The group outside the office had disappeared inside and already the first disappointed pursuers were straggling back. He had to move swiftly. Slipping down the embankment, he covered the short distance to the car in a crouching run. The door handle moved and he breathed a heartfelt prayer of thanks as dangling keys winked at him from the dashboard. Slowly he eased the door open and raised his foot to climb into the car. Suddenly a wiry arm locked round his neck and he felt fingers tearing at his mask.
Gasping, Colin began to struggle, kicking out with his feet and punching back with his elbows in an effort to break the vice-like grip that threatened to cut the breath from his lungs. He felt the body behind him move, the arm flexing as its owner strove to obtain better purchase. Colin slumped forward, knees bent, forcing the man behind him off balance with his sudden dead weight. Quickly he thrust a hand over his head and entangled his fingers in a mop of hair, dropped on one knee and dragged the head down onto his shoulder, forcing the arm to loosen its grip on his neck. Suddenly he could breathe again, and using both hands he hauled the body over his shoulder, breaking the grip that threatened to strangle him. Desperately sucking air into tortured lungs, he flung his weight on top of the writhing body, hands seeking the mouth … the throat … his knee jabbing viciously as his pounding heart pumped adrenaline into his system.
Through a haze of near panic, Yarty’s warning echoed in his head. The thought lent a desperate strength to his limbs and his hand caught an open mouth, straining to cry out. He tore at the lips, fingers clawing savagely to contain the shout that would attract assistance. Under his right hand the rough shape of a stone seemed to mould itself into his clawing fingers. Panting, he raised it high as flailing hands ripped the balaclava from his face. He heard a gasping voice – muffled, agonised. Christ! An English voice!
‘Colin! No …!’
Jesus Christ! The stone veered off target smashing into the ground millimetres from Watty’s head. ‘Watty!’ Colin stared into the dark face, scarcely able to distinguish anything in the darkness but knowing it could be no one else. He rose silently to his feet and held his hand out to help him rise.
Watty clambered up and stood staring at him, breathing heavily. ‘I should have guessed,’ he panted. ‘All those bloody questions.’ There was a long pause. ‘Well, what do we do now?’
‘That’s up to you,’ Colin told him. ‘But you surely don’t think I would have tried to use that rock if I had known it was you I was fighting with?’
‘Colin, you’ve stolen the diamonds!’ Watty accused. ‘I can’t let that go.’
‘But I didn’t steal them, Watty. I was disturbed. I got nothing when I had to run.’
‘The diamonds are still in the safe?’
‘Yes.’
‘Jesus Christ, man …’ Walter shook his head. ‘Don’t you realise what they’ll do to you for even trying to steal their diamonds?
‘Nothing, if you’ll help me,’ Colin stared into his eyes. ‘C’mon, Watty,’ he pleaded. ‘You have to help me. I could have battered your head in to get away and no one would have been any the wiser. They don’t even know who they’re looking for.’
‘Come on, Colin. I’m a company man,’ Watty told him. ‘They pay my wages.’
‘But nothing’s been stolen,’ Colin argued. ‘And they think whoever done it got away through the fence.’
‘You’re certain you took nothing?’ Watty weakened.
‘My life on it!’
‘But I don’t want to be involved,’ Watty cried, raising his eyes to the dark sky. ‘Why me, for Christ’s sake?’
‘Please, Watty. I’m a white man. I couldn’t do time out here.’
‘Aww … Jesus!’ Watty slapped the side of the car and threw his arms wide in a gesture of hopelessness. ‘Quick! Into my office. I’ll come and get you when the excitement dies down.’
‘Why me?’ Colin heard the plaintive wail as he darted towards the office door and let himself inside.
*
Some time later, a worried-looking Watty dropped Colin close to where he had hidden his old Peugeot.
‘What can I say?’ Colin bent by the window of Watty’s car.
‘Say nothing!’ Watty held out a widespread palm and made vigorous pushing movements. ‘Just get in your car and go back to Takoradi.’ He engaged gear and began to move away. ‘And for Christ’s sake,’ he implored, ‘Don’t come fucking back!’
11
‘You were out late last night,’ George looked over at Colin as they sat on the verandah, enjoying their first sundowner beer of the evening. ‘Or should I say, this morning?’
‘Went a bit too far,’ Colin gave a wry smile at his words. ‘Ran into a bit of a problem.’
‘Aye,’ George nodded. ‘That old motor is just about worn out.’
‘H’mm,’ Colin muttered, offering no further enlightenment. He was only too happy to be sitting with his uncle after his close call the night before. He sipped luxuriously at his beer, vastly relieved to be doing so. He had been disappointed there had been no gold, and the diamond job had been a close call, nothing closer in fact. But at least he had saved his skin. He sipped again at his beer. Yes , it did taste extra special this time.
‘Out again tonight?’ George queried, a trace of censorship in his voice.
‘I’m taking a run down to the Princess,’ Colin named the local cinema. ‘I fancy a picture for a change.’
‘There’s a video on at the club.’
‘No. I fancy trying the local fleapit,’ Colin insisted. ‘I’ve never been there, but it’s showing an old Clint Eastwood western tonight and I’d like to see it again.’
*
The antics of the native audience gave Colin almost as much pleasure as the ancient Fistful of Dollars epic. The locals certainly believed in audience participation: they rejoiced loudly at their hero’s victories, hooted derisively at the baddies’ blunders, shouted urgent warnings as their champion rode into an ambush and screamed in anguish when he was tortured by the bandits. Finally, their triumphant cheers of support and victory rang loud and long as the victorious nameless stranger rode into nowhere again.
Still chuckling at the boisterous audience reaction, Colin made his way to the bar where he bought a bottle of beer before wandering out to the open verandah of the building. Seated at a table, he looked round at the other people near him, his eyes meeting giggling smiles from a party of four young African girls who openly ogled him from their nearby table. The sight of the girls held his attention and he returned their looks with an amused, friendly smile. At this the girls giggled even more and went into a huddle of intense conversation, their huge, warm brown eyes sneaking looks at him as he watched their carry-on.
There was no denying he missed the friendliness and intimacy of having a girlfriend and he eyed the four girls with a pang of loneliness. He had always welcomed the company of lively girls, liked to listen to the breathless, unimportant gossip, enjoyed parrying their constant feminine inquisitiveness, hearing their indignant complaints about this and that. He missed their gentleness and most of all he missed their essential sexuality. He knew that some of the sports-club members had girls in town and sometimes he had felt tempted himself. But his natural Scottish inhibitions, as well as an awareness that gossip about himself could harm his uncle’s reputation, conspired to combat any desire he may have felt.
One of the girls smiled boldly at him and, seeing no signs of rejection, waved her fingers in a girlish gesture. He smiled, enjoying the moment, but shook his head in firm refusal.
‘Don’t you like the local girls?’ He twisted in his seat as a soft voice sounded behind him, and rose quickly when he recognised Lesley Farrell.
‘What are you doing here?’ The question burst from his lips without thought.
‘Could ask you that same question,’ Lesley replied coolly, looking very attractive in a wide-skirted, white cotton dress that emphasised her deep tan and threw highlights into her already dazzling blonde hair. He gazed open-mouthed at h
er, drinking in her beauty, finding it difficult to raise his eyes from the low-cut bodice of her dress.
‘Well, do you intend to strip me or buy me a drink?’ she asked with a smile, pulling a chair out for herself.
‘I … I …’ He sank into his seat fumbling for words. ‘I’m just surprised to see you here, that’s all.’ He almost dislocated his neck trying to see who she was with.
‘Oh, don’t bother yourself,’ she said airily. ‘I’m on my own. I am a big girl, you know. Over twenty-one and all that.’
Colin began to regain some of his self-control. ‘You often come here on your own?’ he asked curiously.
‘Not normally,’ she smiled. ‘But I knew you were here and just had a crazy impulse to come and talk to you. We don’t seem to get much time to get to know one another at the club.’
‘How did you know I was here?’ he asked her. ‘You’re not having me followed, are you?’ He grinned to show he was joking.
‘Nothing so mysterious,’ she replied. ‘We ran out of spirits at the club earlier on tonight and I drove over here to borrow a case of Scotch. I saw your car outside and looked for you. When I didn’t see you I guessed you were inside the cinema and decided to come back at the end of the show. Just in the nick of time too it appears.’ She looked over at the table where the four local girls were staring over.
He felt himself flushing. ‘Hey! Wait a minute!’ he began, ‘I never …’
‘Kidding, Colin. Only kidding.’ She made a face at him, then smiled. ‘I’ve already asked you … don’t you like the local girls?’
‘Well …’ he searched for an answer. ‘They’re all right,’ he finally said. ‘I’ve spoken to one or two of them in the market. But I’ve never had anything to do with them, er … socially, if that’s what you mean.’ He was looking into her eyes as he spoke and felt sure he recognised the shine of approval. Then the waiter was taking their order and the moment was past.
It was beautifully cool on the verandah as they chatted, both of them relaxed, feeling comfortably at ease with each other. But Colin was aware of a subtle change in the atmosphere, as if somehow they had become closer and he listened attentively as she began to tell him about herself.
He was sensitive enough to recognise that, for her, sharing her story was some sort of release and he settled back to listen without interruption.
She told him that her home was in Guildford, Surrey, where she lived with her mother. Her parents had divorced amicably five years earlier and after being alone for a while her father had opted for the sunshine of Africa. He had finally settled in Ghana, a country where he had served during his army service, and accepted the job of manager at the sports club in Takoradi. She had been old enough to see the sense – even the need – of their divorce, and she remained very fond of both her parents. Leaving school at seventeen with three A levels, she had gone on to secretarial college in London, where she had earned her Diploma in Business Studies. There had been a number of boyfriends while she had been at college, but none of them serious. She smiled a little at this and his hand stole across the table to cover hers, giving it an encouraging squeeze.
Lesley seemed happy enough to feel his touch and continued to talk softly. Sometimes meeting his gaze, but mostly looking out over the veranda at the scene below, she described how she had met her first real boyfriend, Derek, and fallen hopelessly in love with him. They had become engaged and set a date to be married. She couldn’t have been happier. Then three weeks before the wedding Derek had been killed in a motorway pile-up. On the day the wedding should have taken place she had flown out to her father for a long break, trying to escape the memories.
Colin saw that her cheeks were wet with tears and he felt an unfamiliar tenderness envelop him. He had had several girlfriends, loads of casual affairs, but no really close emotional relationship with any woman other than his mother. He remembered the feeling of utter desolation he had suffered at his loss. Remembered, too, his own running away from the memories and how his life had changed course. He thought he knew a little of how Lesley felt, and he ached in sympathy.
They sat in silence for a while then he rose, still holding her hand, bringing her to her feet along with him. ‘Come on,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll take you home.’
She followed him silently and he wondered if she regretted revealing her secrets to him. But by the time they reached the car park Lesley had recovered her composure and most of her natural cheerfulness.
They both had cars. Colin stared at the problem, reluctant to part from her until he had seen her safely home. ‘I’ll drive yours,’ he said, holding out his hand for her keys. ‘Someone from the club will give me a lift back.’
‘Thank you, Colin,’ her hand reached out to touch him. ‘Thank you for listening. I’ve kept it bottled up for over a year now but the dam just gave way tonight. I’m glad it was you.’
He had intended taking her straight back to the club, but the feeling between them was too close, too emotional to end so soon. He turned on to a broad track that ran down through the golf course to the beach and parked the car.
‘Let’s walk,’ he said.
He told her about himself as they walked on the soft sand – his life in Glasgow, the disillusionment of redundancy, running away from the death of his mother. Then, feeling uncharacteristically guilty, he gave her a slightly edited version of his introduction to crime and how he had gradually become more deeply involved. Finally, without going into detail, he told her about his prison sentence, admitting that he had been released just over a month before. He considered it prudent to omit any mention of the robbery attempt that had precipitated his departure from London, and totally ignored his intentions at the goldmine or the abortive raid on the diamond company. He felt an unexpected pang of conscience when she squeezed his hand encouragingly.
‘So I’m here to get away from my past as well, I suppose,’ he said, turning to place his hands on her shoulders. They stood still for a moment, then his arms were around her, moulding her body to his.
‘Oh, Colin,’ she sighed. ‘The past has gone for both of us. It’s time to start thinking about the future.’ She raised her head and crushed her lips against his mouth.
Arms round each other, they drifted to the sand dunes on the edge of the golf course and he drew her close, feeling her body tremble against him as she tilted her head in offering. They kissed long and hard, Lesley sighing as Colin gently lowered her to the ground and began to unbutton her dress. She felt his passion and did not protest, lifting her buttocks a little as he removed her panties and helping him off with his own clothes. Then, naked, with cool evening air wafting over them, they made passionate love, clinging to one another afterwards. Later, they made love again; slowly this time, both of them relishing the excitement and beginning of a new love.
12
Colin looked at his watch as the venerable DC-3 of Ghana Airways touched down at Kumasi airport. It was 3.20. Ten minutes on the ground and they should be off on the Accra leg of the journey. He settled back to read a magazine and was surprised when the pilot made an announcement requesting all passengers to disembark and wait in the airport departure lounge for re-boarding instructions.
The trip to Accra was necessary so he could have his visitor’s visa extended. It was the second time he had made the journey for this purpose but as Yarty Okufu had told him, as long as the extension was for only twenty-eight days it was a ‘rubber stamp’ procedure. He had been looking forward to another flight over the Ghanaian countryside and his discovery that the afternoon, midweek flight took the longer route, via Kumasi, was an added bonus to him.
He carried coffee over to one of the lounge chairs that overlooked the aircraft parking area, wondering why the passengers had been asked to disembark. Probably a minor mechanical problem, he thought to himself, looking out at the aircraft. Sure enough, a group of overall-clad men approached the plane and disappeared inside the passenger cabin. Minutes later he was surprised to see them emer
ge, manoeuvring a pair of seats through the aircraft’s narrow exit. Eventually four sets of seats were removed from the plane and carried off, leaving him to wonder what was going on. The mystery deepened when a three-vehicle military convoy rolled into view, drawing up alongside the DC-3.
The convoy was led by a Land Rover fitted with a machine-gun, its crew sitting alertly at their station. The rear vehicle was an eight-man personnel carrier with its full complement of armed soldiers. But it was the centre vehicle that really grabbed his attention and he looked on interestedly as a small armoured van backed up to the door of the plane.
There was a shouted command and the armed soldiers leapt from the troop carrier to take up defensive positions round the plane. At the same time the Land Rover swung round to face outwards, its gun covering the main approach road and terminal building. When the tableau had settled down an officer strode towards the rear of the van, imperiously rapping his swagger stick against its side as he marched past. The van’s rear doors opened and Colin’s view was restricted to shuffling feet and the straining backs of uniformed men as they mounted the steps of the plane. Five minutes later the van pulled away and the Tannoy requested the passengers for flight GA 670 to Accra to re-embark the aircraft.
When he entered the cabin Colin saw that two rows of seats had been removed, leaving a space in the middle of the aircraft. His own seat had been one of those removed but he settled into an aisle seat that gave him an unobstructed view of what was going on. He counted twenty-two rope-handled ammunition boxes spread evenly across the deck where the seats had been.
‘Bit dangerous that, eh?’ he nudged the man beside him.
‘Dangerous?’ The other passenger, a prissy-looking man in a business suit, looked puzzled.
‘Well …’ Colin pointed at the boxes. ‘Ammunition on a passenger plane? I’d certainly call that dangerous.’
‘Oh, I see!’ The man gave Colin a superior smile and touched the knot of his tie. ‘The soldiers … the boxes … ergo – explosives! A natural but totally erroneous assumption.’ He smirked, obviously pleased to be able to display his knowledge. ‘Gold.’ He pointed at the boxes and tapped the side of his nose. ‘Gold bullion.’
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