The Jason Green series Box Set

by Gordon Wallis

  “Are you Mr Green sir?”

  “I am, how are you?” I said as I shook his hand.

  “Fine thank you sir, welcome, welcome.” Hassan was busy removing my luggage as I entered the reception.

  The thatch roof made the interior of the open plan building cooler than the outside, and above us an overhead fan whirred away quietly. The young man who had greeted me walked behind a hardwood reception desk and handed me an arrival form. As I filled it in my bags were neatly planted behind me by Hassan. Once all formalities had been completed I paid the taxi fare and bade farewell to Hassan promising I would call him if I needed him. As he drove away, the receptionist picked up my bags.

  “I am now ready to take you to your room Mr Green. Please follow me.”

  “Thank you,” I said and we began walking down a sandy path with white painted rock borders and green grass. Above was a mixture of tall pine and palm trees and on either side bright red and yellow hibiscus bushes were in full flower. The path went up a slight incline and then for the first time I saw the Indian Ocean on the east coast of Zanzibar. I found it harder and harder to concentrate on the small talk the receptionist was making as he walked in front of me with my bags. The path continued ahead of me for 40 metres or so before dropping off slightly down to the beach. Ahead of that, the perfectly calm sea stretched out to the horizon. Had it not been for the thin seam of deeper and darker water at the distant reef there would have been no way of telling where the sea and sky met. I decided at that moment that if this was not paradise on earth then it probably didn't exist.

  “Your room is this way Mr Green, sir,” the receptionist said turning left down another sandy path.

  I fought the urge to take the short walk to the drop-off and take in the scene in front of me. Patience, Green, I thought to myself, and dutifully followed the man. On my left were a series of thatched bungalow chalets. Each had a small verandah area with two hardwood chairs and a table. They were set in the dappled shade of the pines and palms above. Various pathways led to each one individually.

  “This is number eight, your room Mr Green,” the man said, turning left. As we got to the room he placed my bags on the floor and unlocked the room with a key that was attached to a large wooden plaque with the room number burnt into it.

  The room was basic, but comfortable and clean. To the right there was a double bed constructed in Zanzibari style with a wrapped-up mosquito net above. To the left were two pedestal fans and a dressing table with plug points nearby. At the far end of the room was a built in cupboard with rustic wooden louvre doors. I walked over to the bathroom door and had a look inside.

  It was pretty much similar to the room. Basic and clean with a toilet, shower, basin and mirror. All of this was under thick thatch which made sense, given the oppressive heat outside. The receptionist was busying himself opening windows and switching on the fans.

  “This is fine, thank you very much,” I said handing him a ten dollar bill. His eyes lit up at the sight of the note.

  “My name is Albert, sir. If there is anything you need please contact me at reception. There is a restaurant area with a separate bar closer to the beach and there are plenty of activities we can arrange for you. I will be around until 10 tonight. Thank you very much and enjoy your stay.”

  “Thank you Albert,” I replied and he left the room closing the door behind him.

  Alone at last, I gazed around the room before taking a look out of the front window. I smelled the salt as the coconut laden palms swayed in the air. Two blonde women in swimming costumes and sarongs strolled up the main path back towards the reception area. They were in animated conversation and looked like they were in their forties. Beyond them the sea stretched out in infinite blue.

  “This is fucking paradise Green,” I said under my breath. “Fucking paradise.”

  I had expected to feel tired when I arrived but I was anything but. I set about organising myself, starting by connecting my laptop to see if the roaming internet was working. Thankfully it was, albeit a bit slowly. I took a quick shower and changed before getting on with the day. Richard’s direct flight to Zanzibar had been on schedule and that meant he would already be at his hotel, or hopefully nearby. I needed to make my way over there and have a look at what he was doing. After a cold shower I changed into some long shorts, an old tee shirt, and some beach slops. I glanced into my open suitcase and saw the camera with the zoom lens. You’re a tourist Green. You’re not going to look out of place with that, I thought. I slung the camera around one shoulder, grabbed a towel and headed out, locking the door behind me. One of the Masai security guards was standing diligently under a lopsided palm tree nearby. I nodded in greeting to him to which he responded by doing the same. Still looking at him I pointed with two fingers at my eyes then at the room as if to say ‘keep an eye on this place please.’ He nodded sternly in understanding.

  I made my way through the greenery back to the central pathway and up to the reception area where I was greeted by the beaming smile of Albert.

  “Hello Albert. I would like to leave some cash with you for safe keeping please.”

  “Certainly Mr Green let me give you an envelope and I will lock it up for you, hakuna matata.”

  I sealed the bulk of the cash in the envelope keeping $100 in small notes, then headed out down the path to the beach. On the way, I passed a large thatch open plan building I assumed was the restaurant. Inside were tables and chairs, drinks fridges and an enclosed kitchen. A few families with young children were sitting around in the shade cooling off with drinks. I continued past the restaurant beyond the tree line and into the afternoon sun. It was like stepping into a sauna. Scattered around in front of me on the pristine white sand were large, thatched umbrella structures on thick wooden poles. Under these were deck chairs and rustic sun loungers made from wood and bark strips. A few extremely sun-tanned guests were braving the scorching heat and lay in the direct sunlight. Beyond that, the powder white sand melted into the pale blue ocean and stretched out to the reef on the horizon. The few guests there were chatting quietly and drank from bottles of mineral water. Some were wading through the sea, others snorkelling. All around me was calm and tranquillity. I stood in awe taking it all in for a good two minutes. It was breathtaking. My mind went back over the events of the previous week, everything that had suddenly happened out of the blue. Incredible, I thought.

  As I walked down the beach towards the sea I felt the sun melting the ice in my bones from the long dark months of the English winter. I felt the heat of the sand burning through the rubber of my slops and all of my worries gradually slipping away. I carried on in that relaxed, dreamlike state until I was up to my knees in the Indian Ocean. It was like stepping into an infinite lukewarm bath. In the distance someone started playing a dub reggae tune. It fitted the surroundings perfectly. To my left and right the beach stretched away into the distance. The tree line a perfect thirty metres from the sea. Suddenly I was snapped out of it by the sound of a young boy coughing and spluttering in the water. He had inhaled some salt water through his snorkel and was now standing waist high in the ocean removing his mask as he wretched. I glanced at my watch. It was time to go to work.

  I waded out back onto the hot sand and turned left in the direction of Richard's hotel.

  I recalled the phone call in London and the receptionist saying it was only five hundred metres down the beach. Billions of grains of sand sparkled at me in the afternoon sun. I was grateful for my sunglasses. Eventually I came to what looked like the boundary of the Paje Village Hotel. The next place was hidden away in the tree line as well but looked a bit shabby with peeling paint and bits of litter lying around. No wonder it looks empty, I thought. No way Richard would stay in a dump like that. The beaches at Paje were sparsely populated with the few tourists and visitors there sticking to the beach front adjacent to their guest houses or hotels. As I walked I passed the occasional couple sunbathing, the odd group swimming, and a few locals peddling thei
r wares, I kept my eyes open, as the last thing I wanted was to bump into Richard on the beach, but as far as I could see there was no-one with his tall lanky frame around.

  I passed a water sports centre which had signs outside the front offering scuba diving and deep sea fishing. There was a group of tourists hanging around outside talking excitedly, obviously making bookings for some excursion. After four hundred metres, I came to a very smart-looking building on my right with light blue pastel walls and green lawns. There was a good chance that this could be the Eden Beach Lodge. There were more people in front of the building than usual so I paused to see if I could spot Richard. He was nowhere in sight. I glanced back to see how far I had come from my hotel and saw an old black man riding a bicycle up the hard sand near the water behind me. He was obviously a local trader as his bicycle was loaded with sarongs, sea shells, and other trinkets. I motioned to him to stop as he approached which he did happily.

  “Jambo,” he said, thinking I was a customer.

  “Jambo. Do you know where the Eden Beach Lodge is please?” I asked. A look of disappointment came over his wrinkled face.

  “Eden Beach Lodge is over there,” he said pointing south in the direction I had been walking.

  “You want to buy something boss?” He asked with wide eyes.

  “No thank you, maybe tomorrow,” I said.

  “Ok, tomorrow for sure,” was his reply as he mounted his bicycle and pedalled off unsteadily in the sand.

  I carried on down the beach for another hundred metres or so before arriving at what had to be Richard’s hotel. It was different from the rest I had seen in that the tree line had been cut away, save for some palms. There were shiny tiled pathways with immaculate manicured lawns constantly being watered by fine mist sprays. The main building was three stories high and designed in typical colonial Zanzibari style. In the front was a multi level swimming pool complete with wet bar at the lowest level. The hotel was by all accounts very busy as there were wealthy looking guests scattered all around, lazing on sun loungers, walking hand in hand. Some strolled on the beach ahead of me, while others sipped bright green and red cocktails served by smart-looking waiters in gold turbans and waistcoats. The outdoor furniture looked comfortable and expensive, and was being well-used by the many guests. On either side of the main building, a series of separate bungalows spread out in a U shape facing the sea. I noticed each room had air conditioning units cleverly hidden to the side.

  There were covered walkways to the front of the rooms with small trees and shrubbery between each building to give the occupants an impression of privacy. All in all it looked like the sort of place Richard would book for his holiday. Expensive and luxurious. From where I was standing I had a good view of the main building, the pool and bar area, and the rooms to the right and left. I was reluctant to venture any nearer for fear of running into Richard, so I took off my tee shirt, lay my towel on the sand and got to work. I propped myself up on my right elbow as I lay down and switched on the camera. I decided that I appeared perfectly normal where I was and would certainly not look out of place or obtrusive by using the camera. After all it was a holiday resort and most, if not all, people visiting would be taking pictures. I started by zooming in on the round bar in the pool at the lowest level. There were a few guests swimming and some sitting on the underwater stools sipping drinks. The powerful lens made a buzzing sound as it zoomed in on the scene. There were five people in the pool. Two couples and the barman. One young couple sat at the bar leaning towards each other in conversation. The woman with her back to me was a bottle blonde and wore a lot of gold jewellery, while the man had long curly black hair and looked Italian. Both were heavily suntanned.

  The two swimming in the pool were older and lighter in complexion and spun each other around in the water laughing with each other. No Richard there, I thought. I moved the camera towards the barman, who was wearing a similar gold turban to the waiters. He was busy shaking a cocktail for someone and as I zoomed in further, I noticed a sign above him that read Eden Beach Lodge Pool Bar.

  “Bingo,” I said, under my breath. I turned onto my stomach as if trying to get a tan on my back. All the while propping myself up on my elbows, the camera to my face. I zoomed out and scanned the busy scene in front of me. Next, I decided to focus on the main building. It had a series of archways on each of the three levels to allow the air to flow through. Zooming in, I saw that the lower level was a reception and administration area. It was decorated with what looked like antique furniture, in fitting with the style of the building. I could see a few figures moving around inside, but it was a shaded area and it was impossible to make out any features. Probably staff, I thought and moved the camera up a level.

  The first floor was the restaurant. Although there was no-one there at that time of day, I could clearly see exotic drapes around the arches and sea view tables with wind-proof candle holders for those romantic dinners. I noticed a waiter setting one of the tables to the left of the building in preparation for the evening service. I was too low on the beach to see into the top level, but I imagined given what I had read about Zanzibari architecture that this would be a plush open air lounge area for guests to relax after dinner.

  “Where are you Mr Lewer-Allen?” I said quietly to myself. Next I zoomed in on the top and middle pool areas. There were a number of people lounging around in the late afternoon. Some sitting on the pool sides. Others sprawled out sunbathing and reading. I zoomed in on each one individually, like a sniper, but to no avail. There was no sign of him. I set the camera down on the towel in mild frustration and lit a cigarette. I turned onto my side again and gazed out to sea as I smoked. Not to worry Green, he’s here somewhere, you’ll find him.

  After finishing the cigarette, I extinguished it by pushing it deep into the sand. I felt a pang of guilt about polluting such an idyllic place but needs must. Picking the camera up again I decided to have a look at the row of bungalows to the right of the main building. One by one I zoomed in on each, looking for any signs of movement. There was nothing except for some house keeping staff pushing a white trolley filled with sheets. As I zoomed in on the bungalow nearest the reception, I saw the door open and a young blonde woman in a yellow g-string bikini walk out. She was tall and slim, and carried a book and some suntan lotion. It made for decent viewing and I followed her as she walked towards the middle pool area, dumped her belongings on a lounger and dived into the pool gracefully.

  That would suit you, Richard, I thought, I wouldn't be surprised if you followed her out of that room any minute now. But he didn't.

  There was still no sign of him anywhere. Suddenly, behind me I heard a dull repetitive thudding sound that was growing louder and louder. Slowly I put the camera down and turned onto my side to see what it was. It turned out to be an extremely red faced and hot looking jogger. She ran towards me on the hard sand by the water, dripping with sweat. She was in her mid thirties and wore dark blue running shorts and a white vest. The look of steely determination on her face changed for a split second as she passed me.

  “Hi!” she said breathlessly.

  “Hi there,” I replied. I watched as she ran into the distance, never once slowing or changing her pace. I shook my head. Crazy, why would you want do something like that in a place like this? I settled back down onto my stomach and brought the camera up to my face again. I decided I would have a look at the rooms which spread out to the left of the main building. The lens buzzed as I zoomed in on the one nearest the reception. The door was open and there was some movement in the darkness inside but there was no way I could make anything or anyone out. I decided to revisit that one later. Then it occurred to me that I could actually just stroll in to the hotel and wander around. Maybe ask if there was a room available although I knew there wasn't from the conversation I had had with the reception from London. I paused and thought about it for a while then decided against it. I was feeling relaxed and quite happy doing what I was doing from a distance and I did
n't want to rock the boat too much. I brought the camera up again and started zooming in on the next few rooms. All doors were shut and all pathways were clear. The late afternoon sun had lost some of its ferocious power now, but I could still feel its warmth on my back as I lay there scanning the rooms to the left of the main building. I wondered where he was. Was he inside sleeping? Had he gone out somewhere? After all he had arrived some time before me and probably had an instant transfer to the hotel. I consoled myself with the knowledge that sooner or later he would have to pitch up and then all would be well and I would be earning my pay. I lay there, blissfully, on the beach as the sun slowly went down towards the main building. A good 45 minutes passed before one of the doors to the left opened and out walked Richard. Quickly I raised my camera and focused on him. He was wearing red Bermuda shorts, sunglasses, and a loose grey tee shirt. His curly hair looked ruffled and untidy. He stepped out into the sun and stood yawning and stretching his long arms. Clearly he had been sleeping. Then he scanned his surroundings and decided on the beach. He wore no shoes, carried no towel and made his way down the tiled pathway past the last room and onto the sand.

  He was a good fifty metres from where I lay so I was quite happy about staying where I was. The camera clicked as I photographed him on his short walk. Just before he got to the ocean he removed his tee shirt to reveal his tall scrawny frame, and ran the final metres into the water. The sea was shallow all the way out to the reef and Richard took advantage of this by wallowing around floating on his back, pushing himself out with his legs. Occasionally, he paused to take a look around with only his head poking out the water then pinched his nose and went beneath briefly. There were a number of people moving around on the beach and swimming. All at a discreet distance from each other. There was a lot of space in Zanzibar. Space to be alone. Richard was alone.