Dark Heart by Peter Tonkin Read Free Book Online Page A

International. This was a twenty-first century state. Security cameras, computer databases, cellphone monitoring systems, secret security services, the lot. Everything one might expect to find in the UK, the USA, the European Union, the Russian federation; except, perhaps, democracy.
    These thoughts were sufficient to take Richard along the reception line until he found himself looking directly into the coolly intelligent eyes of his host. The handshake, too, was cool. ‘Captain Mariner, welcome to Benin la Bas,’ he said, his voice deep and resonant. His English every bit as fluent as his French and Russian had been. His welcome to the man who, more than any other – except for Laurent Kebila, perhaps – had helped to put him where he stood now was, to put it mildly, ambivalent.
    â€˜Thank you Mr President,’ answered Richard smoothly. ‘My visit has been most instructive so far.’
    â€˜Yes. Colonel Kebila was just telling me. And I’m sure you will find that it continues to be instructive.’ He paused a beat. ‘And profitable.’ He paused another beat as he turned to Robin, his face folding into a broad and charming smile. ‘And
pleasurable
, of course . . .’
    As it happened, Robin found the meal instructive as much as pleasurable. The instruction started immediately she was shown to her seat. On her right sat Max, with the incandescent Irina beyond him. On her left sat Richard, and beyond him a simply breathtaking young woman with the most arresting cinnamon skin and an accent as deep and dark as molasses. As deep and dark, Robin observed wryly, as the young woman’s eyes; not to mention her cleavage. All of which seemed to be aimed at Richard.
    â€˜Darling,’ said her scapegrace husband at his most insouciant, ‘I don’t think you’ve met Dr Bonnie Holliday of the World Bank, have you? Dr Holliday and I met at the airport . . .’
    President Chaka gave a brief speech of general welcome, forbidding all business talk on this occasion, commanding his welcome guests to get to know one another before they began to discuss in more detail why they were here. Discussion that might commence, he suggested, at a series of meetings planned for tomorrow. As Robin already knew Max Asov, and also had a good idea why he was here, and as there was no one opposite her, she focussed her attention on Richard and the dazzling girl who had shared his airport adventure.
    â€˜What is it you do at the World Bank, Doctor?’ she asked.
    â€˜I am on the East Africa desk at Washington headquarters at 1818 H. The local director is stuck in Abidjan, apparently, so they scooted me out at short notice. I’m not really in finances. My doctorate is in African Studies. But I guess that’s OK because my ultimate boss may have started out at Deloitte but she came to us via Education.’
    â€˜African studies,’ said Richard. ‘What school?’
    â€˜Harvard.’
    â€˜So,’ said Robin, ‘at the very least you’ll be able to guide us safely through dinner. You’ll need to if it’s as traditional as what our hosts are wearing.’
    â€˜As safely as your Richard guided me through the airport!’ said Dr Holliday with a dazzling smile.
    Quite
,
thought Robin, smiling back.
MY
Richard. And don’t you forget it. Either of you.
    But, as it happened, one section at least of Bonnie Holliday’s PhD was put to good use, for Dr Chaka was seemingly keen to underline the point he had made by asking for his guests to wear white tie. The first course arrived. It consisted of a small plate of cooked rice in the middle of which was spread four lobes of pale nut. Each plate was garnished with a bright red petal or two. ‘This is the traditional West African greeting course—’ said Bonnie.
    â€˜I know,’ interrupted Robin. ‘Rice and kola nut. How anything this bitter got into the recipe for Coca-Cola, heaven