Evolution of Fear Read online

  The rock was smooth and warm to the touch. They lay on their backs and soaked up the rock’s heat, water dripping cold from their bodies, pooling around them on the hard mineral surface, warming in the sun. Hope reached for his hand, took it. He closed his eyes, felt the sun’s warmth on his body, heard the hush of her breathing. She rolled onto her side, traced a fingertip along the scar on his cheek, then kissed it. A nipple brushed his chest, hard and cold, then the soft compression of her breasts as she moulded to him, warm now, wet. He could feel himself hardening. Heat poured from the rock now, from their bodies. He turned his head. Her eyes were closed. They kissed. She tasted sweet, salty, like heather. She rolled onto him, wrapped herself around him, pulled him in. There were no words. They were together now, bodies joined. She moaned as he pushed into her, arched her back. He moved slowly, feeling her respond. He was close. She moaned, louder this time, gripped him tight, shuddered. His head was swimming. He made to pull away.

  ‘No,’ she breathed, holding him in. ‘Fill me.’

  After, they lay on the rock in the sun for a long time. Neither spoke. After a while Clay stood, glanced along the beach, turned, looked down at Hope and offered his hand. She took it, and he pulled her to her feet.

  He looked into her eyes. ‘I love her,’ he said. To the degree I am able. Maybe not as others love, but as far as I can understand it, I love her.

  Hope smiled and raised her finger to his lips. ‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘Don’t say anything. Now we’re complete, the three of us.’

  It didn’t take them long to find what they were looking for. They tracked it into the rocks, up onto the shore. Hope stood beside him, examining the black sheathing.

  ‘It’s the same type of cable we snagged with the anchor that night in Karpasia,’ he said.

  Hope looked both ways along the beach. ‘What is it doing here? There’s nothing here. No houses, no buildings of any kind. Is it a telephone line?’

  Clay motioned towards the water and started following the cable out, pulling it up from the seabed as he went. As the water deepened, they took turns, one diving down, exposing a few centimetres of cable, returning to the surface to breathe, the other taking over. After half an hour, they had unearthed about twenty metres of cable. Clay’s fingertips were raw from the digging, numb with the cold. He rose to the surface, breathed and looked down through the water at Hope struggling with the cable. He was tiring now, could feel the cold deep in his core. Hope looked gone. He tread water, waited for her to surface.

  Something grabbed his leg. Hope burst to the surface, shouting through her snorkel. She spat out the mouthpiece, pulled up her mask. ‘I’ve found something,’ she gasped. ‘Come and look.’

  They spent a few minutes inspecting the thing, as much as they could manage in the cold, then swam back to the beach. They walked back along the sand, close but not touching, saying nothing. Soon they were back where they’d left their clothes. Hope turned away, pulled on her underwear, followed quickly by her jeans, a t-shirt, her big knitted wool jumper. Clay rummaged in his pack for his knife, sprinted back along the beach to the place where they’d unearthed the cable. By the time he returned, Hope was walking back down the beach towards him, phone hanging in one hand.

  ‘That was Maria,’ she said. ‘They’re on their way to the airport.’

  Clay nodded. ‘Good.’

  Hope looked down at the dead thing hanging from Clay’s hand, the severed arteries dripping sea water, the black body lifeless. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘One of them, yes. Do you know what it is?’

  ‘Have you ever seen a marine geophone?’

  ‘Sonar?’

  ‘Same idea. Basically an underwater loud speaker.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Turn those things on during the nesting season, and no turtle will come close. That strand of the phylogeny dies. Evolution stops.’

  Hope pushed her fingers through her hair. Clay could see strands of grey kinking through the blonde. Her hands were shaking. ‘They’re doing it on purpose,’ she said. Then she sat in the sand and pulled her legs up to her chest and hid her face between her knees.

  Part IV

  38

  Trust

  19th November 1994: Southern coast of the Agamas Peninsula, Cyprus

  Hope pulled her phone from her bag, stared at the screen. ‘Missed call,’ she said. ‘It was Maria. Probably just checking in.’

  Clay turned the car onto the tarmacked road, headed east. Hope thumbed a number into the keypad and put the phone to her ear. Clay heard the line connect. Hope glanced over at him, speaking into the phone in excited Greek. After a while she went quiet and listened. Clay could hear the voice on the other end of the line, female. It sounded like crying.

  Hope closed her phone, stared straight ahead. ‘That was Maria,’ she said, her voice barely a whisper. ‘They were stopped at the airport by customs officials, refused permission to leave. She’s back in Nicosia. My ex, the bastard, balked at the last minute. He called customs, told them Maria was taking Alexi out of the country without his permission. They were waiting for them.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘The asshole set me up.’ She stamped her foot. ‘Now he knows I’ll never get custody. He’s never trusted me, ever since–’ She pushed her palms into her eyes. ‘He thinks I’ve concocted this whole thing as a way to get Alexi away from him.’

  Clay said nothing.

  ‘Alexi is back at my ex-husband’s house. I have to see my son, Clay.’

  Clay nodded. He was starting to understand, just starting.

  ‘We’ll meet Crowbar in Pissouri, then go straight there. It’s on the way. It won’t take long.’

  Hope frowned.

  They arrived an hour late, drove down the narrow main road that paralleled the empty shore. Rain pounded the windscreen, blown from low clouds that stampeded across the sky like frightened buffalo. Crowbar’s Pajero was parked outside the only taverna in town, an old limestone-brick building with an arched entranceway and a bare winter tangle of grapevines dripping from wire trellises. Clay had taken a circuitous route, doubling back, stopping at roadside turnouts, scanning the traffic behind. He had learned from Istanbul just how good a professional tail could be, and just how poor had been his efforts to elude them. He was taking no chances now.

  They left Hope’s car in a side road and walked down the back street to the tavern. Crowbar was sitting alone at a table in the far corner, a view of the grey sea showing through closed-up windows, two empty beer bottles and a third half-full on the table in front of him. A Cypriot family, three generations, halfway through meze, were the only other patrons. The smell of food sent Clay’s head spinning, opened a hole in his stomach. Crowbar stood as they approached, shook Clay’s hand. Hope took Crowbar’s two hands in hers, kissed him on the cheek. He smiled at her. They sat and ordered food.

  Crowbar raised his beer. ‘You’re late, seun.’

  ‘Anti-tracking, my luitenant.’

  ‘No need.’

  ‘No price on your head, broer.’

  ‘I met Regina Medved this morning.’

  ‘Does she still love me?’

  ‘As much as ever, seun. Two millions worth.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Nicosia. South side. Dialysis machine, mobile ventilator, the whole fokken Moscow travelling circus. I showed her that photograph of you all banged up, told her I had you tied up nice and safe. So they’ve stopped looking for you.’

  ‘With the reward you’ll get, you can retire. Your friends in the company won’t be happy.’

  ‘Told her I’d hand you over day after tomorrow. Best I could do, ja. She’s getting the cash together now. Said it would take her a day.’ Crowbar sipped his beer. ‘I mean, fok. A day. Kak, how do people get that rich?’

  ‘By screwing people like us,’ said Hope.

  Crowbar smiled, took her hand, a child’s fingers disappearing under a paw of hairy, scarred callous. ‘Too right
, bokkie.’

  Hope looked across at Clay. ‘What’s this bokkie?’

  ‘It’s good. You know, bok. Antelope.’

  Hope’s frown approached neutral.

  ‘Medved’s fokken gek, ja. Crazy as a starving hyena. She’s convinced the Patmos Illumination is here. Thinks it’ll save her. Someone here in Cyprus has promised to deliver it to her. That’s why she’s here, ja. Nothing to do with you, Straker.’

  The waiter brought their food: chicken souvlaki, unleavened bread, salad. They ate in silence. Clay turned in his chair and looked out of the window at the rainy street. All quiet.

  Crowbar pushed away his empty plate. ‘How was your day at the beach?’

  Hope glanced at Clay.

  Clay looked away.

  ‘Someone is intentionally frightening away the turtles,’ Hope said, ‘preventing them from coming ashore to lay their eggs. It’s genocide, plain and simple.’

  Clay reached into his pack and pulled out the black cylinder about the size of a car’s oil filter. Six inches of cable hung from one end like a severed tail. He put it on the table. ‘They’ve buried these along the sea bed in shallow water.’

  ‘Noise emitters,’ said Hope. ‘We’ve been watching that beach during the nesting season to make sure no one disturbs the turtles. They must have laid it a few winters ago, probably by ship. We never thought to check underwater.’

  ‘Fokken hell.’ Crowbar looked genuinely astonished.

  ‘What about Zdravko?’ Clay said, putting the device back in his bag.

  ‘Found him.’

  ‘Limassol?’

  Crowbar nodded. ‘The aunt is with him. The neighbour says she saw an old lady go into the place four days ago, hasn’t seen her leave since.’

  Clay’s insides jumped.

  ‘I’ve got a colleague watching the place now.’

  ‘We’ve got to get them both out, Koevoet – Rania and her aunt. And we’ve got to do it soon, before Chrisostomedes moves either of them.’

  Crowbar finished his beer, nodded.

  ‘And it’s got to be simultaneous. If Chrisostomedes finds out someone has snatched away his insurance policy, Rania’s dead.’

  ‘Chrisostomedes will address a Neo-Enosis rally tomorrow afternoon in Nicosia,’ said Crowbar. ‘He leaves for Nicosia tomorrow morning, according to my sources.’

  ‘So it has to be tonight.’ Clay looked at his watch. ‘We need to get the beach samples to the lab in Nicosia, get Hope to her son. Tomorrow is Sunday. The enquiry starts on the twenty-second, Tuesday. It’s doable.’

  Crowbar frowned. ‘You need to keep out of sight, Straker. You’re supposed to be my prisoner. You can’t be dropping in to labs, socialising.’

  Hope reached for Crowbar’s forearm. ‘Maria can take the samples in. She knows the lab, the technicians there. We do a lot of work with them.’

  Crowbar forced deep furrows into his brow, finished his beer. ‘Do you trust her?’

  Clay looked over at Hope.

  ‘Of course, yes,’ said Hope. ‘I asked her to take my son to Greece, for Christ’s sake.’

  ‘How much do you know about her?’ said Crowbar.

  ‘She’s worked for me for almost three years now. Before that I supervised her PhD. I trust her implicitly’

  Crowbar grinned. ‘Okay, ooma. Good enough for me. We go tonight.’

  Clay nodded.

  Crowbar put a mobile phone on the table. ‘Time you had your own phone, my seun.’

  The two and half hours to Nicosia hung up like a week on the front line waiting for leave. The rain persisted, coming in waves, turning the roads into rivers. Hope was sullen and quiet, wrapped in her own fears. She had called Maria and asked her to meet them outside a periptero just off the highway, about a mile from the lab. She had also called the lab manager and asked him to come in for an important job. By the time they reached the outskirts of Nicosia it was late afternoon and the rain had cleared.

  When they pulled in to the puddled gravel parking area outside the periptero, Maria was already waiting for them in her silver VW Beetle.

  Clay stopped the car, kept the engine running, reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick fold of US dollars.

  Hope glanced at the cash. ‘Not a good idea,’ she said. ‘Paying cash would arouse suspicion. Let me put it on the university’s account.’

  ‘We need rush service. You’ll have to pay double.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Hope, pushing away his hand.

  Maria was walking over to the car now. Hope rolled down her window.

  Maria leaned in. Her eyes were red. She’d been crying. ‘I’m so sorry about your son, Doctor Bachmann,’ she said. ‘I did exactly what you said. But when we tried to go through customs–’

  ‘It’s okay, Maria. Don’t worry. It’s not your fault. Thanks for trying.’

  Maria nodded and looked across at Clay. ‘Doctor Greene.’

  ‘Thanks for this, Maria,’ he said, reaching for the bag of samples in the back seat and handing them to her.

  ‘We need rush service,’ said Hope. ‘Tomorrow if possible. Put them on our account. It’s very important, Maria.’

  The girl took the bag and nodded. She pulled out a little notebook and a pen. ‘Analysis suite?’

  Clay specified the analyses to be conducted.

  ‘And tomorrow morning,’ said Hope, ‘I need you to go to the border crossing in Agios Demetios. A man called Berker will meet you there and give you a second set of samples.’

  Maria blanched.

  ‘Don’t worry, Maria. He’s an old friend. I called him and asked him to collect half a dozen samples from Karpasia Beach as soon as he could and deliver them south. The samples will be labelled Valk, and are to be run for the same set of chemical parameters.’

  ‘Endaxi?’ Clay asked. Okay?

  Maria nodded and hurried away to her car.

  By the time Clay and Hope reached the centre of town, night had fallen and the streets shimmered with light. Closed shop-front windows glowed, beckoned to a homeward trickle of umbrella-toting office workers. Random squares of light burned inside the dark hulks of squat office buildings, desperate bankers staring into flickering screens, the stink of alchemy oozing into the air even on a Saturday night. Money never sleeps, thought Clay, doesn’t take a day off.

  ‘What will you do?’ said Hope. It was the first time she’d spoken since dropping the samples with Maria. ‘The two of you. After, I mean.’

  ‘I don’t know. Go to Africa, I guess. Disappear for a while.’

  She pointed left. He turned.

  ‘I wish I could disappear.’

  Clay said nothing, drove.

  ‘Here,’ she said. ‘Just along this street.’

  Clay slowed the car and scanned the street. Windows evening-lit, a few cars parked half up on the pavement, tree shadow swaying over rooftops, house fronts.

  ‘This is it,’ she said.

  Clay stopped and turned off the engine. There was just the quiet of the street, Hope sitting there beside him, her face almost hidden in the darkness.

  ‘Alexi is waiting for you,’ he said.

  Hope tried a thin smile, failed. ‘Be careful,’ she said.

  ‘You too, Hope.’

  ‘I’ll be in meetings with my co-convenors all day tomorrow, preparing for the enquiry. Opening statements start at ten o’clock Tuesday morning. Erkan is scheduled to testify at two that afternoon. If he decides to show up, that is.’ She paused. ‘Will you be there?

  ‘Not a good way to disappear.’

  ‘If you could testify, Clay, it would be very valuable. Rania, too.’

  ‘You’ll have all the proof you need. I’ll give you Erkan’s dossier. You don’t need us.’ He felt sick inside.

  Hope stared at him across the half metre of darkness that separated them. After a moment she opened her door and stepped out of the car. ‘Come in with me, Clay, please.’

  Clay looked at his watch, nodded, got out
of the car and followed her to the house.

  Hope’s ex answered the door. He was a big man, tall, heavy-set. As soon as Clay saw him he knew something was wrong. His eyes were red, swollen. He looked like a little boy who’d lost his mother at the fair.

  ‘Hope,’ he said, glancing at Clay. ‘What have you done with him?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ said Hope, reaching for the door-frame. ‘Where’s Alexi?’

  ‘The police are on their way.’

  ‘Police?’

  ‘After I brought him home from the airport, I took him to the park to play. I turned my head for a minute, and he was gone. I’ve looked everywhere, called everyone. I know you’ve taken him, you and that bitch Maria.’

  39

  Natural Selection

  Hope stood in the doorway looking as if she’d been given a dose of cyanide, could feel it creeping through her body. ‘What are you talking about?’ she gasped. ‘Where is my son?’

  ‘Stop the bullshit,’ her ex-husband bellowed, leaning forward at the waist. ‘Where is Alexi?’

  Hope raised her hand to her mouth. ‘My god,’ she whispered. ‘You think …. You think I have him.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I think, you slut.’ He jutted his chin towards Clay. ‘You and your friend, here.’

  Hope wheeled around, her glance ricocheting off Clay like an afterthought. ‘He’s … He’s got nothing to do with this, Pavlos. Where is my son? What have you done with him?’

  ‘You tell me,’ he screamed. ‘Your bullshit story about being in danger, about needing to leave the country. Using that dyke Maria as your mule. I can’t believe I almost fell for it.’