Ivory Nation by Andy Maslen (free children's ebooks online txt) 📕

want to go to Botswana. If the shooter was there in the days before the killing, someone might have seen him. I mean, how many Israeli physics teachers can there be in Botswana?’

Don smiled. Were the stars aligning to help him out?

‘Do you remember my chap, Gabriel Wolfe?’

‘The moody one with the scar?’

‘That’s him.’

‘Yes. I like him.’

‘He’s over there at the moment, along with another of my operatives, Eli Schochat. They’re on an unrelated mission, but still…’ Don said, suddenly wondering just how unrelated they really were. ‘She’s Israeli herself, so you two might put your heads together about the Mossad connection.’

‘Can you hook me up with them?’

‘Leave it with me. Get yourself over there; you’ll fly into Gaborone and I’ll have them pick you up at the airport.’

‘Great, thank you. I’ll sort out a hotel and let you know where I’ll be staying.’

‘No. Don’t do that. I have a better idea. We’re currently benefiting from the largesse of a wealthy friend of The Parachute Regiment. I’ll book you a room where Gabriel and Eli are staying. Save the Met a few quid.’

‘Thanks again. I can feel my Favours-Owed-to-Don-Webster file bulging at the seams.’

‘Not at all.’ He paused, just for a second. ‘Stella, there is one thing you could do for me. Not really a quid pro quo, but just, hmm-mm-hmm, as a friend.’

‘What? Anything.’

‘Keep this to yourself, would you? My little band of jolly cut-throats aren’t precisely operating within our remit at the moment.’

He heard Stella laugh.

‘Don’t tell me the off-books brigade have gone off their own books?’

Don smiled.

‘Something like that.’

‘My lips are sealed. My own career hasn’t always been a tribute to protocol.’

‘So I gather. Come and see me when this trip of yours is over.’

‘I promised my boss I wouldn’t let you lure me away from her, Don. Plus there’s a queue,’ she said.

He could hear the good humour in her voice. Smiled to himself.

‘Who said anything about luring? I was thinking we could have a spot of lunch and I could debrief you. Just to satisfy my own curiosity.’

‘And no hiring-talk.’

‘No hiring-talk. I promise,’ he agreed. Not unless the timing seems right.

‘One more thing, Don.’

‘Fire away.’

‘I was thinking of adopting cover as a BBC journalist while I was out there,’ Stella said. ‘Not officially, just if I need to go poking around. Do you think that would work in Botswana? I’m guessing you have more experience in these things than me.’

‘Normally it would be my go-to legend. Dear old Auntie Beeb is still a globally respected institution, even if her standing at home gets the old dent kicked into it from time to time.’

‘But?’

‘But I happen to know they only maintain a bureau in Johannesburg these days, so you’d be a bit off the beaten track. Fewer problems as a freelancer. It’s what my two are using.’

Tammerlane sipped his whisky. The clock in his private office chimed three times. Through the window he watched thin blades of cloud slice across the full moon.

Ensconced in a sagging leather sofa on the other side of a walnut coffee table sat his right-hand woman, Ruth Evans. The new chancellor of the exchequer raised her chin. It was a gesture he’d seen her use a thousand times in the House of Commons.

‘What is it, Ruth?’

‘When are you going to talk to the king?’

‘When the moment is right. The old boy needs to know the jig’s up first. That way, when we introduce the Great Republic Act, he’ll go quietly.’

‘You should talk to him now, Joe. Before he can mobilise support. Alexandra’s death won’t serve as cover for ever, you know.’

‘Yes, Ruth, I do know, thank you,’ he snapped. ‘This is going to play out exactly as we planned.’ He began counting off points on his fingers. ‘The royal family’s under threat from external forces. For their own safety, we’re reconstituting the UK as a people’s republic. They get to live out their lives away from the glare of publicity and ongoing terrorist threats. We quieten the great unwashed with welfare handouts, free tuition fees, and whatever else you can bribe them with in your budget.’

‘Yeah, well there’s a problem with that.’

‘Problem?’

‘There’s no money.’

‘What do you mean, “no money”?’

‘I mean we have what we need to keep the lights on, but since we came to power, foreign investors have been pulling out of government bonds, the pound has lost a third of its value and, well, to cut a long story short, we’re running out of cash.’

‘Borrow it.’

‘The IMF would cripple our plans, Joe. They’re a capitalist cabal. They’d—’

‘I’m not talking about the IMF.’

‘Then who?’

‘The Chinese. They own half of London already. Talk to them.’

He watched her as the idea percolated through her brain. Working out the angles, figuring out how to sell the idea to the Great British Public. He smiled, and waited.

Finally, her eyes lit up.

‘I’ll call Beijing in the morning.’

He smiled lazily and finished his whisky.

‘It’s 11.a.m. there, Ruth. Why don’t you call them now?’

Once he was alone, Tammerlane picked up his phone and called up a speed-dial number. The face beside it, filling the little circle, was tanned beneath a hat, the brim folded up on one side. Blue eyes stared out challengingly. Lush vegetation beneath a startling cobalt sky in the background suggested somewhere hot.

The name beneath the image said Julius.

17

BOTSWANA

With infinite care, a large hairy-bodied spider was stalking a scarlet songbird. The spider placed one leg at a time on the smooth, barkless wood. Gabriel estimated its span at seven inches: a monster.

Seemingly oblivious to its imminent demise, the bright-plumaged bird carried on chirruping, its sharp-pointed beak scissoring open and shut.

Gabriel hated spiders. He always had. Nothing freaked him out more than having to allow one of the creatures to crawl along an arm or over his face while on a lurk.

I’ll show you.

Centring the crosshairs on the mottled grey thorax, he squeezed off a shot.

Wood chips flew out from the branch. The bird took flight, emitting high-pitched cries.

Eli and Taylor