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

in front of her. The white leather ‘Lotus Blossom’ uniform she’d worn while protecting Fang Jian exchanged for a simple business suit.

Through the window, he watched Eli crossing the grass from the row of chalets to the breakfast bar. Stella was already sitting at a table, reading a newspaper. She stood as Eli arrived. The women embraced, then sat and picked up menus. They looked over in his direction. Stella waved. He raised his left hand in acknowledgment.

He smiled, even though he knew they’d not be able to see his expression. And then he realised something that he found shocking. Pleasing, but shocking. I’m happy. Goddamn it, I’m actually happy.

His country was in the grip of a hard-left government led by someone who Gabriel trusted less with every passing second. His girlfriend was on the cusp of leaving England for Israel. The organisation that had given him a renewed sense of purpose was under threat from Tammerlane’s zealots. And yet…

And yet, I’m looking out at the woman I love talking to someone I think of as a friend. I’m waiting for my sister to pick up. My sister!

‘Gabriel?’

Mei’s voice startled him. Regaining his composure, he switched to Cantonese.

‘Hi, Mei, yes. It’s me. How are you? How are things with the WK?’

‘I’m good. Work is hard, but I’m getting somewhere. Lots of hurdles to jump. Especially with the police. How are you, Big Bro?’

‘I was just thinking. I’m good. I’m happy.’

He heard the smile in her voice.

‘That’s good! Really good. Where are you?’

‘Botswana. Ivory poachers murdered some Paras— British soldiers. And some local soldiers, too. Eli and I are tracking them down.’

‘Ha! I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes. Did you…’ Her voice burbled for a second, then came back sharp and clear as if she were sitting by the pool with Eli and Stella. ‘…ivory?’

‘Sorry, Mei, you faded out there. It’s an ivory poaching gang we’re chasing, yes.’

‘China is the world’s biggest market for ivory, did you know that?’

‘I do now.’

‘You should come out. I can introduce you to some people. They’re further down the supply chain from the poachers. They might give you some clues to follow.’

Gabriel hardly needed to think. Grinning, he shot back his answer.

‘I will. That’s a great idea. I’ll call you when I arrive.’

He went outside to join Eli and Stella. Each woman had an empty plate in front of her. He spied fragments of herb and a couple of tiny chunks of fried onion.

‘That looks nice,’ he said. ‘What did you have?’

‘Omelettes,’ Stella said. She turned in her chair. ‘You see that woman there?’

Gabriel looked over to where a short, plump woman with braids piled on top of her head was working several pans at a series of portable gas burners.

‘Yes.’

‘Get her to make you one. They’re amazing.’

Feeling hungry after all, Gabriel made the short journey to the omelette chef and asked for peppers and chicken.

‘Coming right up!’ she said with a brilliant smile as she began cracking eggs into a bowl.

‘The forensic evidence on Lieberman looks really shaky,’ Eli said as Gabriel sat back down.

‘Shaky, how?’

‘Tell him, Stella.’

Stella took a swig of coffee.

‘The police markswoman had her throat cut.’ Stella paused. ‘Her name was Sarah Furey, by the way. The pathologist said it was a very sharp knife. Some sort of hunting model, or a combat knife. You know, the kind the gangbangers use.’

‘Did they find the knife on Lieberman?’

Stella nodded.

‘They did, but in the light of what we’ve found out here, we may have a problem. His fingerprints were all over it, but they were plastic prints. You know what that means?’

Gabriel shook his head.

‘You’ve got three basic types of prints. Latents are where the print is made in the skin oils from the perpetrator’s finger pads. You reveal them with dust or magnetic powders, or by fuming with superglue. Patents are where someone’s got their fingers covered in a medium like ink or paint or blood and when they touch something they leave a visible print. Plastics are where they touch something that takes an impression, like wet paint or fresh window putty.’

‘And Lieberman’s prints were made in the blood, is that what you’re saying?’

‘Yes.’

‘So he touched it after it was used to cut her throat.’

‘That’s what it looks like.’

‘Wait a minute. That blows a mile-wide hole in the police theory that he was the shooter. Someone else must have murdered her.’

Stella shook her head.

‘It’s not that simple. Lieberman’s prints were all over the rifle. The SIO, which isn’t me, by the way, is saying Lieberman must have got blood between his hand and the hilt when he was murdering Sarah.’

‘What about burnt propellant on his hands?’ Gabriel asked.

‘There was some gunshot residue, yes.’

‘Which could have been transferred from the real shooter to Lieberman,’ Eli said.

‘It’s possible,’ Stella conceded.

‘I’ve got some news,’ Gabriel said, breaking off to thank the waitress who brought his omelette over.

‘On the case?’ Eli asked.

‘Mm hmm,’ he said, biting into the fluffy, spicy creation he realised was the best omelette he’d ever tasted. ‘Mei said she knows people in the ivory trade. Apparently China’s where it all goes, or most of it. I’m going out there. See if I can get a lead on the poachers from that end of the chain.’

Eli frowned. ‘What about the meeting? We’re Stella’s,’ she glanced at Stella, ‘I mean Joyce’s bodyguards.’

‘I’ll be back by then. This is literally a flying visit,’ he said. ‘It’s a fifteen-hour flight from G-City to Hong Kong via Johannesburg. I can be there and back in three days. Four at the outside. And I really want to see Mei.’

‘I’m sure you do,’ Stella said. ‘You should go. Eli and I can do some digging. I want to know who runs the various rackets in G-City. And whether our mystery shooter really did stop here for a while and scuff his boots in the soil. We’ll keep ourselves busy and then we’ll go in mob-handed and find the bad guys.’

Stella frowned.

‘What is it?’ Gabriel said.

‘There something