When he saw the package Jamie felt a shiver of expectation. It was one of those moments. The instant his fingers opened the ancient journal from his grandfather’s wardrobe. The first time he heard the words ‘Crown of Isis’. Or when Adam Steele read the name Excalibur from the codex to a former Nazi soldier’s last will and testament. Each of them had radically changed his life and he had a sudden breathless feeling this would be no different.
Keith Devlin handed him the envelope and his fingers fumbled at the flap. The contents turned out to be a single blurred sepia image on photographic paper. His eyes struggled to make sense of an ugly little shrivelled object the size of a pomegranate hanging from what looked like a thick dark rope. Was this some kind of sick joke? ‘What is it?’
‘That, Mr Saintclair, is a shrunken human head.’
III
Jamie stared at the photograph for a disbelieving moment before he dropped it on the desk. ‘You’ve got the wrong man, Mr Devlin.’ He turned, ready to walk out of the room, but Devlin laid a hand on his arm and the charming smile, so difficult to refuse, was back.
‘Just hear me out, son. I promise you won’t regret it.’ The mining boss picked up the print and walked over to the map. He traced his finger north-east from Sydney to a series of tiny fly specks that trailed like the wake of a ship from the land mass of Papua New Guinea. The digit finally came to rest on a green streak at the top of the string of islands. ‘Bougainville.’ His voice took on an almost mystic quality as he said the word. ‘Does the name mean anything to you?’
Jamie shook his head.
‘I’m not surprised. Four thousand square miles of jungle, rock and mountain, with a couple of active volcanoes thrown in to keep life interesting. Some of the people are still living in the Stone Age despite everything we’ve done to help them. Until a few years ago the economy was entirely based on copra – that’s dried coconut shipped from the islands to be turned into oil. Not much to attract a bloke like me, you’d say?’ Jamie shrugged. ‘And you’d be right, unless it’s also home to the world’s largest copper mine.’
Jamie looked at the map with slightly renewed interest. ‘I don’t see any red dots?’
‘Naturally, because Devlin Metal doesn’t own it … yet. The mine is shut down because of a few labour problems and some local difficulties with community leaders. Helluva place. My old man sent me there to get a bit of experience when I was just starting out and, believe me, some of the natives can be a bolshie lot. The current owners are fed up of working in that kind of environment. They’re talking about offloading all or part of it, but Bougainville politics will effectively decide when, or if, the mine ever reopens, and who runs it.’
‘What has this got to do with a shrunken head?’ Jamie was puzzled. ‘Surely to God there’s no such thing as headhunting any more, even out there?’
‘Of course not.’ Devlin smiled again. ‘At least as far as we know. But the natives on Bougainville still revere the heads taken by their ancestors. Or, in this case, taken from their ancestor. If we can get agreement to buy the company, we still need the consent of the big chief from the area around the Panguna Mine to restart work and provide us with local labour. My fellas have been talking to him for a while, but during our negotiations a briefcase containing some very important documents went missing – some of the natives on Bougainville would steal the sugar from your tea – and we’ve asked for them back. The price the crazy old bastard is demanding is the return of that – his ancestor’s head. Would you believe it?’
‘What I don’t understand is how you expect me to find the bloody thing.’ Jamie didn’t hide his exasperation. ‘It could be anywhere on the island. Jungle, rocks and volcanoes? You don’t need Jamie Saintclair, Mr Devlin, you need Indiana bloody Jones.’
‘If the head was on the island maybe you’re right,’ the big Australian admitted, ‘but it hasn’t been on the island for the best part of a hundred and fifty years. Bougainville is part of Papua New Guinea these days, but before the First World War it was a German colony. German merchant adventurers exchanged trade goods worth a few pfennigs for boatloads of coconuts to turn into copra and oil. They were followed by geologists, scientists … and anthropologists. Our chief’s tribe had recovered the head of their ancestor from the group who’d killed and probably eaten the rest of him.’ He laughed at the change in Jamie’s expression. ‘Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. They believed eating the flesh of their rivals passed on their strength and courage. The story that’s come down over the years is that it was stolen by a German who visited the islands around that time. More likely one of their own fellows traded it to him. There’s a fairly extensive record of who visited the islands. We think the original of this,’ he waved the picture, ‘was taken by the anthropologist who took the head and was part of the price he paid for it. My people have pinned it down to a bloke called Adolfus Ribbe, a Hamburg collector who spent five years touring the islands in the eighteen nineties. Apparently, he sent back bits and pieces to Berlin museums. So now you know why I was so keen to have you on board.’
‘That’s it? A German collector might have taken the head. He might have presented it to a museum in Berlin. Have you any idea how many museums there are in Berlin?’
‘No,’ Devlin said evenly. ‘But I’m sure you do.’
A few moments earlier Jamie had been on the verge of walking out, but his belligerence faded under the steady blue eyes. It was the craziest thing he’d ever been asked to do, but Keith Devlin was a difficult man to turn down. And in a twisted way it appealed to him. Take it back to the basics and it was simply tracing an artefact through the museum system. And that was a damn sight easier than chasing all over Germany looking for the sun stone with neo-Nazis dogging his every footstep or literally crossing swords with a power-crazed maniac who wanted to get his hands on Excalibur. It would be safe and whether he found the head or not he’d have two weeks with Fiona and Lizzie at a luxury resort to look forward to. He had plenty of contacts in Berlin and he worked his way through the list of museums in his head. Not the newer ones, for the simple reason that they wouldn’t have been around then. By the time they opened their doors a reputable German museum wouldn’t have touched a human head with a barge pole, not after what their compatriots had done at Dachau and Auschwitz. Likewise the specialist museums, the Bode and the Pergamon, with their massive collections from antiquity. But there were other possibilities …
He felt Devlin’s eyes on him. ‘You understand that hundreds of thousands of artefacts were destroyed in Berlin by British and American bombs, and that hundreds of thousands more either disappeared or were stolen for Stalin by the Red Army? This is very likely to be a complete waste of your time and your money.’
Devlin clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I think the time is worth spending and money is no object, son. All I ask is that you follow your nose, like my old man did with his gold, and if you pick up a scent stay with it.’ He reached below the desk and came up with another map, this time a large-scale version of a long, slim island. ‘Bougainville,’ he said. ‘The people are a hotchpotch of tribes, clans and extended families who between them speak nineteen or twenty different languages. Here’s the Panguna Mine.’ He pointed to a conglomeration of narrow contours in the south of the island. ‘Our chief is the leader of a Naasioi-speaking tribe who inhabit the area to the south. The one thing that makes the head distinctive and recognizable is that the natives are very black-skinned compared to the other groups in the Solomons or Papua New Guinea. Aaach,’ he threw the map aside, ‘we’ll put together a pack with all this stuff in it, Jamie. For the moment, just tell me you’re on board.’
Jamie met his grin, with a shrug of surrender. ‘Fiona has to have the final word, but I think I can persuade her. If I’m in it will cost you.’ He named a price at least double what he had been paid for any past commission. Devlin didn’t even blink as he reached for his chequebook.
Before he left to break the news, Jamie glanced again at
the green and brown contours of the map. Even on paper Bougainville sent a shiver through him. Mountains and jungles and active volcanoes. He still wasn’t certain he would find the shrunken head, but if he ever did, he pitied the poor bugger who had the job of repatriating it.
Keith Devlin watched the elevator door close as a second man appeared from the far end of the corridor. Wiry and alert, the newcomer walked with a soldier’s economy of movement and his suspicious blue eyes swept the ground ahead like an IED detector. He had tanned, gaunt features and wore his silver hair swept back from his forehead in an old-fashioned style that made people he met think of a Fifties matinée idol. All it would take to complete the effect was a thin moustache, but he’d never worn one, not even in the field, and he never would.
‘What did you think, Doug, is he up to it?’
‘He’s capable enough, I grant you,’ Devlin’s head of security said thoughtfully. ‘That poncy English-gent stuff is just an act and there are a few unexplained bodies in his file I’d like to know a bit more about. But …’
‘But what?’
‘The psychological profile says he’s an idealist who sometimes makes decisions based on instinct, not logic. When he finds out what’s really happening on Bougainville he may decide he has to take sides. What if he chooses the wrong one?’
Devlin’s face twisted in a grimace of distaste. ‘That would be too bad.’
‘The woman and the girl …’
‘Yes.’ Devlin saw the possibilities immediately. That was what he liked about Doug Stewart: the combination of practicality and ruthlessness he brought to the corporate decision-making process. The same practicality and ruthlessness that had seen him through Australia’s short and comparatively glorious involvement in America’s Vietnam fiasco. He nodded. ‘Keep them close, they might come in handy somewhere down the line. And Doug?’
‘Yes, chief?’
‘No mistakes this time. I want him watched every step of the way. There’s too much riding on this to take any chances.’
IV
‘It will be for two weeks at most.’ Jamie tried to sound upbeat, but Fiona’s narrowed eyes informed him he wasn’t succeeding. Lizzie mirrored her mother’s disapproving frown. ‘You’ll be able to spend a bit of quality time with your aunts and uncles, and we’ll still have a fortnight together as a … a family at the end of it.’ Fiona sucked in a breath and he knew he’d made one of those male mistakes that are only perceptible to women. Sweat prickled in his thick dark hair as they sat on the grass beneath a big palm tree in the botanical gardens. ‘It’ll be great.’ He hurried on, hoping to bypass the storm. ‘No expense spared on my client’s private island up by Cairns. Koalas, possums and platypuses, er, platypii, and whatever. We can explore the Barrier Reef and scuba dive, swim with dolphins and turtles …’ He ended with a winning smile at the little girl, which didn’t change her expression one bit.
‘In a real family the hu— … head of the family doesn’t just up sticks and abandon the rest without so much as a discussion.’ Fiona’s tight smile was as dangerous as the fire that flickered in the depths of her dark eyes and Jamie decided he’d much rather be facing gun-toting Al-Qaida assassins than this woman he … No, it was too soon after Abbie for that kind of emotional commitment, but he liked and respected Fiona too much to hurt her and he was already regretting accepting Keith Devlin’s offer. All he’d said was that someone had commissioned him to track down something and the client was in a hurry. She hadn’t asked what the something was or the client’s name. He saw another change in her expression as she read his mind and didn’t like what she found there. ‘Maybe you don’t realize what I – what we – invested in this trip. It’s not about a free holiday and a chance to see the old country again, Jamie, it’s about us. We do things together. We enjoy each other’s company. And that’s about it. When I lie next to you I can hear you breathe and I can feel your heart beating, but I don’t know what you’re thinking or feeling. You’re a lovely person and you have great qualities, but showing your emotions isn’t one of them. I thought spending two weeks together would give me a chance to get to know the real Jamie Saintclair.’ She noticed the concern on Lizzie’s face as she contemplated the two adults and the smile reappeared. ‘Lizzie, honey, why don’t you go and play with the ducks for a second?’
Jamie put a hand on her arm. ‘No. Let’s go and get some more ice cream instead.’ The little girl’s eyes lit up and she skipped away a few metres towards a vendor dispensing his wares from under a brightly coloured umbrella. Jamie got to his feet, brushing grass from his trousers and offered Fiona his hand to help her up. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, taking her by the waist and leaning over to kiss her cheek. ‘You’re right. I’ve behaved like a selfish idiot. I’m too used to just thinking about yours truly.’ He slipped his hand into the inside pocket of the cotton jacket and pulled out his mobile phone. ‘I’ll call Devlin now and tell him the deal’s off. Family comes first.’
‘Devlin?’ She stopped and looked at him.
‘Yes, Keith Devlin, have you heard of him?’
‘Of course I’ve heard of him; he’s one of the most famous men in Australia. He turned the family firm into an international conglomerate and is probably the country’s biggest philanthropist. It was the Devlin Foundation who originally paid me to come to Britain to study. He set it up as a charitable trust to promote the arts and sciences. His big interest is creating a more environmentally sustainable mining industry. Keith Devlin is inviting us to his private island?’
‘That was the plan.’ Jamie continued to tap Devlin’s number into the mobile. ‘For the two weeks I was away you’d have been ferried round the country by private jet. After that we’d meet up in Queensland, do the national park thing and then head out to the island, sit in a hot tub, drink beer and … whatever.’ He put the phone to his ear. ‘But I’ll tell him it’s a no-go.’
She reached across and gently removed the machine from his fingers and hit cancel. ‘Let’s not be too hasty. Two weeks isn’t that long and I like the sound of “whatever”.’
‘But what about finding the real me?’ He gave her a sideways glance.
‘Bastard,’ she said lightly, punching him on the shoulder. ‘You set this up. Waited until I’d got all my girly emotion out of the way and then dangled Keith Devlin in front of me like a juicy piece of mackerel in front of a hungry barracuda. And I swallowed it hook, line and sinker.’
‘That’s much too devious for me. You must be thinking of a different real Jamie Saintclair, the one who went to the Machiavelli School of Social Engineering. A lovely man with nice qualities would never consider such a thing.’
‘When do you leave?’
‘I’m booked on the afternoon flight to Berlin tomorrow.’
‘Good,’ she said, all businesslike now. ‘The sooner you’re gone, the sooner you’re back. I’m looking forward to spending two weeks in our hot tub finding the real Jamie Saintclair.’
‘I think he might be a bit wrinkly.’ He grinned. He looked over to where Lizzie was squatting next to a sleeping duck. ‘How will you square it with her?’
‘Oh, Lizzie takes after her mum,’ Fiona laughed. ‘The promise of another ice cream and a cuddle from a koala and she’ll be wriggling in the net in no time. Come on,’ she pulled him by the hand, ‘we have some heavy-duty sightseeing to do. That little lady has been staying up too late. It’s bed by eight tonight.’
‘Now who’s being devious?’
‘Mmmmh.’ She turned to him, stepping up close. ‘But I think you’ll find this is much more worthwhile.’ As she said it she ran a finger nail down the V of his shirt through the hairs on his chest. There was a promise in her eyes that made his blood fizz like champagne.
‘Two weeks,’ he promised. ‘Quicker if I can make it so.’
‘Just see that you do, lover boy.’
Jamie flew into Tegel airport three days later, refreshed and full of enthusiasm thanks to the unfamiliar experience of Devlin�
��s promised First Class all the way. The ten-thousand-mile journey had been broken by a day’s lay-over in Abu Dhabi where his clothes had been ironed by a smiling Pakistani girl while he showered and he’d even been able to catch up on a bit of sleep in a proper bed. No queues for the First Class traveller. By the time he cleared customs his baggage had already been collected and placed in a waiting limousine. Outside the terminal he stood for a moment taking in the peculiarly distinctive scent of a central European autumn; the promise of rain despite the eggshell-blue sky, and the lingering warmth that paradoxically contained a warning that it wouldn’t last. The driver was a big man in a too-tight suit who wore an expression that said he’d seen it all before. Jamie gave him the name of his hotel and relaxed in the rear of the big Mercedes.
‘Can we take the scenic route, please?’ he suggested in German.
‘Sure.’ The driver nodded and took the first exit off the autobahn. ‘My name is Max and I am at your service for the duration of your stay. We will go through Charlottenburg and then head for Tiergarten, yes?’
Jamie had mixed memories of Berlin, but there was something about entering a great city that made him feel like an explorer starting a journey of infinite possibility. He found himself grinning. Out there, beyond the apartment blocks and the factories, were some of the world’s most wonderful art collections: hundreds, maybe thousands of years of potential and endeavour. The greatest heroes and villains in history had lived here, experiencing triumph and tragedy in equal measure.
Their route took them down the east bank of the River Spree, with the Schlosspark an island of green on the far side. That was what Jamie liked best about Berlin, the open spaces and broad avenues and the way it could always surprise you. As they drove, he kept up a stream of small talk with the driver, testing his German and re-attuning himself to the rhythm and cadence of the language. By the time they reached the Tiergarten, Berlin’s sprawling central park, he didn’t even have to think about his replies. They talked about the weather and whatever they were passing at the time. This arrow-straight avenue had not long ago been at the heart of a tiny effervescent bubble of capitalism in the turgid Communist sea of eastern Europe. At the far end, beyond the column of victory, the road had come to an abrupt end at a twelve-foot concrete wall, a sanitized, mined death zone, and towers manned by guards who would shoot first and not bother asking questions after.
The Samurai Inheritance Page 3
