The Samurai Inheritance (37 page)

As it turned out, despite their joint inclination, the paper-thin walls of the guest house and Lizzie’s excitement at seeing him again precluded any potential ‘duties’. Jamie lay beneath the sheet with Fiona’s arm across him, listening to the unmistakable concerto of the tropical night, to which she seemed annoyingly immune. The machine-gun clicks of cicadas and crickets competed with the croaking of a hundred frogs; a raucous cackle that sounded as if it should come from a hyena, but was probably a fruit bat; the buzz of tiny insects he’d been assured weren’t mosquitos and the soft chirrup of the lizards that scurried around trying to have them for dinner. At one point he heard the thump-thump-thump of a heavy bass and a car screeched by with the male occupants making more noise than either the stereo or the engine. A few minutes later came the crack of a gunshot, but whether it came from the car or from someone taking issue with the noise was anybody’s guess. Eventually, he slept. The last thing he remembered was the jungle closing in around him.

XL

‘My grandfather served in the SAS during the war.’

Doug Stewart’s head came up from the map he was checking. ‘Is that supposed to impress me?’

‘Don’t be so bloody bolshie,’ Jamie snapped as he slipped into the jungle boots Devlin’s people had provided. Since breakfasting in the dark he’d become increasingly nervous about what lay ahead and it wasn’t very reassuring that it appeared his supposed protector was equally jittery. ‘I just meant that I knew what you were on about when you said
that would be telling
and about the Brits in Vietnam. I read somewhere about a few of them being unhappy about missing out on a proper war and taking “unofficial leave” to join in. Lessons to be learned, and all that.’

‘Maybe you’re not as dumb as you look, your lordship.’

Jamie stared at him. Another man had called him that not so long ago and that man had ended up dead. ‘Let’s get this straight. I’m not
your lordship
and I’m not your
pukka English gent
. I went to a grammar school and my mother cleaned the local bank to make ends meet.’

‘With a name like
Saint
clair? Don’t make me laugh. What did your old man do? A squaddie like your granddad? He must have been at least a general.’

Jamie concentrated on packing the camouflage-green rucksack that matched his Australian army-issue shorts and T-shirt. ‘I wouldn’t know; I never met him.’

‘Now who’s being bolshie?’ Stewart let out a cackle that was interrupted as Keith Devlin marched into the room.

‘Got everything you need, fellas?’

Jamie nodded. The rucksacks were filled with survival gear and enough food and water to last three days. He picked his up, surprised at the weight. He could carry it without too much trouble, but it would take a bit of getting used to. He was just glad Stewart had vetoed the tent and sleeping bags they’d been offered. ‘If it comes to it, we sleep on the ground like the Boogs; and if it rains we get wet. It never did me any harm in Vietnam.’ The security chief gave his boss a significant look. ‘Just one more thing.’

Devlin’s heavy brows came together in a frown. ‘Are you sure you’ll need it?’

‘Better safe than sorry. You’re not the one that’s going out in the long grass, mate.’

After a moment’s hesitation Devlin nodded to Joe who accompanied him. The guard left to return a moment later with a long leather case. He handed it to Doug Stewart. The security chief unzipped the case and whistled as he withdrew four foot of painted steel and black plastic.

‘Just like the old days,’ he chuckled. He turned to Jamie. ‘Your L1A1 self-loading rifle is a precision weapon that is efficient and easily maintained,’ he said, as if quoting from the service manual. ‘Weighs a fucking ton, but it can put a 7.62mm round through a brick wall and still kill the bastard hiding behind it. Eighty rounds of ammo,’ he checked the magazines one by one, ‘but we’re not planning to start a war, so forty will do.’ He tossed two of the magazines to Joe. ‘The Bougainville Revolutionary Army captured hundreds of these buggers from the PNG troops. If we do happen to shoot someone nobody’s gonna be any the wiser.’

Jamie was appalled at the sight of the weapon. He’d fired it on familiarization courses during his time at the Cambridge OTC and he knew just how deadly it could be. This trip had suddenly taken on a whole new dimension. ‘You can cut out the
we
for a bloody start,’ he bridled. ‘I’m not planning to shoot anybody. I thought this was supposed to be a quick jaunt up a mountain and back down again?’

‘Of course it—’

Devlin’s reassurance was cut off in mid-sentence by Doug Stewart. ‘So if the buggers come at you out of the jungle waving one of these,’ he whipped the machete from the scabbard on his belt with a soft hissing sound and pointed it at Jamie’s groin, ‘you’re just gonna let them cut off your goolies?’

Jamie glared at him and Keith Devlin stepped forward to take his employee by the arm. ‘A word, Doug.’ The two men walked out of the room.

‘Jesus Christ, what have I got myself into this time?’ Jamie muttered as he finished packing his rucksack.

‘You don’t want to mind old Doug,’ Joe said mildly. ‘I think he had a little too much of the jungle juice last night. He likes to cover all the bases, that’s all. Says it’s what got him through the ’Nam.’

‘Somebody should tell him the war is over,’ the Englishman snapped.

Devlin returned carrying something in a soft leather bag tied at the neck with a beaded cord. He handed it to Jamie. ‘You’ll need this,’ he said. ‘Remember. You don’t make the exchange until you have the briefcase in your hand. Got that?’

Jamie nodded and checked the contents: the Bougainville head nestled in a cocoon of plastic bubble wrap. He stowed it in a separate compartment of the rucksack he’d left empty for the purpose.

‘What about Wyatt Earp?’ he protested. ‘Wouldn’t it be safer to send Joe and Andy with me instead? At least they don’t plan to start a war.’

‘It’s all sorted, son,’ Devlin assured him. ‘I’ve had a word with Doug and nobody’s going to be doing any shooting.’

But when they went out to the Toyota the first thing Jamie noticed was the gun case in the back seat.

Stewart drove in silence, every movement a testament to his anger at whatever Keith Devlin had said to him, each gear change accompanied by a savage howl of engine noise. They left the compound and reversed their route of the previous day until they came to the junction. Someone had moved the roadblock of barrels during the night and the security chief swept past the ‘No Go Area’ sign as if it didn’t exist. As they drove by, Jamie noticed a man standing in the shadow of the trees with a mobile phone to his ear. His eyes never left the Toyota. At first the road was wide enough for two vehicles, but soon the jungle closed in and it became single track, rising steadily to be consumed in the lush green folds of the mountains.

‘All right,’ Jamie said eventually, ‘I think you’ve sulked long enough. Now you can tell me what the plan is.’

‘The plan is to get the job done and stay alive.’ Stewart’s tone was terse and Jamie noticed he spent as much time looking behind him as in front.

‘I’d assumed that. I was hoping for a little more detail.’

He winced as Stewart changed gear with a metallic crunch to take a hair-pin bend that had a stomach-churning drop on the passenger side. ‘This road was built by Bougainville Copper Limited. It takes us up to the Panguna Mine, which just happens to be close to the highest ridge in the Crown Prince mountain range. The old chief, Kristian, has a longhouse about nine miles south, down Takuan way, more or less on the same ridge line. The easiest way to get there is from Panguna so we’ll leave the car there and trek through the jungle.’

‘Nine miles?’

Stewart shrugged. ‘The going’s not too bad, except in a couple of places. I reckon we can be in and out by teatime – if everything works out.’

Something about the way he said those last four words made Jamie wary. ‘Is there any reason why everything shouldn’t work out?’

The road widened again at a sweeping bend and Stewart drew in to the side of the road and switched off the engine.

For a moment the only sound was the gentle tick of cooling metal. Stewart gestured at the greenery that covered everything around them. ‘What I learned about the jungle in Borneo and Vietnam is you can’t fight it, you have to learn to live with it. The people most at home in the jungle are the ones who’ve never known anything else. The minute we step off this road we’re at a disadvantage. You’re an arty-farty city boy who’s got lucky a couple of times and I’m an over-the-hill special forces veteran who’s not so special any more.’ He reached down to his feet and retrieved a bottle of clear liquid, taking a long slug before resuming. ‘Good old Keith has been feeding you the sugar-coated version of Bougainville from the start, and he still is. Y’see, Kristian Anugu isn’t the only person on this island who wants the head. There are at least three other factions who have an interest in it, all for different reasons, and they all outgun us. One of them is an offshoot of the old man’s clan who think they have a better claim. They come from the matriarchal line, so they could have a point. Women were the traditional land holders on Bougainville up till what they call the Crisis, but now the men have the power. It’s no coincidence that the Panguna landowners’ association we’ve been dealing with is an all-male preserve.’ A few metres further up the road a large pig stepped warily into the road and Stewart paused as he watched three small piglets follow it across the tarmac and disappear into the jungle on the far side. ‘That could have been supper.’ He grinned, but his voice quickly turned serious again. ‘Then there’s the government of Papua New Guinea, who by now are aware that Devlin Metal Resources’ master plan for the reopening of Panguna will cut them out of the loop. Whatever Keith tells you, these blokes are not going to give up billions of dollars without a fight. Right now, on the other side of this hill, down in the Jaba River valley, there are a couple of hundred small-scale and highly illegal gold-mining operations. About seventy-five per cent of them are run by outsiders, what the islanders here call Redskins, from Papua New Guinea. What if some of these miners aren’t miners at all, but PNG spies, or worse, PNG special forces soldiers in disguise? Way back when, I helped to train some of these guys and if they find out we’re on the way to see Kristian it kinda ups the ante.’

‘And the third group.’

‘We’re not certain,’ Stewart admitted. ‘A few Boogs down in Arawa sticking their noses in where they’re not wanted. Maybe not all the former BRA fighters are prepared to dance to Devlin’s tune, or maybe they just want more money. It’s the fact that I don’t know that makes me more nervous about them than all the others.’

‘So that explains the SLR?’

‘That’s right, son. You know what they say: never take a knife to a gunfight. And all of this is without taking into account the Chinks, who have their spies everywhere but tend to do their fighting in the court and the boardroom. They’ve already made one pitch to the landowners’ association that Devlin has seen off, but it won’t be the last.’

At the mention of ‘Chinks’ Jamie wondered whether he should mention his encounter with Lim, but decided to keep it to himself. ‘What I don’t understand is why Devlin didn’t send us with a proper escort. Either more guards or these BRA people you keep talking about.’

The security chief responded with a bark of bitter laughter. ‘The straight answer is that taking more guys like Joe and Andy would make us stick out like your proverbial dahlia on a dungheap and make us more of a target if the bad guys
are
out there. Likewise, the BRA boys might just get halfway there and decide to take the head for themselves and ransom it back. Like I say, you can’t trust ’em.’

‘If that’s the straight answer what’s the not so straight one?’

‘You go down that road and you could end up in dangerous territory, Mr
Saint
clair.’

‘Nevertheless …’

Stewart sucked on a tooth while he made up his mind. ‘All right, let’s just say that in the past couple of years Devlin Metal Resources has become what we might call a leaky ship. People in high places are asking awkward questions about subjects they’re not supposed to know about.’

‘I could see how that might make a certain party nervous.’

Stewart nodded. ‘Naturally, your intrepid head of security instigates an immediate investigation and cleans out anyone who’s tainted, even by association. The leaks stop, but the fact that they happened at all might make that certain party look at his hitherto trusted security chief through new eyes. Either he’s past it – after all, he’s getting on a bit, as you’re so fond of telling him – or worse, maybe someone from outside has offered to enhance his pension package in return for privileged access. If it’s scenario number two, you have a big problem. This bloke you’ve trusted with your deepest secrets for the last twenty-five years knows more about Devlin Metal Resources operations than any man alive, even you – you might even say he knows where the bodies are buried, and you wouldn’t be far wrong – because it’s the nature of things that certain aspects of the business have to be done on a deniable basis.’

‘Now you’re making
me
nervous.’

Stewart restarted the engine and engaged the car’s transmission. ‘So you should be, son.’ He turned to stare at Jamie for a moment before pulling out into the road. ‘Because I find it bloody strange that Keith Devlin decided to choose a desk-bound dinosaur like me to babysit Jamie Saintclair on a jaunt that’s supposed to turn Devlin Metal Resources into the world’s biggest mining company.’

The Toyota crested the brow of a hill and began the gradual descent into a long valley. The only signs of modern civilization since they’d left the junction had been a line of rusting electricity pylons and a few sections of battered crash barrier. Gradually, Jamie became aware of a subtle change in his surroundings. It must be the same sensation explorers felt when they came upon the ruins of a lost civilization hidden deep in the jungle. The first thing he noticed were angles when, till now, the jungle had dealt solely in curves. Then fragments of what could only be buildings appeared, throttled by twisted lengths of vine and liana, or hidden amongst vast, olive-green plants.