‘What are you,’ she suddenly heard herself demanding. ‘Country and Western fans? Choirboys? Haven’t you ever had a real rock chick?’
She tore her bra free as they turned, wide-eyed to watch her. Undid her belt and pulled down her jeans and panties to her knees in one brutal motion, then straightened as they fell to her ankles, flaunting the leopard tattoo at them.
‘You haven’t lived until you’ve pulled a train with a heavy metal maiden!’ she snarled.
As she challenged them, she stood on the heels of her trainers one at a time, squeezing them off her feet while the man simply gaped. She stepped out of the left leg. Kicked the left shoe at the prizefighter. Working on reflex, he dropped his Smith & Wesson on the bed and caught it. Stepped out of the right one. Kicked that with the last of her clothing at the man who called himself Van. The bundle sailed past his naked shoulder and hit Nellie’s new captain as he came in through the office door.
‘Fuck!’ said Van, and swept Celine off the table into a bundle on the floor. ‘You want it? Let’s go for it!’
‘All right,’ shouted Anastasia. ‘There’s plenty for all of you. Just form an orderly queue…’
Van reached for her. Caught her under her arms. Lifted her off her feet. Slammed her down on the table and…
‘Wait!’ called the captain. ‘Wait just a goddamn minute!’
Van swung round with a snarl that belonged in a zoo. ‘What the fuck…’
As the jeans had wrapped themselves round the captain’s face, so the oysters had fallen out of the pocket. He came past Van now and looked down at her, his eyes ablaze with something beyond simple lust. He brandished the oysters in her face so wildly that the huge black pearl fell out and rolled across the table like an eyeball.
‘Where did you get these?’ snarled the captain. ‘Tell me where you got these!’
Events were going too fast for Anastasia now. She blinked up at the two faces hovering like a pair of moons above her. She opened her mouth to ask ‘What?’ But she never said the word.
Van’s naked torso exploded, spraying her bare body with boiling blood. He toppled sideways. A brutal hammering sound filled the room, beating on her ears as though someone were driving spikes into her skull. The captain span away into a sudden cloud of grey smoke. His face appeared to have fallen off. Anastasia rolled sideways, dropped on to the floor beside Celine. Clutched the shaking woman’s head and shoulders to her like a mother protecting her baby. Looked up, her eyes wide with horror and wonder. The noise stopped as abruptly as it had begun.
Esan stood in the doorway. The AK was smoking in one hand, its butt in his armpit. The M16 was in the other, also steadied under his arm. His lips were moving but Anastasia couldn’t hear what he was saying. A hand fell on her shoulder and she jumped, screaming with shock. The sound of her own distress seemed to unblock her ears, unfreeze her mind. She looked up. It was Ado.
‘The boat,’ said Ado, decisively. ‘Run for the boat.’
TWELVE
Kingfisher
‘This is a waste of my time,’ said Robin quietly to Richard. ‘I don’t even know why I’m here.’
‘In the room or in the country?’ he breathed back with a wry, lopsided grin.
‘Take your pick,’ she mouthed, failing to see the funny side.
The pair of them looked around the table, with Minister Ngama at the head. They were in one of the conference rooms beside his breathtaking office in the new complex of buildings that stood where the shanty town had stood, three years earlier, on the south-east outskirts of the city.
The tall window behind Ngama showed the delta and the sea beyond it outlined against a hard blue early-morning sky. Shipping came and went busily across the bay. Only Caleb Maina’s ex-command was immobile, tethered to the dockside, waiting to be towed into dry dock for repair, sitting oddly just behind the shoulder of the man who sacked its commander. Its slim grey bows like the point of a dagger waiting to stab him in the back.
In the room, the ministers’ team of lawyers, geologists, oil men, shipping experts and civil servants sat down the long table to their right. Max, Richard, Robin and their teams of geologists, oil experts, lawyers and shipping men sat down the other. On the glassy mahogany board in front of them lay the contracts they were negotiating for the extraction and shipping of the Benin Light crude oil which was one of the country’s greatest assets. In another room, no doubt — or in this room at another time — the men on the Heritage Mariner/Bashnev-Sevmash side would be replaced by teams from Shell, BP, Total, Texas Oil, Exxon or Chevron Conoco to name but a few.
But Robin’s point held good. Richard and the others from Heritage Mariner understood the negotiations as well as she did. Richard’s signature as CEO carried as much weight as hers did. She did not need to countersign anything. She did not need to add anything. She did not need to be here at all.
She was beginning to wonder why Julius Chaka had included her in his invitation in the first place. For he was not a man given to pointless courtesies or empty gestures. He knew the Mariners well enough to realize she did not have to be included — like Irina Lavrov — as a necessary extra to keep Richard happy. And yet he had specifically invited her.
Why?
‘Excuse me, Minister,’ she said. She stood up, smiled winningly as he nodded and smiled back. Then she walked out.
By the time she reached the main door of the building she was feeling listless and bored. She had moved on impulse, as though she could just drive up to the president’s office and ask the man himself. But the instant the door to the conference room closed behind her, she saw the impossibility of such a course of action. What she had managed to achieve was to get herself smartly to a loose end. She was not used to having nothing to do, and she wondered briefly whether she should turn round. Even a tedious meeting where she was merely an observer was preferable to being at a loose end.
But the feeling was only fleeting. She changed mental gear, brought out her feminine side, and began to plan a day of relaxation, with a little sightseeing, perhaps. And shopping. But she was dressed for business, not pleasure, so when her car arrived, summoned by the security man at the door, she asked to be taken back to her hotel first.
Changed from her formal two-piece suit into a light dress and re-accessorized from head to toe, Robin was standing in the reception of the Granville Royal Lodge an hour later when Bonnie Holliday appeared. If anything, the doctor of African Studies looked more lovely than ever. Her cinnamon skin was positively glowing. Her eyes were sparkling. She seemed to be dancing rather than walking as she swept across towards the security gate and the huge glass doors that led outside. When she saw Robin, she hesitated, then crossed towards her. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Just off somewhere? I thought you were stuck in meetings all day with Richard.’
‘I walked out,’ said Robin. ‘They don’t need me. I thought I’d try some retail therapy. Sightseeing maybe.’
‘I’m off on an adventure,’ Bonnie whispered as though sharing a wicked secret. ‘Want to come along for the ride?’
‘An adventure, huh?’ Robin was amused. Intrigued.
‘Surely. Captain Caleb is going to give me a ride in his command. There’ll be a car here in a moment. I guess he wouldn’t mind if you came too.’