To the Lions

by Holly Watt

  ‘They’re usually quite good, I thought, Wynford Mortimer.’ He was friendlier now, because he was bored and she was minding her own business and they had something in common.

  ‘Do you use them?’ She put a note of surprise in her voice, because why would someone in a café in Djanet use expensive Panama accountants?

  ‘Sometimes.’ And now he had hesitated so long by her table that she almost had to gesture, sit down, help yourself.

  ‘It’s Ed’s offshore accounts, really.’ She poured tea. ‘But I always end up organising him.’

  She smiled at him, the smile that no one could resist. He didn’t quite smile back, but he nodded to the waiter, who whisked across with some of the little biscuits.

  ‘I didn’t mean to be rude this morning,’ he said. ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ She flicked it away with her hand. ‘It’s good for Ed, having someone say no to him. Spoilt little rich boy.’

  But her smile took the sting out of the words.

  ‘That idiot Oliver wasn’t meant to talk to anyone,’ said Josh. ‘The bloody fool. And now he’s got some work crisis, so we’re delayed again.’

  ‘People should know,’ Casey said, ‘how to keep secrets.’

  They sat there, for a moment, in friendly agreement.

  Then Casey almost spoke, and hesitated. Josh looked up.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she said. ‘Just your tattoo.’

  She pointed to the iron eagle, black on his arm. Josh looked down at it, flexing his bicep almost without thinking.

  ‘It’s just . . .’ Her voice was sad. ‘I used to go out with Ethan Newell.’

  His head jerked at the name, and there was the sympathetic pause.

  It had taken Miranda only a few minutes to check. ‘I’m so sorry to bother you, Mrs Newell, like this, out of the blue. But I’m just writing an article about people in . . . your son’s situation. And I was wondering if you had a few minutes to tell me what it is like . . . For the family . . . I saw your campaign.’

  A casual few moments, listening to the tears.

  Then, ‘It must be so dreadful for you, Mrs Newell . . . I’m so sorry. And is there anyone else I could speak to about Ethan? A wife . . . Or a girlfriend? Oh, there were always lots of girls . . . He sounds quite the character, Mrs Newell . . .’

  Casey looked across the table in the dusty square in Djanet, and let her eyes fill with tears.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Josh. ‘What happened to Ethan . . . It was . . .’

  He rubbed his tattoo almost unconsciously.

  ‘Did you know him well?’

  ‘Not that well,’ said Josh. ‘I left a while back . . . But he was such a great guy.’

  And if Ethan had other girls, Josh would never mention it to a girl weeping in Djanet.

  ‘He was just so fun and exciting.’ Casey let her voice choke. ‘And so gorgeous, of course. And what happened to him . . .’

  ‘It could’ – Josh patted her hand awkwardly – ‘happen to any of us.’

  Except, of course, it couldn’t. It could never happen to just anyone.

  It had been a funny sort of coup, that one. Launched by a raggle-taggle of gamblers and daredevils. Funded by a charming rogue, and the prodigal son of some careless politician. Spurred on by some shady characters from nobody quite knew where.

  They’d flown in, with their rocket launchers and AKs, pausing only to refuel one last time before the assault on that tiny country, that speck right on the edge of Africa. A speck with oil though, so much oil. And a dictator so vicious it could almost be a liberation.

  Except that it wasn’t. Not quite.

  As they landed, on that potholed runway in the middle of Zimbabwe, they were surrounded. By searchlights and soldiers and the sudden gasping realisation that it wasn’t going to be all right. Not this time. And not ever.

  For a second, Casey imagined sitting on that ghostly plane. The rows of mercenaries, gathered from the darkest places, blinking in the sudden light of a torch.

  They’d been dragged off the plane, and paraded in shackles. Hauled to a show trial, and condemned for an endless number of years. And now Ethan was rotting, as far as anyone knew, in a rat-infested prison somewhere, nowhere. Buried uncheckably deep, in the loneliest of cells. Alive, they thought, probably.

  Josh would never be able to check who Ethan knew, or didn’t.

  The politician’s son had been all right, of course, and the charming rogue. The money was always all right. But Ethan and his men were lost for ever.

  ‘It was on and off, the two of us,’ Casey went on, just in case. ‘But I loved him. I really did.’

  ‘He was a good guy, Ethan,’ said Josh. ‘It must have been fucking terrible for you, and his whole family, all that business.’

  ‘I don’t think he’ll ever get out.’ Casey blotted away a tear. ‘I think about him every day.’

  ‘I wish we could have done more,’ said Josh. ‘For one of our guys. But it was so fucked up, all of it.’

  ‘I know people tried,’ said Casey. ‘His mother’s still trying to get him out.’

  ‘Poor old girl,’ said Josh. ‘And our government never lifted a finger for him, of course, with their stupid mercenary laws.’

  He looked at her, as she had known he would, almost protective. She was one of them; and she’d loved one of them.

  ‘You don’t think it’s bad, do you?’ Casey asked tentatively. ‘Me moving on with Ed? I waited for years, you know. Waited and waited. We don’t even know if he is alive any more.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Josh reassured her. ‘It was a shit situation, and you’ve got to live. Somehow.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She smiled up at him. ‘It means so much to hear you say that.’

  He smiled at her, enjoying the power of his forgiveness.

  ‘It’s lovely spending time with someone who knew Ethan.’ She fiddled with her teacup. ‘Tell me some stories about him. I love to hear them.’

  So he told her stories about their lives, in South Africa. And she filed them away, all of them, for use someday.

  She watched him, as he sat there, checking every person who came into the square, drawn to movement. Reading their eyes and their clothes, their walk and their gestures. With flickers of restless energy, he stared at the Algerians, who were oblivious to the tall white man at the café table. Even as he was talking, he was always moving, twitching a foot, stirring the tea, shredding a napkin.

  And when he ran out of stories about Ethan, she asked him about Libya. Just carelessly, so he didn’t even notice that he was talking about it.

  ‘I’d love to see it,’ she said, in the end. ‘Libya sounds so incredible.’

  ‘It’s a shame . . .’ he started, but she waved him away.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. I understand completely. It’s your thing.’

  She looked around for the waiter, with a wave big enough to be seen by Ed all the way across the square, in a gloomy alley where he would never be noticed.

  ‘Don’t worry about it at all,’ she said. ‘And besides, Ed wants to head out there at some point anyway. You’ve given him some crazy ideas.’

  ‘It might be . . .’ He stopped. ‘It would be dangerous for just the two of you out there . . . You mustn’t . . .’

  ‘We’ll see.’ She was careless. ‘We’d be fine, I’m sure. And I’ve seen Ed shoot. He’s good, it’s not just talk. Oh, look, there he is now. I was wondering where he’d got to.’

  And by now Josh was friendly enough to wave as Ed crossed the square.

  ‘Please don’t mention Ethan to him,’ Casey whispered urgently. ‘Ed doesn’t like hearing about Ethan.’

  So now they had a secret, Casey and Josh, and he wouldn’t be asking her about Ethan again.

  ‘We’re friends now.’ Casey introduced Josh to Ed.

  ‘Sorry about not letting you come along,’ said Josh. ‘It’s just tricky . . . and anyway, I’m sure Oliver was bullshitting about what it is.’
>
  Ed waved it away too: ‘Couldn’t matter less, dude. We’ll find our own fun. We always do, somehow.’

  They sat and chatted, the waiter bringing them chopped-up fruit, and more tea. Josh was joking now, and they laughed back, as they stretched in the sun.

  ‘Did Oliver say how long he would be?’ asked Ed, in the end, as the sun dipped to the rooftops.

  ‘I hope we’ll be able to leave tomorrow morning,’ said Josh. ‘Be annoying if we can’t, but guess I’ll have to wait for that paycheck.’

  He watched as she laughed, and she thought: it would be a mistake to underestimate you. And still, he didn’t offer. And there was no way to ask.

  They wandered to get some dinner, in the cool of the Palais. Selby appeared for a moment.

  ‘Good to see you guys. It’s sorting itself out,’ he said. ‘Just some stupid rumour that sent my company haywire. Pain in the arse, but it’s going to be fine, thank fuck. Tomorrow morning? Yeah, Josh, don’t worry. That should be fine.’

  He grabbed food, spun back towards his room.

  Their talk was idle. Above Josh’s head, a gecko was creeping along the wall. Step and pause, and step and pause. Insects flickered around the light, hypnotised.

  There must be a way through the maze, thought Casey. Find it.

  ‘Christ, there is nothing to do in this town.’ Josh leaned back in his seat. ‘Never been stuck here for two nights.’

  Above Josh’s head, the gecko pounced, faster than she could see, scattering the drunken flutter. Only a moment, and then the insects were back. The gecko chewed slowly.

  ‘Won’t be a moment.’ Casey stood up.

  Miranda had given her Selby’s room number. Casey paused for a moment, actress in the wings. The knock echoed.

  He was genial, as he opened the door, amiable even. Almost confused, behind the polish. A man and a woman in a hotel room, that only meant one thing. And women found him attractive, she remembered, from that night in Gigi’s.

  She could see he had been working at a small plywood desk. The Berber rug was littered with clothes, and his laptop glowed mutely. The air was stale.

  Casey closed the door, and leaned against it for a second. She let the silence shiver. He waited, the questions floating up from the dark.

  ‘Oliver . . .’ The syllables dropped like stones into an icy pool. ‘Oliver . . . Selby.’

  The surname stunned him. His spine went rigid.

  ‘Don’t even think about it.’ She shut it down. ‘They know I’m here. They know you’re here, too.’

  A long pause, and she watched calculations snap through his head.

  ‘Who?’ The word was ragged.

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ She swept it away. ‘You are going to get us on the journey to Libya. Do you understand?’

  A glimmer of understanding.

  ‘But he won’t let you,’ said Selby. ‘He’s very clear about it.’

  ‘I know that.’ Casey never looked away. ‘And I don’t give a fuck. Because if you don’t get Ed and me on that trip, I am going to destroy you. I know who you are, and I know what you do, and I know enough to prove it to anyone.’

  ‘But I can’t.’ Selby’s voice was empty. ‘There isn’t a way.’

  ‘There is always a way’ – Casey punched out the words – ‘And you’ll find it, because you have to.’

  ‘He doesn’t want you there. He said there was no fucking way. He was furious, this morning, after we drove off. I thought he would scrap the whole thing, even me going.’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘But I haven’t even done anything yet.’ Selby looked almost petulant, like a spoiled child faced with an outing rained off. ‘You trapped me, with your stupid games, didn’t you?’ he spat. ‘That was all a fucking scam. And I can’t bloody do it anyway.’

  ‘I don’t care what you have to do,’ Casey said. ‘You’ll do it.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘You will. You’ll beg, if you have to.’

  ‘Blackmailing bitch.’

  ‘Yes.’

  The silence filled the room.

  ‘And don’t even consider taking us out there, just to kill us out in the desert,’ said Casey. ‘There’s someone who knows already, back in London, and if we disappear . . .’

  ‘Are you a fucking journalist?’

  ‘No.’ The lie was easy. ‘I work for a very rich man, and he heard about Josh and his operation. He sent me here to find out about it.’

  He half-believed her, only because he was desperate to believe.

  ‘Why don’t you just tell Josh then? He might go for it anyway, if you give him enough money.’

  ‘He doesn’t trust me,’ she snapped. ‘He trusts you though, fuck knows why. And you are going to use that.’

  ‘But I don’t know how.’

  ‘You’re an intelligent man,’ she said. ‘Work it out. For starters, you’re going to delay us in Djanet for another night. It’ll give us more time.’

  And more time for Selby to think of an escape too, she thought. But she would take that risk.

  The laptop flashed a message, and Selby glanced away for a moment.

  ‘Make this happen,’ said Casey. ‘Or I will ruin you.’

  He stared at her. Casey met his eyes without a flicker. The seconds ticked by.

  ‘All right.’ Selby crossed over. ‘All right.’

  ‘Good,’ said Casey. ‘I knew you would see sense.’

  ‘But who are you?’

  He watched her contemptuous smile. ‘I’ll never tell you.’ She was turning away. ‘Just do this, and you’ll never hear from me again. I promise you. Do this, and I will disappear.’

  25

  As she rejoined the others, she signalled to Ed. All done. Let’s go. Now. They said goodnight to Josh, with the amiable shrugs that could have been a friendship or a farewell. Might be around tomorrow. Yeah, cool. See you.

  In the morning, Casey and Ed ambled round the souk. The day ticked past, painfully slow. There was no sign of Josh or Selby. Miranda kept watch on the hotel, but the black pickup never moved.

  In the still of the afternoon, Casey slipped into the Palais and knocked on Selby’s door. He opened it as if he’d been waiting.

  ‘I can’t think of a way.’ The words rushed out. ‘It’s not going to work.’

  He was scratching his scalp as he talked, twitching with nerves.

  ‘It has to.’

  ‘I spoke to him last night. I said you seemed like a fun pair. Would be a laugh to have you along. He said it was out of the question, and that it all had to be agreed far in advance.’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to change that.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘You will.’

  ‘But what if I can’t? You won’t—’

  ‘What does he like?’ She changed direction. ‘What is he interested in?

  ‘I don’t know,’ Selby was impatient. ‘I barely know the man.’

  It wasn’t Charlton, she thought, behind it all. There was someone else, deeper in the shadows.

  ‘What did you talk about after we left last night? What did you do?’

  ‘We played poker.’ Selby winced. ‘He knows what he’s doing there too.’

  A gambler, then.

  ‘Did he take a lot off you?’

  ‘Nothing I can’t afford to lose. And I’ll get it back.’

  ‘Is he the sort to go back on a bet?’

  A pause. ‘Probably not.’

  Amar Opening. Steinitz Countergambit. Alekhine’s Defence.

  ‘Tell Josh,’ she said, ‘that you asked us to join you for dinner.’

  Later that evening, after dinner, they moved to the padded sofas in the half-darkness of the covered terrace. Selby sprawled across a bench meant for two. A waiter was standing nearby, head bowed over a notepad. He was young and awkward, dropping his pen and apologising, sorry, mister. Isa, he’d bobbed his head to Casey earlier. My name is Isa.

  Josh was reaching for a pack of c
ards.

  ‘You should play Ed at chess,’ Casey said lazily to Josh. ‘Though I bet he’d hammer you.’

  ‘You reckon?’ Josh’s drawl.

  ‘I know,’ she smiled.

  ‘You haven’t seen me play.’

  ‘Sometimes’ – she met his eye – ‘you just know.’

  ‘Go on, Josh,’ jeered Selby. ‘If you dare, of course.’

  Casey moved to the low table, where the chess set shone.

  ‘Ten grand if you win,’ Ed joined in. ‘And ten grand if I beat you. But you also take me to Libya.’

  Josh paused, then smiled. ‘You won’t win.’

  And, in the flicker of the candlelight, they shook hands.

  Earlier, she’d primed Ed. K is for King, Q is Queen . . .

  Now, Ed and Josh faced each other, on padded benches. Opposite Selby, Casey pulled up a recliner for herself, picking up an abandoned novel. She was almost at the head of their table.

  Josh held out both hands, in fists.

  ‘Left,’ said Ed, and that was the white pawn.

  ‘Ever been to Rio?’ Casey asked Josh. ‘For the carnival. I was reading an article about it this morning.’

  And as she spoke, she held the book with one hand, four fingers visible. First letter of her sentence, four across, E4.

  And Ed moved a pawn, two steps forward.

  ‘Only once.’ Josh never hesitated. A pawn, two steps also. ‘Not during the carnival.’

  The Sicilian Defence. So Josh knew this game. Even after all this, it might end in defeat.

  It couldn’t.

  ‘Could we go soon?’ Casey pleaded, hiding one finger. ‘Or Mexico. Day of the Dead. Such fun, all that.’

  Ed shifted a pawn one square.

  ‘Whenever you want,’ Ed smiled at her.

  ‘Next year, maybe,’ she said, not moving her hand.

  N, gracelessly, for the knight that leapt across the board. Dragon Variation, the ballet step.

  Here be dragons.

  Black on white, the game went on. Isa brought the shisha, smiling, with its clouds of smoke. Selby jabbed at his phone. And Casey tried to remember everything she had known, once upon a time.

  The Cyclops, the Minotaur, the treasure hunt, hide and seek.

  The pieces fell away, one by one. A knight cut down here, a bishop defrocked there.