Predator. Wilbur Smith

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СКАЧАТЬ reason to doubt that Johnny Congo was planning to attend his own funeral?’

      ‘Well, he was laying out a fortune on it, and the state of Texas was absolutely determined to execute him, so no, why would I?’

      ‘He’d got away before.’

      ‘All the more reason that people like you were going to make sure he didn’t again. Are we done?’ Shelby Weiss had suddenly lost his carefully worked air of relaxed bonhomie, just the way D’Shonn Brown had done.

      ‘Almost,’ said Malinga, more than ever certain that there was something both of them were hiding. ‘Just one last thing I want to clear up. How come Johnny Congo called you?’

      ‘Because I’m a good lawyer.’

      ‘Yeah, sure, but how would he know that? He’d been out of the country for years.’

      ‘I guess word gets around. And I was already a successful attorney when he was originally locked up in Huntsville, you know, before his first escape.’ Weiss put an emphasis on ‘first’, just to remind Malinga about the second one. Then he said, ‘I didn’t act for him at that point, but I certainly defended other guys on Death Row. No reason he couldn’t have known about me.’

      ‘Have you ever, at any time prior to these past few weeks, represented Jonny Congo?’ Bobby Malinga asked.

      All the question needed was a one-word answer. It wouldn’t have taken a second. But Weiss paused. He was about to say something, Malinga could see it, but then had second thoughts. Finally he spoke. ‘The first time in my life that I represented a man called Johnny Congo was when I was asked to come and meet him at the Allen B. Polunsky Unit on the twenty-seventh of September. There, is that specific enough for you?’

      ‘Thank you,’ said Malinga. ‘That’ll do just fine.’ He smiled as he got up. He shook Weiss’s hand again and thanked him for his co-operation. And as he left the offices of Weiss, Mendoza and Burnett he felt more certain than ever that D’Shonn Brown and Shelby Weiss had played some part in Johnny Congo’s escape.

      You know, if someone had tossed a grenade into that bowl, it couldn’t have spread the mess wider than Missy Catherine here managed,’ said Cross, sounding genuinely impressed at the havoc Catherine had brought to the simple business of eating her supper. There were spatterings of her chopped-up spaghetti and bolognese sauce all over the walls and the floor of the Cross Roads’ compact kitchen, the table in front of Catherine’s high chair, the chair itself and the tray that slotted on to it; not to mention her onesie, her plastic bib and, most impressively, her face, whose most noticeable feature was a huge, gummy grin, ringed by a magnificent spread of orangey-red sauce covering her chin, nose and chubby cheeks.

      ‘She was putting on a special show for you,’ said Bonnie Hepworth, the nanny. She had known Catherine since the day she was born: she had been the maternity nurse on duty on that day of overwhelming joy, mixed with unbearable sorrow, when a baby had entered the world and her mother, fatally wounded by an assassin’s bullet, had left it. Cross had been touched by Bonnie’s warm heart, her kind smile and her unfailing combination of patience, efficiency and sound common sense. He’d made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. The patients of a Hampshire hospital had lost a first-rate nurse. Catherine Cayla Cross had gained a nanny who would never let this bereaved little girl lack a single moment of love and care.

      ‘If that was the show, I dread to think what she’s planning for the encore,’ Cross said.

      ‘Chocolate pudding. Wait till that starts flying. You ain’t seen nothing yet!’

      Cross laughed, gazing in wonder at his daughter, his darling Kitty-Cross. How had she done it, he wondered? How could a tiny little person who had only just learned to say her first words fill his heart with so much love? He was helpless in her presence, yet the tenderness of his love for her was equalled by the fierceness of his determination to keep her safe.

      Now that Johnny Congo was at large once again, Cross knew that he would have to go back to war. Sooner or later, Congo would come after him, and when he did, there could only be one winner, one survivor. This time, though, Cross would be alone on the battlefield. Jo’s decision to leave had ripped open the emotional wound that she herself had helped heal. Cross wondered if there would ever be another chance to find someone new. One of the reasons Jo had left was that she thought he would blame her for Congo’s escape. The truth was, he blamed himself much more for exposing her to the death, the pain and the harsh cruelties that were his inescapable companions.

      ‘Mr Cross … Mr Cross!’ His reverie was broken by Bonnie’s voice. ‘There’s a Skype call for you … from America.’

      Cross looked at his watch. In all the fussing over Catherine’s dinner, he’d completely lost track of the time. ‘Snap out of it, man!’ he told himself. ‘Work!’

      He went into his study, sat down in front of the monitor and did a double-take. Bobby Franklin was not the middle-aged white male he had been expecting but an elegant African-American woman, whose fine features and lovely hazel eyes were given a scholarly touch by her tortoiseshell spectacles. That must have been the information that went missing when he’d lost contact with Bigelow, that afternoon on the Tay. To judge by the grainy image on the screen in front of him, Franklin was in her early to mid-thirties. ‘Hi,’ he said, ‘I’m Hector Cross.’

      A smile crossed her face. Cross frowned uncertainly. Had he said something amusing?

      ‘Excuse me, Mr Cross,’ Franklin said, ‘but there’s something on your face and it looks a little like spaghetti sauce.’

      Now it was Cross’s turn to grin, more from embarrassment than amusement. ‘That’s my daughter’s supper. I was crazy enough to try feeding her this evening. Where is it, exactly?’

      ‘On your cheek and chin …’ She paused as he dabbed at his face. ‘No, the other side … there you go!’

      ‘Thanks. Hope that hasn’t totally destroyed my credibility as a security expert.’

      ‘Not at all. And it’s made you much more interesting as a man.’

      Cross felt the electrical charge of that first contact between a man and a woman. How strange to experience it through a pair of screens, thousands of miles apart. Pleased that the loss of Jo Stanley hadn’t completely beaten him down, Cross looked at Franklin for a moment, just to let her know that he’d heard her.

      ‘Speaking of interesting, you don’t look much like an average Bob,’ he said.

      She smiled again. ‘It’s Bobbi, with an “i”, short for Roberta.’

      ‘Well, I’m glad we’ve sorted that out,’ said Cross. ‘Now we should get down to business …’

      ‘Good idea … so, do you know much about Africa, Mr Cross?’

      ‘Well, I was born in Kenya, spent the first eighteen years of my life there and the only reason I’m not a full Morani warrior of the Maasai tribe is that although I’ve undergone all the initiation rites, I’ve not been circumcised. So yes, I know a bit.’

      ‘Oh …’ Franklin said, wincing. ‘Sounds like I should have done my homework before we met.’

      ‘Don’t worry. It’s quite a relief that Uncle Sam doesn’t know everything about me.’

      She СКАЧАТЬ