by Jeff Buick
“Welcome to Cairo, sir,” she said pleasantly to Kerrigan as he passed.
He stopped dead in his tracks and the passenger behind him almost walked into him. He turned to the attendant. “What did you say?”
“Welcome to Cairo.” She looked puzzled at his expression.
“This flight wasn’t to Cairo, it was to Tunisia. What the hell are we doing in Cairo? Was the plane detoured?” He was panicking now.
“Sir, this flight is a regularly scheduled one that flies direct from Brussels to Cairo. If you check your ticket, you’ll see—”
Kerrigan watched as the woman spoke to him, her lips moving, telling him his life was over. He staggered back against the flow of passengers and sat down hard in a first-row business-class seat. He looked at the back of his left hand, at the tiny red mark. McNeil and Carlson had been at the airport, all right. They had drugged him and they had switched his ticket. And now he sat on the runway in a city where the police wanted him for murdering two of their men. That bitch.
The passengers finished filing out of the plane and a group of heavily armed police marched through the bridge and encircled his seat. He looked up and saw unabashed hatred in the officers’ eyes as they stared down at him.
“Patrick Kerrigan?” one of them asked. He simply nodded. “You are under arrest for the murder of Abdullah Minghas, and complicity in the murder of two Cairo police officers.”
Kerrigan stood up and faced the man. “Do I even get a trial?”
“You have had your trial. You have been found guilty and sentenced to life in prison.” The police officer leaned close to Kerrigan and spat in his face. He whirled Kerrigan around and snapped a pair of handcuffs on him. They were far too tight. He spun the prisoner around to face him again. “We have a very special part of our jail reserved for you. I do not think you will like it.”
Kerrigan put up no resistance as they grabbed him and pushed him roughly through the airport and toward a waiting car. He had lost everything. His position in society, his reputation, his wealth and now his freedom. And she had taken it from him.
“Damn you to hell, Samantha Carlson.”
The sun was bright in his eyes as they shoved him into the car. Then the door closed and the light was gone. It was the last time in his life he would feel the warmth of the sun.
EPILOGUE
Basil Abercrombie watched the postman turn and climb the stairs to his stoop. The metal flap on his door opened and two letters dropped through, followed by a small package. The flap clicked shut and the postman retreated from the door. Basil set his tea on the table and walked over to the door. He picked up the mail and returned to the couch. He ignored the letters and scanned the package. It was addressed to Abe Lisab. Cute. The return address was some street in Antwerp, Belgium. The person who had packaged it and put it in the post was Samuel Travis. He chuckled lightly as he ripped the wrapping apart and spilled the contents onto the table.
Twelve greenish stones fell to the wooden surface. He sat back, staring at the diamonds. Travis had promised he would repay the few thousand pounds he had borrowed and he had come through. Basil knew that the value of the stones, even on the black market, was in excess of three million pounds. But what was more important was the knowledge that they had pulled it off. They had gone into De Beers and stolen the diamonds back. His little box had worked.
He scooped the rough into a small brown envelope and sealed it. He stood in the middle of his flat and looked about. Somehow, it didn’t matter anymore. It wasn’t him. He picked up the phone and booked a flight to Barbados. He slipped the diamonds into his pocket and left the flat, locking the door behind him. He dropped the key in the first trash bin he passed and kept walking.
With the money he already had stashed in the bank and the newfound wealth in his pocket, he felt confident of one thing. If Travis could land a babe like Samantha, so could he. And what better place than Barbados?
Mail arrived seldom in Kigali, and overseas mail was a real event. The postman knocked on the door and handdelivered the letter from Belgium directly to Hal and Mauri. Their four children looked on excitedly as Hal opened the letter. He read it aloud.
Dear Hal and Mauri,
Travis and I have had quite the adventure since we last saw you in the Congo. I hope you arrived home safely and had no problems with the soldiers. I know how resourceful you are, Hal, and I’m confident you will be standing in your living room reading this with Mauri and the kids.
Thanks again for your services during the gorilla expedition. We wouldn’t have seen so many primates without your expert guidance. You’re the best.
You really must try this little hole in the wall we found. It’s the last place you would ever think of looking. It’s about halfway down the west side of Ridge Street and the front of the shop is covered with shrubs and vines. Very tropical and tough to see. But once you’re inside, the menu is unbelievable. I think you’ll find it very rewarding.
Say hi to the kids for me.
By the way, Travis and I are getting married.
All my love,
Samantha
Hal finished reading and the kids went off to play. Mauri started to prepare lunch and Hal sat in his easy chair. He reread the letter again, smiling as he did. Tomorrow he would leave on an adventure—a very profitable adventure.
The letter was a map. A map to the diamondiferous formation deep in the Ruwenzori Mountains. He would travel to the last target Samantha’s expedition had looked at. He knew the exact location. Then he would carefully examine the western ridge for a hole. Once he found the hole, he would find the diamonds. And then things would change. He would pay off every important person he had ever blackmailed. That would ensure his safety. Then he would take the wealth from the vein and slowly distribute it to the needy of Kigali. He would make life so much better for so many.
The last thought he had before he folded up the letter and slipped it into his shirt pocket was that he would buy Mauri a new house, one with running water and a proper bathroom. And bedrooms for the children. He withdrew the letter from his pocket and kissed it lightly.
“Thank you, Doctor Sam,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”