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

Stripping his shirt off, Gabriel laughed.

‘Very good! Have you been mugging up on British slang?’

‘A girl’s got to do something while her man’s gallivanting around the world fighting the bad guys!’

She unclipped her bra and stepped out of her knickers, caught Gabriel staring frankly at her and executed a neat pirouette, hands out from her sides.

‘Like what you see?’ she asked, winking at him.

‘The swim can wait,’ he growled at her.

‘Oh, no, mister!’ she said, evading him as he made a grab for her waist. ‘I need to cool off. And so do you!’

She unzipped her suitcase and fished out a coral-pink bikini. Moments later, she was swinging the sliding door across and running for the water.

Much later, sated by food, wine and sex, and with Eli sleeping beside him, Gabriel stared up at the ceiling. A cobalt-blue gecko skittered across its textured surface before freezing into immobility.

He remembered Eli’s words earlier. Perhaps you’re right, El. China wasn’t my finest moment but I put an end to Colonel Na’s reign of terror. And as for Fang and Liu, they were crooks, both of them. Liu was corrupt, too. They conspired to kill me after I’d done their dirty work.

He noticed the gecko wore sergeant’s stripes on its front legs. And then he heard a voice he hadn’t heard for a long time.

She’s got a point, boss. Can’t just sit there while the bad guys try to fuck you over, can you?

He turned his head and there, in the dark corner of the room, over by the wardrobe, sat a handsome black man in the motley camo and olive-green webbing of a SAS trooper.

Hello, Smudge. Didn’t we say goodbye in Camberwell New Cemetery?

Can’t keep a good man down, boss, Smudge, or the hallucination, replied with a broad grin.

Does this mean my PTSD is back?

Nah, boss. Not unless I am. And I’m dead and buried, aren’t I?

So I’m dreaming?

Not for me to say. Though I reckon your shrink might have something to say about it. What’s her name, Fariyah?

Yeah. I haven’t been to see her for a while.

You should. Do you good. Here, he said, nodding in Eli’s direction. She’s all right, isn’t she?

Gabriel glanced over at Eli.

She’s fantastic, Smudge. I mean, she’s brave, she’s smart, she’s sexy…

Well then…

What?

When are you going to make an honest woman of her?

I nearly asked her earlier.

What stopped you?

The receptionist.

Smudge grinned. Gabriel was relieved to see that his lower jaw, shot off by a militiaman’s Kalashnikov round, stayed in place.

Come on, boss. You know that ain’t why. What’s the problem? You love her, don’t you?

Of course! You know I do.

Right. And she loves you.

It’s not that simple, mate.

Nothing’s simpler. You just go down on one knee, look up into those beautiful eyes of hers and say, Eli Schochat, will you marry me?

Look what happened to Britta.

What, you think you cursed her by proposing? Boss, I don’t want to be crude here, but she dumped you! When Kristersson killed her she was engaged to Jarryd, not you.

Is true, a gravelly male voice with a Russian accent interrupted. Plus, Britta was never target. We wanted you dead, not her.

Hello, Max, Gabriel said.

Max Novgorodsky, a Russian gangster Gabriel had shot in revenge for killing Britta, lolled in an armchair, his head replaced by that of his pet wolf, Pyotr.

Max got to his feet, baring yellow fangs that dripped with saliva. He approached the bed. Gabriel’s heart rate spiked as that hideous mouth widened still further.

The wolf-man flung out its right arm. Long, ragged claws raked across Smudge’s face and neck, slicing deep into arteries and releasing a flood of scarlet that sprayed into the air.

I’m coming for you, Gabe, Max said. ‘Gabe! Gabe! GABE!’

Gabriel screamed.

‘Gabe, Gabe!’ Eli was saying, over and over again. She was shaking him and staring into his eyes. For a second her mouth was the wolf’s mouth, unnaturally wide and lined with sharp-pointed teeth.

Gabriel twisted away from her, straining to get free of her grasp.

Then her features resolved into that familiar face he’d grown to know so well, and to love.

‘Oh, God, El, I had a nightmare.’

‘No shit! Look at you, you’re drenched,’ she said. ‘Come on, let’s get you a towel and then we’ll change the sheets.’

***

Gabriel opened his eyes. He checked the time: 7.00 a.m. The memory of the nightmare was clear in his mind. He could still hear Smudge, still see the monstrous apparition that had been Max/Pyotr.

Eli was already up, and showering. Gabriel climbed out of bed and looked at himself in the full-length mirror screwed to the wall. He took a deep breath, forced a smile onto his face, and walked into the bathroom.

‘Morning,’ he said, cheerily.

‘Morning. How are you feeling?’

‘I’m fine. I’m sorry if I scared you last night.’

‘Huh. It’ll take more than that to scare me. But I am worried about you. Is everything OK?’

‘Yeah, it’s fine. I’m fine.’

‘Really. You’re not just saying that?’

‘Truly. It’s all good.’

‘Right. In that case, why don’t you get in here and soap my back for me, then we’ll go and get a proper breakfast. We’ve got poachers to catch.’

14

Gabriel and Eli stood outside the hotel’s main building at 8.55 a.m., waiting for Phefo.

They’d opted for a universal casual look that journalists, NGO staff and the smarter sort of adventurous tourist sported, from Bolivia to Bangalore: khakis, polo shirts and well-worn hiking boots. Each had a daysack, though these contained nothing more dangerous than a camera, notebook and bottles of water. All the ‘interesting’ kit, they’d be picking up later in the morning.

Around them, tourists, businessmen and a few businesswomen chatted loudly, slapping each other on the back or exchanging business cards.

Nobody gave them a second glance. Why should they? All around them louder, more colourfully dressed and clearly wealthier individuals gave off brasher social signals that drew the eye and faded anyone less gaudy into the background.

A cheerful double-toot made them turn round. Phefo’s sleek white Merc purred to a halt at the kerb. He was out of the