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Milward took the microphone and addressed the conference. ‘Thank you all for being here at the twelfth annual Parasitology Forum. I'm sorry we're running a little late, but before Professor Friederikson gives his introductory speech I would like to draw your attention to the addendum on the conference agenda. The five p.m. paper will be
The clinical efficacy of artemisinin
presented by Dr Felix Wu of Washington State University. Dr Stroud-Jones's paper, which was to be presented at five, will be held over until Thursday at the same time. Thank you.'

The conference dissolved into hubbub. Max and Zoe, sitting towards the back, watched a row of portly Sikhs in front of them start stacking up their papers and shouldering bags. A steady stream of delegates began to head towards the exit.

The Newsweek journalist, down in the front row thrust his arm in the air and shouted something. Milward listened for a moment then returned to the microphone.

‘As I say, we apologise to delegates for the delay in Dr Stroud-Jones paper. We know how many of you have come to hear it. We have every confidence that she will be available to present it on Thursday. In the meantime I would like to draw your attention to some very exciting work being done on Chaga's disease, which will be presented by Dr Emily Tissington in the Singel Suite at 5.30.'

Tanya emerged from the scrum near the podium and strode up to Zoe in her high heels. ‘We have to say something about Dr Stroud-Jones's absence. Perhaps you and Max could help? Friederikson is calling a press conference in half an hour.'

‘Oh not him, he'll twist it,' Zoe wailed.

‘Well perhaps, but someone has got to do it. We've had fifteen new requests for journalist accreditation in the last two hours, and they aren't remotely interested in malaria or chaga's disease. All they care about is your disappearing doctor.'

‘Why do we have to say anything?' Zoe asked.

‘Because the press will write the story anyway,' Tanya said. ‘If we can have an input on it at least it might be only half wrong by the time it emerges.'

‘Okay. I'm up for it,' said Max. ‘At least the cops will have to take it seriously once the papers get hold of it.'

‘Can you ask Milward to exclude Friederikson from the press conference,' asked Zoe.

‘I could, but there's no point. The press wants his assessment of Erica's work, and he wants to give it. It would be better in a forum where you can contradict him than out in the corridor where you can't.'

‘But he hasn't even read her paper,' Zoe exclaimed.

‘So?' Tanya said. ‘He's the world's greatest expert on malaria. Beyond that they don't care.'

Max shrugged, and his fingers found the engagement ring which had been sitting in his pocket for two days, a weight reminding him that the woman he loved was gone. He no longer cared about the paper or the conference or which scientist said what about which theory. Screw'em all. Every hour that Erica had not shown up had been a water torture, starting with the excuses and irritation that everyone goes through: she got lost, she stayed with a friend, she forgot to let me know, she'll be back soon and then I can be angry. At that stage the big fears were easily rationalised away. Now, almost twenty-four hours after she disappeared there were only terrors left. Erica had been prevented from attending the most important event of her professional life, she had been abducted, kidnapped. No other reason made sense, except maybe the worst one of all. The unthinkable, awful possibility. That Erica was dead.

Penny Ryan and Don Quiggan were sitting in the corridor outside the intensive care unit on the third floor at the University of Amsterdam's Randstad Medical Centre. Don was leafing through a thick pile of Pharmstar documents and Penny was considering stepping outside for another cigarette.

The door through which Erskine had been wheeled opened and Saskia Sivali emerged, now wearing a green gown, her long wavy hair pinned up under a surgical cap. She waved a clipboard in front of her. ‘The doctor asked me to get some information about Mr. Erskine.'

‘How is he?' Penny asked.

‘Very feverish, but we hope he's stabilised now,' Saskia said.

‘What's he got?' Quiggan asked, raising his eyebrows over his papers.

‘Extremely high fever, delirium, anaemia, hypoglycaemia, and his spleen is working flat out to fight infection. The main thing at the moment is to keep him comfortable and make sure he doesn't dehydrate.'

‘Yes, but what's he got?'

‘We should be getting back blood and urine tests soon…'

‘I see. You don't know what's the matter with him,' Quiggan said, returning his gaze to his papers.

Saskia sat down and balanced the clipboard on her long, mocha coloured legs. ‘A lot of diseases cause these symptoms, Mr Quiggan. It could be anything from septicaemia, typhoid fever or meningitis to gastro-enteritis, viral encephalitis, or hepatitis. It could even be something he's eaten. You could actually help us a lot if you know any of his medical history.'

‘I have a summary ready to be faxed to you, just get me your number,' Penny said. ‘Jack's physician in Atlanta is available on this number or I can arrange for him to call you.'

Saskia made some notes. ‘When did he first complain of feeling unwell?'

‘This afternoon, about two, wasn't it Don?' Penny said.

‘Did he describe his symptoms?' Saskia asked.

Quiggan replied: ‘Yeah. Mother of all headaches, sweats, and a kind of breathlessness.'

‘Vomiting or stomach upset?'

‘I don't think so.'

‘Is he a diabetic?'

‘No,' Penny said.

‘Does he take any regular medication?'

‘Not that I know of.'

‘Was he known to be an intravenous drug abuser or engage in unsafe sexual practices?' Saskia held her pen above the form, and did not look up.

Quiggan smirked and looked at Penny.

‘We don't believe so,' Penny said carefully. ‘We understand he is a normal, active heterosexual. I believe his record shows a recent HIV test, which was negative.'

‘Has he been to the tropics in the last three months?'

‘Maybe.' Penny flipped open her organiser. ‘He visits about seventy countries a year. Yes, he was in Mexico City for a day last month. That's all. Otherwise it's been solid North America, Europe and Japan since April. He was in Vietnam and China in February…'

‘You are certain he hasn't visited Africa, not even changing planes or making stopovers there, in the last three months?'

‘Yes, I'm certain. I book all his travel for him. He never goes anywhere I don't know about.'

‘That saves about fifty tests then,' she said, scribbling out a long list of boxes on the form, and making an emphatic full stop with her ballpoint. ‘I'll still take a look at his blood. They've got me slaving away for the tropical diseases people this month, and there is nothing they enjoy more than squinting down a microscope, looking for the lowest forms of life.'

This morning I lay in my hammock and watched Tomas. He got up quietly and stood silhouetted by the door, with the first shafts of the sun pouring around him into the hut. I could see the golden down on his chest and the curly hairs on his legs. Padding around with a little cigar hanging out of his mouth while he checked his cameras, he looks like a youthful Ernest Hemingway.

He saw me watching him and smiled. He said that Salvation was going to show him a big waterfall half a day north. I invited myself along. Couldn't bear another day of watching Georg rebuild the Land Rover clutch, especially now I've missed my rendezvous with Professor Friederikson.

We were out of Zizunga before eight, with the mist still hanging over the trees. Lots of monkey calls and crashes in the higher branches. Must be a colobus troop nearby. The bush got pretty dense and Tomas did most of the machete work. We were all drenched with sweat within a half hour. Saw my first driver ant column. I somehow had expected them to be advancing on a broad front, but the column was as narrow as a pencil. Salvation found a big beetle and threw it on the column. In seconds it was covered in seething ants which ripped it apart.

We descended a ravine and tasted the change in humidity even before we heard the roar of the waterfall. A stack of rock slabs, like plates in a sink, allowed us to get a view right close to the plunge. The canopy was broken here, and we could see the torrent where it disappeared a hundred feet below us into the mist. Salvation pointed out a pair of jackson's macaws squawking overhead, and the beautiful green swifts that live behind the falls. Salvation led us down into the mist and we were soaked in seconds. There, beneath us was an emerald pool, framed by lianas and ferns. I whooped with delight and plunged in, dragging Salvation with me. It was cooler than I expected, but highly refreshing. Tomas was reeling off photos, so as my shirt was already clinging I got with the mood and stripped it off. He took some photos with me draped around a soaked Salvation, black and white flesh coiled up together on some rocks. Tomas didn't join us though. He was more worried about keeping his cameras clean and dry.

We toiled up a steep hill and rested on top. Lunch was some goat meat and a couple of hard-boiled eggs, and we were ready for it. Nearby were signs of a camp fire and a fragments of a wooden box with military stencils on it. I found a few cartridge cases which Tomas said were from an AK47, some kind of gun. We asked Salvation about it and he said: Kaipelai come here. Two weeks ago.

(Erica's Diary 1992)

Max walked out of the police station on Warmoesstraat feeling he had made little progress. He and Zoe had been shown to an interview room and a beefy detective called Van der Moolen in a sharp suit and a gallon of aftershave had taken a laborious longhand account from the first moment of Erica's disappearance through to the description of the laptop thief. Van der Moolen agreed that it was hard to answer why Erica would miss her big day at the conference. But then he threw back a question that Max couldn't answer: why would anyone want to prevent her going?

‘Here's the next step,' Van der Moolen said leaning forward, as if he was comforting an old couple about a missing cat. ‘We need all the information we can get about her background, old boyfriends, that kind of thing. We'll interview the waitress you mentioned, take a statement. If she
has
been abducted you'll hear from the kidnappers pretty soon. Then we can put the operation into high gear.'

‘So it isn't in high gear now?' Zoe asked.

‘Look. People come in here to report friends and relatives missing all the time. It always seems a mystery to those close to them. But most of them turn up again. After all, Ms Stroud-Jones has been missing just twenty-four hours.' Van der Moolen smiled an end-to-the-conversation kind of smile and showed them to the door.

‘And the theft of the laptop?' Max said.

‘We'll look into it of course. It is probably just a coincidence. Just one of the hundred thousand vehicle break-ins in this city every year. The main thing is to make sure you contact your insurance company.'