by Nora James
Martin’s jaw dropped, opening so wide Lara saw the shiny metal fillings in his molars. “The Minister’s wife! You didn’t help her, did you?”
Lara pursed her lips. “Of course not. It would be in breach of my duties to Global Oil. Besides, you and Jack came over to our table then and we stopped talking. I haven’t seen her since, thank God.”
“And you didn’t tell us?”
“I didn’t think information about the constitution was top secret. And at the time, although it seemed a little odd, I thought all she meant was that women should be able to vote, that she supported that. It did cross my mind she might want legal advice on the constitution and I was going to steer clear of offering her any, but she simply could have wanted an interesting conversation. Anyway, she stopped short of asking for anything. That she’d be involved in a coup, no, I never believed she would. Until now.”
Martin grunted. “I’m not sure what we should do. The thing is it could be complete nonsense. Even if it isn’t, it might be planned for this month, next month or next year. Who knows? We can’t evacuate based on a rumour passed on by a person we’ve never met before.”
Jack made a sound of annoyance deep in his throat. “That’s how information is shared over here. We’re not going to get an official warning, are we? You don’t expect a letter from the Ministry, do you?”
As Martin opened his curled down lips, Jack raised his hand. “It’s no use fighting over this. If I understand you correctly you want to do nothing about the warning. Business as usual, right?”
Martin shrugged. “I can’t see what else would be justified.”
“How about we talk to Dave Maine?” Lara the mediator spoke softly, calming the men, helping them find common ground. “He may have some leads, or know who to contact to get more information. He’s local after all.”
She pressed on, encouraged by Jack and Martin’s silence. “And we continue to push for an appointment with the President. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” There was no hesitation in Jack’s voice.
Martin, in his usual friendly manner, grunted his acknowledgement before turning his heels on them and walking back towards the house.
Lara hurried behind him, conscious she might otherwise find herself walking side by side with Jack. Not that she wouldn’t enjoy his company—quite the opposite—but she was still scared of what Jack might say to her, scared of the words he had nearly uttered earlier if he hadn’t been interrupted by Martin.
More than that, she was scared of herself, her own desires and her own dreams. She couldn’t, wouldn’t face them now. She thought of Tim, of how much she’d wanted to believe in her marriage and look where that had got her. Well, she wasn’t going down that track again.
She wouldn’t put herself in a position where she’d be in danger of falling into another man’s arms, in the stillness of the night, under the starlit sky, in this place that was worlds apart from her other life. And with a man as gorgeous as Jack, the danger of that seemed all too real.
Yes, she thought of Tim, her husband of ten years, the only man to whom she had ever truly given herself. Tim, the husband who’d cheated and lied, made her feel worthless. She sighed. She’d definitely steer clear of relationships for a long, long time.
When Jack opened the gate to the courtyard they saw Bengali waiting at the front door. He called out to them. “The President’s office has left a message for you. The President will hear you tomorrow morning at ten.”
Martin rushed across the sandy yard and entered the house first, only then turning to Lara. “I must have made a good impression.”
Lara smiled at him. “Yes, you must have. Well done.” The President had agreed to see them! She was relieved beyond words they had secured a meeting—she’d thought it unlikely they would. Martin had done very well indeed. Even if the talk didn’t result in major changes it was a step in the right direction. An important step. Alan Smiles would be pleased when Martin reported to him.
“Quite an achievement.” Jack nodded in Martin’s direction. “Perhaps we should have a drink to celebrate?”
Martin looked offended. “A drink? Certainly not.” He pointed to the stairs. “Hurry on up, people. We have a meeting to prepare.”
Lara shook her head, although discreetly. Martin knew how to spoil even the best moments.
“And I’m the guy with the army background,” Jack whispered, leaning in so close Lara could smell the muskiness of his skin. She wished she didn’t notice that about him, wished it didn’t cross her mind that he was delicious in every way. She pulled away.
They took their time climbing the stairs. It was going to be one long night.
XXII
Lara appeared at the top of the staircase, a briefcase in her left hand. She looked perfect, fresh and polished. Jack couldn’t help but admire her.
She hadn’t slept much, none of them had, having worked late into the night. They’d gone over strategy a hundred times, asking all the “what if” questions they could think of, considering every detail and pre-empting every twist and turn.
It had been too late to sit safely outside on their own and inside they couldn’t talk without fear of anyone listening in on their conversation, so they had resorted to writing everything down, passing each other notes. They had been careful to sit with their backs hunched over their writing pads, in an effort to hide their words, just in case there was a camera filming them, although it was unlikely any camera used in Negala would be powerful enough to decipher their tiny letters.
After hours of that, and so little rest, Lara still looked like she was going to take on the world. She was an extraordinary woman in more ways than one. Jack wished he could say that to her—and more. He wished he had finished his sentence the night before, when Martin had interrupted them, and told her exactly how he felt. If only he could say it now.
Instead, his words were of the most common kind. “Ready to go?”
Lara straightened her jacket. “I am. A bit nervous, though. We’re meeting the President! What was the former one like? I heard you and Martin went to see him.”
“We did, at his country property. We flew there by helicopter because he didn’t want to interrupt his holidays and come back to the city just for us. He was. . .how can I put it? Very relaxed.” Jack chuckled. “He stayed in his bathers and spent the whole meeting rocking to and fro in a huge hammock. The only words he said to us during the entire meeting were “Strength, one must find strength.” We didn’t even know if he meant we needed strength, or he did, to listen to us.”
Lara’s eyes widened. “Let’s hope this meeting goes a bit better.”
“Yeah. I don’t mind informal, but not that unproductive. You never know what to expect in this country.”
“I guess not.”
At least she was chatting happily with him today, without moving away from him all the time, holding back or seeming scared of what he might say next. She could probably sense that he felt closer to her than he should ever have allowed himself, since she was a married woman. He let out a sigh. Yes, she was married and he hated that.
Martin came rushing down the stairs two by two. “No need to sigh because I’m one second behind you. I’ve waited for you enough times, Norton. Anyway, the only reason I was delayed is I got a last-minute call from Alan.”
Lara frowned. “Didn’t you say he was having a few days off? Must have been important.”
Martin shrugged. “Not really. He wanted to check if the meeting was still on. You know Alan. Well, maybe you don’t. He always puts work first. Even during his honeymoon, he worked.”
Lara shook her head. “His wife must be happy.”
Jack smiled. He liked that about Lara. She was a balanced person. Sure, she was professional and she did what she had to do to deliver at work, but she knew the value of home and relationships. “She doesn’t seem to mind. But wives one, two and three got sick of it.”
Lara chuckled as she opened the front door and stepped into th
e brightness of the Negalese morning. “So have either of you been inside the Presidential palace?”
Martin made a nasal sound, a sort of grunt that Jack knew from experience meant “Yes”.
Jack nodded, for Lara’s benefit. “Martin’s seen it more often than I have.”
Martin continued. “Mind you, it was a few years ago, when we first started talking to the government. Apparently they’ve renovated since. It’s gone from eighteen carat gold plating on everything to twenty four carat.”
“It’s that luxurious?” Lara tilted her head in the cutest way and all Jack wanted to do was put his hand on her cheek. He certainly didn’t want to take his eyes off her inviting neck, but he noticed Martin was staring at him, so he looked away.
“Luxury Zakra style,” Martin said. “Gold rococo mirrors and pillars, even the toilet seat, but the doors aren’t straight and the tiles don’t match.”
The car took them through the hot and sandy streets, where stray goats roamed and people in sun-bleached dwanas crossed the road without looking, a donkey loaded to the point of hardly being able to put one hoof in front of the other following closely.
They turned into a street that, in stark contrast to the rest of the city, was leafy and green. A few hundred metres further down, majestically rising above the surrounding rubbish and tumble-down dwellings stood a building of impressive proportions.
Jack had seen the Presidential residence before, but every time he laid eyes on it he couldn’t help but notice how sumptuous it was. And how intriguing, too. It was hard to tell the era of the construction. It seemed to be quite a mix of styles, although there was definitely something French about it. Maybe something Spanish, too.
Two guards in military clothing stood at the entrance, rifles on their shoulders, and in their eyes the arrogance that comes with misplaced power. The car slowed to walking speed as it approached the elaborate wrought iron gates. One of the guards took a step forward and peered inside the vehicle, his nose flattening against the glass.
Martin opened the window. “We have an appointment with the President.”
“Name?”
“Global Oil.”
The guard walked around the four-wheel drive and spoke to the other guard.
Jack leaned forward. “Do you need our surnames? Beckham, Griffiths, Norton. Mrs Lara, Mr Martin and Mr Jack.”
The guard ignored him.
Martin flung his arms into the air. “We have an appointment! We don’t want to be late.”
The guard started intently at Martin, and then started yelling in Negalese. Jack turned to Lara. “What’s going on?”
Lara shrugged. “I don’t understand.” She breathed in deeply. “He’s asking the other one whether to let us go.”
Martin raised his eyebrows. “You mean whether to let us go in?”
Jack took a sharp breath. “She means whether to let us go free.” There was something strange, something not right. The guards should have checked their names against a list, asked for proof of their identity.
Another guard came running from across the cobbled courtyard, waving his hands and grinning. Jack leaned closer to Lara, so close he could smell the light coconut scent of her hair. It would have been easy, so easy to let his thoughts drift, to look at nothing but her creamy skin, but now was not the time. “What’s that one saying?”
Lara leaned out of the car window. “I can’t make out all the words, but I think he’s telling them to let us into the palace.”
Jack squinted. There was something odd about the whole process. His gut told him to be on high alert. The guards had not checked their identity, were not brandishing lists, and were acting seemingly without care. And now this other guard was running outside to fetch them, without having been called, grinning ear-to-ear with no list in his hand. It had never been done this way before.
Jack felt a surge of adrenaline run through his veins, the kind he got when he was on shaky ground, preparing for combat. He watched every movement, every expression on the faces of the guards. He wanted to hold Lara’s hand, to tell her he would protect her no matter what. Instead, all he could do was glance at her, offer her a quick smile he hoped would be reassuring.
The car was waved through the gates and stopped in front of the imposing columns flanking the entrance to the palace. Jack noticed a large team of gardeners in the middle of the central parterre. A quick check told him there were about twelve of them, busy fertilising rose bushes, emptying huge bags of manure to build up the soil.
On the other side of the yard was a van. Two men unloaded what appeared to be sacks of semolina, enough to feed an army. An army. . .
As the guards ushered Lara, Martin and Jack out of the car and up the steps to the colossal doors that looked like they were made of solid gold, Jack made eye contact with Lara. “Stay near me,” he whispered, his stomach tight, his breathing controlled. “Whatever you do, stay close to me.” He was ready to defend this woman, this woman who made his heart beat, who had given him new hope, defend her with his life if necessary. And something was wrong. He couldn’t articulate it yet, but he could sense it.
He glanced over at Martin. He wasn’t his best friend, that was for sure. Still, he couldn’t fail to warn him, couldn’t have done that even to an enemy. And Martin wasn’t his worst enemy, not really. He was just a guy who had been hurt, a guy who blamed his own shortcomings, and the blows that life had dealt him, on Jack.
“Martin, I need to talk to you.”
Martin glanced over his shoulder. “Not now, Jack. We’re about to be introduced to the President.”
Jack tried again. “Martin, would you –”
In his snootiest, snappiest voice, Martin cut him off. “Whatever it is, surely you can save it for later. There isn’t anything we didn’t talk about last night.”
Jack rubbed his chin. “Lara, do you fertilise roses early winter?”
She shook her head. “No, in spring.”
“Even if the weather’s been unusually warm?”
“I’d say so. To this extent, at least” She looked over at the huge bags of manure. “You like gardening?”
From the corner of his eye Jack saw a gardener cut right through one of the bags and dig into it with his bare hands. Others did the same.
Jack took Lara’s hand, pulling her towards him. She tried to get her hand out of his, probably thinking he was being inappropriate, probably feeling flustered and worried, but not for the right reasons. She hadn’t seen what was happening and before he could tell her, the gardeners drew guns out of the dark brown mixture. Within seconds, a bullet cut through the air, whistling.
Others were fired and Jack threw himself onto Lara, pushing her to the ground to shield her body with his. He gasped as he felt a sudden jolt to his calf, the pain shooting immediately right up to his thigh, spreading like an uncontrollable fire. He was hit. He held back the swear words that sprung to his mind. There was no need to alert Lara or she might not concentrate on getting out of there.
“When I tell you, we run to the car.” He saw how she trembled, and squeezed her hand. “You’re going to be all right.” He gazed into her eyes. “I promise you.” The stinging in his calf was intense, but he breathed in deeply, steeling himself. It was only his leg, not his head or his heart, and he could still move it so there was a good chance the wound wasn’t deep. Besides, now was not the time for self-pity.
He glanced up at the gardeners. One was yelling orders, the others getting more weapons out of the bags. Over on the other side men were jumping out of the van that had come in under pretence of transporting food. It was clear it was an insider’s job, otherwise these soldiers in plain clothing wouldn’t have made it past the front gates.
“When I tell you, run to the car. Don’t wait for me. Don’t turn around. Just keep going until you’re in that vehicle and tell the driver to put his foot down.” He looked behind him and saw some of the President’s men appear at the sound of gunshot. The insurgents would be distract
ed. “Now!” he shouted, grabbing Lara by the waist and in one movement sweeping her right off the ground.
He was grateful Lara didn’t question him. Jack started to lag and she ran ahead, probably assuming he was right behind her. He signalled to Martin, who was on his belly behind one of the giant pillars adorning the front of the building, that they would try for the car.
Suddenly, she stopped and turned to him, and seeing his was some steps away, came back for him, looking him up and down with bewildered eyes. “You’re limping. . .you’ve been shot!” She grabbed his arm. “Put your weight on me. Come on.”
The lump in Jack’s throat nearly stopped him from talking. She had come for him. But there was no time for feelings. He pleaded. “Go! Just go, Lara. I’ll slow you down.” Gasping with pain he managed to add “Get to the airport. The passports. Ismael has them.”
“You took a bullet for me. I’m not leaving you.” She squeezed his hand and he knew she meant it. He could tell she wasn’t going to abandon him, any more than he would have abandoned her. They would make it together or not at all.
He put as little of his weight as possible on her and pushed through the agony of his bleeding calf. Another bullet whistled past his ear, missing him by a millimetre or two. The driver was nowhere to be seen but thankfully had left the car open and the keys dangling in the ignition.
Jack threw himself onto the front seat, then slid across to the driver’s seat, and Lara rolled in beside him.
“You can’t drive with your leg like that. Swap with me.”
“I’m fine.” He wasn’t fine at all, but he would manage. The pain was made bearable by the adrenaline flowing through his veins. And his weight was off his leg.
He could breathe easier now. It wasn’t over yet, but they had some protection, they had a chance: a car, an open gate not that far away. The passports would be ready: he had pulled a few strings to get his friend Ismael to hold them on stand-by when he’d heard from Oman there was an upcoming coup.
“Where’s Martin?” Lara lifted her head off the seat just enough to peek through the window.