Evolution of Fear (32 page)

He was walking on the morning edge of a sandstone cliff. He stopped and looked out over a splitting chasm, the rock face disappearing in a vertical plunge to the wadi floor. Through the heat haze, he could see the thin, drawn-metal thread of a river, a cluster of mud-brick buildings, more scattered along the base of the far cliffs, patches of greenery following the places where water might be, everything as seen from the window of an airliner, drifting past in pressurised serenity. He knew this place, or parts of it, the broad trench of the Wadi Hadramawt, and down there now, suddenly close, a column of people moving in slow cadence across the dry plain. Tiny figures in black, throwing up a wake of dust. Men and women, dozens of them, trudging towards the cliff. He knew these souls. Each individual’s gait and dimensions of limb, each tilt of head, was known to him. Rania was there, and Abdulkader, though Clay knew he was dead, and Eben too, at the start of the war when he was still Eben, and Kingfisher and Bluey with both his legs, and others dead and living from that place and others. They were looking up at him now through the mist, eyes wide, calling to him, their mouths dark voids opening and closing, though he could not hear what they were trying to say. He called out to them from the clifftop, but they could not hear him. A drum banged in the distance. He searched the valley bottom for the drum but could see nothing, just the column moving closer to the cliff and the dust rising from their feet. Again
the sound of the drum echoed from the valley walls, up the miles of smooth, red sandstone and he knew it was calling him. Clay leaned out over the edge, arms wide. The current of air rising from below held him suspended above the void like an invisible pair of hands so that he could see clear down, the whole cliff-face there below him and the faces looking up at him and the bang of the drum and the wadi floor so far below that it would take a lifetime of falling to reach it.

He jumped.

And suddenly the cliff edge was the cargo door of a Hercules and he was falling away from it, and as the ground floated up towards him, he knew that he could not go back, that even here time moved in one direction only and its tyranny was absolute. His right hand moved instinctively for the rip cord but he knew no canopy would blossom above to carry him gently to Earth, and he knew Eben was not there behind him, nor Koevoet, nor any of
Valk 5
, living or dead, and the ground pulling him down was not the green of Angola now but the dead, dry dune ground of some other place, and then, closer, voices, faint at first, louder now, blunted somehow, muffled.

You killed them.

Yes, he heard himself answering. I killed them.

And the woman?

Rania.

Who is Rania?

She’s there. I can see her.

Where is she?

There, in the wadi, looking up at me.

Did you kill her too?

Clay opened his eyes.

He was lying face down in a hospital bed. Sweat covered every part of his body. He could smell the laundry-fresh smell of the sheets, the antiseptic clean of the linoleum floor, the smell of his own sweat. Daylight shone white and diffuse from a louvered bank of windows. He tried to move his legs, but they were as if made of softwood,
spongy and unresponsive. His skull ached. Clay ran his tongue around the parched desert of his mouth, tried to swallow.

Slowly, his vision sharpened. A private room. Whitewashed walls. A stainless-steel wash basin, a chair, an IV stand beside the bed, tubes running into his arm. Outside, the washed afternoon sawing of palm fronds, a couple of derelict, single-storey buildings, the paint peeling, windows boarded up.

And that little red puncture set in such a pale and gentle landscape.

He had to find her. He closed his eyes a moment, pushed himself up on his elbows, tried to swing his legs to the edge of the bed. As he did, something mean clawed at him, pushed him down. He collapsed back to the bed, panting with the pain, sweat blooming from his pores.

Not long after, a doctor came. He was clean-shaven, hair close-cropped, fibred with silver. There were deep, good lines around his eyes and mouth, a father perhaps, mid-career. He glanced a moment at Clay’s chart, opened and closed his mouth.

‘How long have I been here?’ asked Clay, his own voice muffled, bubbling through a fathom of seawater.

The doctor mouthed a reply.

‘Can’t hear you,’ Clay croaked, pointing to his right ear. Clay turned his head so that his right ear was against the mattress. ‘Try now.’ Koevoet’s Beretta going off right next to his head, back at the minefield, must have damaged his eardrum.

The doctor shifted to the other side of the bed, facing him again. ‘Don’t worry about your ear,’ he said. His voice was gentle, the accent English, vaguely West Country. ‘There’s a bit of bleeding, but no permanent damage. Your legs are a bit more problematic.’

Clay’s insides tightened. Ever since seeing Bluey’s legs blown off in Angola, his nightmares had regularly featured the inability to walk. Strangely, his left hand was almost always present and working in that same irrational shadow-world.

‘You were unconscious when they brought you in,’ said the doctor. ‘We operated right away. You’ve been asleep for thirty-six hours.’

Clay fought back a curse. ‘There was someone else with me when I was brought in. A woman. Is she here?’

‘Yes, she’s here,’ said the doctor. ‘She was stable when I left last night, but I’ve only just come back on shift. I’m sorry, I don’t have any more information than that.’ The doctor checked Clay’s IV, told him that he’d removed nineteen mine fragments from his legs, that the scarring would be extensive but that the damage had been mostly superficial. He was already healing well and could expect to make a complete recovery.

‘Only thing, it should have been twenty,’ Clay said.

‘Pardon me?’

‘Nothing, doctor. If you hear anything…’

The doctor nodded and left.

An hour later, Crowbar appeared. He was wearing a new suit. His hair was slicked back and he was carrying a black leather briefcase. ‘More improvements, I see, Straker,’ he said, taking a seat next to Clay’s bed.

‘How’s Rania?’

Crowbar coughed, adjusted his tie. ‘The operation was long, but she’s hanging in there,
seun
. She’s tough.’

‘And the baby?’ He could barely say the words.

‘Look, Straker, I won’t bullshit you. They’re both alive, they’re both fighting. That’s all you can expect for now.’

A deep ache twisted inside him, obliterating the pain in his legs. He tried to breathe it away, thought that a mathematical scale for the measurement of pain was needed, some Fahrenheit of hurt, the dolors of the heart so much worse than any of the flesh.

‘Where is she?’

‘Here, at the UN hospital. At the end of the hall. They’re better equipped than anywhere on the island, especially for this type of wound.’

‘
Al hamdillulah
.’

Crowbar frowned. ‘Still on with all that Muslim shit?’

‘She’s Muslim.’

Crowbar blinked, said nothing.

‘Nice suit.’

Crowbar grinned wide. ‘
Ja
, not bad. Looks more official, coming in here.’

‘I thought it was a dud,’ said Clay. ‘Delayed detonation.’

‘Those mines have been in the ground for a long time. Lucky for you. You were far enough away when it went off.’

‘Not far enough.’

‘You did everything you could.’

‘Not everything.’

Crowbar said nothing.

‘How’s Hope?’

Crowbar dropped his head, seemed to settle himself a moment. ‘She’s–’ He stopped, pursed his lips, gaze wandering around the bare walls. ‘She’s
lekker
. Strong. Running the Commission like a pro. Kicking arse and taking names. Opening statements were yesterday.’

‘Alexi?’

‘Back with
ma
. Well hidden.’

Clay nodded. ‘Good,
oom
. Good.’

‘Chrisostomedes is getting desperate. Hope has put his operations and his candidacy under close scrutiny. It’s already causing a
grande
political shit-fight. Chrisostomedes and Dimitriou are trying to turn the hearing into a referendum on the President’s authority to involve the EU and the UN in the internal affairs of Cyprus. Fun.’

‘Rania’s the key. They know that. They’re going to try to get to her.’

‘Don’t worry, Straker. As far as Chrisostomedes knows, Rania is dead. But we can’t take any chances.’

Clay tried to turn over. As he did, a blaze of fire filled his vision, like looking eyes-closed into the inferno, the twitching capillaries suddenly everywhere, blinding him. He gasped. Crowbar reached for his arm, held it.

‘
Goddamn
that hurts,’ said Clay through clamped jaw.

‘Stop being such a pussy.’

‘
Fok jou, Koevoet
,’ he said, trying to force a smile.

Crowbar waved this away, pulled a newspaper from his briefcase and put it on the bed. ‘It’s all in there. Hope is going to need you to testify.’

Clay looked around the hospital room. ‘The minute I set foot in that hearing room, Dimitriou will have me arrested.’

‘It’s not going well, Clay. Chrisostomedes is trying to discredit Hope. He’s claiming that she intended to develop Toxeflora Beach, and he’s produced documents to prove it. She’s going to need your help.’

‘They’ll charge me for assaulting Chrisostomedes, probably for the murders at the minefield, too. I could get ten years.’

‘More like fifteen,’ said Crowbar. ‘If Chrisostomedes becomes President, it could be more.’

Clay shook his head. There were an infinite number of primes. Euclid had proved it in 300
BC
. Enough to keep him busy a long time. ‘I’m getting out of here, Koevoet. As soon as she’s strong enough, Rania and I are going to disappear. Go somewhere the world can never find us.’

‘Back to Africa,’ said Crowbar.

Clay nodded. ‘Something like that.’

Crowbar closed his eyes a long moment. ‘You’ll have to get off the island first. At least you can afford the top lawyer in the country.’

‘You got the money?’

Crowbar grinned wide. ‘Fifteen million.’

Clay breathed out, held it a moment. It was a lot of money. None of it worth anything without Rania. ‘Something important you have to do for me,
oom
. Paper and pen?’

Crowbar fished in his briefcase and pulled out a chewed, inch-long stub of HB pencil and a paperback – a yellowing fourth-hand copy of
The Brothers Karamazov
. He riffled the pages, opened the back cover, tore out a blank endpaper and handed it to Clay.

Clay glanced up at this man who never ceased to surprise him, set the paper on the book and scribbled instructions. The pencil was
so dull and his hand so shaky his writing came out looking like a six-year-old’s doodle. ‘My boat’s in Larnaca harbour. There are some documents on-board Hope is going to need. With them, she won’t need me.’

Crowbar took the paper, folded it and slipped it into his inside breast pocket. Then he dropped the Dostoyevsky into his briefcase. ‘Got to go,
seun
,’ he said. ‘Can’t stand here staring at your naked arse all day. I’ll be back soon.’ He turned to go.

‘Koevoet.’

Crowbar stopped, faced him.

‘
Dankie
.’

Crowbar waved it away and closed the door behind him.

Clay pumped himself a dose of painkiller and opened the Cyprus English language daily and held it over the edge of the bed.

Since his attempted assassination by a Turkish agent (predictable), Nicos Chrisostomedes’ popularity had surged. The latest pre-election polls now put him eight percentage points ahead of the incumbent. Neo-Enosis was on everyone’s lips. Tensions with the TRNC and Turkey hadn’t been this high since the war.

The Commission had heard the latest scientific evidence on the current state of the marine and coastal environment in the eastern Mediterranean and Cyprus. And the news was not good. Inappropriate and poorly managed coastal development in particular was causing long-term environmental damage, pushing several species towards extinction. Chrisostomedes had accused Turkish developers, including Mohamed Erkan (mentioned by name) of illegally acquiring and developing Greek-owned coastal land in the occupied north. Chrisostomedes denied having any plans of his own to develop on Turkish-owned lands at Lara Beach.

Clay closed his eyes, let the paper fall to the floor. He breathed in the night air, held it, let it go, felt the deadening work of the anaesthetic. None of this mattered. Not the pain, not the money. The political issues of a nation divided were of no importance. His life was nothing.

Rania and the baby were still alive, still fighting.

Nothing else mattered.

He drifted into a shifting territory of thousand-second minutes and the half-deadened flutter of palm fronds swaying in the Mediterranean breeze. There were grains of clarity there, too, grasped for the briefest moment and then scattered across wandering moonlit dunes. Time stalled, restarted, and then disappeared altogether.

A hand shook him awake.

He opened his eyes. The doctor was looking down at him, his face drawn into tight lines, the whites of his eyes shot through with burst blood vessels.

‘What is it?’ said Clay, awake now, riding adrenaline. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘The young lady you were asking about. She’s…’ The doctor caught his breath, seemed to compose himself a moment. ‘We must hurry. She’s asking for you.’

By the time Clay had crutched his way the fifty metres down the night-lit corridor to her room, Crowbar and Hope were already there. The nurse had cranked up Rania’s bed so that she lay propped up against the pillows, pale and gauntly beautiful, her night-black hair accentuating the bloodless white of her skin. Dual heartbeat monitors pulsed behind her.

She smiled at him, the merest brightening of the eyes.

Dopamine flooded his system. He gasped, swayed on his crutches. Crowbar took a step towards him, but he raised his hand and Crowbar backed away. Clay went to her, took her hand.

‘
Oh
,
chéri
,’ she whispered to him across galaxies. ‘With us it is always this way.’

Clay said nothing, just stood looking into her eyes as if in this alone he could drown.

‘You are healing well?’ she said, her voice a thread.

‘Jesus, Rania. I’m so sorry.’

‘Do not apologise.’

He sank his chin to his chest. ‘I didn’t think. I just ran.’

‘
Ridicule
. You did the only thing possible.’

‘If I’d taken more time, thought it through…’

‘Please do not worry.’ She looked very tired.

He straightened. ‘We’re going to get out of here, Rania. Disappear. Raise our son, together.’

She shook her head, the barest movement. ‘
Non
, Claymore.’

‘Please, Ra.’

That hint of a smile again. ‘
Non, chéri. Une fille
.’

Electrochemical reactions flared inside him, cascading. A daughter. Not something he’d ever imagined, being a father to a little girl. So much he’d have to learn. So much to fight for.

‘I am sorry to interrupt,’ said the doctor. ‘But we must take her now.’

Clay spun around. ‘Take her where?’

Crowbar put his hand on Clay’s shoulder. ‘Easy,
seun
.’

‘We missed something,’ said the doctor. ‘She is losing blood. The baby is in distress. We must operate again. She wouldn’t let us start until she saw you.’

She squeezed his hand, the faintest pulse. ‘
Chéri
.’

Clay looked into her eyes, those dune-swept planets skidding away.

‘Those things I wrote,’ she whispered. ‘He forced me.’

‘I know, Rania. It’s okay.’

‘Héloïse? Is she alright?’

Clay hesitated. ‘She’s dead, Rania. I’m sorry. We couldn’t save her.’

Tears welled in her eyes, spilled down her cheeks.

Urgency in the doctor’s voice now. Orderlies unlocking the caster brakes and starting to push the bed, he still holding her hand, trying to walk with her.

‘
Sura Al Ma’idah
,’ Rania said, the Arabic coming like breath, choking in her hallucination.

‘I don’t understand.’

Her eyes fluttered, opened. ‘Promise me, Claymore.’

‘Promise what?’

‘
Talion
,’ she whispered.

And then she was gone.

Crowbar and Hope walked him back to his room in silence. Dawn bled flat and grey through the half-shuttered windows. An orderly helped him into bed, reconnected his IV, left. Hope sat by the bed.
Mascara scarred her cheeks. Crowbar hovered by the door, alert. Clay stared at the wall, trying to process all that she’d said, the catastrophe of his psyche unable to cope.

After a long while Crowbar said: ‘Dimitriou filed charges against you today in the criminal court. Two counts of assault with a deadly weapon. Four counts of murder, including the curator of the Cyprus museum and Rania’s aunt.’

‘Jesus,’ breathed Clay.

‘You’re in luck,
broer
. No death penalty here.’

Death. For so long, after the war, he’d welcomed it, sought it even. Now, suddenly, there was something to live for. ‘Did you get the documents from
Flame
?’ he asked.

Crowbar opened his briefcase and passed the red folder to Clay. ‘Nice boat, by the way.’

Clay handed the folder to Hope. ‘It’s all in there,’ he said. ‘Everything you need. It proves Chrisostomedes and Dimitriou colluded with Erkan to illegally develop Turkish-owned land in the south. Proves that everything Chrisostomedes is saying is a lie.’

Hope started leafing through the document.

‘Chrisostomedes’ thugs followed us again last night after the hearing,’ said Crowbar. ‘Had to lead them all the way to the Troodos, lose them in the mountains. Come daylight they vanished, like roaches.’

Not for first time, Clay marvelled at the ability of some to dismiss mercy, as if being spared was simply a right, a matter of destiny. ‘I should have killed the bastard when I had the chance.’

Hope brushed a strand of hair from her face. ‘Chrisostomedes is trying to implicate me in this conspiracy he’s fabricating.’ She shook her head. ‘He’s trying to tie us together, Clay, you – the supposed Turkish agent – and me. They have photographs of us, together.’

‘At Toxeflora Beach,’ said Crowbar. ‘They’ve shared them with the newspapers, apparently.’

Clay said nothing.

Hope blanched, continued. ‘And today Dimitriou testified that
you had threatened to kill him if he didn’t support my plan to develop Toxeflora.
My
plan, Clay. Can you believe it? He said he had witnesses, CCTV footage.’

Clay swallowed hard. ‘He does.’

Hope opened her mouth a moment as if to speak, closed it.

‘I needed to find out where they were holding Alexi.’

Hope slumped. ‘Shit.’

‘Why would a Turkish agent be helping to push development on their own land?’ said Crowbar. ‘It makes no sense.’

‘Easy,’ said Hope. ‘If the development went ahead, it would prove that Greek Cypriots are actively stealing Turkish-owned land in the south. That would directly and negatively affect the south’s application for EU membership, something the Turks bitterly oppose.’

‘And something Chrisostomedes opposes,’ said Clay.

‘Exactly,’ continued Hope. ‘And it would provide the Turks with justification for accelerating their own illegal confiscations of Greek-owned land in the north. That’s what Chrisostomedes is claiming, anyway. The bastard’s been reading out excerpts from Rania’s articles to support his case. And my fellow commissioners are buying it, warped though it is.’

‘Then he still thinks Rania’s dead,’ said Clay.

Crowbar nodded.

Clay pointed to the dossier on Hope’s lap. ‘Get that to the press and Chrisostomedes’ bid for the Presidency is ruined.’

Hope shook her head. ‘Alone, it’s not enough. We need testimony to back it up, Clay – yours or Erkan’s.’

‘Not a great position,’ said Crowbar. ‘Erkan has refused to testify, and if Straker testifies he goes to jail.’

‘We could run,’ said Clay. ‘All four of us. Cut out through the north.’

‘I know some good places,’ said Crowbar. ‘We have money.’

Clay shifted up onto his elbows. ‘Of course, if we do run, Chrisostomedes gets his way, probably becomes President, and Medved keeps jerking the strings. They’ll come after us. We’ll be running for a long time.’

Hope folded her arms across her chest. ‘Does either of you honestly think that you will be able to convince Rania to run away from this? Do you think I’d abandon my own son, for god’s sake? You can run if you like. But I’m going to stay and find a way to bring these assholes down.’

Hope’s words settled over them like an attack order, each contemplating his or her impending role and what fate might bring.

Crowbar was silent, back to the wall.

‘What if we could get Erkan to testify?’ said Clay. ‘Is he still on the island?’

Hope nodded. ‘As far as I know.’

‘How are we going to do that?’ said Crowbar.

‘Convince him.’

Hope leaned forward in her chair. ‘If we don’t come up with some credible evidence in the next two days, the commission is going to wrap up proceedings. We won’t get another chance to expose what Chrisostomedes is doing, especially if he wins the election.’

‘Erkan’s just as guilty as Chrisostomedes,’ said Crowbar. ‘Why would he willingly expose himself?’

Clay pointed at the dossier. ‘He was going to share this with Rania. At least that’s what he told her.’

‘Did Rania believe him?’ asked Hope.

‘I think so, yes. She was determined to find out.’

‘Erkan was adamant,’ said Hope. ‘He will not testify.’

Clay thought back to the last time he’d seen Erkan in Istanbul. ‘He’s terrified, Hope. If I can find out why, there’s a chance I can convince him. I have to try.’

‘There’s isn’t much time,’ said Hope.

‘I’ll go tonight.’

‘Jesus, Clay. You can hardly walk.’

‘Better I go,’ said Crowbar, predictably.

‘No, Koevoet. I was with Rania when she interviewed Erkan. I was the one who took the dossier. He knows me, if nothing else. Maybe I can get through to him. Rania certainly thought she could.’

Crowbar coughed. ‘I hate to break it to you,
broer
, but you’re not Rania. I’ve seen more diplomatic creatures cleaning a day-old buffalo carcass.’

Clay ignored this. ‘Look, the UN airport wire is unguarded on the Turkish side, like here. If your friend in the north can meet me with a car, Hope, we can drive to Erkan’s place in Karpasia, pay him a visit.’

Crowbar nodded. ‘And if you can’t convince him?’

‘Then I’ll testify. Do the time.’

Crowbar turned to Hope. ‘What do you think,
bokkie
?’

‘We don’t have a lot of options,’ she answered.

‘Okay, Straker, you go north,’ said Crowbar. ‘I’ll find Maria.’

Hope hung her head. ‘I still can’t believe that she betrayed us.’

Crowbar put his bear paw on her shoulder. ‘Blood is thick,
bokkie
. Nothing you can do.’

‘I’ll arrange it with my friend in the north,’ said Hope, taking Crowbar’s hand. ‘We’ll meet you back here tomorrow morning, Clay, and go straight to the hearing.’

‘And I’ll speak to the base commander,’ said Crowbar. ‘Until then, sit tight,
seun
.’

Clay switched to Afrikaans. ‘Last time you said that, three guys came to kill me.’

Crowbar reached into his briefcase. ‘Let’s hope history doesn’t repeat. Regina Medved is very pissed off right now, by all accounts. She’s kept her dialysis machine off and spends all day talking to the illumination.’ He produced a clean Beretta and handed it to Clay. ‘I doubt even she’d be crazy enough to come after you here, but you never know, especially now.’

Hope glanced at the handgun, frowned. ‘What was Rania saying, Clay, just before they took her in?’

‘It was something from the Koran, I think. In Arabic. I don’t know what it meant. A promise she wanted me to make.’

‘
Talion
,’ said Crowbar. ‘It’s not Arabic, it’s Latin.’

‘What does it mean?’

‘She wants you to apply the law of talion, Clay.’

Clay and Hope looked up at him.

‘Legal retribution. An eye for an eye.’

After Hope and Crowbar had gone, the orderly checked Clay’s bandages and administered another dose of anaesthetic. Clay stared out across the derelict airport. He wondered about Rania, about the new person inside her, about how strange that was, how foreign to him, the creation of life. A vision of his parents came to him, a distant memory, camping in the Cedarburg mountains when he was young, nine or ten, hiking up to a waterfall, his mother tall and athletic with her long, pale legs and high-veldt hair and the way her long braid swung back and forth like a cheetah’s tail as she walked, his father surging ahead as always, broad-shouldered, invincible. It took them a long time to reach the top. The waterfall thundered from the cliffs above, fed by recent rains. The rocks were slippery. Looking down you knew that if you fell you would fall a long time, have time to think about what was coming as the rocks rose up to meet you. He’d taken off his shoes, walked right up to the edge, stood with his toes curled over the lip of the rock. He’d wondered if he would be brave enough to keep his eyes open all the way down, or if he’d close them before he hit. His mother and father had taken off their shoes, too, had come and stood beside him, one on each side, there on the edge looking down into the chasm. A rainbow cradled them as they stood in the spray, the three of them alone on that mountainside with the whole world and all of the future spread out before them.