Ivory Nation, Andy Maslen [e manga reader .txt] 📗

at all that marble. We could be anywhere in the world.’

All around them, people were talking loudly into phones, chattering excitedly, or wandering through the glittering space deep in conversation. Business types, mothers in flamboyant traditional aprons, skirts and tops dragging children by the hand, students in colourful western-style outfits. The whole place was a hive of activity.

Gabriel nodded, looking around for someone holding a welcome card with their cover names written on it.

He found what, or more precisely who, he was looking for. A young black man in a shimmering light-grey suit and narrow black tie standing beside a life-size sculpture of an elephant set amid rocks and grass at the centre of an intricate maze-pattern of black and silver granite floor tiles. He was holding up an iPad displaying their cover names.

JENSEN/CAMARO

Eli nudged Gabriel. They wheeled their cases over to the young man. As soon as he spotted them making their way towards him, his mouth widened into a broad grin, revealing flashing white teeth among which a gold canine twinkled.

‘You are my customers?’ he asked, still smiling and holding out his hand.

They shook. Gabriel rested his wheeled case and patted his chest.

‘I’m Jensen.’

‘And I’m Camaro,’ Eli said.

‘Very pleased to make your acquaintance. Welcome to G-City. Phefo Sibanda at your service,’ he said. ‘My name means “windy”, on account of my mama gave birth to me in a storm. She say the damn thing nearly blew me out of her belly!’

Smiling, Eli pointed at the sculpture.

‘Are those real tusks?’

Phefo nodded vigorously.

‘You better believe it, my lady.’

They examined the sculpture from all angles, and Gabriel noticed the empty black tubes in the tusks where nerves had once run. He read from a plaque mounted near the elephant’s head.

‘It says these were all found on elephants that had died of natural causes.’

‘Must be worth a fair bit,’ Eli answered.

‘Three hundred and thirty million pula, my lady,’ Phefo said. ‘That’s about thirty million dollars.’

‘Wow! Has anyone ever tried to steal it?’

‘No. Too many police. But maybe you see why poaching is such a problem in Bots?’

Phefo led them proudly to a white Mercedes E-Class saloon parked under the shade of a tree in the airport’s open-air carpark. On the drive into the centre of Gaborone, which Phefo had taught them to call G-city, Gabs or Mageba, Gabriel’s phone lit up with a text.

Welcome to Bots! Phefo will pick you up at 9.00 a.m. tomorrow and bring you out to our compound. George Taylor.

‘Is George Taylor your boss?’ Gabriel asked Phefo.

‘He’s everybody’s boss. The big boss!’ he answered, with a laugh.

After ten more minutes’ driving Phefo made a right turn off Julius Nyerere Drive onto Chuma Drive, a wide dual-carriageway lined on one side with trees and the other by a low, white concrete wall. Low-growing shrubs dotted a scruffy pink gravel median strip.

The white wall on the left was replaced with a neatly trimmed hedge. Phefo hit the brakes to make a left turn beneath a squat pink concrete gateway that reminded Gabriel of Stonehenge: two slope-shouldered uprights supporting a wide, flat rectangular capstone, all cast with geometric designs.

‘Here we are, Sir, my lady,’ Phefo said. ‘Welcome to Avani Gaborone Resort and Casino.’

Their luggage retrieved from the boot and a discreet twenty-dollar tip passed from Gabriel’s palm to Phefo’s, they made their way inside. A tall, broad-shouldered porter marched over, picked up their cases as if they were filled with feathers, and deposited them on a gold luggage trolley.

While they waited to check in, Gabriel nodded at the trolley.

‘D’you remember when we used one of those to carry our rifles into that hotel in Kazakhstan?’ he asked Eli.

She grinned back at him.

‘What was our cover that time?’

‘Intelligence analysts.’

Her eyes widened.

‘That’s right! We were Mr and Mrs,’ she paused, ‘Edmonds, was it?’

‘Esmond.’

‘Yeah. Mr and Mrs Esmond.’

Gabriel felt a rush of emotion surge through him, out of nowhere, like a summer storm.

‘You know, Eli…’ he began.

‘What?’

‘Yes, Sir, Madam? Checking in?’ a young female voice asked from the desk.

They broke eye contact and turned towards the receptionist.

Passports photocopied, room keys assigned and all the usual rigmarole dealt with, they found themselves in a cabin looking out onto a swimming pool fringed with palm trees.

Eli flopped back onto the huge bed, arms spread wide.

‘Well, this could be worse,’ she said.

Gabriel lay beside her, head propped up on one elbow.

‘Not bad for a couple of contract killers, is it?’

She frowned.

‘Is that what you think we are?’

‘Why, don’t you?’

‘No!’

‘What, then?’

‘I don’t know. Agents, I suppose. Or operatives, if you prefer.’

‘But when push comes to shove, we’re the ones pulling the trigger or slipping the knife in, aren’t we?’

‘Yes. But the people we’re up against aren’t innocent victims. They’re enemies of the state. That’s what The Department does.’

He leaned over and kissed her softly.

‘I totted up the number of people I’ve killed in the last two months. How many, do you think?’

‘Gabe, don’t do this, please,’ she said.

‘Go on,’ he said, persistent now. ‘How many?’

She huffed out a breath.

‘I don’t know. Six?’

‘Thirteen.’

‘Unlucky for some.’

‘And how many do you think were enemies of the British state?’

Eli clamped her lips together.

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you. None. Not one. Everyone I killed in Russia was for personal reasons. Everyone in China because I owed a triad boss a favour.’

Now Eli did speak.

She hoisted herself up into a sitting position and cradled his face between her palms.

‘Gabriel Wolfe! Stop beating yourself up over this. The Russians killed Britta. They were trying to kill you, in case you’d forgotten. As for the Chinese, I don’t know what to say. Maybe it wasn’t your finest moment, but you said Fang Jian kidnapped your sister all those years ago. And as for the Communists, fuck them!’

He sighed.

‘OK. You’re right. Sorry.’

‘What were you going to ask me when we were checking in?’

‘What?’

‘In the queue. You started to ask me something, then the receptionist called us.’

He shook his head.

‘Can’t remember. Hey, let’s go for a swim. That pool looks inviting.’

Eli frowned.

‘Hmm. Fine. Last one in’s a