King Solomon's Curse

7

It was one of the world’s more mean-spirited ironies, Nina mused as she gazed at the landscape below, that one of the countries richest in natural resources was also one of the poorest financially. The Democratic Republic of Congo held huge reserves of rare and valuable minerals, but the fortunes made from extracting them were far from equitably distributed amongst its people — if they went to its people at all. Almost a century of rapacious exploitation under the auspices first of King Leopold the Second of Belgium, then the brutal colonial administration of the Belgian state itself, had been followed by an independence marked by violence and corruption to an extent that the country’s very name — at the time, Zaire — became international shorthand for shameless embezzlement.

The situation had improved over time, but only in relative terms. The modern DR Congo was still plagued by sectarian strife, wars both civil and national, drug smuggling and sex trafficking — and the old standbys of poverty, disease and graft. The secessionist movement in the east was merely the latest variety of civil unrest bringing misery to ordinary citizens.

And she was flying right into the middle of it.

Butembo, she had learned, was a hotspot for rebel activity. That was worrying enough in itself, but she was leading others into a dangerous region. Fisher and the rest of his team were in the cramped seats behind her, Ziff reading on his own at the cabin’s rear. Whatever the director had insisted in Jerusalem, Nina couldn’t help but consider herself responsible for them. Now that she was actually in the country, her earlier enthusiasm was tempered by concern: maybe too little, too late.

But she knew Eddie would do everything he could to ensure the group’s safety. Her husband sat beside her, unshaven and rumpled in his black leather jacket. ‘You okay?’ she asked as he rubbed his eyes.

‘Yeah, just knackered,’ he said. ‘I had a much longer journey here than you did.’ They had met in the Ugandan capital of Kampala: an eight-hour flight from Jerusalem, considerably more from London.

‘Well, at least there’s not much more of it left.’ She leaned forward to address the pilot, a Botswanan woman in a baseball hat. ‘Hey, TD. How long till we land?’

Tamara Defendé, known to close friends by her initials, glanced back. ‘About twenty minutes.’ Her trade as a bush pilot, roving over the vast continent, had been successful enough for her now to own three aircraft, but like most fliers she preferred to keep her hands on a set of controls rather than stay behind a desk. ‘Eddie, you still want to fly back to Kampala tomorrow morning, yes?’

‘Yeah,’ the Englishman replied. ‘My flight back isn’t until the afternoon. That’ll give me a chance to meet Fortune and whoever else he’s rounded up, check ’em out, and hopefully get a night’s sleep as well.’

‘You really didn’t need to come all the way out here,’ Nina told him. ‘I’m sure that if your buddy’s vouched for these people, they’re fine.’

‘I just want to be sure,’ Eddie insisted. ‘Besides, it’s a bit late to change my mind now!’

The elderly Antonov biplane flew on. The scenery was beautiful, verdant green over mineral-rich red soil, but the near-absence of vehicle traffic on the few weaving dirt roads was a clear sign of poverty even from several thousand feet up.

‘That’s Butembo,’ Tamara said at last. Nina and Eddie looked ahead to see a brown sprawl across the surrounding jade. It was a large settlement, its population almost seven hundred thousand according to Nina’s research, but she hesitated to qualify it with the honorific of being a city. It was obvious even from miles away that almost all the red-roofed houses were small, with very few buildings having more than a single storey.

Their pilot had an increasingly argumentative exchange with the control tower before winning some concession from the controller, then she lined the plane up with the runway and put it into final descent. ‘What was that about?’ asked Eddie.

‘They wanted me to circle,’ she replied. ‘They’re waiting for some VIP’s helicopter. I told them I’m low on fuel, but if they want me to put down on the main street, I can. They got my point.’

‘I’m glad,’ said Nina, sharing a smile with her husband.

The landing on Rughenda airfield’s dirt runway was bumpy, but the Antonov quickly slowed to taxi speed and pulled up near the modest terminal building. ‘Thanks, Tamara,’ said Nina as the Botswanan shut down the engines.

Eddie looked through a porthole. ‘There’s Fortune.’ Nina saw a tall, broad-shouldered black man in a sleek three-piece suit waiting outside the terminal. A shorter, scruffier man with a wild frizz of hair stood beside him. ‘That must be his mate.’

‘Is he the guy you wanted to check out?’

‘Yeah. I’d hoped he’d have more people, though.’

She laughed a little. ‘How much security did you think we’d need?’

His expression displayed no humour. ‘More than that.’

The passengers disembarked. The air outside was not as hot as Nina had expected, about seventy Fahrenheit, but it was uncomfortably humid. Fisher and the rest of the film crew retrieved their equipment while Eddie went to meet the welcoming committee. ‘Fortune!’ he called.

‘Eddie, my man!’ the tall man boomed in reply. French was the country’s official language, and his English was rich with its almost musical cadences. ‘Good to see you again!’

‘You too, mate.’ The two men embraced, the African more than a head taller than the Yorkshireman. ‘Nina, this is Fortune Bemba. We go back a long way. Fortune, this is my wife, Nina Wilde.’

‘The famous explorer, yes,’ said Fortune as she joined her husband. He took her hand and kissed it, then gave her a broad smile that revealed two gold teeth in his otherwise perfect white set. ‘An honour to meet you! Eddie tells me you are looking for something in the jungle. An ancient city?’

‘That’s what we’re hoping for, yes,’ she replied. ‘You’re Congolese, aren’t you?’ He nodded. ‘Are there any legends of anything like that?’

‘There are many legends about the jungle, including lost cities. I have never heard that any were true, though.’

‘Me neither,’ said the other man. He seemed about to burst with pent-up nervous energy, the words tumbling from his mouth. ‘But I’m from Matadi, all the way out west, so jungle stories? Not so much my thing.’ He had much less of a French inflection than Fortune, sounding almost American — or rather, Nina guessed, trying to sound that way, having picked up the accent from movies and TV.

‘This is Paris Mbolo,’ said Fortune, introducing him. ‘He is very reliable, Eddie, very capable — I trust him completely. Even if,’ a sniff, ‘he has no dress sense at all.’

Paris gave his impeccably dressed partner a sarcastic look. ‘Ha ha. Fuck you. Oh! Excusez-moi,’ he said to Nina, almost embarrassed.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ she said, amused. ‘I’m married to Eddie — I hear much worse all the time!’

Eddie gave Paris a critical look. ‘Fortune said you were in the Congolese army before going independent?’

He nodded. ‘Six years, then two with the blue helmets’ — the United Nations peacekeeping force that had worked to suppress rebel groups operating across the border — ‘before I realised I’d get more money and less hatred in plain clothes.’

‘If you can call those clothes,’ said Fortune disdainfully.

Paris held back another obscenity for Nina’s sake. ‘So yes, Mr Chase — Eddie? Can I call you Eddie? Eddie, I know what I’m doing. I’ve been in tough situations, and I know the people. I’ll take care of your wife and her friends.’

‘He is very good,’ Fortune assured the Englishman. ‘I would not have asked him to join me if he was not.’

Eddie nodded. ‘Although I’d hoped you’d drum up more people.’

‘Private security is in very high demand. And that is why.’ He looked up at the thrum of an approaching helicopter.

Nina and Eddie turned to see a gleaming white-and-blue Airbus AS355 descending towards the terminal. The name Monardril was emblazoned along its fuselage. ‘Who’s this?’ Eddie asked.

‘The big boss of a mining company,’ said Paris. ‘His people have been here for weeks, setting up some deal.’

‘They have hired many mercenaries to protect them,’ Fortune went on. ‘Some of them you know. Scotty Roux, for one.’

‘Scotty’s working for this lot?’ said Eddie. ‘Wondered why I couldn’t get hold of him.’

Another noise, that of ground vehicles, caught their attention. A convoy of new and expensive SUVs and pickup trucks rolled through the airport gate to stop nearby. Heavily tinted windows hid their occupants, but the men riding in the pickup beds wore dark paramilitary uniforms. No guns were immediately apparent, but from the way the security team were warily scanning the surroundings, Eddie guessed their weapons were stashed within easy reach.

A rangy, bearded man emerged from the lead SUV. ‘Hey!’ he called. ‘Fortune, Eddie!’

‘Speak of the devil,’ Eddie said to Fortune before shouting back. ‘Scotty, hi! I heard you were here.’

Roux jogged to them as other men spread out behind him. ‘Yeah, working corporate security,’ he said. ‘What about you?’

‘My wife’s filming a documentary. I’m just making sure she’s safe. Would have been easier if your guys hadn’t poached everyone!’

The South African shrugged apologetically. ‘Always up to do you a favour, Eddie, but Monardril got me first. Very good pay too, mate!’ He squinted into the wind as the chopper touched down. ‘Anyway, got to go. If you’re staying around, give me a call.’

‘Leaving first thing, but thanks anyway.’

‘No problem. Catch you later. You too, Fortune.’ He tipped them both a cheery salute, then hurried to the helicopter. ‘Sir Robert! Your car is over here.’ He led a tall, stone-faced man with expensively styled silver hair to his SUV.

‘That’s the mining boss?’ Nina asked.

Fortune nodded. ‘British. A very funny thing. Very few of the men he hired are Congolese, and none are black. If I did not know better,’ a wink at Eddie, ‘I would think all British are racist.’

‘Doubt the big boss hired ’em all personally, but yeah, afraid some Brits are still arseholes. Had to have words with one in London just the other day.’

‘You did?’ said Nina. ‘Wait, was Macy with you?’

‘Yes, but don’t worry, I didn’t kill anyone in front of her. Just some light maiming.’

‘Uh-huh.’

He grinned, then watched as the convoy swept away. ‘All that for just one bloke?’

‘There has been much violence recently,’ Fortune told him. ‘The rebel group, LEC — Liberté pour l’Est du Congo — has made many attacks.’

‘How bad?’

‘Mostly against the government and the police, but there have been some attacks on civilians, including foreigners. That is why the mining company has hired so many guards — they do not want their executives to be kidnapped or killed.’

‘Oh, that’s not scary at all,’ said Nina.

‘Nina!’ called Ziff, approaching with the camera crew. ‘We’ve unloaded everything. Are we ready to go?’

‘Whenever you are,’ she replied. ‘I assume?’

‘We are ready,’ said Fortune, gesturing towards a pair of battered minibuses.

‘Okay, cool.’ Introductions were made, then the group had their passports checked by a bored official before going to the buses. Nina joined Fortune, Eddie and Ziff at the first, Paris taking the film crew to the second. ‘Shall we go?’

Rughenda airfield was actually surrounded by the low-rise sprawl of Butembo, so they entered the town immediately upon leaving its grounds. Nina’s observation from the air still held; it was not a place of great wealth, most houses mere shacks. She also noticed that while the road from the airfield towards the civic centre was blacktop, almost all those leading off it were mere dirt tracks. What money there was in the area was highly concentrated.

She saw a commotion ahead. ‘What’s going on?’ A group of policemen had cornered some youths against a building, one of the cops tearing down posters from its wall.

Fortune glanced over. ‘They were putting up posters for the LEC. Idiots. Why do that in the middle of the day? They know people will call the cops.’

‘Maybe they want to get caught,’ she mused. ‘Make a political statement.’

‘The only statement will be made by the police, and it will be in broken teeth and bones. The government is doing everything it can to stop Kabanda. They will not allow the east to break away without a war.’

‘Who’s Kabanda?’ asked Ziff.

‘The leader of Liberté pour l’Est du Congo, Fabrice Kabanda. That is him on the posters.’

Nina looked across as they passed the disruption. She had just enough time to see the image of a handsome, smiling man in his early thirties before the last poster was ripped down. ‘He looks kinda young to be a revolutionary leader.’

‘When better to be one?’ said the Israeli rhetorically.

‘He is only half the story,’ said Fortune, driving on. ‘Kabanda is the public face of the LEC. I personally do not agree with him, but he is very charismatic. He is the man who attracts new followers. But if he is the glove, Le Fauchet is the fist inside it.’

‘Le Fauchet?’ Nina asked. ‘Doesn’t that mean something like “the scythe”?’

‘Yes. It is not his real name, I am not sure what is. But he has united many of the local militias behind Kabanda. When the LEC commit acts of violence, it is Le Fauchet who has ordered it.’

‘The LEC — are they pros?’ Eddie asked, concerned.

Fortune shook his head. ‘Most are boys with Kalashnikovs, high on drugs. The government soldiers usually deal with them easily. But they are becoming more dangerous now that Le Fauchet is training them and buying modern weapons.’ He pointed. ‘Look, there — that man. He is one of Le Fauchet’s victims.’

Eddie and Nina saw a skinny man walking along the roadside, a transistor radio held to his ear in one hand — his only hand. All that remained past the elbow of his other arm was a diagonal stump. ‘Oh, my God,’ said Nina. ‘What happened to him?’

‘He must have opposed or offended Le Fauchet in some way,’ Fortune said sombrely as they drove past. ‘But that is his trademark, to cut off the right arm with a machete. It is what the Belgians did when they ruled the country. Le Fauchet has… appropriated it.’

‘Poor bastard,’ muttered Eddie.

‘He is lucky,’ Fortune countered. ‘He is still alive. Most who have met Le Fauchet are not.’

‘Then I really, really hope I never meet him,’ said Nina.

‘We will do everything we can to protect you, do not worry.’

‘There’s only two of you to do it, though,’ said the Yorkshireman. ‘What about porters? Did you find anyone?’

‘Yes,’ came the reply. ‘Three local men. I have worked with one before, and the other two were recommended to me.’

Eddie was not reassured. ‘Only three?’

‘You wanted men with experience in the jungle. Such people are always in demand.’

‘It’ll be fine, Eddie,’ said Nina. ‘I’m sure they’ll be enough.’

‘We’ll see,’ he said, unconvinced.

Fortune brought them to one of Butembo’s few major hotels. Both minibuses were checked at a security gate before being allowed through its high wall. They pulled up at the entrance. ‘Everything has been prepared for you,’ said Fortune as he got out.

Fisher came to them from the second bus, a pair of heavy bags slung from his shoulders. The other members of his team were equally laden with gear. ‘Is this place safe?’ he asked. ‘I saw lower walls in Israel around the Palestinian territories!’ Ziff shot him a disapproving look.

‘The hotels are as safe as anywhere around here,’ Paris assured him.

Lydia snorted. ‘Now I’m really worried.’

‘Do not worry,’ Fortune intoned sonorously. ‘I assure you, the dark hordes of Africa will not swarm over the walls in the dead of night to feast upon your precious white flesh.’

Fisher blanched. ‘Uh — no, I didn’t mean it that way. It wasn’t a racial thing. Really!’

‘No, nothing like that,’ Lydia hurriedly added.

Eddie tried not to laugh. ‘You’re an arse,’ he whispered to Fortune as he collected Nina’s luggage. His friend regarded Fisher and Lydia sternly, then turned away and grinned. ‘Come on then, love,’ the Yorkshireman said to Nina. ‘Let’s check in.’

The hotel’s interior was surprisingly anonymous, a bland refuge for the corporate traveller that could have been anywhere in the world; only its staff’s accents provided any distinctive flavour. Nina led the way to the reception desk, Eddie surveying the lobby. ‘Least we can get a drink,’ he said, spotting the entrance to a bar. ‘After that journey, I could really use a—’

He stopped, startled. Nina looked back at him. ‘What is it?’

‘Just… seen someone I know,’ he said, disbelieving. ‘Can you check us in? I need to…’ In his distraction he didn’t even finish the sentence as he headed for the doorway.

‘If you’re that desperate for a drink, do I need to book you an AA appointment?’ she called after him, but he barely heard the joke.

The bar was as faceless as its parent hotel, a softly lit room of pale wooden furniture assembled to a standardised blueprint. The man by the windows in the far corner was very distinctive, though.

Eddie approached his table. ‘Ay up. Never expected to see you again.’

John Brice, a cigarette in one hand, slowly looked up at him. ‘Well, well. Eddie Chase. I’d certainly hoped never to see you again.’ In the almost three years since their meeting, he had let his standards of appearance slip. He was bestubbled, his hair greasy and untidy and his clothes crumpled enough to suggest he had recently slept in them.

‘That’s nice. What the fuck are you doing here? MI6 trying to start a coup?’

Brice sneered at him. ‘I don’t work for the British government any more, Chase. Your fuck-up in Tenerife destroyed my career.’

‘Wasn’t a fuck-up as far as I was concerned,’ Eddie shot back, turning a seat around and sitting facing the other man over its back. ‘A mass murderer got arrested — turned out okay in my book.’

‘But that wasn’t the mission objective, was it?’ He took a swig from a glass of whisky. ‘You botched it, just like your test at the Funhouse. And because of that, my promotion prospects went out of the window. So I resigned.’

‘And you didn’t end up like Patrick McGoohan in The Prisoner? Shame.’

‘I ended up in this shithole country, which is arguably worse. Maybe I got out of Britain at the right time, though. Looks like the Opposition will win the election next month, and they’ve been making a lot of noise about gutting SIS and the other intelligence agencies. All in the name of human rights.’ His disgust at the term was plain.

‘Yeah, those damn humans,’ said Eddie mockingly. ‘But of all the places you could have gone, you came to the bloody Congo?’

‘Hardly by choice, but it’s where the work is.’ Another drink. ‘The kind of work you once did, ironically enough. Security for corporate bigwigs.’

‘Like Sir Robert whatsisface from that mining company? I saw him at the airport.’

‘Yes, he’s one of mine. Which leads to the question: what are you doing here? You and your wife.’

The mention of Nina unsettled Eddie. ‘How’d you know she was here too?’

‘I didn’t pick this spot by accident, Chase.’ He gestured at the windows. ‘I can see the main gate and the lobby entrance from here. I saw you both arriving.’

‘I’d wondered why you didn’t seem that surprised to see me.’

‘The only surprise is that you wanted to talk to me.’

Eddie smiled sardonically. ‘Just wanted to make sure you weren’t up to something dodgy.’

‘The days of state-sanctioned immunity are behind me, unfortunately. But the local authorities have bigger things on their plate than harassing every white man working on their turf.’

‘This LEC lot?’

‘You’re in the loop, then. Yes, the east of the country’s only one step from total chaos. Still, it’s good for my business — and the government is probably itching for the LEC to make a major attack. Declaring a state of emergency is a very good way to suspend democracy and remove any troublesome elements. Cynical, but you do what you must.’ He contemplated the glass for a moment before imbibing again. ‘As for what you’re doing… I can only assume that the celebrated Dr Nina Wilde has made some amazing archaeological discovery in the jungle, and is going to film it for television.’

Eddie’s unease deepened. ‘You know all that just from watching us arrive, do you?’

‘Simple deduction. Your wife is famous, after all. She’s had a documentary series on TV, and some of the people who arrived with you were carrying camera gear. I also know, because I keep my ears open, that Fortune Bemba has been recruiting bearers with jungle experience.’

‘You know Fortune?’

‘By reputation only; never met the man. Not the kind I’d normally hire.’

‘Why? Because he’s black?’

Brice gave him a mocking smirk. ‘You’re not going to give me a tedious lecture on the evils of racism, are you?’

‘No, but I might give you one on the evils of being an arsehole.’

He chuckled. ‘My hiring practices have nothing to do with race. They’re more about culture. Specifically, I limit myself to people who actually have the self-reliance and willpower to make things happen for themselves, rather than wallow in misery and squalor waiting for handouts. I mean, look at this place!’ He waved at the window again, this time to encompass the land beyond the security wall. ‘This country is literally a treasure trove, with mineral resources the civilised world is desperate to secure, and what does it do to exploit them? Nothing. They do nothing without being told. For God’s sake, it’s a major national news story when they manage to lay down a stretch of tarmac road. The whole continent was better off when it was being run by the colonial powers.’

‘Didn’t they go around chopping people’s arms off?’ said Eddie, scathing.

‘Better than heads. And that was mad King Leopold’s method of maintaining order. We were much more civilised about it.’ He straightened, as if filled with nostalgic pride. ‘There’s a reason we ruled half the world. The greatest empire in history. And then,’ — a frown — ‘we threw it all away, let the bloody Yanks and Krauts walk all over us. And now even the Chinks, for God’s sake.’ He sighed, then held up his glass in an imaginary toast before taking another drink. ‘But that’ll all change now we’ve got back our independence. I just hope we don’t vote in the wrong lot next month and balls it up even more by grovelling to whoever’s got the most money.’

‘I know I’ve been out of touch by living in the States, but aren’t the bunch in power right now the same ones who flogged everything off to China in the first place?’

Brice fixed him with a disapproving stare. ‘Frankly, I don’t think you deserve the right to criticise anything that goes on at home, Chase. You abandoned your country.’

Eddie was offended by the accusation. ‘Like fuck I did.’

‘No? You live in New York, you married a Yank — your daughter automatically has dual nationality, but I bet you haven’t even got her a British passport.’ Eddie’s silence was all the confirmation the other man needed. ‘I thought so. You know, I’m… I’m disgusted. Your country educated you, kept you healthy, kept you safe, made you who you are. And how did you repay that? By running off somewhere else the first chance you got.’ He shook his head. ‘Britain’s never needed its people to work to build a new future more than now, but where are you?’

Eddie stood. ‘I’m leaving before some bell-end gets punched in the face.’

Brice’s expression was halfway between a smile and a sneer. ‘You’re welcome to try. Squaddies always overestimate their chances.’

‘I’m tempted, but to be honest, I’d rather spend the evening on the phone with my daughter than down at the local police station explaining why I knocked some drunken arsehole’s teeth out.’ He glanced at the whisky glass; while Brice had raised it to his lips several times, the level of the brown liquid within didn’t seem much lower than when he had first arrived. Lightweight, he thought. ‘And I’ve got a plane to catch tomorrow morning, so think yourself lucky. Be better for you if I don’t see you again, though.’

‘I assure you, I don’t spend all day hanging around in hotel bars. I’ve got business to attend to. Enjoy your stay, though, Chase. Try not to catch anything.’ Another sarcastic toast.

‘Twat,’ was Eddie’s parting shot as he walked out. Nina was waiting at the reception desk, the expedition’s other members having joined her. ‘Hi, love. We all booked in?’

‘Yeah, but who was that in there?’ she asked. ‘You looked like you were having an argument.’

‘Just someone I had a run-in with once.’

‘Small world.’

‘Not bloody big enough. Still, won’t be seeing him again. Thank God.’

Paris glanced into the bar. ‘Is that John Brice?’

‘You know him?’ Eddie asked.

‘I know of him. Not a man I want to drink with. He’s been dealing with some bad people, is what I hear.’

‘Doesn’t surprise me.’

Fisher approached from the desk, holding up his room key. It was an actual piece of metal rather than a swipe card, attached to a large block of wood. ‘Welcome to the nineteenth century! I suppose this is one way to stop people from stealing them.’

Fortune grinned at him. ‘Would you prefer to be locked out of your room when the electricity fails?’

‘The power goes off?’ asked Lydia.

‘Most nights, yes. The hotel has a generator, but not always enough gasoline to run it.’

‘Sometimes the old brute force approach is best,’ said the amused Nina, holding up her own equally bulky key fob. ‘You’d agree with that, wouldn’t you, Eddie?’

He was looking distractedly back into the bar. ‘Hmm? Oh, yeah.’

‘You okay?’

‘Yeah, I’m fine.’ He composed himself, then retrieved their bags. ‘Come on, then. Let’s check out our pad.’

By the time they were installed in their third-floor room, sunset had arrived with equatorial swiftness. They sat on the small balcony to watch. Butembo became more visually appealing in inverse proportion to the amount of remaining daylight, shadows hiding the squalor.

‘So, that guy downstairs,’ Nina asked, ‘who was he? Paris said he’d heard of him…’

‘His name’s Brice. Used to work for the British government.’

She picked up the disdain in his voice. ‘You mean MI6?’

‘Yeah.’

She smiled. ‘You really don’t like spies, do you?’

‘Nope. Bunch of sneaky, lying bastards. Doesn’t matter which side they’re on, they’re as bad as each other.’

‘Well, Peter Alderley’s okay.’

‘Alderley! That tosser.’ But he said it with a crooked smile.

‘How did you meet this Brice, then?’

‘Job I did a while back,’ he said, being deliberately vague. ‘Ended okay from my point of view, but not his, which he was pretty pissed off about. He wound up quitting because of it, and now he’s out here as a private contractor.’

‘Not someone I want to get to know, then.’

‘Nope. Alderley’s a bell-end, but he’s a relatively good guy. Brice is just an arsehole, though. Anyway, let’s not—’

He broke off as the lights scattered across the darkening town flickered, then vanished. The hotel’s own lights briefly dimmed before returning. ‘Whoa. Fortune wasn’t kidding about the power,’ said Nina. The sun was now gone, the sky turning a bruised purple in its wake.

Eddie shook his head. ‘Happens a lot in this part of the world, even in pretty big cities. The only places you can guarantee the lights’ll stay on are the ones with lots of tourists… or the country’s rulers.’

‘Where the money is, in other words.’

‘Yeah. I got cynical about that a long time ago. Even back home in England.’

‘You still think of it as home? Even after living in New York for twelve years?’

‘Always will, because, well, it is home. It’s where I grew up, it’s what made me who I am…’

He trailed off with a small frown. Nina caught his change of expression. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Something Brice said, that’s all. Made me wonder where I actually belong.’

‘You’ve got a wife and a little girl! You should know where you belong.’

He smiled, then regarded his watch. ‘We should call Macy soon.’

‘It won’t be her bedtime for a couple of hours.’

‘I’m thinking more about our bedtime. It’ll be a long day tomorrow, for both of—’

Eddie stopped mid-sentence again, but this time at the sound of gunfire. He jumped from his seat to shield Nina as he scanned the dark streets below. The shots, he could tell, were from a rifle rather than a handgun, probably a Kalashnikov set on single shot. Shouts reached him from a few hundred metres away, but he couldn’t pick out any activity at ground level. ‘Think we should go inside.’

‘Yup,’ Nina quickly agreed. Even before Eddie had closed the French windows behind them, they heard another gunshot. ‘Who do you think it is?’

‘Militia, probably — maybe this lot Fortune told us about.’

‘I’m glad the hotel’s behind that wall.’

‘Won’t keep ’em out if they really want to come in.’

‘Thanks, honey. You know how to make a woman feel safe.’

Someone knocked on the door. The Englishman cautiously opened it. Ziff was outside, eyes wide. ‘Did you hear those shots?’

‘Yeah,’ Nina told him. ‘Eddie thinks it’s the militia.’

‘They didn’t sound far away! I hope the hotel is safe.’

She looked at her husband. ‘You want to tell him, or shall I?’ He gave her a grim smile.

‘I assume you think the whole town is unsafe, then?’ asked the Israeli. ‘At least we’re leaving in the morning.’

‘The countryside won’t be any safer,’ Eddie told him.

‘Wonderful.’ Ziff put a hand to his head. ‘Still, I suppose it will make your television show more exciting. If we make it back alive, that is.’

‘I’m sure Fortune and Paris will make sure we do,’ said Nina, trying to sound reassuring — both for Ziff’s benefit and her own.

A door opened down the hallway. ‘Did you just hear shooting?’ asked Lydia in alarm. The New Zealander was clad in an oversized T-shirt, clutching it protectively around herself.

‘It’ll be okay,’ said Eddie. ‘If you’ve got earplugs, you might want to put ’em in, though.’

‘Oh, great. We’re in a war zone.’ She retreated and closed the door.

Ziff regarded the doorway curiously. ‘Isn’t that Mr Fisher’s room?’

‘I’m sure they’re just sharing to save the production company some money,’ said Nina, holding in a smile. The director and sound woman weren’t a couple, but it had become clear that they were at the very least friends with benefits.

The bearded archaeologist gave her a wry look, then returned to his own room. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, Nina.’

‘See you then,’ she replied. Eddie closed the door. She saw when he turned that he was deep in thought. ‘What?’

‘I don’t think Fortune and Paris will be enough to look after you all,’ he said. ‘Not with these militia twats running around.’

‘It won’t just be them. Fortune said he’d hired three other guys.’

‘They’re porters, not bodyguards. And I don’t know anything about them.’ A pause, then: ‘I’m coming with you to the river.’

‘What?’ she protested. ‘Eddie, it’s a full day’s drive away — that’s a two-day round trip for you. And it’ll take at least another day before you can get back to Macy.’

‘My dad and Julie can look after her for a bit longer.’

‘That’s… kind of an imposition. Are you serious?’

‘Bloody right I’m serious. Fortune’s a good man, and Paris seems on the ball, but they’re just two guys. And two guys aren’t enough to protect a nice juicy party of rich foreigners.’

‘And you think having three guys will make all the difference?’

‘You know what the third guy can do. Especially when it comes to keeping you safe.’

She couldn’t dispute that after everything they had been through together. ‘Yeah, but… Eddie, you can’t leave Macy with her grandparents for an extra two days. It’s not fair on them, and it’s not fair on her.’

His attitude did not change. ‘I’ll tell you what else wouldn’t be fair on her: her mum not coming back at all because some militia scumbag decided to steal some camera gear. Once you’re safely on the boats I’ll head back, but I’m not leaving you until then. And that’s that.’

‘It is, is it?’ Nina said, defiant — but knowing that on this occasion, there was no way he would back down. Nevertheless, she refused to retreat herself. ‘Then I think you should be the one to explain to Macy why her daddy isn’t going to see her for at least another three days. And also explain to your daddy.’

‘I will, don’t worry. And I know Macy’ll be upset, but there are things that’d upset her a lot more. As for Dad, pfft.’ A dismissive sound. ‘He always preferred playing golf to being with his kids, so he can bloody well make up for it with his grandkid.’

Nina had more to say, but another couple of gunshots outside — more distant, but still clear — held back the words. ‘Hope that doesn’t go on all night,’ she said instead, with false levity.

‘We’ll see,’ Eddie replied. ‘I’ll let Fortune know about the change in plans, then we’ll ring Macy. After that, we’d better get some food and then some shut-eye. ’Cause tomorrow’s going to be a long day.’

‘Yeah,’ she said, still frustrated with him. ‘I get the feeling it will.’