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

be fine. After what you got up to at the church, not being armed is probably better all round.’

‘He deserved it.’

‘I know. But you need to get to the BVR. Killing people won’t help.’

Gabriel crossed the room, planted a kiss on her lips and drew back.

‘I’ll see you later.’

‘Take care.’

‘I will.’

The taxi driver knew the Blue Springbok and dropped Gabriel outside at 6.50 p.m. Gabriel entered the bar, passing beneath an electric-blue neon outline of South Africa’s own antelope. Inside the place was busy, but not noisy, the early evening crowd consisting largely of office workers, to judge by the clothes. He made his way to the bar and ordered a glass of chenin blanc.

He found a corner table where he could observe the rest of the bar. With his back protected by two walls, he felt about as relaxed as was possible. Low-level jazz, something with sax and piano, was issuing from ceiling-mounted speakers. He looked up: one was suspended directly overhead. Good, a little extra cover for our conversation.

He sipped the chilled wine. It was delicious. He caught a brief sensation of eating pear drops before he tasted pineapple and peach.

A young woman in a white jacket and enormous gold hoop earrings came towards the table. She was smiling.

‘Excuse me, is anyone using this chair?’ she asked, laying a hand on the back of one of the two others at the table.

Gabriel smiled back.

‘Not that one, but leave me the other.’

‘Sure,’ she said, ‘thanks.’

She dragged the chair over to another table. As she moved out of his eye line he saw a new patron enter the bar and felt the familiar twinge in his gut. Showtime.

The man stood six foot six minimum. Broad shoulders and a narrow waist said ‘bodybuilder’. His blonde hair was cut short in a military buzzcut and his lowering brow gave him a simian appearance. A white shirt clung to his massive pectoral muscles, its rolled-up sleeves revealing thick forearms fuzzed with reddish-blonde hair.

Gabriel watched him scanning the bar. Prepared himself for the conversation that would take him closer to whoever had murdered the Paras.

A scream to his right jerked his head round. The woman who’d asked to take the chair had jumped to her feet and was running across the bar towards the gorilla. His face lit up with a dazzling smile and as she arrived he held his arms wide. She leaped at him and he caught her, lifting her up so that she could wrap her legs round him.

They kissed energetically, then he set her down and she led him, beaming, to the group of people at her table,

‘Guys, this is Marco,’ she said, to smiles from her friends. ‘The man I’m going to marry.’

Handshakes, fist-bumps, kisses on cheeks, then the group settled down. Gabriel shook his head, smiling to himself and took another sip of his wine while tuning out their excitable conversation.

‘Do you think she’ll wear ivory on her big day?’ a quiet voice enquired.

Gabriel turned round.

A man stood beside him, about half the size of the bridegroom-to-be, an open expression on his tanned face.

Gabriel cursed inwardly for allowing himself to be blindsided so easily. Without a pre-arranged password or code phrase he’d have to rely on subtler means of establishing the bona fides of his contact.

‘I suppose she might. Though white’s more traditional.’

Non-committal. No offer to drag up a seat, which would be odd if the stranger was only passing the time of day.

‘Passing through?’ the man said, his dark eyes focusing on Gabriel as a bird might observe an insect.

‘Yes. I was in Laos a couple of days ago.’

‘Lovely country.’

‘Very.’

The stranger gestured at the remaining spare chair.

‘May I?’

‘Gabriel nodded.

‘Please.’

The stranger signalled a passing waitress. She arrived seconds later.

‘A glass of wine please. What is that?’ he asked Gabriel.

‘Chenin blanc. The Stellenrust 2015.’

‘Excellent choice. I’ll have the same.’

Once the waitress had departed, the stranger held out a hand.

‘Oscar Coetzee.’

‘Alec Jensen.’

They shook. The little man’s grip was stronger than his size suggested.

Coetzee pulled out a phone, swiped the screen then held it out, the screen towards Gabriel.

‘The light was different in Vientiane to here. Greener. It makes you look a little, forgive me, sickly,’ he said.

Gabriel nodded.

‘Stinking country was full of gooks anyway. I was glad to get away,’ he said, as if uttering racist sentiments in public was commonplace in the rainbow nation. The waitress returned with a glass of wine

Coetzee held it aloft.

‘Gesondheid!’ It came out Guh-sont-hate.

‘Cheers!’

They clinked rims. Coetzee took a mouthful of the wine and swirled it round his mouth before swallowing.

‘Man, that’s good. But there are better South Africa wines, you know.’

‘I’m sure there are. Do you have connections in the winemaking business?’

‘We make it where I come from. The Northern Cape. No reds, though.’ He paused. ‘Only whites.’

‘That’s good,’ Gabriel said. ‘I prefer whites.’

‘Tell me, Alec, what brings you to South Africa?’

‘Tourism. I’ve heard it’s a great country.’

Coetzee nodded.

‘Used to be much better. Until they took over and fucked it up,’ he added in a quieter voice.

‘Agreed. Listen,’ Gabriel wiped a slick of sweat from his top lip, ‘I have some associates back in England who share your views on that particular subject. They want to extend a hand of friendship. To you and,’ he paused, then dropped his own voice, ‘the BVR.’

Coetzee frowned.

‘Sorry, the who?’

‘Oh, right, I get it,’ Gabriel said, dropping his right eyelid in the most fractional of winks. He leaned right across the table so he was nose-to-nose with Coetzee. ‘Never mind. As I said, my associates and I want to show solidarity with our white brothers and sisters. It’s part of a global movement we’re spearheading. I’m sure you can imagine its core beliefs.’

Coetzee smiled politely as if he’d been confronted with someone speaking a foreign language. But Gabriel could see it for what it was. A blind, in case anyone who shouldn’t be was listening in. Smart, he had to admit.

‘I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Alec. But as I said, you