SS Glasgow Castle 27 Chapter Twenty Seven

As I rode down on the elevator, accompanied by two suspiciously silent white teenagers, I studied my reflection in the burnished metal of the sliding elevator doors. I was wearing cream cotton pants and a very dark red short-sleeved s.h.i.+rt - it appeared black in the slanted light. My face was an indistinct fleshy blur. By the time I stepped out, I had my first idea in years for a painting, tentatively t.i.tled 9:13 am. Of course, I'd include a suitably smudged reflection of Donna... Not great, but not entirely bad.

The atrium downstairs was as vast, crowded, and noisy as it had been the day before. I picked the right neon sign out from all the others and a few minutes later was consuming a so-called continental breakfast. The bowl of cafe au lait was distinctly continental, but with a j.a.panese price. I found myself signing a traveler's check.

A few minutes later, I located the internet cafe. It was busy, and I had to wait for half an hour before I finally sat down in front of a computer. Tad's internet address was on the business card he'd pressed into my hand during my last visit to see him. He did that just as I was leaving, and with good reason: he designed his new business cards all by himself, and they were predictably s.h.i.+tty. His internet address consisted of the name of his service provider – Compuserve – followed by a bunch of numbers.

I wrote Tad an email, urging him to immediately delete all queries about Jan Hansen, Avery, and the'Swallow'. I still had most of the afternoon to spend as I liked, and decided I'd venture out of the hotel for some sightseeing. It was time to leave this miniature Manhattan and meet Africa.

I stepped outside and gasped and stopped. The heat and the sunlight were incredible: I was blinded and close to boiling within seconds. One of the black admirals on door duty, all dolled up in his heavy uniform and braided cap, threw me a pitying glance. There wasn't even a single bead of sweat on his face. He was a superman, no doubt about it.

I waited for a minute, hoping to get used to the heat. But when I pa.s.sed a hand over my forehead, it was already sticky with the salt left by sweat which evaporated the moment it appeared on my skin. I had only been out for sixty seconds, and already my face was beginning to itch. It seemed noon wasn't the best time to go on your first walk in Africa. It seemed that my judgment -

I turned and went back into the hotel.

I didn't go to the world-famous hotel casino. I didn't visit the hotel's supermarket, one of its two swimming pools, or any of its three restaurants. I didn't even see the skating rink specially put in for visiting Canadians. I returned to my room to spend a dreary and unpleasant afternoon. Its high point was a steak with fries and beer brought in by room service.

Kross showed up just before seven. He was very polite this time. He knocked, and waited until I'd opened the door to let him in. He came in and said:

"Give me all the money you have. Well you can leave yourself the francs and a couple of traveler's checks. Sign the rest, and give them to me."

"Do you want my airline ticket too?" I asked.

"I haven't got time for this, fella. I've got a guy waiting. Move it."

I considered this and decided there was a slight but significant chance I might get punched in the stomach again, so I did as instructed. I left myself a couple of hundred dollar checks. I signed the rest, and handed them over to Kross: seventeen hundred US dollars. Somewhat grudgingly, he said:

"I need these for a vehicle. Don't worry, the guy's going to buy it back when we return. Treat it as an expensive rental."

"What are you getting? Will it have air-conditioning?"

He allowed himself a small smile.

"You'll see later tonight. Be here at nine." He f.u.c.ked off. He really seemed to be in a hurry.

I'd spent a large part of the afternoon alternately pitying and cursing myself; but I'd also put in some quality thinking time wondering about Kross's new plan and the treasure. One thing was sure: there was serious money at the other end. We hadn't come here just so he could punch me in the stomach.

I also wondered about his new plan. I suspected he would somehow arrange to cross the border with me - perhaps pay an extra big bribe, and ride in pretending to be a suitcase. But this new development, the need to purchase a vehicle - and what kind of vehicle could he get for seventeen hundred bucks? Then I finally twigged it didn't have to be seventeen hundred bucks. Kross had all the cash - ten grand American - and the gold coins. If he was spending all that as well... Given his contacts, it might even turn out to be an armored car.

At five to nine, the phone in my room chirped seductively; when I answered it, I learned Kross wanted to meet downstairs. We settled on the restaurant where I'd met Mireille. On the way down I wondered why he wanted to meet in a public place - so that someone else might get a good look at me? So that someone else could go through my room in the meantime? So that he could lure me outside, and get rid of me with a blow to the head in a convenient dark alley?

When I got to the restaurant, Kross was seated at the exact same table as the other night. He had already ordered a beer for me. He looked dusty and tired, which was a first. I sat down across from him, and said:

"I hope everything went well."

He shot me a glance and nodded. I had the impression he'd been thinking about me in the meantime, and that they weren't nice thoughts.

"We need to talk," he said.

"Wonderful," I said.

He took out a cigarette, and rolled it between his fingers for a while before lighting it. He said:

"I don't really need you any more. I have to go in myself anyway, so I might as well do it alone. You could still be helpful if you stuck to doing what I tell you to do, and when I tell you to do it. Otherwise you're just a pain." He made an intentional pause for me to say something. I didn't say anything. I poured a gla.s.s of beer and drank some. Kross said:

"Now, you invested money in our little enterprise so you're ent.i.tled to one last chance. One very last chance. You can come with me provided you stay one hundred per cent disciplined at all times. Or you can catch the next plane home. I checked, and your ticket can be switched to a different flight for fifty bucks. And one last thing: if you come along, you'll be getting a quarter, not a third. You're not as important any more, Oscar. It's still a generous cut in the circ.u.mstances."

"A quarter," I said, and had some beer.

"Yes."

"Or a plane home."
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"Yes."

"Carrying a hundred bucks out of my original stake of five thousand." He hesitated and that was his undoing. If he'd simply said 'yes', I'd have believed him. But instead he said:

"Well, I'll see what I can do about that once I'm home safe and sound."

A warning bell went off in my head. That act - 'well I'll see what I can do' - this wasn't Kross. He had already thought about it. And he'd decided.

That was when I realized that Kross could kill me. He could kill me because for someone like him it was simply a valid choice to make when something important was at stake. And he would also save himself at least a couple hundred grand in the process.

He had been in the army. People who are reluctant to kill other people don't go into the army. And he wouldn't tolerate the security threat of a bitter former partner, ejected mid-stream, telling everything to the police or whoever, possibly even negotiating some sort of a reward in the process. No, if he had really considered my going home as an option he'd have the retirement package wrapped and ready. I felt frightened.

"Can I think this through while I finish this beer?" I said. He looked at me carefully and I could almost hear him calculating the chance that I'd already spilled the beans, that the police were on the way. I said:

"So how much would a quarter amount to?" He relaxed a little when he saw he'd got a nibble. He said:

"Between a hundred and two fifty. Certainly not less than a hundred thousand American."

"That's not bad," I said. "Would you be able to tell me what's the new plan before I decide?"

He didn't even bother to answer that; he just blew out a dismissive plume of smoke. I said:

"I'm in as long as we don't get shot at. Will we get shot at?"

He considered this carefully, much too carefully for my liking.

"Not if we do everything my way," he said. I heard my pulse start pounding in my head when I said:

"In for a third, in for a quarter. Okay. I'm in, and I'll behave myself."