The Delta

by Tony Park

  She felt the redness rising up her throat and into her cheeks. ‘Maybe I should go and change?’

  ‘Of course. Your room is down the hallway, second on the right.’

  Emma walked quickly down the hallway and when she opened the second door she saw her backpack and shopping bags were laid out on top of a low, intricately carved blanket box at the foot of a queen-sized bed topped with a duvet in a starched white cotton cover. She closed the door, leaned her back against it and exhaled loudly. She was so turned on she thought she might melt.

  Sam asked for a Coke from the attendant on the flight from Nairobi to Mombasa. He was too nervous to eat, and Sonja hadn’t ordered anything either. She stared out the window at the African landscape far below.

  She’d started to open up to him, on the flight from South Africa to Kenya, though she’d retreated into her thoughts again. Sonja’s theory, about Steele, was that he needed her money. ‘I’ve been a complete bloody idiot,’ she had told him. ‘I changed my will before I left England and made Martin Emma’s legal guardian until she turns twenty-one. I didn’t trust my own daughter to spend my money wisely, if anything happened to me, and Martin has control over her and my bank accounts. I misjudged Emma, and by not crediting her with the brains and maturity to look after herself I’ve made her resent me even more than she did and set her up as a target for Steele. The bastard was trying to kill me, Sam, in Zimbabwe and at the dam – all for bloody money. He’s a gambler. He’s probably lying low in Mombasa waiting to see if I’m still alive before he pays off whoever it is he owes this time.’

  Sonja had told Sam of her time in the British Army, and her service in Northern Ireland. She’d stopped the story when she told of the death of a young IRA man, Danny Byrne, whom she had befriended as a means of trapping the terrorist’s brother. Steele had been involved in the raid in which both Byrne boys had been killed. She’d started the story in response to his question about how she had met Steele. It seemed odd that she even spoke about what he guessed was a sensitive military operation, but he sensed it had something pivotal to do with her past relationship with Steele.

  ‘You never finished telling me about your time in Northern Ireland,’ Sam said now. She lifted her forehead away from the window and looked at him. ‘You said you and Steele were part of an operation where two IRA men were killed, but that you both had to leave the army soon after. Why was that? In the US Army you would have been given medals.’

  She shook her head. ‘Northern Ireland would have been too complicated for the US Army, Sam. For any army. I used Danny Byrne to set up his brother, Patrick, who was responsible for blowing up the school bus. I was convinced Danny wouldn’t have given his brother the explosives to make the bomb if he’d known the target. In fact, Danny wanted to roll over, become what we used to call a “super grass” and give up everyone he knew. He was sick of the war, and sick of the killing. He agreed to invite Patrick to his cottage and let me know when it would be, on the condition that his brother be taken alive, and that I would be there.’

  ‘As insurance?’ Sam said.

  ‘No. I don’t think so.’ Sonja looked back out the window again for a few seconds, remembering. She turned back and looked Sam in the eyes. ‘I think he loved me, Sam. And, maybe, I think I loved him too. We’d become very close. I slept with him. Martin had encouraged me to win him over – to do whatever I felt was necessary – but when Martin found out what I’d done I think he was furious. He never said as much, and tried to play the cold hard professional, but the way he looked at me made me feel like a whore, and I suppose he was right to think that. Part of me wanted to run away with Danny – he was going to be offered relocation and witness protection – yet the other half of me wanted to make things right with Martin. I was so young, and so confused.’

  He felt for her. She had barely been out of her teens at the time. Sam had been at university, though still recovering from the shock of life in juvenile jail. Poor Sonja. He thought he’d had a rough start to adulthood, but it was nothing compared to what she’d had to deal with.

  ‘How the hell,’ she continued, ‘did I trust this man with my daughter’s future and my life? I wonder how much he owes the loansharks. Why didn’t he just con someone or knock over a bank like a proper criminal? I don’t know, Sam, maybe he hates me for ending his promising military career all those years ago.’

  She blinked a few times, and he wondered if she was fighting back tears. He knew, instinctively, she needed to get all this out of her system. She would no doubt disagree, but he knew it helped to talk sometimes. ‘What went wrong in Northern Ireland … you were about to tell me?’

  Sonja nodded and took a deep breath, then exhaled. ‘The night of the raid, Danny and I were in his room and his brother was in the next. Patrick thought we were in bed together, but we were both fully clothed, just waiting for Martin and Sergeant Jones to arrive. I’d thought there would have been a bigger assault force, but Martin had said he wanted to keep it within the unit. It didn’t seem right to me, but he was the officer, and very experienced.

  ‘When the raid happened, Danny and I were wide awake and ready. The front door burst open, with no warning, and a stun grenade went off. The noise was terrible and we clung to each other, waiting. I knew Patrick had a gun somewhere, but the surprise worked. We heard Martin and Jones run into the house and kick open the door of Patrick’s bedroom. He was swearing, but then I clearly heard Patrick say, “Jesus, don’t shoot … Please … I’m unarmed.” Then I heard the shooting.’

  Sonja paused and swallowed hard.

  ‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,’ Sam said.

  She shook her head. ‘Danny said to me that Steele had double-crossed him and executed his brother. He had a gun I didn’t know about, hidden in his wardrobe, and he grabbed it. I told him to put it down, that everything would be all right. He told me to shut up and called me a lying bitch. I was speechless, Sam. I wasn’t part of any betrayal, but he wouldn’t listen to me. He opened the bedroom door and started shooting. He hit Jones and killed him. I knew he was going for Steele next. I had a pistol, and I drew it. I shot Danny in the back, Sam. I killed him.’

  ‘You were doing your job,’ Sam said.

  ‘No!’ She lowered her voice as the attendant walked past. ‘No, Sam. No one was doing their job that day. Steele had come to execute both men. It was an unauthorised operation. I should never have agreed to any of it. When we got back to England Steele concocted a story about how we had acted on the spur of the moment, after discovering Danny and Patrick together in a pub. He hadn’t reported any of our earlier activities. He was a glory hound who wanted to claim sole responsibility for killing the man who had blown up all those children. I was a pawn in his game. He used me, manipulated me into sleeping with Danny, then couldn’t stand it once I did what he wanted. He seduced me when we got back to England and made me lie to cover for him. It’s only now that this is finally becoming clear to me, Sam. At the time, I was happy that Patrick Byrne was gunned down in cold blood … I wanted to believe that the ends justified the means, and that Steele was right. The army saw through him, though, and they made him resign his commission because they knew he was a maverick, and they wanted to cover things up. I went along with the lies for too long.’

  ‘What year was that, again?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Nineteen ninety-two.’

  Sam did the arithmetic. It was pretty simple. ‘That must have been the year Emma was conceived.’

  Sonja nodded. ‘I started to show after the investigation into the Byrne brothers’ death was wrapped up. There were rumours about me circulating through the intelligence community. Steele and I were both forced out of the army and we ended up together, after we both served as contractors in Sierra Leone. He made a point of saying it didn’t matter who Emma’s father was; I was happy not to know, and physically Martin and Danny were pretty alike, so it was never obvious. A little over a year ago, though, Martin came to see me and told me h
e wanted to know, for sure. He said he was re-writing his will and had been thinking about Emma a lot. He’d grown close to her over the years and he wanted it out in the open once and for all, and if she was his, he would write her into his will. I guess I wanted to know, as well.’

  ‘What did you tell Emma?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Nothing. When she was young I’d told her that her father had died in a car crash shortly after we’d started going out, and that my one regret was that we’d never had a picture of the two of us taken together. I bought a paternity testing kit online – all you need is to get a cheek swab and then send it to a lab. I didn’t know how I’d get the sample from Emma without telling her what was going on, but I got lucky. Emma had braces at the time and would sometimes develop mouth ulcers. She asked me to take a look at one and I made up a story about needing to use an applicator this time to put on the numbing liquid she usually used. I switched swabs after taking a sample, and sent it off, with Martin’s swab.’

  Sam grimaced, but said nothing. How could he stand in judgement – his life had been equally messy.

  ‘Anyway,’ Sonja continued. ‘The test came back negative. Danny Byrne was Emma’s father. Martin said he still wanted to be close to Emma and me, but I could tell at that moment that things changed again between us. I wonder if finding out, for sure, made him hate me … made him …’

  ‘Want to kill you?’

  She shrugged. ‘It looks like it. That, and the money. But I’m more worried that it gave him some kind of green light to do something worse, Sam. Emma’s always liked him, but she’s a sensible girl. She wouldn’t have gone off with him if she knew I was coming to get her. I think something terrible is about to happen, Sam.’

  He suddenly shared her fear.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  They swam and sunbathed on the beach during the afternoon and one of Martin’s servants brought them gin and tonics. She felt so sophisticated.

  Martin didn’t kiss her again, although she wanted him to. At one point, as he lay beside her, he lifted himself on one elbow and leaned over and brushed a strand of wet hair from her eyes. He smiled down at her and she grinned back at him. ‘I don’t want to rush things, Emma. You’re a mature young woman, but …’

  ‘But you want to wait until I’m eighteen. I know. But Martin, I am old enough to make up my own mind, you know, and I’m past the age of consent.’

  He nodded, but didn’t rise to her bait. ‘We need to get back to the house and get changed. I’ve got a surprise for you.’

  ‘Naughty.’

  ‘Not that.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It won’t be a surprise if I tell you.’

  She showered and changed back into the dress he’d bought her. This was so unlike school it wasn’t funny. She stared at herself in the mirror, dabbing some extra foundation on an annoying spot that had chosen this moment, of all moments, to appear. She wondered what he saw in her, but she knew, then, that she was happy that he was interested in her, and that she had agreed to come away with him. Her mother would be furious, of course, but Martin was right. She was a woman. She slipped on her new sandals, took a breath and opened the bedroom door.

  Martin was in the open living area wearing white linen trousers and a matching shirt, with the top three buttons open, but he was barefoot.

  ‘You won’t need shoes where we’re going.’ Beside him was a large picnic hamper, which he picked up. ‘Come on.’ He held his hand out to her and she took it.

  They walked out of the house and back onto the beach. It was late afternoon, nearly five, and the breeze had picked up. Two people were out kitesurfing, scudding across the ocean’s surface. One lofted high up into the air, did a loop, and then came back down and stayed upright.

  Ahead of them, where the water lapped the sand, was an inflatable rubber boat. Martin led her to it and placed the hamper on board, then held out his hand to help her get in. A true gentleman. ‘Is this your idea of a romantic boat trip?’

  He laughed. ‘This is just the entrée. The main course is out there. See her? It’s the dhow, out there in the deeper water.’

  Emma shielded her eyes and saw the ancient-looking wooden boat. She’d seen others sailing slowly past during the afternoon, with their exotic triangular sails and dark-skinned crews.

  Emma sat in the back of the boat as Martin rolled up his trousers and pushed them out into the water. He got in and she shifted awkwardly to the middle as he edged past her and started the outboard. Soon they were speeding across the choppy water. Emma’s hair streamed in the breeze and she couldn’t stop grinning. She watched the kitesurfers zoom past them. This, she thought, was living.

  There was a man on board the dhow, who waved as Martin approached. When they pulled alongside she recognised him as one of the security men from the house. He forced a smile, but didn’t look particularly happy. Emma hoped he wasn’t going to be hanging around during dinner. Emma wanted to tell Martin that she found it a bit weird having servants waiting on her, but she also didn’t want to offend him. Martin and the man exchanged some words and the guard reached out a hand to help her on board. ‘I’m fine, thanks,’ she said, grasping the gunwale and hauling herself up. She didn’t want him touching her.

  ‘Well done,’ said Martin. ‘We’ll make a sailor of you yet.’

  When Martin was on board the African man climbed over the edge and into the rubber boat. He started the engine and headed back to shore.

  ‘Are we alone?’ Emma asked.

  ‘Yes. Is that all right?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Right,’ Martin said, ‘I’ll get dinner on.’ There was a low table in the middle of the deck, laid with glasses, plates and cutlery set on a white tablecloth. Instead of seats there were large cushions. Towards the rear of the deck was a box of sand surrounded by walls of corrugated tin. A charcoal fire glowed in the centre and an old-fashioned black teapot sat on a metal stand. Beyond the brazier was another nest of pillows.

  There was a pop, which made Emma start, as the cork sailed out of a bottle of champagne. Martin poured two glasses and began laying out dinner from the picnic basket: cold chicken, salad and a plate of peeled cooked prawns.

  Martin stood beside her and held up his glass. ‘What shall we drink to?’

  She shrugged, feeling suddenly self-conscious. ‘The future?’

  ‘An oldie but a goodie.’ He clinked his glass against hers. ‘My turn, next. To you, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.’

  *

  The African driver in the loud shirt had been waiting for them at the airport and once they were inside the black Korean four-by-four he passed a padded envelope to Sonja, who was sitting in the front passenger seat. She undid the staples and slid out the nine-millimetre Sig Sauer, two magazines full of bullets and a screw-on silencer.

  Sonja loaded the pistol and racked it. ‘What should I do with it when I’m done?’

  The driver honked and swerved to miss a man on a motorcycle with a pillion passenger in a burqa. ‘There is plenty of water around here.’

  ‘Maybe we should go to the police,’ Sam said from the back seat.

  ‘Too complicated,’ Sonja said.

  Sam rolled his eyes. He was in love with a mercenary, and he knew there was no turning back now. Sonja told the driver the address, at Nyali Beach, and the man nodded. Sam was too nervous to pay much attention to the crowds in downtown Mombasa.

  ‘The house is around the next corner,’ said the driver. He slowed the vehicle along a treed street lined with security walls. ‘Maybe I should leave you here?’

  ‘Yes,’ Sonja said.

  ‘Thank you,’ Sam said as the driver pulled over. Sonja was already out of the car and striding down the street. Sam had to jog to catch up with her. She was in hunting mode, he reckoned; totally focused. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Stay here, or get a cab back to Mombasa. Find a nice hotel for us to stay in.’

  ‘Very funny,’ he sai
d. ‘I’m not a handbag, Sonja. I’m here to help.’

  She stopped and looked at him. ‘I don’t think you’re a handbag, Sam. However, this is a job that’s best done by one person.’

  ‘No way. I’m not leaving you. Just tell me what you want me to do.’

  Sonja thought for a few seconds. ‘OK. If Martin’s got security, which I’m sure he has, they may have been briefed to watch out for me. He won’t know yet whether I’m dead or alive, but the dam blast has been all over the news, so he’ll be worried. I doubt he’d be expecting you to tag along, so you’re going to be my diversion.’ She outlined her plan to him and he nodded. It was simple, and crazy.

  Sonja melted into the lengthening shadows, down a laneway roofed with overgrowing bougainvillea. The alley ran between two grand old colonial homes and looked like it led to the beach. It was getting close to dusk.

  Sam walked up to the steel security gate and pressed the button on the intercom.

  ‘Jambo,’ said a tinny voice through the tiny speaker.

  ‘Er, Jambo,’ Sam said. ‘I’d like to speak to Mr Steele please. I’m a friend from the United States.’

  ‘The bwana he is not at home now,’ said the voice.

  Phew, Sam thought. If Steele was in, his plan was to disappear. Sonja had insisted on it. She would be waiting at the end of the alleyway, and if Steele was in, Sam would hurry to her and they would reassess the situation. If he wasn’t in, then Sam was to distract the guards for as long as possible.

  Sam pressed the button again. ‘I need you to take a message, then. Please come to the gate.’

  ‘What is your name?’ the voice asked.

  ‘It’s Bates. Jim Bates,’ Sam said. Jim Bates, apparently, was a CIA agent based in Africa. Sonja had told Sam that she and Martin had met Bates a couple of times over the years, in Iraq and Afghanistan. If the guard wanted to check with Martin by phone, then Steele would be surprised, but hopefully not too concerned to hear the American had tracked him down.