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

A bottle of Chassagne-Montrachet sat in an aluminium ice bucket, its sides beaded with condensation. Gabriel had selected it, white burgundy being his favourite wine. Its creamy toast-and-butter and apricots’ flavour reminded him of long evenings sitting in the garden in Aldeburgh with Eli.

‘Cheers, ladies!’ he said, raising his glass. They clinked rims and drank. ‘So, now we’re all here, do you want to tell me about G-City?’

Stella and Eli took turns describing their final, fateful meeting in the Oasis Lounge. When Eli reached the part where the Syrian contract killer had tried to set them up, Gabriel sat forward.

‘Syrian?’

‘That’s what he said. We think he was telling the truth, don’t we, Stel?’

Stella nodded.

‘He was close to death and he knew it.’

‘Did he say who hired him to kill the princess?’

‘No,’ Eli said. ‘He died right after we asked him.’

‘He denied it was the Israelis and we got the whole confession on film,’ Stella added. ‘It’s back in England being processed by our forensics people.’

‘What about you, Gabe?’ Eli asked. ‘What did you turn up in Dubai?’

‘Not a lot, to be honest. The guy running the processing factory hinted he might know people, but I think he was bluffing, trying to get something for nothing. But, I did take this.’

He pulled out his phone and showed them the picture of the pennant.

‘What does that say?’ Stella asked, executing a deft reverse-pinch on the screen to enlarge the image. ‘Boer what?’

‘Boerevryheid an Regte. It means Boer Freedom and Rights. They’re a white separatist movement in South Africa.’

‘You think they were involved somehow?’

‘They’re doing business with the boss of an ivory-carving factory. That means they’re involved in the illegal trade. South Africa is Botswana’s southern neighbour, so there’s a good chance their involvement is at the sharp end. Or, as my new friend Yusuf would probably call it, the top of the supply chain.’

‘They’re poaching,’ Stella said. ‘Makes sense. Movements need money. Ivory’s incredibly valuable.’

‘And they’d have guns, too, Hunting rifles, shotguns, whatever,’ Eli added, sitting forward.

‘I’ll tell you what else is interesting,’ Stella said. ‘It’s been on my mind since the other night.’ She sipped her wine. ‘That is, actually, the nicest bottle of wine I have ever tasted.’

‘Come on,’ Eli said, ‘don’t keep us in suspense.’

‘Sorry. Why was the Syrian guy in Botswana? Bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?’

Eli opened her mouth, then closed it again. She frowned and put a finger to the top of her nose.

Gabriel leaned closer and dropped his voice, even though the nearest person was several yards distant.

‘Let’s work it backwards. He kills the princess in Windsor. We think he meets and kills Lieberman there, too. He left soil from Botswana in the sniper nest.’

‘So he’d come from there. We know Lieberman didn’t,’ Eli said.

‘But why? Why was he in Bots in the first place?’

‘Another hit?’ Stella asked.

‘I don’t see it, do you? Those guys are expensive hires. Crime in Bots seemed to be mostly low-level thuggery.’

‘Apart from the ivory poaching,’ Stella said. Then her eyes lit up. ‘That’s it! What if al-Javari was involved, too?’

‘In the poaching?’ Gabriel asked.

‘Yes!’

‘How?’

‘I don’t know. Was he protection?’

‘Wait,’ Eli said in an urgent whisper. ‘Don’t forget the BVR angle. You’ve got South African white separatists and a Syrian contract killer active in Botswana at the same time. He killed Princess Alexandra. It looks at least possible that they were involved in killing the Paras and the Botswana guys. Two sets of foreign killers in one place. They’re linked. They must be.’

Stella closed the distance between her and Eli still further, shuffling her chair closer.

‘Slow down, Eli. I agree it looks suspicious. But we have no evidence linking him to them. It’s all circumstantial.’

Eli sat back and folded her arms across her chest.

‘They are. I’m telling you. I can feel it,’ she hissed. ‘I know about contract killers and I know how the need for a homeland drives people on, sometimes beyond where they should go.’

Gabriel finished his glass and signalled to the waiter for another bottle.

‘Aren’t we forgetting something?’ he asked.

‘What?’ Eli said.

‘The client for the shooting,’ he said. ‘Who paid al-Javari?’

‘That,’ Stella said with finality, ‘is the sixty-four thousand dollar question.’ She leaned forwards. ‘There’s something I wanted to tell you. I heard from my boss, Callie, earlier. She wants me back in London. Now we know it was al-Javari, there’s nothing more for me to do out here. I need to be back there, where our resources are.’

Gabriel saw Eli’s face fall as Stella delivered the news. He realised how close the two women had become over the previous couple of weeks. He liked Stella, too, but Eli and she had formed a close bond. Strengthened, no doubt, by fighting their way out of the Oasis Lounge and then offing a Syrian contract killer.

‘Can we meet up in London?’ Eli asked.

‘Sure!’ Stella said with a smile. ‘It would be a great idea for you to talk to Callie. Give her your take on events.’

‘I meant,’ Eli hesitated, ‘socially.’

‘I’d love that,’ Stella said, smiling. ‘When you’re back, call me. We’ll go out for a few wines.’

Eli nodded, then went to Stella and hugged her. As he watched the two women embrace, Gabriel felt some of the tension that had knotted up his guts leave him. He inhaled deeply and sighed it out. He was thinking about the soil. Three men and one woman had been on that training tower. What were they missing?

39

Three days later, Gabriel was returning from the Avis office on Rue Setthathirath behind the leather steering wheel of a long, low Mercedes CLS in a dazzling white paint job. He’d cruised back, enjoying the admiring stares of little boys, who grinned and waved as he purred past them. He smiled and waved back, trying out his Laotian through the open window.

‘Suh-bye-dee!’ Hello!

‘Sa bai di bo?’ How are you?

The boys would grin even wider, revealing dazzling teeth and clap their palms together at their sternum in a respectful nop, shouting back the greeting,