry. Foolishly he got into illicit diamond dealing and he was caught almost immediately. He got two years’ hard labour, although finally he served only eighteen months.’