by Andy Maslen
‘Can I take this? It could be important.’
Saul nodded. Uri accepted the call.
‘Eliyah. I’m with the prime minister and Director Peretz. What is it?’
‘I’m in Botswana with Gabriel Wolfe and a Metropolitan Police detective chief inspector. She’s investigating the assassination.’
Uri felt his pulse accelerate.
‘Go on.’
‘They found dirt in the sniper nest. It came from Botswana. She’s trying to find out whether Lieberman was here in the days before the killing. Have you guys found anything that could be helpful?’
Uri heard the distinctive click of a puzzle piece slotting home.
‘As a matter of fact, Eliyah, we have. No way was Dov Lieberman in Botswana. Or anywhere else outside Israel for that matter.’
‘You’re sure? Sorry, Uri,’ she said, immediately. ‘But, you’re confident? There’s no way he could have got away for even a couple of days?’
‘It’s fine, and yes, I am one hundred per cent confident. Dov Lieberman was never in Botswana.’
He looked back at Saul and Avigael who were both regarding him with raised eyebrows. He gave them a thumbs-up as he ended the call.
‘Well?’ Saul asked.
‘Lieberman wasn’t the shooter,’ Uri said with a broad smile.
‘How do you know?’
‘The British police found soil in the sniper nest. From Botswana.’
‘Tammerlane?’
‘No. As far as we can tell, he was in the UK the whole time.’
‘Then, the soil—’
‘Must have come from a third person. They took the shot then disappeared, killing Lieberman to leave a false trail.’
‘Could have been a spotter,’ Saul said.
‘For a professional, that was a short-range shot. No need for a spotter. Anyway, these guys work alone, as you know. Ours do.’ He huffed out a breath before continuing. ‘Saul, I say this with the greatest respect to you, as a friend and the prime minister: think about it logically. Did we order this hit? No! Was Dov Lieberman, high school physics teacher and family man, a professional hitman? No! Did he have any personal reason, any reason in the world, to fly to England and murder a princess? No! Plus, we saw his family being kidnapped! I am telling you, he was set up. A patsy.’
Saul was nodding with each emphatic point Uri made.
‘This is excellent news, Uri,’ he said. ‘We can work with this. We need to get our diplomats onto the radio, the TV, whatever. This blows Tammerlane’s narrative into pieces.’
‘Yes, it does. But if it wasn’t Lieberman, then who was it, Saul?’ Uri asked. ‘Who killed Princess Alexandra?’
Saul turned to Avigael.
‘I want all efforts directed to finding the real shooter. All resources we can spare. And all we cannot.’
Eli pocketed her phone. Turned to Stella and Gabriel. She tried but failed to prevent the smile cracking her cheeks.
‘What did Uri tell you?’ Stella asked.
After Eli had filled them in on the details of the call with Uri, Gabriel scratched his head.
‘Are you going back to the UK then?’ he asked Stella.
She frowned.
‘Lieberman didn’t come here. But the real shooter did,’ she said. ‘And I have my meeting with Mafombe’s contact. I’m going to stay on for a few days, see if I can find out anything. Mafombe can help there as well. He seems to know everybody who’s somebody in G-City.’
‘You don’t think that would be pushing it?’ Eli asked.
‘I think it absolutely would be pushing it. That’s kind of my job,’ she added with a smile.
27
That night, after Gabriel and she had made love, Eli rolled onto her side and propped her head on her right palm. Gabriel looked up at her and twirled a lock of her auburn hair around his finger. Her eyes were shining in the moonlight flooding their room through the open curtains.
‘What?’ he said.
‘Do you think he’ll rescind the order about Israelis having to leave the UK?’
‘I don’t know. I hope so. I guess Stella will speak to her boss, then the Met will release the information and that’ll take the focus away from Israel. You’re all right though, now. Don got you a British passport.’
‘It’s not about that, though, is it, Gabe? Even if I, personally, can come and go as I please, it’s what lies behind it that worries me.’
Gabriel didn’t answer straight away. He ran through a couple of scenarios in his head first.
‘He might. With evidence pointing away from Lieberman, the police will be looking for a new suspect. Unless Tammerlane says it was him who was in Botswana, which would be odd, then he has to concede he got it wrong.’
Gabriel hesitated.
‘But?’ Eli asked, brows knitted.
‘But he’s not a normal politician. We know he’s anti-Israel. Has been since he was a student. I can’t see him giving it up so easily.’
‘What can he say? The forensic guy said that soil came from right here.’
‘He could say anything. The sample was cross-contaminated. It was left by someone else way before the hit. The analysis was flawed. It was planted by the Mossad. Anything.’
Eli pouted.
‘Great. Thanks for the encouragement.’
He drew her down and into an embrace. He spoke against the top of her head, releasing thoughts that had been circling in his brain like vultures over a dead elephant.
‘It’s going to be fine. Unlike Tammerlane, you and I have actually met Saul Ben Zacchai. No way would he have sanctioned the hit. Or Uri or Avigael either. It’s a false flag operation.’
‘Organised by who then? Tammerlane?’
‘He’s done pretty well out of it, wouldn’t you say?’
‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’
Gabriel stroked her hair, feeling her heart beating against his own chest.
‘Terrified by the kidnappers into compliance, Lieberman arrives in London. He makes his way to Windsor.’ Gabriel paused, rearranging the pieces on the deadly board game he was playing in his mind.
‘He climbs the tower, overpowers and kills the police markswoman, and sets up his sniper nest. A second man climbs to the top of the tower, kills Lieberman and takes the shot himself. Tammerlane arrives and the shooter leaves. The police arrive to discover Tammerlane covered in a dead sniper’s blood. Open and shut case.’
‘Hang on,’ Eli said sleepily. ‘How did the cop die?’
‘The markswoman?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Probably wasn’t a shot. That would have alerted people. Probably someone would’ve called 999.’
‘A knife then. Or he used his bare hands.’
‘We need to ask Stella in the morning.’
Gabriel came out of the shower, rubbing furiously at his hair. Ensconced in an oversized armchair, Eli was flicking through the pages of an African fashion magazine. He caught a glimpse of beautiful black models clad in leather trousers and traditional printed fabric tops.
‘Ready for breakfast?’ Eli asked him, looking up.
‘I was up early. Already had mine.’
She frowned.
‘I didn’t hear you get up.’
He came to her and kissed her, then wrapped his arms around her waist.
‘That’s because I am a trained master of Yinshen fangshi,’ he whispered. ‘I could cut your throat from ear to ear in the night and you wouldn’t know until it was too late.’
She grinned and reached down between his legs. He winced as she took hold of his balls in her cupped hand.
‘Oh yeah? Don’t you think being manually castrated might make that a little difficult?’
She increased the pressure.
‘Fine, fine! Let me go.’
‘Let me go…’ Eli drew out the final word and lifted her chin in an unspoken question.
‘Please!’
‘Please, Eli Sch
ochat, Queen of My Heart and Supreme Fighting Machine.’
Squeeze.
‘Yes, that, OK! Let me go.’
Squeeze.
‘Say it.’
‘Let me go please, Eli Schochat, Queen of My Heart and Supreme Fighting Machine.’
Laughing, Eli released him. He massaged the afflicted area.
‘We need to talk to Stella,’ she said. ‘About the dead markswoman.’
‘You go,’ he said. ‘There’s something I want to do.’
‘What?’
‘Call Mei.’
‘Will she be up? What time is it in Hong Kong?’
‘It’s midday there. She’ll have been up for hours. My sister’s an early riser, despite her job.’
‘What, you mean running a triad?’
‘She doesn’t run a triad.’
‘Er, hello? She took over the White Koi after she killed Fang Jian.’
‘She’s turning it into a legitimate business.’
‘And how’s that working out for her?’
‘That’s what I want to find out.’
Eli left after calling Stella and arranging to meet at the poolside breakfast terrace. With the room to himself, Gabriel called Mei. He listened to the clicks and hisses on the line as satellites, fibre optic cables and copper wires routed the call from G-City to Hong Kong. The ringing tone sounded like a cat’s purr in his ear. He imagined his sister sitting at a wide desk at the Golden Dragon casino, a laptop open 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 we haven’t talked about.’
/>
‘What’s that?’
‘What happens when you find the people who killed the Paras?’ she asked.
Gabriel looked into her eyes. Searching for a glimmer of complicity in those blue-green irises. ‘Interesting. You’re not assuming we’ll be arresting them.’
‘You don’t have the legal power.’
Gabriel paused before answering. ‘We’ll bring them to justice.’
Stella nodded. The glimmer brightened, just for a moment. ‘That sounds about right.’
‘How about if, I mean when, you find the second shooter?’ Gabriel asked her.
‘Much the same,’ she said airily. ‘Have him arrested, extradite him back to the UK, have him charged, sent for trial and, hopefully, a long prison sentence. Just like you’re going to do with your guys.’
There! Was that the ghost of a wink?
Eli drove Gabriel to the airport. They stood, entwined, beside the ivory elephant. She kissed him, hard, on the lips.
‘I’m going to miss you.’
‘Me, too. Miss you, I mean. Stay safe.’
She nodded.
‘Get going or you’ll miss your flight.’
After a second, lingering kiss, Gabriel headed towards check-in and a reserved first-class seat on a Cathay Pacific flight to Hong Kong. First stop, Jo’burg.
28
GABORONE
The Syrian assassin watched his vibrating phone creep towards the edge of the table. The glass top amplified its buzz to that of an enraged insect. Just as its centre of gravity approached the chipped edge, he picked it up between long, manicured fingers.
He glanced at the Caller ID, saw a codename he’d assigned his client, and felt his jaw muscles tighten. Rule One: you don’t call me after a job is completed.
‘What is it?’ he said.
‘I need to know you’re clear.’
‘Clear?’
‘Yes, clear. You know, out of the UK.’
‘You think I hang around? Do the tourist thing? Visit Buckingham Palace? Take selfies?’
‘No, of course not! Sorry. Where are you?’
‘That, my friend, is no concern of yours.’
‘But you’re safe, yes?’
