Dark Flight (29 page)

The reservoir was the colour of sand, its surface smooth as silk. She contemplated a long swim to shore through the silt-laden waters, weaving between the dead arms of the trees. She was a good swimmer, having learned the hard way in the peat-brown lochs of her home island of Skye. Cold and murky water didn’t scare her, and neither did the fish lurking in Tiga Dam. She would doubtless catch a parasitical infection from
the water. Probably bilharzia, like Abel. Unpleasant but curable.

It was the possibility of water snakes that worried her.

The sun went down swiftly. To someone used to the twilight of a northern land, its descent was frighteningly fast. The island was soon enveloped in a suffocating darkness as though a thick blanket had been thrown over it.

Rhona had checked earlier for candles and found a ready supply, but the only box of matches she located was damp and useless. In the dark she couldn’t see the mosquitoes although she could hear them. The anti-malarial tablets were back at the hotel, so anything that bit her would have a field day.

Now the cool water looked like a refuge from the biting insects. The faint wavering glow of cooking fires picked out the distant shore. In the deceptive darkness the land didn’t look so far away after all.

If she stayed here, what would happen? The sudden shocking image of Carole’s bloodied body spread out on the kitchen floor sprang to mind.

The two men expected her to remain in the bungalow. No one, they thought, would be foolish enough to swim Tiga Dam at night. Especially not a lone
Baturi
woman. She wouldn’t wait around for them to do to her what they had done to Carole.

Rhona took off her shoes and walked into the water.

‘
DANNY FERGUS IS
here, sir.’

It was the best bit of news Bill had had in the last week.

‘Where?’

‘With the desk sergeant.’

‘Get down there. And Janice, for God’s sake don’t scare him away.’

By the time Bill arrived, Danny was in an interview room. When Bill walked in he was shocked at the change in the teenager. He’d seen kids in Danny’s state before. It was usually when the duty doctor was signing the piece of paper that would commit them to an emergency mental ward. The result of too many drugs taken too often, or in too many combinations.

Danny might have looked psychotic, but what Bill smelt was fear. Danny reeked of it. It was fear that made his teeth grind, his hands twitch and his bloodshot eyes roll.

At first Danny kept repeating the same sentence over and over. ‘HE’s coming to get me.’

They found the cross of bones in his pocket. Taking it away from him didn’t calm him down. He’d been frightened before, but now that he knew the bones had been secreted on his person, he was terrified.

‘Danny, listen to me. We can get him if you tell us who he is. Then you’ll be safe.’

Danny looked at Bill, wanting to believe.

‘He can’t get you in here,’ said Bill.

Danny looked around the bare walls, the heavy door.

‘An officer will stay with you all the time.’

Danny’s hunched shoulders slowly straightened. He breathed in. ‘I want my ma here. Not my dad.’ He shook his head. ‘Not him.’

‘Of course.’ Bill gave Janice a nod. ‘Get his mother here, pronto, and someone from Social Services.’

When Janice left, Danny began to crumble. Tears squeezed out of his eyes and ran down his cheeks. The big man act was gone. Danny Fergus was a fifteen-year-old boy who wanted his mother.

‘Okay, I’ll tell you.’ Saying the words seemed to unnerve him again. His teeth rattled together in his clenched jaw. ‘It’s her fault, that woman forensic. If she hadn’t turned up on the waste ground everything would be all right. HE’s going to get her too.’ Danny checked Bill’s reaction to that.

‘HE is getting no one,’ Bill told him. ‘We’re getting HIM.’

It had started so easily. Malchie had seen a black guy at the building on the waste ground.

‘He thought he was one of those illegal immigrants, sleeping in there.’

They’d watched at night, seen others coming and going. ‘Not all black,’ said Danny. ‘Malchie figured they were illegal workers. He said we could make some
cash.’ Danny chewed his lip. ‘He spoke to the black guy. They did a deal. All the dope we wanted, to keep folk away.’

A dream ticket for the pair of them. Act like the punks they were and get paid for it in cannabis.

‘Malchie wanted more. I told him to leave it alone . . .’ Danny stumbled. ‘He went to one of their ceremonies. Initiation, that’s what he called it.’ The boy’s face flushed. ‘They cut off a dog’s testicles and drank its blood. Malchie said it gave him a hard-on.’ Despite his fear, he looked slyly at Janice.

‘A name, Danny? A name to keep you safe.’

‘Malchie said you couldn’t touch the guy in charge. That he was immune.’

‘Immune?’ What the hell was he talking about? ‘I need a name, Danny.’

Janice came in. ‘Immunity, sir. Diplomatic immunity?’

‘Did you see this black man?’

‘I followed Malchie once. I saw him then. He was tall, black. That’s all.’

‘Great.’

Danny looked worried that he wasn’t giving enough. Not enough to be safe.

‘There was a white guy too. I saw him with a black lassie. Young, maybe twelve or thirteen. He put her in a car and took her away.’

That was more like it. ‘Tell me about him.’

The description seemed to fit Mundell, but that may have been wishful thinking. Then Danny came out with another gem: ‘He had a fancy watch. Malchie said he looked at it all the time. A Rolex.’

Bill tried not to smile. ‘Would you recognise this man if you saw him again?’

‘Aye, I would.’

‘Good boy, Danny.’

Danny sat back relieved. Safe for the moment. Bill and Janice rose to leave.

‘You won’t leave me alone, will you?’

‘There’s a constable standing outside the door. Your mother’ll be here shortly.’

‘You promised I’d be safe.’

‘We’ll lock the door when we go out. No one can get in except us.’

Danny didn’t look convinced. Bill couldn’t blame him. Everyone connected with this case ended up dead.

‘Bring in Mundell. Let’s set up an identity parade.’

‘Do they all have to wear Rolexes, sir?’

The attempt at a joke brought a half smile to Bill’s face. He would dearly love to nail Mundell. Abusing a minor would be a start.

The Home Office had not been prepared to release a list of those with diplomatic immunity. It was up to him to submit the name and offence to them, he’d been politely informed. Eventually common sense, or a little arm-twisting from the Procurator Fiscal’s Office, had produced a list of a dozen people currently resident in Scotland. One name interested Bill the most. Prince Kabiru Suleiman, who gave his Nigerian address as
Sabon Gari, Kano
.

KANO WAS IN
semi-darkness. Those with standby generators had switched them on, the patches of light delineating the well-to-do from the poorer areas of the city.

The consul’s driver had been sympathetic but not much else. He had talked to the owner of the soft-drinks stall at McNab’s orders. The madam had got into a large black vehicle. That’s all the man would say.
No. He had never seen the men before
. He didn’t think the madam looked frightened. McNab knew he was lying. His eyes were wide with worry. From the compound behind, women watched, babies slung on their backs. All of them seemed nervous.

When the driver mentioned the British consul, there was a slight release of tension. McNab jumped on the opportunity. ‘Ask him which direction the vehicle went.’

The rapid exchange elicited the word
north
.

‘What’s up there?’

The driver thought for a moment. ‘Tiga.’

‘What’s Tiga?’

The driver threw his arms wide. ‘A big dam.’

‘Can we go there?’

‘Not this way.’ The driver shook his head. ‘We go back to the consulate.’

The driver was right. They couldn’t go across the bush in this vehicle. The best bet was to speak to the consul. McNab had never felt so useless in his life. This was one crime scene he couldn’t manage. Everything he knew, everything he’d learned, was futile here.

On the way back to town, he stared at the unremitting barren terrain that rushed past his window, as though he might spot Rhona or the black vehicle moving among the endless scrub and low bushes. When he’d heard about the decision to send a team to Nigeria, he’d done everything he could to make sure he went with Rhona. He wanted to be alone with her. He wanted to show her that there was still something between them. Something that they both needed and wanted, despite the Irish guy, despite Janice. His hunger to be with her had put Rhona in danger. As the sun went down and darkness fell, McNab’s mood was as black as the night that surrounded him.

Henry Boswell paced the tiled floor. In his long white socks and big baggy khaki shorts he looked every inch the colonial. He might have resembled a relic of the past but his brain was sharp enough.

‘And you’re convinced Adamu’s men were involved?’

‘It was too much of a coincidence. They were at the front of the queue with the others. When the vehicle took off into the bush with Rhona, the policemen dismantled the roadblock.’

‘How did your guards react when you found Dr MacLeod gone?’

McNab thought for a moment. ‘Worried.’

‘Surprised?’

He had to admit they had been. Then when he started shouting at them, the shutters came down.

‘I have reason to thank John Adamu for my life. I trust him implicitly. But he cannot vouch for all his men, which makes his job even harder.’ Henry paused. ‘Naseem’s family are conspicuously absent. His father, the chief, is in Lagos overseeing his oil interests in the Delta.’

‘Oil interests?’

‘He owns a major Nigerian oil company. It employs a number of Europeans.’

The large puzzle was beginning to come together.

‘John has been in contact with the family. They deny all knowledge of Stephen and his mother. He knows they are lying, but the family are very powerful in Kano State.

‘So what do we do?’

‘Dr MacLeod is in danger. I have no doubt of that. But we can do little in the dark.’

The lights flickered as the generator stalled, then brightened as it kicked back into action.

‘If she was taken in the direction of Tiga Dam . . .’ He paused again. ‘I have a house there. So too do a number of expats and wealthy Kano residents. We can search the area at sunrise.’

‘What about Sam’s mother?’

‘Abdul went to her home. Her houseboy has not seen her for several days.’

‘She’s missing?’

‘According to Abdul, the man was terrified. He says a black vehicle took the madam away. He tried to report this to the police and was beaten for his trouble. He only told Abdul because he knew he worked for me.’

‘I think we should speak to him.’

They were on their way to the car, when Henry’s mobile rang. As Henry answered, McNab could just make out Bill’s voice on the other end, tinny but clear. When Henry filled him in on Rhona’s abduction, there was an explosion of furious expletives.

Henry handed the mobile to McNab. ‘It’s DI Wilson. He wants to speak to you.’

McNab told Bill the whole sorry story.

‘Find Rhona. Get her out of there.’ Bill’s voice was thick with anxiety.

‘There may be a ritual planned for Stephen. From what Danny Fergus said, Rhona could be in danger. It looks as though they might involve her. Go to the Nigerian Church of God. It was the pastor there who told Achebe about the ritual . . .’

The mobile cut out before Bill could finish.

Henry directed the driver to head for the Nigerian Church of God.

‘Pastor Oyekunde is a good man. He’ll help us all he can.’

The
Sabon Gari
was bustling despite the blackout. Every shop and stall had its own paraffin lamp, and was doing business in its circle of light. The Peugeot estate had been exchanged for a Land Rover. Abdul sat
in front with the driver. Following his directions, they weaved their way around the potholes, horn honking, the mass of humanity that thronged the shadowy, rubbish-strewn streets giving way before them.

Pastor Oyekunde was in his candlelit church, a low red-mud building with a tin roof and a small bell tower. The church was surrounded by a high wire fence, a guard at the gate. When the guard saw the consul in the Land Rover, he pulled the gate back to let them in.

‘The Christians feel under threat here since the riots. Although one guard won’t keep out a mob,’ Henry explained.

McNab was inclined to agree. The gate was a token gesture, nothing more.

The pastor, a small round man, robed in black, welcomed the consul as though he expected him. They exchanged a series of greetings in a language McNab didn’t recognise. Once these were complete, the consul introduced McNab in English.

Oyekunde held out his hand. ‘I am sorry for what has happened.’

When they were seated, he told them what he knew.

‘The practice of Ritualism, as Mr Boswell is aware, is a continuing problem among both Christians and Muslims. Even those educated in the West are not free of its influence.’

The talk wasn’t moving fast enough for McNab. He butted in. ‘Do you know where this ceremony will be held?’

The pastor indicated he did not. ‘However, the ceremony mirrors baptism, so it should be held near water. A river or lake.’

‘Tiga Dam,’ McNab muttered.

The consul explained. ‘Dr MacLeod was taken from the Rano road across country, we think towards Tiga.’

‘The Suleiman family have a small house on an island in the lake,’ said the pastor.

RHONA VEERED LEFT
at the hum of the motor boat’s engines. A powerful light on the bow illuminated the small bungalow. She heard the backwash slap the boat’s side as it turned and one of the two men jumped into the water, heading for the house.

She was barely twenty yards from shore. A short distance away, the white spectre of a drowned tree reflected the light of a pale white moon. She kicked out smoothly towards it, trying not to splash. It would only take a few seconds for the men to realise she wasn’t on the island. Maybe if she hid in among the submerged trees they wouldn’t find her.