by L. A. Larkin
‘Not now he’s dead.’ Wolfe has checked that Butcher and Ponnappa are alive and well and told them about Nguyen’s arrest and murder. ‘But I can’t believe the conference went ahead anyway.’
‘And the vote, too,’ Caroline says. ‘I’m just glad it’s over. All I want to do now is get on a plane home.’
‘After what Nguyen did to try to rig it, I’m surprised at the result,’ says Wolfe.
Of the 143 member countries that voted on the motion to lift the ban on the international trade in rhino horn, twenty-two abstained, sixty voted to lift it, and sixty-one in favour of upholding it.
‘I changed my mind,’ says Caroline. ‘I voted to uphold the ban.’
‘Your vote tipped the balance. Can I ask you why?’
‘I know what you’re thinking. I did what Nguyen wanted. But this isn’t about what that evil man wanted. It’s about what I believe is the right way to tackle the issue.’
‘You weren’t–’
‘Intimidated? No. I changed my mind long before Nguyen tried to kill me.’
‘Why?’
‘A briefing paper from the International Consortium on Combating Wildlife Crime. In their view, a legal trade sends a message that it’s okay to buy horn. It undoes all the good work done by conservation charities to change attitudes in places like Vietnam.’
Wolfe hears her name called, looks up and sees Hannah Venter waving at her from the other side of the bar. Hannah makes her way to them. A nose-guard covers her broken nose. Her face is swollen, and she has eggplant coloured bruises under both eyes. Samuel had given her quite a beating.
Wolfe gives Hannah a hug and introduces Caroline.
‘I can’t believe you made it,’ Wolfe says. ‘I thought you were consigned to bed.’
‘Nothing was going to stop me voting,’ Hannah says, wincing. Moving her jaw even a fraction is clearly painful. She takes Wolfe’s hands. ‘You saved my life. I can’t thank you enough.’
‘You’d have done the same for me. Any news on Dan?’ Wolfe asks her. ‘I phoned the hospital, but they won’t tell me anything.’
‘I won’t lie, Olivia. He’s pretty bad. But he’s conscious. He’s asked after you.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes. He’s insisted your name is on his visitors’ list.’
‘He has a list?’
‘He’s protected around the clock by a British police officer. He’s a key witness in Sackville’s trial. As you are.’
Wolfe falls silent. She doesn’t want to think about the months, even years, it will take to get somebody as powerful as Harold Sackville to trial and then having to relive it all on a witness stand.
Caroline steps in to fill the hiatus in the conversation.
‘Hannah, I’m so sorry to hear about your father.’
‘At least now I know what happened and that those responsible have been dealt with. My wounds will heal. I’ll survive. Sadly, my rhinos probably won’t.’ Hannah’s face creases and her eyes grow watery. ‘I’d better leave before I embarrass myself. I need an early night.’
They watch Hannah go.
‘I need to get some sleep too,’ says Caroline, standing awkwardly, one hand under her belly. ‘I fly back to London in the morning.’
Caroline takes Wolfe’s arm and they leave the bar. ‘Liv, I know I haven’t been a good friend recently.’
‘Don’t be daft.’
‘No please. Let me say this. When the media went after you because of your relationship with Yushkov, I turned my back on you. I feel ashamed. I’m sorry.’
‘Forget about it.’
‘I was wrong about Yushkov,’ Caroline adds.
‘I’m not sure you were. I really don’t know who he is anymore. I suppose I should be happy he did the right thing in the end–’
‘In the end?’ asks Caroline.
‘Yes, shooting Blunt. He must have had a last-minute change of heart.’
Caroline stops, takes Wolfe’s hands. ‘My dear friend, you’ve got it all wrong. Remember when he bent down at the pool’s edge and spoke to me?’
‘Yes. You looked terrified.’
‘I was terrified. But not because he threatened me.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘He told me he was your friend. That a man had been sent to kill me. And he was going to help me.’
‘But he tried to kill Agent Stone.’
‘No, he incapacitated Agent Stone, then used his gun to kill Blunt.’
‘You’re saying he never intended to kill you?’
‘He never intended to kill me,’ says Caroline emphatically. ‘I am eternally in his debt. My baby too.’
103
Hospitals always smell of cooked cabbage and disinfectant, and shoes seem to squeak loudest on their floors. It’s late. Visiting time is about to end, but Wolfe hopes they’ll make an exception. Too wired to sleep, she’s decided to visit Casburn.
Above the double swing doors of Johannesburg Hospital’s Trauma Unit, a sign directs visitors to use the antiseptic handwash in a pump on the wall. Wolfe does so and enquires at a desk for Dan Casburn. She’s asked for proof of ID. The nurse makes a phone call. Wolfe gets the okay.
‘ICU, Room 8,’ the nurse says. ‘I’ll take you, I’m going that way.’
Wolfe is led through the emergency ward. Doctors and nurses scuttle around a man with a hole in his stomach so big she can see his intestines. She passes a gurney: a teenager’s leg is shattered and bloody. The ward is crowded and noisy: the beds, monitoring screens, respiratory and other equipment separated by a flimsy blue curtain.
‘Gang war,’ the nurse says.
‘How is Dan doing?’
‘Stable. He’s a lucky man. The bullet missed his heart by a few millimetres. But he was in deep haemorrhagic shock when he was admitted.’
Through a set of swing doors and down a long corridor, they arrive at a small unit of eight intensive care cubicles for patients that need a dedicated round-the-clock nurse. The front wall is glass. Four are occupied. A patient and a nurse in each.
‘He’s in the one at the end.’
A police officer in casual dress sees her and stands, affording her a glimpse of his gun and holster beneath his open jacket.
‘ID?’ the officer demands. He checks it, then pats her down, removing her phone. ‘I’ll hang on to this.’ He pockets it. ‘You’re the only journalist on the list, so don’t push it. Everything’s off the record, right?’ His Glaswegian accent is pronounced.
‘Right.’
Casburn is in a pale blue hospital gown, eyes shut. There is a drip in his arm, an oxygen tube in his nose, and so many other tubes attached to him and beeping machines behind him, she wonders how he can sleep. A nurse sits in a chair to the right of the bed. Her name tag says Evelyn. She smiles at Wolfe. A wall-mounted TV is on, tuned to a SATV news channel.
‘How is he?’ Wolfe asks her.
‘Alive,’ Casburn answers, before the nurse can. He opens his eyes.
‘Doing well,’ says the nurse. ‘Don’t tire him.’
There is a chair near the bed. Wolfe takes it.
‘I never thought I’d see you in a dress,’ says Wolfe mischievously, eyeing his hospital gown.
‘I never thought you’d visit me in hospital,’ Casburn replies.
‘Got this for you,’ Wolfe says, opening up her new go-bag and pulling out a daffodil in a yellow ceramic pot with a smiley face on the side. Miraculously the hospital shop was still open when she arrived. She places it proudly on the over-bed table. ‘Ta-dah!’
‘No, no,’ says the nurse. ‘Not in here. No flowers.’ She opens the door and hands the smiling daffodil to the officer outside.
‘A smiley face?’ Casburn says, clearly amused.
‘Thought it would cheer you up.’
‘I’m not a good patient.’
‘I can imagine.’ She grins. ‘Have you heard about Nguyen?’
‘Yeah, his murder really pissed me off. As far as I’m concerned
, death was too good for him.’
‘Look on the bright side. His syndicate is finished.’
‘It’s an international shitstorm, that’s for sure. Every law enforcement agency under the sun is trying to muscle in on this.’
‘Wish I’d been there to see Sackville arrested.’
‘You and me both. Sorry you never got to publish the story.’
‘Moz isn’t happy.’
‘You’re a key witness, Olivia.’
‘I know. It kind of limits what I can print. But once I’ve testified, I can tell my story. I’ve just got to be patient, which isn’t my strong point.’
‘We worked out why Nguyen wanted Venter, the Russian woman, the Fin, and the lad from Swaziland to disappear.’
‘It’s something to do with the vote?’
‘Yes. They were all relatives of the convention delegates. None of them had the delegates’ surnames, which is why no one connected the dots. The lad from Swaziland was a grandson. The Russian woman was a sister. The Finnish man, a brother. Venter was the only one whose name was on the delegates list. Nguyen was blackmailing the delegates to force them to vote the way he wanted. They were told their relatives were alive and would be returned unharmed once the vote was over, as long as they did what he said.’
‘And Caroline’s death was going to look like accidental drowning?’
‘Yeah, it was.’ Casburn glances at the nurse. She’s watching the TV. ‘Can we have a moment in private, Evelyn?’
‘Sorry. You have to have a nurse with you at all times.’ Evelyn resumes watching the TV news, at least pretending she’s not listening to their conversation.
‘It’s coming back to me,’ Casburn says, his voice hushed. ‘In flashes. Samuel. What he did to you. I’m sorry.’
The mention of Samuel makes her skin creep. ‘I’m not the one full of bullet holes.’
‘I’d be dead if it wasn’t for you. The way you handled him was… remarkable. Kept him talking. Controlled your fear, your pain. Played him at his own game. You’re wasted in journalism.’
Wolfe breaks the eye contact. She doesn’t feel proud. Far from it. ‘I lost it, Dan. At the end, after all he had done to me. I wanted to kill him.’
‘You killed him in self-defence. End of story.’
As Wolfe leaves the Trauma ward, her phone beeps. Owethu has returned her call and left a voicemail. She wanted to know that he and Mama Gcina were safe. She listens to Owethu’s voice message:
I have Mr Ximba’s laptop. I kept it hidden from the police. Now that Msiza’s been arrested, what do I do with it?
She phones him back. Despite the late hour, Owethu answers.
‘I’ll meet you in the morning,’ Wolfe says. ‘I’ll hand it in. That way, nobody need know you took it.’
‘Thank you, Olivia,’ Owethu says. ‘Now my father can die in peace.’
104
She hears a whimper and opens her eyes. Covered in sweat, Wolfe has no idea where she is. The room is dark. She’s lying on her side, curled up, the sheet gripped so tightly that her fingernails have left dark pink indentations in her palms. Ahead, a gap in the curtains reveals a slice of a cityscape at night, the orange glow of sodium-vapor lights painting the underside of an overcast sky a sickly brown. Johannesburg. Her own whimper woke her. A nightmare. Samuel peeling skin off her body, piece by piece.
She blinks at the clock: 3.53am. Straightening her legs sends a spasm of pain through her abdomen. The painkillers have worn off. There’s a glass of water on the bedside table. The painkillers are in the bathroom. She is loath to sit up and go and get them, anticipating the throbbing agony that would accompany the effort. A ribbon of light under the hotel room door refracts in rainbow shades through a cut-glass tumbler on her bedside table.
Wolfe freezes.
Reflected in the mirror on the opposite wall is a solid shape. A person. Sitting on the bed, behind her.
Groggy, she racks her brain for a weapon to use. She has none. Last night, close to collapse, it had been all she could do to pop some pills, undress and get into bed. She fell asleep immediately. She hadn’t considered she might still be in danger.
‘Olivia?’
She catches her breath.
‘I had to see you,’ Yushkov says.
Wolfe struggles to sit up, wincing. She lets out a small groan with the effort.
‘Put the light on, will you?’ she asks, panting softly. ‘You’re creeping me out in the dark.’
The sudden glare of the bedside light makes her blink. Yushkov smiles.
‘When you sleep, you are so beautiful.’
‘Don’t do that.’
‘Do what?’
‘That thing where you put me off my guard.’
Yushkov gets up, his movements stiff.
‘Where are you going?’
‘We both need painkillers. Bathroom?’
‘Yes.’
He stoops slightly. Returning with a sachet of ibuprofen, he gives her two tablets and takes two for himself, which he swallows without water.
‘Can I sit with you?’
Her mind yells tell him to leave, but her heart says otherwise.
Yushkov sees her confusion. ‘I’m sorry you were caught up in this.’
‘I know you saved Caroline’s life. And I thank you for that. But tell me one thing. Why work for a man like Nguyen?’
Yushkov looks away. Silent.
‘Do you know what Samuel did to me?’ she peels back the dressing on her arm. The skin either side of the sutures is inflamed. ‘He cut me. Here, and here.’ She lifts her T-shirt so he can see the dressing on her stomach. ‘He was skinning me. Alive.’
He tries to take her hand. She snatches it away.
‘Do you know what I had to do to stop him?’ Her face is screwed up. Not with rage. With self-loathing. ‘I had to seduce that sick fuck. Offer myself to him. Do you have any idea how filthy that makes me feel? How disgusting? I swear to God, if I’d had to go through with it… I don’t think I could ever…’ She hugs her knees to her chest and rocks back and forth.
Yushkov has turned his head away. ‘I am so sorry, Olivia.’
‘Look at me!’ She takes his chin and turns his face towards her. He will not make eye contact. ‘Please, Vitaly, look at me.’ His are wet. ‘Why, Vitaly? Why protect Nguyen?’
‘Do you know what it is like to desire one life and be forced to live another?’
‘How could someone force you to work for Nguyen?’
‘If I tell you, I’m a dead man.’
‘No, you’re a survivor. You’ll find a way. Tell me.’
His jaw tightens. ‘What about Casburn?’
‘I won’t tell him.’
There is doubt in his eyes. ‘I see the way he is with you. He wants you.’
‘You saw that? When?’
He reaches out his hand and lays his palm over her heart. ‘He wants this.’
Wolfe pushes his hand away. ‘You’re not making any sense.’
‘Casburn tortured me. Let my sister die. Accused me of something I did not do. Destroyed my life. And now he wants to take from me the only person I have left. You.’
‘That’s crazy. He couldn’t stop the Russians killing your sister. He cleared your name. Let you leave England a free man.’
‘He wants you to think this. Do not trust Casburn, Olivia.’
‘I don’t think you have a right to tell me what I can or cannot do. You chose to work for Nguyen. And you kept doing it, even when you knew he’d sent that monster after me. You have no right to criticise a man who almost died bringing Nguyen to justice.’
‘I want you to be happy. But not with Casburn. Anybody but Casburn.’
‘Stop this, Vitaly. I just can’t do this anymore. It tears me apart. Please, just go.’
In three angry strides Yushkov is at the door. She thinks he will yank it open. Instead, he leans his brow against it. ‘You struck a deal with Casburn, remember?’
‘Yes, I remember. Yo
u got a pardon and a new life.’
‘There was more to that deal.’
‘Go on.’
‘My pardon came at a price.’
‘Yes. Never return to England. I know.’
‘No, you don’t know,’ he says, bitterly. He turns to face her, his back to the door. ‘There was more. I am forever bound to your country.’
‘What does that mean?’
He looks down. Wolfe gets out of bed.
‘Tell me, please.’
‘I am controlled by your Secret Intelligence Service. Your MI6. Casburn set it up. He said if I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life being tortured in an Egyptian prison, I must work for them.’
Wolfe shakes her head. ‘That can’t be right. We agreed you would be free, to do as you like.’
Yushkov shakes his head. ‘Casburn was very clear on one thing. You must never know. He said if I told you, I will be terminated.’
‘He wouldn’t do that.’
‘I did not choose to come to South Africa. I was sent here. MI6, they gave me a new identity, Dmitry Lazarev. They wanted to take down Nguyen and the syndicate. MI6 needed proof. Two British spies tried and failed to infiltrate his syndicate. They were killed. I was sent undercover. I am Russian, so I am expendable.’
Wolfe’s mind is a whir of questions. ‘Why didn’t Casburn use you to capture Samuel?’
‘He did not know I was embedded with Nguyen. MI6 and SO24 do not talk. You must know this, Olivia.’
‘Okay, the spooks don’t like sharing. I get that. But show me something, anything that proves Casburn set you up.’
‘There is no proof. All I have is a phone number. A woman. She is MI5. Tells me what to do. Tomorrow, I get a new assignment. With a new identity. You must decide, Olivia, if you believe me, or Casburn.’
Wolfe takes him in her arms. ‘I was wrong to doubt you,’ she says.
‘I am tired of living, Olivia.’
‘We’ll find a way. Come to bed. Sleep. We’ll work this out in the morning.’
Yushkov climbs into bed beside her, his body tucked into the back of hers, their fingers entwined. They sleep.
She wakes. It’s 8.11am. There is no weight on the mattress next to her. Just a dent left in a pillow.
