“I want a full report of the month’s mining activities. Any troops lost, any problems amongst the men. And I want to check the refinery. You said there was a fire there last week.” Clement took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat from this forehead. He drew a deep breath, his tone softened, “but I will take my usual refreshment first. You have made a good selection this time I trust? That last jungle cat bit like a python.”
Uko nodded. “Yes sir, I think you will be most satisfied. We took her from a village in the north. They are known for their beauty. She was spirited at first but has become more subdued. We spiked her tea with opium.”
Clement nodded and headed up the curving marble staircase to the rooms he had made into his living quarters. He had a ritual he liked to perform whenever he returned to the jungle. It was, after all, a war zone, and like all generals he was prone to superstition.
He pushed gently at the large double doors and stepped into the chamber. In one corner, near the shuttered window, was a dark figure hunched up in a red sarong. A young girl, eyes wide with fear, no more than 13 years of age.
The room was cool after the heat of the jungle, cool as a tomb. In the half-light he could see tears on her cheeks, a gentle sob interrupted now she saw him. He undid his belt, slowly, thoughtfully, wrapping the long strip of leather round and round his right wrist, buckle facing outwards.
“I hear you’re a tough little thing. You know what we do with tough meat?” He said standing over her, his body odour thick and unpleasant. The girl shook her head vigorously from side to side.
“We beat it till its tender. You going to be a tough girl?” Another shake of the head, even stronger.
“Good, good girl,” Clement replied, before raising his hand and delivering a slap so hard it knocked one of her teeth half-way across the room.
27
Jack opened the door to his College digs warily, half expecting an ambush. Nothing. The room was in the same mess it had been when he left it three weeks ago. Piles of books on his desk and on the floor. Most of them from the library and overdue. A mug that looked like it may contain a new strand of penicillin in the green mould that covered the inside, a stash of laundry spilling over from a basket in the corner. He walked through to the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face, then unpacked the cameras he’d been given by MI6. They were small, no more than four centimetres in length. He positioned them as he’d been told. High as possible and close to the corners of the room, then checked his watch. How long would he have to wait?
A tap at the door. He steeled himself, not knowing what to expect. One hand on the latch, he opened it.
“Hi Jack, everything ok?” The MI6 officer who’d sat near him on the train. He cast an expert eye round the room.
“Cameras are good. We’re synced up in the room across the hallway. Only thing now is to wait.” Jack wondered what Dr. Hargreaves, the famously grumpy emeritus professor in Modern History made of the intrusion into his rooms. He probably didn’t mind, might even have recruited half the current senior managers at MI6.
“Oh here, I almost forgot,” the officer said, passing him a brown paper bag. “Food,” the officer said, in answer to Jack’s puzzled expression. “Try and eat something, there’s no knowing how long the wait will be. Anything else you can do to distract yourself then go ahead and do it, just don’t leave this room.” Jack nodded and placed the bag of food on his desk. What he really wanted to do was call Amanda and let her know what was going on, but Sir Clive had expressly forbidden it.
“You’re to have no contact with anyone, don’t answer your phone, don’t use e-mail. Anyone knocks on your door open it, but tell them you don’t feel well and get rid of them as fast as you can. For their safety as much as yours.” Jack had listened carefully and nodded obediently.
He sat at his desk and emptied the paper bag onto it. Some fruit, chocolate bars, a couple of pork pies and crisps. Coca-Cola. A regular picnic. He picked up a textbook and started reading. Might as well try and make up for those three weeks of study he’d missed.
To his surprise the anxiety of waiting was quickly forgotten. He found his eyelids growing heavy. He lay down on the badly sprung College mattress and shut his eyes, body relaxing, muscles beginning to unknot themselves. His last thought was whether he would be able to convince his attackers he was surprised when they burst through the door.
Somewhere in the darkness an insistent tapping. Knuckle on wood. Jack got up, rubbed his face. There it was again, tap tap tap. He checked his watch, quarter to nine. Would the attackers knock? Seemed unlikely. He got up and switched on the light, opened the door a crack.
It swung hard into his face, a cricket bat bang on his forehead. He stumbled backwards, a boot in his chest, two men pressing down on his wrists, pinning him to the ground. The urge to struggle was strong, to kick out with his legs, flick himself upwards, take them out. He managed to suppress it. A handkerchief stuffed in his mouth, making him want to gag. No blindfold. If they don’t blindfold you, it means they don’t care whether or not you see them, so it’s likely they intend to kill you. Sir Clive had told him calmly, as if he was describing how to pick a winner at Ascot. If that’s the case we’ll move into position.
Jack looked up, a face came into view, someone he recognised. The man from the lab, still dressed in the same grey suit. No white coat this time, just dark circles under the eyes and two days growth of stubble. He looked haggard. There was a jerkiness to his movements, hysteria twitching under the surface. The man knelt down, opened the brief case he was carrying. Jack could see his hands shaking. He expected him to pull out a scalpel, to see the glint of the blade, but his hand held something else.
To the surprise of everyone, not least the two men holding Jack down, the man leapt backwards, waving a gun wildly at the other people in the room. Two shots. Deafening in the enclosed space. Jack felt the pressure on his arms released. Transferred to his stomach. One of the men had collapsed on top of him, the other lay on the floor beside him. Eyes wide open, deathly still, frozen in shock at the unexpected attack.
“Money first. Then I remove the device.” The man’s voice was strained, stretched and distorted by irregular breathing. No response from whoever else was in the room, “I didn’t sign up for this, I’m not having you silence me after all the shit I’ve been through. Not before I’ve been paid.”
A different voice, unusually calm, with a heavy French accent.
“Dr. Seladin, you are making things rather difficult for me. I am not sure what I have done to earn such distrust.” Jack craned his neck upwards. By the doorway was a suited and rather fat Chinese man. His palms open before him, his eyes cool and patient.
“Please cut the device out so we can get on our way; you will get your money,” he added.
“No, we take him with us, I remove the device only after you transfer the funds,” the man stabbed the gun at Monsieur Blanc, emphasising each syllable, his voice a hysterical whisper.
“Very well, but please let us hurry. I know these Colleges have some strange traditions but firing shots in a student’s room is likely to bring unwanted attention.” Dr.Seladin seemed at a loss now that Monsieur Blanc had agreed to his demand. He lowered his weapon a fraction, nodded slightly. That was all Monsieur Blanc needed. He stepped forwards, a flash of metal in his right hand, steel spike up through the man’s rib cage and into his heart.