The Trade (A Hans Larsson Novel Book 2) by Chris Thrall Read Free Book Online Page A

died when your boat
sank, so we will find you a new family.”
    He gave her a twisted smile and turned to leave.
    Jessica leapt off the bed and kicked him as hard as she
could in the back of his leg.
    “Ouch!”
    The man spun around with a look of shock in his docile eyes,
then backhanded her across the face.
    Jessica flew across the room and cracked her head on the bed’s
wooden frame, flopping onto the cold stone floor. She lay there paralyzed by
shock as the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth and she passed into
unconsciousness.

- 16 -
    B ack at the marina, Hans thanked Silvestre and his crew for their
efforts. Muttley had insisted the Concern would pay for the Angolan’s services,
but after exchanging business cards, Hans pressed a fat envelope into the old
man’s hand. With Penny’s help, he carried the scuba gear along the floating
pontoon, passing the variety of craft nosing up against it, which ranged from aging
wooden yachts to the latest million-dollar cruisers. Sitting in the cockpit
enjoying a late lunch in the sunshine, the German crew of Edelweiss threw
smiles and hellos and gave thumbs-ups upon seeing the dive gear, the scene and
sentiment far removed from Hans and Penny’s living nightmare.
    At the marina office they stopped to say hello to Baba, the larger-than-life
Senegalese manager who had helped Penny when Future went missing. Upon hearing
the result of the search, he grasped their hands as tears welled in his kind
brown eyes.
    “Anything I can do, Miss Penny, Mr. Hans, please let me
know.”
    The street outside the marina was typical of Cape Verde, flanked
by two-story colonial builds painted in vivid pastel colors, most with spindly
wooden balconies, giving the impression of a frontier town. In this quiet part
of Mindelo, São Vicente’s port city, pickup trucks carrying trade goods and people-packed
Toyota minibuses cruised by. There were surprisingly few cars, though, and
those they saw were mostly Japanese models, their bodywork faring well in the
dry climate.
    Hans was lost in thought in the afternoon heat, and as Penny
hailed a cab he found himself staring at a Fulani woman sitting at a table in an
open-fronted restaurant across the street.
    The Fulani were Africa’s largest ethnic group. Centuries of conquest
and migration had resulted in them occupying vast expanses of land in a
longitudinal belt south of the Sahara. In keeping with the nomadic tribe’s tradition,
the woman wore a flowing yellow-and-lime-patterned robe and head scarf, a mesh
of colorful coral necklaces, gold hoop earrings, a nose ring and brass anklets,
with cowrie shells and silver coins attached to her long braided hair. She had blackened
her lips with indigo ink, sported henna tattoo sleeves on her hands, wrists, feet
and ankles, and had tribal scarification around her eyes and mouth. Even at a
distance she projected a palpable aura of grace, strength and unadulterated femininity.
    But it wasn’t the Fulani’s appearance capturing Hans’ attention.
Something seemed odd. Perhaps that she sat on her own or appeared to be aware
of his gaze, glancing at him several times, nervousness or shyness evident in
her dark-brown eyes. Hans was about to say something to Penny when a cab pulled
up and his attention switched to helping the driver load the dive gear into the
trunk.
    On the drive to the hotel, Penny made polite but subdued conversation
with the cabbie, who’d immediately sensed the couple’s anguish and ceased with
the tourist banter. After a time “ S ão os pais da menina ?” he whispered, asking if they were the parents of the little girl.
    Penny said yes to keep it simple and asked
how he knew.
    The driver explained that the islanders had
followed the search for Future ’s crew on the news and felt terrible
about the tragedy. The TV station had run a bulletin following Hans’ rescue by
the Kimberley II and anotherannouncing his return to Cape Verde
to recover Jessica’s body with the help of