by Josh Lacey
He grinned at me. He must have known what I was thinking. And he said, “That’s right. Twenty thousand euros. In cash.”
My uncle said, “Do you have the money here?”
“Yes.”
“With you?”
“Yes.”
“In your car?”
“Yes.”
Uncle Harvey took a moment to decide. He glanced at Marko’s car as if he was imagining the money inside. Where would it be? In a suitcase? Or an envelope? What does twenty thousand euros actually look like? How much space does it take up? Then he shook his head. “I’m afraid the answer’s no. Twenty thousand is simply not enough.”
“No problem,” said Marko. “I’ll give you thirty.”
“No.”
“Thirty-five. That’s my final offer.”
“You can have them for a million,” said Uncle Harvey.
Marko laughed. “Come on, mate! Don’t be ridiculous.”
“That’s my final offer.”
“You’re making a big mistake.”
“Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not. But it’s my mistake to make, not yours. We’re going to leave now. Please don’t follow us anymore.”
Marko reached into his jacket. My uncle tensed. So did I. We both thought he was reaching for a gun. But he pulled out his wallet. “Here’s my card. Call me if you change your mind.”
“I will.” Uncle Harvey glanced at the card. “Malinkovic—where’s that from?”
“I’m Australian, but my dad emigrated from Croatia.”
“A wonderful country.”
“I’ve never been.”
“You should. It’s beautiful.” Uncle Harvey pocketed the card. “Nice to meet you, Marko. Let’s keep in touch.”
“We’ll do that, mate.”
We walked back to our car. The gas station attendant was still watching us. I was glad about that. He and his cameras might just have saved our lives. If Marko had produced his knife and swung at us, could we have stopped him?
We got into the car and drove out of the gas station.
As we roared up the access road onto the freeway, I turned around and saw the Ford Focus following right behind us.
I lifted my hand and waved at Marko.
He didn’t wave back.
I turned to my uncle.
“J.J.,” I said.
“I noticed that too.”
“That’s got to be Jalata Jaragami, doesn’t it?”
“Must be.”
“Do you really think he’s got hundreds of people searching for this tiger?”
“I don’t see why not. If he wants to find it badly enough.”
“So who’s Marko?”
“Why don’t you look him up?” He passed me his phone and the card that Marko had given him.
The card had his full name, Marko Malinkovic, two phone numbers, and a Gmail address, but no information about his job, his title, who he was, or what he did for a living.
I searched for “Marko Malinkovic.” It was an unusual name, so he should have been easy to follow, but he had no Facebook page, no Twitter account, no website advertising his business or offering his services. He hadn’t told the world his hobbies or posted images of himself partying with his friends. Whoever he was, he liked to keep himself private.
I found a few Malinkovics in Melbourne, Australia. There was a Zeljko Malinkovic who sold homemade cakes with guaranteed fresh cream and a Steve Malinkovic who had a garage on Silver Street specializing in German cars. Could they be his parents? His brothers and sisters?
“Maybe Malinkovic isn’t even his real name,” suggested my uncle. “But don’t worry about it. Marko doesn’t really matter. Forget him. He’s out of the picture.”
“No, he’s not. He’s right behind us.”
“He might be now, but he won’t be for long. Like I said, you should forget him. The guy we need to meet is J.J.”
12
I would have been happy to forget Marko, but he refused to be forgotten. He was on our flight to Heathrow.
He had followed us all the way to the Shannon airport, keeping a safe distance between his car and ours, then dropped away and disappeared once we reached the car rental place. We didn’t see him again in the airport, but he must have followed us inside, watched us checking in, discovered where we were going, and bought a ticket for himself.
He sat at the other end of the plane. I thought of going back there and talking to him, asking him to leave us alone, but Uncle Harvey told me not to bother. “We’ll shake him off later,” he said.
“What if we can’t?”
“We will.”
“How do you know? He’s followed us all the way here. He’ll probably be able to follow us all the way to India. What if we find the tiger and he grabs it from us?”
“Relax, Tom. We’ll be fine. He’s just one guy. He can’t do anything to us.”
“There might be others. He might have a whole team. Maybe they’re waiting for us at Heathrow. What if they mug us and grab the letters?”
“Didn’t I tell you to relax? Shut up and read your magazine.”
Uncle Harvey had bought me a copy of History Today in a shop at the airport. I said I wasn’t interested in boring magazines about dead people, but he told me not to be so narrow-minded. “You’re interested in Tipu’s tigers, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“And you were interested in John Drake’s diaries? And Francis Drake’s gold?”
“That’s not the same as—”
“Read the magazine,” he said. “You might learn something. Even better, you might find someone else who buried some treasure for us to go and dig up.”
I flicked through the pictures and read a couple of the articles. They were actually pretty interesting, even if they didn’t give me any ideas for how or where to make my fortune.
We landed at Heathrow and switched terminals. The last time I saw Marko, he was standing in a line at passport control, staring angrily after us. Our line moved much faster than his and he was still waiting while we were hurrying into the main part of the airport. Once again, I lifted my arm and waved at him. Once again, he didn’t wave back.
Uncle Harvey stopped at a cash machine and pulled three cards from his wallet. Each of them allowed him to take out five hundred pounds.
“That should keep us going for a few days,” he said.
“I thought you didn’t have any money.”
“I don’t.”
“So how can you get out all this cash?”
“That’s the definition of a credit card,” said Uncle Harvey. “Buy now, pay later. I already owe about ten thousand bucks on mine.”
“Plus ninety thousand from your poker game.”
“And a few thousand here and there for other debts to other people too.”
“If you added it all up, how much would it be?”
“I don’t know and I don’t want to know. Life is too short. Anyway, you don’t have to worry about my financial situation. When we find this tiger, all our problems will be over.”
“What if we don’t?”
“Then I’ll have to run away and start a new life under a different name.”
“What about me?”
“You’ll be fine. You don’t owe anything to anyone. Apart from me, and I’ll forgive you.”
He had another card in his wallet that got him free entry to the British Airways executive lounge. We bagged a couple of sofas and lay down. Our flight left in nine hours. There was nothing to do till then but snooze.
“Good night,” said Uncle Harvey.
“What about Marko?”
“What about him?”
“What if he finds us? What if he comes in here while we’re sleeping? What if he steals the bag?”
“Even if he finds us, which he probably won’t, he can’t steal the bag. She’ll be watching us.” Uncle Harvey nodded at the woman sitting behind the reception desk. Now I understood why he had chosen the sofa directly in her line of
sight. “Anyway, I’m a light sleeper.” He was using his bag as a pillow and had looped its straps through his wrists. No one would be able to get near the zip without disturbing him.
“When do we have to wake up?” I said.
“Don’t worry about that. I’ve set my alarm. Now get some sleep. You’re going to need all your energy when you get to India.”
He lay down. So did I.
I tried to sleep. I really did. But I lay awake for a long time, worrying about Marko. I remembered his dark eyes, the glint of his knife, and the menacing tone in his voice. Where was he now? Pacing around Heathrow, searching for us? Wouldn’t he find us here? Would that woman at the desk really protect us? I knew I wouldn’t find the answers to any of these questions, but they spun around my head until I finally fell asleep.
13
I was woken by Uncle Harvey shaking my shoulder. He thrust a cup at me. “Drink this,” he said. “You’ll feel better.”
“What is it?”
“Coffee.”
“You know I don’t like coffee.”
“Don’t be an idiot. Everyone likes coffee.”
“I don’t.”
“Try it.”
“No, thanks.”
“Fine. I’ll drink them both.”
He took a sip from one cup, then the other.
I sat up, rubbing my eyes. A different woman was sitting at the desk. She smiled at me. I smiled back.
The bag was still sitting on the sofa beside Uncle Harvey. So we hadn’t been robbed. That was good.
I pulled my phone from my pocket. A text had arrived while I was asleep.
Where are you? Please come back and help clean this house. Mom.
Should I ignore it? No. Better to reply now and keep her off the trail. I tapped in a quick message.
Back soon. Tom
I pressed Send and switched off my phone.
We gathered our gear and left the lounge. I searched for Marko as we walked through the airport, but I didn’t see him anywhere. He wasn’t in the line to get on the plane. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t there. He could have been up at the front in first class.
Once we were airborne, I unbuckled my seat belt and stood up. “I’ll be back in a second.” I didn’t know what I was planning to say to Marko if I found him. Would I run back and get Uncle Harvey? Or confront him myself? I hadn’t thought that far ahead. First I wanted to discover if he was here.
“Where are you going?” asked my uncle.
“To the bathroom.”
“You went just before we boarded. What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Do you have a bladder infection?”
“No. I just need to pee. I’ve been drinking a lot of water.”
He gave me a quizzical look, then returned his attention to the Sunday Times.
Why didn’t I tell the truth? I guess I didn’t want to be told to relax again. I’m relaxed enough already. I just don’t enjoy being followed around by psychopaths with knives. I prefer to know about it if they’re on the same plane as me.
I snuck into first class. The flight attendant gave me a stern look, but I just smiled and she didn’t stop me or tell me to go back to the cheap seats where I belonged.
Marko wasn’t there.
We’d escaped.
Or had we?
Would he know where we were going? Could he find out? He could get on the next plane. He might be a few hours behind us, but that wouldn’t matter to him. He could call a friend or an armed heavy and tell him to wait for our flight. He’d watch out for us as we emerged from the airport and follow us wherever we went, and we’d never know he was there, because we wouldn’t know who he was or what he looked like.
I went back to my seat and settled down for the rest of the journey. Uncle Harvey was halfway through a plastic cup of something fizzy. I said, “What’s that?”
“Gin and tonic. You want one?”
“Yes, please.”
He grinned and shook his head. “You’re too young for gin.”
“I’m old enough to try.”
“No, you’re not. But I’ll give you a tip for when you’re older. Always drink gin on a plane. It sends you straight to sleep. In fact, I think I need another.” He tipped the rest of the glass down his throat and waved at the nearest flight attendant.
14
The gin did its job and Uncle Harvey soon fell asleep. I wasn’t tired, so I just sat there, playing with the in-flight entertainment system and eating the free spicy peanuts. I just wanted to get there and start hunting for treasure.
We landed at one o’clock in the morning, local time. As we walked out of the air-conditioned aircraft and into the terminal, I pulled off my sweater and tied it around my waist. Even at this time of the night, the heat was astonishing. My bag was stuffed with sweaters, jeans, and thick socks, perfect for Irish mountains, but dead weight here.
I switched on my phone. It took five minutes to work out where it was. The poor thing must have been very confused. Home, England, Ireland, India—where was it now? When the display finally bleeped into life, a text arrived from the phone company, telling me the charges to make and receive calls, swiftly followed by seven voice mails from Mom and Dad. They started angry and quickly got panicked. I’d have to call them back. But what would I say? How much of the truth should I tell? I put the phone away and added that to the list of things to think about later.
When we reached the front of the line, the passport officer turned the pages of my passport, then Uncle Harvey’s. “You are father and son?”
“Uncle and nephew,” Harvey replied.
“What is the purpose of your visit?”
“We’re on holiday.”
“Where is your visa?”
“I’m afraid we don’t have visas,” said Uncle Harvey.
“For visiting India, you must have a visa.”
“I know. Where can we buy them?”
“The best place to get a visa is the embassy in your capital city at least one month before you are arriving in India.”
“We’re here now,” replied Uncle Harvey. “We don’t mind paying. Where do we go to buy our visas?”
“That is not possible,” said the passport officer. “You must return to your own country and purchase a visa. Then you may enter India.”
Uncle Harvey reached into his jacket and pulled out his wallet. He opened it up to show the bills inside. He didn’t actually pull out any money—he wasn’t that blatant—but he made it obvious what was on offer. “There must be some way for us to get a visa,” he said.
“That is not possible.”
“Really? Why not?”
“Because there are rules and regulations governing every aspect of entrance and exit from this country. The rules are stating most clearly that all visitors must have a visa.”
Uncle Harvey fingered the money. “We’re here now and we really need these visas. We don’t mind paying for them. Couldn’t you see if you could help us? Please?”
The passport officer thought for a moment. He cast a few glances around, checking to see if he was being watched. “There is a possibility,” he said in a quiet voice. “But it is very expensive.”
“That doesn’t matter,” said Uncle Harvey.
“You will come with me, please.”
The passport officer spoke to one of his colleagues, who took his position, then led us through a maze of corridors to a windowless room crammed with tired, anxious people. One woman was weeping silently into a handkerchief, her shoulders shuddering. The passport officer wrote our names on a sheet of paper and asked for ten thousand rupees. Uncle Harvey didn’t have any local currency, but the passport officer was happy to accept British pounds instead. He counted the notes, folded them carefully, and slid them into the top pocket of his jacket. Then he told us to wait.
I said, “For how long?”
He just smiled and walked away.
“What if he never comes back?” I said.
/>
“He will,” replied my uncle.
“How do you know?”
“He had a good face. I trust him.”
I hoped he was right. What if the passport officer decided to keep our money and pretend he’d never met us? We wouldn’t be able to prove anything. We’d sit here for a day or two, sweltering, then they’d shove us on a plane back to London.
Uncle Harvey found a newspaper lying on the floor, the pages covered in dusty footprints. We were just settling down to read it when his phone rang. He looked at the display.
“It’s your father,” he said. “Do you want to talk to him?”
“No.”
“You should.”
“I haven’t decided what to say.”
“It’s always best to tell the truth.”
“I can’t do that!”
“Of course you can.” He put the phone to his ear. “Hello, Simon. I’m fine, thanks. Yes, he is. He’s right here, I’ll pass you over.”
I took the phone. “Hi, Dad.”
“Where are you?” said my father.
“India,” I replied.
“Where?”
“India,” I repeated.
“Where’s that?”
“It’s a big country near China.”
“Don’t be funny with me, Tom. Where are you?”
“I just told you. I’m in India.”
“How can you be in India? How did you get there?”
“On a plane.”
There was a pause. Then Dad said: “Is this true?”
“Yes.”
“You’re really in India?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Bangalore.”
“You are in serious trouble.”
“I don’t care.”
“I mean it. You are in very serious trouble.”
“Whatever.”
I could hear the steam coming out of his ears.
“Hand the phone to your uncle.”
“Sure.”
I handed the phone to Uncle Harvey. I could only hear one side of their conversation, but I could fill in the rest for myself. Dad asked what we were doing in India and Uncle Harvey said he’d explain when we got home again. Dad asked when that would be and Uncle Harvey said he wasn’t quite sure. Dad said he would call the police and Uncle Harvey asked him not to. It carried on like that for a couple more minutes, back and forth, back and forth, and then Uncle Harvey ended the call. He shook his head. “Your father needs to learn how to relax.”