A burst of atmospherics was followed by a challenging, "Oasis here. Loud and clear, mister. Who are you? Over" — spoken in a raffish German accent.
"Oasis, this is the British High Commission in Nairobi, I'm passing you to Sandy Woodrow. Over."
Woodrow leaned both hands on Donohue's desk in order to come closer to the microphone.
"This is Woodrow, Head of Chancery. Am I speaking to Wolfgang? Over."
"Chancellery like Hitler had one?"
"The political section. Over."
"OK, Mr. Chancery, I'm Wolfgang. What's your question? Over."
"I want you to give me, please, your own description of the woman who checked into your hotel as Miss Tessa Abbott. That's correct, is it? That's what she wrote? Over."
"Sure. Tessa."
"What did she look like? Over."
"Dark hair, no makeup, tall, late twenties, not British. Not for me. South German, Austrian or Italian. I'm a hotelier. I look at people. And beautiful. I'm a man too. Sexy like an animal, how she moves. And clothes like you could blow them off. That sound like your Abbott or somebody else's? Over."
Donohue's head was a few inches from his own. Sheila was standing at his other side. All three of them were gazing at the microphone.
"Yes. That sounds like Miss Abbott. Can you tell me, please: when did she make the reservation at your hotel, and how? I believe you have an office in Nairobi. Over."
"She didn't."
"I'm sorry?"
"Dr. Bluhm made the reservation. Two persons, two cabins close to the pool, one night. We've only got one cabin free, I tell him. OK, he'll take it. That's some fellow. Wow. Everybody looks at them. The guests, the staff. One beautiful white woman, one beautiful African doctor. That's a nice sight. Over."
"How many rooms does a cabin have?" Woodrow asked, feebly hoping to head off the scandal that was staring him in the face.
"One bedroom, two single beds, not too hard, nice and springy. One sitting room. Everybody signs the register here. No funny names, I tell them. People get lost, I got to know who they are. So that's her name, right? Abbott? Over."
"Her maiden name. Over. The PO box number she gave is the High Commission."
"Where's the husband?"
"Here in Nairobi."
"Oh boy."
"So when did Bluhm make the reservation? Over."
"Thursday. Thursday evening. Radios me from Loki. Tells me they expect to leave Friday first light. Loki like Lokichoggio. On the northern border. Capital of the aid agencies working South Sudan. Over."
"I know where Lokichoggio is. Did they say what they were doing there?"
"Aid stuff. Bluhm's in the aid game, right? That's the only way you get to Loki. Works for some Belgian medical outfit, he told me. Over."
"So he booked from Loki and they left Loki on Friday morning early. Over."
"Tells me they expect to reach the west side of the lake around noon. Wants me to fix them a boat to bring them across the lake to the Oasis. "Listen," I tell him. "Lokichoggio to Turkana, that's a hairy drive. Best you ride with a food convoy. The hills are lousy with bandits, there's tribes stealing each other's cattle, which is normal, except that ten years ago they had spears and today they all got AK47s." He laughs. Says he can handle it. And he can. They make it, no problem. Over."
"So they check in, then sign the register. Then what? Over."
"Bluhm tells me they want a jeep and a driver to go up to Leakey's place first light next morning. Don't ask me why he didn't mention it when he booked, I didn't ask him. Maybe they only just decided. Maybe they didn't like to discuss their plans over the radio. "OK," I tell him. "You're lucky. You can have Noah." Bluhm's pleased. She's pleased. They walk in the garden, swim together, sit at the bar together, eat together, tell good night to everybody, go to their cabin. In the morning they leave together. I watch them. You want to know what they had for breakfast?"
"Who saw them leave apart from you? Over."
"Everybody who's awake sees them. Packed lunch, box of water, spare gas, emergency rations, medical supplies. All three of them in the front and Abbott in the middle, like one happy family. This is an oasis, OK? I got twenty guests, mostly they're asleep. I got forty staff, mostly they're awake. I got about a hundred guys I don't need hanging round my car park selling animal skins and walking sticks and hunting knives. Everyone who sees Bluhm and Abbott leave waves bye-bye. I wave, the skin sellers wave, Noah waves back, Bluhm and Abbott wave back. They don't smile. They're serious. Like they've got heavy business to do, big decisions, what do I know? What you want me to do, Mr. Chancery? Kill the witnesses? Listen, I'm Galileo. Put me in prison, I'll swear she never came to the Oasis. Over."
For a moment of paralysis Woodrow had no further questions, or perhaps he had too many. I'm in prison already, he thought. My life sentence started five minutes ago. He passed a hand across his eyes and when he removed it he saw Donohue and Sheila watching him with the same blank expressions they had worn when he told them she was dead.
"When did you first get the idea something might have gone wrong? Over," he asked lamely — like, Do you live up there all year round? Over. Or, How long have you been running your nice hotel? Over".
"The four-track has a radio. On a trip with guests, Noah is supposed to call and say he's happy. Noah doesn't call. OK, radios fail, drivers forget. To make a link it's boring. You got to stop the car, get out, set up the aerial. You still hearing me? Over."
"Loud and clear. Over."
"Except Noah never forgets. That's why he drives for me. But he doesn't call. Not in the afternoon, not in the evening. OK, I think. Maybe they camped somewhere, gave Noah too much to drink or something. Last thing in the evening before shutdown I radio the rangers up around the Leakey site. No sign. First thing next morning I go to Lodwar to report the loss. It's my jeep, OK? My driver. I'm not allowed to report the loss by radio, I've got to do it in person. It's a hell of a journey but that's the law. The Lodwar police really like helping citizens in distress. My jeep went missing? Tough shit. It had two of my guests and my driver in it? Then why don't I go look for them? It's a Sunday, they're not expecting to work today. They got to go to church. "Give us some money, lend us a car, maybe we help you," they tell me. I come home, I put a search party together. Over."
"Consisting of whom?" Woodrow was getting back into his stride.
"Two groups. My own people, two trucks, water, spare fuel, medical supplies, provisions, Scotch in case I need to disinfect something. Over." A cross-broadcast intervened. Wolfgang told it to get the hell off the air. Surprisingly, it did. "It's pretty hot up here right now, Mr. Chancery. We got a hundred and fifteen Fahrenheit plus jackals and hyenas like you got mice. Over."
A pause, apparently for Woodrow to speak.
"I'm listening," Woodrow said.
"The jeep was on its side. Don't ask me why. The doors were closed. Don't ask me why. One window open like five centimeters. Somebody closed the doors and locked them, took away the key. The smell unspeakable, just from the little gap. Hyena scratches all over, big dents where they'd tried to get in. Tracks all round while they went crazy. A good hyena smells blood ten kilometers away. If they'd been able to reach the bodies they'd have cracked them open one bite, got the marrow out the bones. But they didn't. Somebody locked the door on them and left the bit of window open. So they went crazy. So would you. Over."
Woodrow struggled to get his words together. "The police say Noah was decapitated. Is that right? Over."
"Sure. He was a great guy. Family's worried crazy. They got people everywhere looking for his head. If they can't find the head they can't give him a decent funeral and his spirit will come back to haunt them. Over."