Amie in Africa Box Set 1

by Lucinda E Clarke

  “You’re so kind, Gerrit, and that’s a great idea. I can’t thank you enough.” Amie took another sip of the brandy and kicked herself again. What if Gerrit had some ideas about how she could thank him. It was too soon after Jonathon. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” she added.

  “Not at all. I can tell it’s been a tough day for you. Not too much of that brandy now. You still need to collect your car from the hospital and drive home. It’s not very far, but you don’t want to get picked up by the police. Would you like me to follow you, just to be sure you make it safely?”

  Amie wavered. She knew that would make sense but would Gerrit want to come in … to the Spa … to her room?

  “Well … I suppose …” she began.

  “That’s settled then. I’ll make sure you get back safely, then I’ll pick you up tomorrow around twelve. Drink up now, and we’ll get going.”

  Amie drank the rest of her brandy, the warmth seeping through her veins, and she realised if she didn’t get home soon, she might not make it at all.

  At the car, Gerrit held her door for her, drove back to the hospital and then followed her back to the Spa.

  As soon as she had parked up Gerrit came around and went to take her in his arms. For a brief moment, Amie felt her body relax in his embrace, and then the memory of Jonathan’s last interrupted love making snapped into her brain. She pulled away.

  “I can’t Gerrit, not now. It’s too soon.” She knew he would take her words the wrong way, thinking too soon meant after her friend’s murder without ever knowing that her husband had been murdered too. Perhaps tomorrow she would tell him. Perhaps he would understand.

  “It’s not a problem, Felicity, I’m in no hurry. I’ll come for you tomorrow though, and we’ll see what can be done at the Consulate.”

  “Thank you. Thank you for everything. Until tomorrow then. Good night.” Amie tottered through the Spa’s front door, only slightly tipsy. It had been a long time since she’d had a drink alone with a man she’d only just met, it brought back long forgotten memories of her youth.

  When she reached her room, it seemed horribly empty. Amie threw her bag on a chair wondering what she was going to say the next day at the British Consulate, or if she should even go there. Would they let her phone the embassy in Apatu? Of course, they would, it would all be sorted tomorrow.

  Everywhere she went, death seemed to follow her, so many people she’d known who were no longer alive. Maybe I’m jinxed, she thought as she stripped off to take a shower, everyone who gets to know Amie Fish takes a short cut to heaven.

  After towelling herself dry she raided the mini bar and knocked back another little brandy, and then decided to attack Vivienne’s travelling case. There seemed no point in worrying whether she would damage something that wasn’t hers, its owner had no use for it any more.

  The only tool she could find for the job was a small pair of nail scissors, and by the time she’d poked a hole near the lock, her hands were bruised and sore. Still she continued attacking the hard, outer shell, digging further round the dial to pry it free from the case. She refused to give up and it was the early hours before finally the lock bent back, cracked away from the case and she was able to open it, hoping that it contained their passports and airline tickets. Some money would be nice too.

  She was in luck, both passports were in the case along with a huge wad of money, certainly enough to pay for the Spa and keep her going for a while, and the airline tickets were there as well. Amie grabbed them. She’d asked Vivienne how long they would be staying in Durban but she’d been noncommittal, now she’d find out. She read the stubs of the incoming flights, one for each of them and then paused, there was only one return ticket and it was in the name of Veronica Keppell. Amie put them to one side and ransacked the rest of the paperwork. She searched all the pockets, tore open the lining and checked and rechecked, but she could only see one return ticket. Why?

  A cold shiver ran down Amie’s spine. Had they brought her all this way only to dispose of her? She hadn’t agreed to work for them, and they knew she was angry and frustrated about the position they’d put her in. They didn’t trust her, and they wouldn’t want her spilling her guts out to the media about her treatment, so it made sense to get her out of the way in another country hundreds of miles from the accident.

  She raided the bar fridge while her mind worked overtime. If they wanted to kill her – what did they call it in spy circles – terminate with extreme prejudice, then why allow her to have a fabulous holiday in a luxury resort, or would that be the same as the last special dinner you were given on death row?

  She swallowed a whole miniature whisky as she paced up and down the room. They couldn’t have foreseen the robbery in the mall and Vivienne’s death was obviously not part of their plan either. She couldn’t imagine Vivienne as an assassin, but who knew what professional killers looked like? Could she really have acted so friendly towards Amie knowing she was going to kill her a few days later? Amie couldn’t bring herself to believe it.

  Maybe it didn’t matter anymore, she couldn’t change the past. The important thing was to decide what she was going to do now. What were her options?

  She picked up the money and counted it. There were several thousand US dollars and a large bundle of South African Rands. How far would that take her? At least she now had the option of taking off and going ... where? With Gerrit? She had a sneaky feeing that wherever she was, they would find her and that would put Gerrit at risk as well. At most she only had ten years on this passport and where would she get another? Wait, maybe it was stupid to travel anywhere on the passport they’d given her. She remembered that Ben had connections in Togodo and had obtained papers for them before, but he was miles away, and he believed she was dead. She had no such connections here in South Africa, other than her new medic friend. How did you get in touch with the underworld? The fake passports Ben got for them in Apatu last year might not pass inspection at more sophisticated entry ports, and if she was pulled over for questioning – she shuddered at the thought.

  What if she went somewhere like America? That was a huge continent and once outside the airport she would be free to go anywhere. The problem with that was she’d never been there and didn’t know how easy it would be to get work, or how efficient they were at rounding up illegal aliens.

  The more Amie tried to figure out what to do, the more she panicked until it felt as if the walls were closing in on her. Not helped by feeling a little drunk after two brandies and a whisky, she decided some fresh air would be a good idea. She threw on a wrap and picking up the room card left the hotel and wandered across the dewy lawn, over the dunes and down onto the beach. She sat on the cool sand and gazed out over the ocean, watching the waves sparkling in the moonlight. She hadn’t survived this long only to be disposed of because she’d become a liability.

  To run or not to run – that is the question, she muttered nervously. She was lulled by the shimmering sea, feeling the cool, soft sand moulding itself around her.

  Suddenly, she was aware she was not alone. A dark figure was approaching her from the sand dunes. She struggled to her feet and glanced back at the Spa. The man – it was definitely a man – was coming from that direction, so she couldn’t sprint straight back. For a second, she reasoned that anyone had a right to be on this beach, but there was something about the purposeful way the man was moving towards her – and the warnings she’d had about young women out on their own at night – that made her turn and run.

  13 TIME TO LEAVE

  It was hard running on the sand and for every forward step, she slipped back a little. When she glanced over her shoulder, she could see the stalker was gaining on her. He was sprinting and getting closer. She took in huge gulps of air as she tried to move faster, cutting up the beach at an angle to reach the road. She gasped in panic as her lungs screamed for air. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, stretching her legs in longer strides to get off the sand. Maybe, i
f she reached the road she could find somewhere to hide. She didn’t dare look behind her to see how close her pursuer was. She put her head down and ran as she’d never run before. The sweat was pouring off her, and despite the cool breeze, her clothes were sticking to her skin and her feet were screaming.

  A huge leap over the low-lying brush finally brought her to the road, the sea on one side and a row of houses on the other. There was nowhere to hide. All the gardens were surrounded by high walls, most of them topped with razor wire, ruling that option out even if Amie had been able to jump that high. As she raced down the road away from the Spa, it flashed through her mind to ring a door bell and ask for help, but it would take too long for someone to answer. She could hear his footsteps on the road and they were getting closer by the second. She sobbed with fear as she ran, her leg muscles were on fire, sweat was running down her back and face, dripping into her eyes, the salt blinding her. Still she ran and still her attacker chased. Amie was fit but he was fitter. Every time she felt she could go on no longer, the thought of what he might do to her if he caught her kept her going.

  She flew up the middle of the tarred road and raced around a corner. Another deserted road, more houses, no shops, not a petrol station or bar in sight; nowhere she could take refuge. Her feet pounded the pavement, her new sandals pinching her toes made every step agony, but Amie had no intention of stopping. If she took another left it would take her back towards the Spa; he might know where she was staying, but it would be safer, and if she could get to her room, she could lock herself in. If he was after money, her watch or a phone, then he was going to be disappointed, but she wasn’t going to turn around and ask him what he wanted.

  She heard a thump and swivelled briefly to check what had happened. Her attacker must have tripped. He was picking himself up off the ground and after a couple of hesitant steps was once again coming after her.

  This can’t be a random robbery, she thought, as she lengthened her stride and ran faster than ever. The rhythmic pounding of his feet on the road behind her echoed in her ears. She was sure he was gaining on her, but didn’t dare look behind her again in case she lost her pace or it slowed her down. Ahead, she saw the main road where several cars whizzed past, one might slow down if they saw a young girl being chased, they might even stop to help, or they might run her over.

  She raced onto the verge, slipping and sliding on the dew-covered grass, desperately trying to keep her balance on the narrow edge. She was now running inches from the traffic speeding past her. Several cars hooted at her, while a crowd of guys shouted what sounded like obscenities in Afrikaans.

  She glanced back over her shoulder again to see with dismay that he was still there right behind her and gaining.

  Amie was concentrating so hard that she almost missed the turning into the Spa. She grabbed the gate post with one hand and swinging herself into the driveway, she raced towards the front door. She saw some other guests entering and tried to shout out for them to leave the door open, but she had no breath left. They disappeared inside.

  Amie ran up the drive. Maybe her pursuer would not attack her if she was huddled in the doorway? There must a guard somewhere, or was there a bell?

  Just as she reached the top step, one of the other guests came back out again. He gave Amie a startled glance when she shot inside, lurching across the entrance hall and along the corridor to her room. Gasping and gulping for breath her hand shook as she pulled the room card out of her pocket, slapping it against the door willing it to open. Her hands slid on the slippery door knob as she twisted it desperately. She fell through the door, slammed it behind her and collapsed on the bed. She was shaking all over, her legs and arms were on fire and her lungs were heaving.

  She lay still and forced her body to relax, concentrating on feeling floppy from her toes to her head. Once she’d calmed down a little, she stumbled into the bathroom and drank several glasses of water. She felt weak, sore, tired and her feet were bleeding, but she’d made it. She was safe. She pulled off her clothes and was about to step into the shower when there was a loud banging on the door.

  Amie froze. Had he followed her right to her room? Who was it, for goodness sake? Why would the hotel staff be knocking at this time of night, it must be about three in the morning? Could she pretend she wasn’t here? No, although the rooms were fairly soundproof, he would have heard the running water and all the lights were on.

  Amie grabbed a towel and wrapped it round her. Perhaps if she just ignored the noise it would go away. But she was wrong, the knocking continued and, if anything, got even louder.

  “Open up!” she heard through the door. The voice didn’t sound like a local, more like an English person. Amie threw on a pair of jeans and a sweat shirt and cautiously approached the door. She tried to look through the peephole but the person outside had his thumb on it and she couldn’t see a thing.

  “Go away,” she shouted. “Stop that or I’ll call security. Go away!”

  Her words had no effect, the assault on the door continued.

  Amie’s threat to call security was nonsense. She didn’t think anyone would answer the phone at this time of night, there was no one on duty, and despite the noise, the intruder was not going to go away. Nobody had come to see what the commotion was all about, and she had no idea how many other guests were in this wing of the hotel.

  She made sure the chain was in place and turned the knob, keeping her hip against the inside of the door ready to slam it closed the moment she could see who it was. She opened it an inch and peered out.

  It was Ken. He was leaning against the door jamb still gasping for breath. His suit looked slept in, his tie was askew and his shirt drenched in sweat and covered in mud. He was still gasping for breath.

  “Was it you chasing me?”

  “Who else did you think it was? You didn’t give me a chance to explain.” He stammered. “Let me in.”

  Amie thought quickly. “Wait,” she said closing the door on him. She grabbed the broken suitcase and shoved it under Vivienne’s bed, after removing the airline ticket, passports and money, and stashing them under her own mattress before going back to let Ken in.

  He was still breathing heavily when he slumped into a chair. “You gave me a good workout,” he puffed.

  “What did you expect?” Amie snapped back. “I had no idea who you were. All I saw was a threatening figure that appeared out of the darkness.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t have enough breath to call out your name after you took off. I don’t suppose you were a marathon runner in a former life, were you?”

  Amie gave a wry smile. “Water?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Amie got a bottle of water out of the bar fridge, filled a glass and handed it to him. It flashed across her mind that only a few moments ago she was thinking that the British government had planned to dispose of her, but now, seeing Ken here in her room, the idea seemed ludicrous. It’s your over active imagination again Amie she chided.

  “So, where’s Vivienne?” Ken frowned as if he suddenly realised, she wasn’t there.

  “Oh, goodness! You don’t know? I thought that’s why you came.”

  “Know what?”

  Amie sighed. “I’m ... I’m sorry Ken, but she’s dead.”

  “What!” Ken started so violently that he spilled half the water down his shirt. “How? Tell me about it. Tell me what you know.”

  Amie related what had happened at the mall, and she trembled as it hit her again that she’d lost yet another friend.

  “Death seems to follow you,” Ken remarked dryly, but nevertheless he came to sit next to Amie on the bed.

  “Don’t remind me.” Amie had the same thoughts as she moved away from him and sat in the chair. He was invading her personal space and she didn’t feel comfortable at all. He wasn’t going to come on to her, was he? One per night was enough. She certainly wasn’t ready for another relationship, no matter how alone she was.

  “I ... I didn’t k
now what to do. There was no sign of Vivienne’s bag or her passport and papers. Everyone told me that someone would have made off with it.”

  “For sure, especially here in South Africa. It would be a fortune for some family.”

  Amie had no idea why she didn’t tell Ken that she still had her passport, the money and Vivienne’s return airline ticket. Perhaps it was a way of having a little control or just simple instinct. Both might come in useful one day. She glanced briefly at the beds, one hiding the case and the other, the piles of cash. She would have to find a way of disposing of the case before Ken saw it.

  “What happens now?” she asked.

  Ken ran his fingers through his hair, he seemed more human sitting here than he had in the embassy in Apatu. “I came to take you home.”

  “And Vivienne?”

  “She’s due back at work in the embassy next week – was due.”

  “Wait, me? Home?”

  “To Britain.”

  “But I thought ...”

  “We can’t let you loose on the world without a bit of training, Amie, despite what you’ve managed to do so far. Frankly, that was more luck than judgement with friends popping up at the right time to bail you out.”

  Amie bristled. She was proud of having survived so many dangers in the past, and here was this man, who she really didn’t like very much, telling her she hadn’t been so clever. On one hand Amie felt she was quite capable of taking care of herself, she’d learned a lot about survival, but on the other hand she knew she was helpless. In today’s world you needed an identity, a bank account, passport, driving licence and a pile of other papers to prove you existed.

  “Where in Britain?” she decided to play along.

  “It’s not important where – ‘need to know’ basis,” was the reply.

  “Real spy stuff, eh?” Amie hoped Ken would notice the sarcasm, but he appeared to be immune.