Black Reef
Page 7
I’d got my own breathing and heart rate under control but a dull anxiety had replaced it, settling somewhere in my gut.
‘It could be several days before she wakes up and we can take her off the ventilator and remove the endotracheal tube. After we do so she will need observation for some further days or weeks. Are you sure I cannot order you a coffee, or water perhaps?’
‘I’m sure, thanks.’
‘There are other injuries. She has several broken ribs, one of which has punctured her left lung,’ she continued. ‘So we have inserted a drain into the lung for a few days to let the air out. This we are not so concerned about but it is one reason why we do not want to put a patient with such injuries on an aircraft. The low cabin pressure can make any air spaces expand, which can be fatal. So it is best to keep her here.
‘There is more I’m afraid. Her left femur suffered a compound fracture. The bone came through the skin and there was considerable loss of blood. We have given her several transfusions. The fracture will need to be repaired surgically. And as you may know, compound fractures can easily become infected. The bone is not protected by skin, which means weeks of intravenous antibiotics. Bone infections are very difficult to treat. So you see, she will not be able to leave here for some time.
‘I know this is a lot to take in but there is some good news.’ I was beginning to doubt it. ‘Besides the punctured lung there is no sign of damage to her internal organs aside from some bruising.’
‘Will there be any long-term effects from the brain injury?’
‘This I cannot say. Time will tell and we will know more once she regains consciousness. There will be a period of rehabilitation, of quite intense physical therapy. We must wait and see.’
‘And how soon can she be returned to Scotland do you think?’
‘Again, let us wait and see.’
‘Can I see her now, Doctor?’
‘Of course. Come with me.’
We walked down corridors and through a number of swing doors. A nurse was in attendance as we entered the private ward. The doctor spoke to her briefly. The nurse left and the doctor examined the ventilator monitor screen. ‘We should be able to put her onto spontaneous breathing within the next twenty-four hours. Regulating it is more of a precaution, you understand.’
I stared down at Claire. Tubes led from the ventilator to her nose and mouth regulating her breathing. Her dark hair on the white pillow accentuated the pallor of her skin. The tubes and the steady yet unnatural rhythmic sound of her assisted breathing made her seem all the more defenceless. The lower half of her body was covered by a kind of tent. I must have stood there for several minutes before the doctor touched my arm. ‘Let us leave her now.’
Summers was waiting for us at Reception. ‘Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘I’m okay, but I’m concerned for her safety. Can you get some kind of security detail organised here?’ I said, including the doctor in my question.
‘I’ll organise something. Don’t worry.’
‘Is that going to be alright with you, Doctor?’
‘Yes, of course, if it is necessary.’
‘It is,’ I said, then turning to Summers: ‘I want it set up within the next hour. Can you fix that? Then I’d like to see the crash site.’
Chapter 10
The N247 threads its way from Cascais to Sintra following the coast for the first ten kilometres or so before branching inland. The sight of the Atlantic Ocean breaking against the rugged coastline is spectacular, but I wasn’t looking at the view. Beneath me lay a car, a black Mercedes taxi with a green roof. It was clear from the state of it that it had rolled over several times before coming to rest upside down on the rocks below the road.
I looked down at the waves rushing into the car through an open rear door. The tide was rising and threatened to fill the interior. I stepped back and looked up the road. There were black skid marks clearly visible where the car had braked heavily, yet there was no bend ahead.
‘The police reckon he braked to avoid an oncoming car that was overtaking,’ said Summers. ‘That would make sense to me. Look, he’s driving along southbound on the right, okay? Something travelling north moves out ahead to overtake another vehicle. Taxi swerves to avoid him and sails over the edge. The other cars just carry on, not wanting to get involved.’
I just nodded. I wasn’t going to upset his convenient theory of what might have happened by sharing my own thoughts with him. If Summers reckoned it was an accident maybe the police would draw the same conclusion, which wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted the local constabulary asking questions that might hinder my own investigation as to who had done this.
‘I’m going down to take a look,’ I said.
‘You’ll get wet.’
I ducked under the police accident tapes and clambered down, careful not to lose my footing on the slippery rocks. I reached the car and moved round to the seaward side where the rear door was open to the elements. I peered inside. Despite the cleaning effect of the sea rushing in and out, there were still blood stains visible on the upholstery, both front and back. I tried to imagine what it would have been like for her: that second of realisation as the car left the road and crashed down the cliff; then merciful loss of consciousness, or so I hoped.
I began to examine the car’s bodywork. The side panels had been heavily scraped and dented as it had rolled. I moved around the wreck, examining it closely, but could see no sign of what I was looking for: evidence of another vehicle having forced the taxi off the road. I made my way back up to the road where Summers was waiting. ‘How long before they remove it?’
‘Tomorrow morning they’ve said.’
I stood there for a while hoping to gain some further insight into what had happened but all I could think of was Claire lying there bleeding in the darkness as the ocean washed around her.
We drove back to Lisbon to a hotel that Summers had found for me in the Baixa district. He made a couple of calls on his phone. ‘We’ve got the security boys there now, at the door to her ward and outside patrolling the site. Four in all, on twenty-four hour duty relieved by another team every six hours.’
‘Thanks for that.’
‘Are you going to be alright?’
‘I’m fine. Let’s keep in touch.’
‘You know where to find me,’ he said, handing me a card. I didn’t distrust Summers, I just didn’t want to get caught up with Embassy protocols and bureaucracy even if he was one of the resident spooks.
I left the hotel and walked round the corner to a payphone I’d spotted. First I called Grant. He already had an outline of what had happened from the Embassy and there wasn’t much I wanted to add at this point despite his persistent questioning. I told him I’d report fully once I’d made some progress. Then I called Pedro and asked him to meet me and bring a couple of burner phones with local SIM cards from different telecom providers.
It was dark by the time he came into the bar I’d found in a back street down near the Tejo. It wasn’t as elegant as some in the area, but it was discreet.
‘Scotch?’
‘Thanks.’
I ordered then gave him a full account of what had happened to Claire, and of my own encounter in Lombardy.
‘What now?’
I took a long pull on the whisky. ‘I’ll get these bastards, Pedro.’
‘Sure you will. But what’s your plan?’ Plan? I could barely think straight, never mind plan.
‘Do you even know who they are? Either way they’ll be after you again sooner or later.’
‘I need to lie low, Pedro. Is there somewhere you know where I can hole up?’
He thought about it for a moment. ‘I have somewhere in mind. It’s not a luxury penthouse but if you keep your head down you should be safe there.’ Then he leaned forward: ‘Your own people must have a safe house here, no?’
‘I’m sure they do, but they didn’t do much to prote
ct Claire Scott did they? I want to talk to Lopes, the ship’s agent. Can you fix a meeting – somewhere quiet?’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, Angus. I told you before, he cannot be trusted and the bank is a powerful organisation here, with a past and present they are keen to hide. Lopes might be useful in telling you more about the Dalmatia Star but you can be sure your interest in the ship will be conveyed back to the bank.’
He was probably right although my instinct was to go after Banco Imperio. I knew I was missing something. There were unanswered questions and whatever Claire had discovered, she was in no position to tell me about it now.
But Pedro was viewing things from a wider perspective. And he was thinking more rationally than I was at that moment.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Look what happened: first to you then to her. Right now ask yourself what is your objective here. What is it you are hoping to achieve?’
‘I need to find out all about your former colony of Kazunda and a man called Jawad Mendesa.’ I told him what I’d learned already including the connection between Mendesa and the Banco Imperio via WADF and Credit Sud.
‘Then there is someone else you should meet if you wish to pursue the Kazunda connection. Her name is Mariana Da Cunha. She is a retornado.’
‘Who or what is a retornado, Pedro?’
‘They are the so-called “returned”: those Portuguese who came back from our former colonies in the mid-seventies and after, mostly from Africa but from Timor too. They fled during the independence wars and the decolonisation process. Many, like Mariana, were born there: Angola, Mozambique, Guinea Bissau and in her case, Kazunda. And many were destitute when they came to Portugal. So it is sometimes seen as a derogatory term but often these people are well educated and have adjusted well to life in Portugal, others not so well.
‘Mariana was born in what is now Kazunda. She was fourteen or so I believe when the family fled. Her father and brother were killed in the fighting that followed independence. Mariana and her mother escaped.’
‘That’s interesting, but why should I meet her in particular?’
‘She is an old friend of my wife. We know her well. She harbours a deep resentment towards those responsible for the death of her father and brother, and for ruining a country she saw as her homeland. I will not mention this case of course, but I could mention your interest in Kazunda to her. I know she is involved with other Kazundan retornados. I do not know exactly what their plans are but she is very interested in the current unrest there.’
‘Alright, Pedro. So when and where can we meet?’ There were few other leads I could pursue at this point. As for Banco Imperio, for now I’d heed Pedro’s advice and steer clear. For now.
‘I will call her to arrange something and let you know. Now, if you wait here I will return shortly with the keys to the apartment. I see you’ve brought your bag.’
The dilapidated old building was down a little lane near the Miradouro de Santo Estevao. The apartment itself was up three flights of stairs. It boasted one bedroom, a bathroom that needed re-plumbing and, as its only redeeming feature, a living room with a small balcony that looked down towards the port; and in the corner of the room, a landline telephone. The furniture was sparse. At the back, leading off the kitchen, was an outdoor iron staircase which accessed a courtyard below. Washing hung from poles off the windows of other apartments and even at this time of night the sounds of neighbours chattering over their balconies, the music from local radio stations and children playing, all served to remind me of normal lives being lived by normal people.
Pedro had stopped off at a supermarket and now we filled the fridge with basic provisions, including a few beers.
‘Take good care, my friend,’ he said as he handed me the keys.
Chapter 11
‘Can you find your way to Alameda da Universidade?’ Pedro asked the next morning. ‘There’s a café near the university where we can meet Mariana. Noon okay?’
Having spent most of the night worrying about Claire, I’d eventually fallen into a deep sleep at dawn in spite of the sounds of traffic and the neighbours as the city dragged itself awake. Pedro’s call had woken me a couple of hours later.
‘I’ll be there,’ I said.
Mariana Da Cunha had walked from her office at the nearby university. As she entered she greeted a group of students who were drinking coffee in a corner of the café with a friendly wave. Pedro had told me she worked as a senior lecturer at the Faculty of Psychology and had her own counselling practice as well. Prior to this she’d been a nurse. She made her way over to where we were sitting and Pedro introduced us.
After we’d exchanged pleasantries she addressed me directly. ‘Pedro tells me you have an interest in Kazunda, Mr McKinnon. Tell me how I can help you. Or perhaps how you can help me?’
She was an attractive woman with wavy, dark brown hair and darkish skin. She took off her jacket and slung it over the back of the chair. She was wearing a tight-fitting black roll-neck sweater and a short burgundy-coloured skirt over black leggings.
‘We believe a large shipment of arms is on its way there by sea,’ I said. ‘All the information we’ve so far gathered suggests that a political upheaval is imminent, although that’s not the reason I’m involved.’
‘To overthrow the government? A coup do you mean? That would be a blessing, but not an easy task. Who is planning this?’
‘I don’t know. I believe a man called Jawad Mendesa may be involved but …’
Mariana threw back her head in a gesture of disgust. ‘Bastardo! If he gains power the situation will not improve, you can be sure of that. They say it was him and his father who,’ she hesitated, ‘who were responsible for the death of my own father, and my brother too. They are animals – worse than animals. And I believe he has something that is very dear to me. If I ever find it, it will be at the moment of his death, I swear.’ Her eyes were narrowed for an instant, cold and hard, revealing her burning hatred for the man. This was not the compassionate nurse turned psychologist I’d been introduced to. She composed herself.
‘I’m sorry. Tell me what is your interest in this matter?’
‘I represent the insurers of the ship that is carrying the weapons. We believe the owners may have been deceived into taking on this cargo, or maybe not. That’s what I’m trying to find out. If the ship’s owners loaded the arms knowing they were intended for use in an illegal military operation, then their insurance would be void.’
‘I see,’ said Mariana looking doubtful. ‘And so how can I help you?’
‘Pedro here told me a little of your story; also that you had connections with other retornados here in Portugal who would like to see the wrongs of the past put right. I’d like to learn more of these ideas, or plans.’
She looked around the café, which was filling up with more noisy students. ‘What, for your insurance claim?’ She arched an eyebrow to express her doubts as to my flimsy cover story. ‘This is not a good place to talk of such things. Come to my apartment where we may discuss it in private.’
‘If you’re sure,’ I said, uncertain of how useful she was going to be. ‘I don’t wish to impose upon you. I appreciate these are not easy matters.’
‘On the contrary, I think of little else. Come, we shall go now.’
‘I cannot,’ said Pedro. ‘I have a survey to attend this afternoon. Go with Mariana and if you need me you know how to find me.’
***
Mariana lived in a larger and more comfortable version of the apartment Pedro had found for me. It had an unobstructed view down to the Tejo estuary and the sea beyond, and was on a higher floor, removed from the noise of the traffic. She lived there alone, she told me, since her mother had died a few years previously. She made coffee and served it with a plate of pasteis de nata. We sat opposite each other.
‘Delicious but fattening,’ she said.
‘Everything delicious is fattening,’ I said biting into one of the custard tarts.
‘Kazunda is a very beautiful country, Mr McKinnon, but it is also a troubled one. We Portuguese, both our missionaries and our traders, colonised it in the fifteenth century. We made contact with the king of the Bakongo tribe and over the years, the Portuguese, Dutch and English established trading posts and logging camps; also small palm oil factories. Trade grew, including the slave trade, and so did the number of European settlers. Things became very competitive and resulted in much conflict amongst them.
‘Eventually Portugal claimed sovereignty and Kazunda became a protectorate. For many years there was peace and our little country prospered, especially when oil was found off the coast. But as you know, in 1974 we had our very own coup here in Portugal, the so-called Carnation Revolution. This led to the end of our empire and the colonies were gradually given their independence, just as with your British Empire.
‘I was born in that same year, 1974, in the capital, Kazunda City. My father had been born there and his father and grandfather before him. He was a wealthy man. We lived in a fine old colonial house with beautiful gardens and many staff. For the first few years of independence everything was fine, but then inter-tribal rivalries destabilised the country and eventually civil war broke out. My father was determined to stay on. He had no desire to live in Portugal. He was a foreigner here. But things got worse in Kazunda.’
She stood up and gazed out from the balcony and the city to the sea beyond, reliving the past.
‘Are you alright, going back like this?’ I asked. She turned to face me, her expression softening as she came back into the present, and I saw now what a lovely looking woman she was when her anger melted away, her features radiating inner calm and a natural compassion.
‘No, no. It is all right. It is easy to slip back into the past when it brings back so many memories. But in the end my father ordered my mother and me to leave, to return here to Lisbon. He and my brother would stay on and send for us when peace returned. That was the plan. We did not want to go but we had little choice. I remember it so well. On the day of our flight our bags were packed. My mother, Maria, our house maid, and I were taken to the airport by our driver. Saying goodbye to my father and my brother, Nicolau. He was only nineteen, so brave.