Ellie folded away the scarf as she called Tenby and requested immediate surveillance on Shirani Dennis’ home.
‘Surveillance? Ellie, this is Sri Lanka, not India or Pakistan. I’m sorry, I can hear you’re worried, but we just don’t have the resources for that. We can’t even keep an eye on you. Where are you? Solomon is livid. He’s asked Scott to keep your Personal Locator Beacon activated at all times from the Frontal Lobe and update him every hour.’
‘Great use of Bureau resources,’ she replied. The station chief was pissed.
‘It is if it keeps you out of trouble. We’re starting the next session at 1400 hours. I’m sending a car.’
‘I need to follow up a lead,’ she replied, looking down the busy street for a tuk-tuk.
‘No, Ellie. No leads. You made a deal with Dilshan, and whether you meant it or not, Solomon intends to enforce it. The investigation is done. Ameena Fernando was killed by an unknown assailant. It was very sad. We’ll pay for The Lanka Herald to name an award after her, and if Sathyan wants a visa to the US, I will do that for him—for you.’
‘Thank you, Tenby, that means a lot to me. He hasn’t accepted it yet, but he’s not safe here either. Just give me a little more time,’ she pleaded. ‘You’ve got this afternoon’s session with the Chinese under control. You don’t even need me—’ She stopped. The black SUV pulled up fast in front of her. The car window slid down and the cool air from the air conditioning washed over her. ‘Asshole,’ she said.
‘Part of the job description. I’m keeping you safe whether you want me to or not,’ Tenby replied, turning off the handheld tracker that had located her phone.
•
Dilshan Perera looked at Tenby quizzically when he chaperoned Ellie into the meeting. The US and Chinese delegates were sitting in the velvet boardroom of the Cinnamon Grand, mired in the finer points of village sanitation.
Ellie sat next to Tenby, turning Shirani’s words over in her mind. Ameena was working on a third article with a fourth of February deadline. Confiscated and dangerous. Where was it? She had to get to the brothel. Fucking Solomon. She looked at her watch. 14.50.
‘Ellie?’ Tenby prompted her.
‘Sorry, what?’ Ellie asked. The room was waiting for her to say something.
‘You were going to update us on the Pakistan maternal health programs. USAID is interested in funding similar clinics here and we’d all benefit from your experience. Talk us through it.’ Tenby smiled tightly at her, then at the other delegates.
‘I’m not sure we have time, Tenby. There are lots of agenda items to get through, so let’s focus on the contentious ones. We can talk about best practice at drinks tonight.’ She adjusted her watch.
‘The delegates from the PRC do not attend the nightly drinks.’
Ellie turned to face the familiar voice. It was Su Lin Kwan, the cultural attaché’s daughter. She looked even lovelier in a suit.
‘Is that company policy?’ Ellie asked.
‘It’s common sense. There’s a lot of work to do.’
She was right, there was a lot of work to do. Ellie needed to fast-track things or flee the building, whichever she could achieve first. She checked her watch again. Brothel, Shirani, then Sathyan. She wanted to talk to the journalist one more time before she left Colombo. Maybe brothel, Sathyan, then Shirani.
‘Do you have somewhere else to be, Dr Harper?’ Dilshan asked. He shook his head at Tenby, as if completing some prior conversation.
‘She’s fine,’ Tenby replied, clearing his throat nervously. He nudged Ellie under the table with his foot, and pointed to the screen at the front of the conference room, where her Pakistan report had been projected. ‘Ellie, your presentation, please?’
Ellie sighed. ‘You all know how a maternal health clinic works. The ones in Pakistan are based on the “Hub and Spoke” approach pioneered by WHO in East Africa. The problem in Sri Lanka is access. We won’t be able to transport the prefab clinics through the jungles and landmine zones in the north.’
‘We can transport them for you,’ Su Lin Kwan replied. ‘We have the technical capacity to clear mines and build highways across terrain like that. The World Trade Organisation has challenged all of us to move away from a donor culture and ensure that twenty per cent of the aid we give to developing countries is in the form of trade.’
‘I’m familiar with the Aid for Trade Policy,’ Ellie replied. It was such a stupid slogan but an important paradigm shift.
‘Then you’ll know that rather than making Sri Lanka dependent on aid, we want to help it create sustainable economic outcomes,’ Su Lin said. ‘To engage in trade with the rest of the world, Sri Lanka needs highways, ports, airports and economic infrastructure.’ Su Lin smiled. ‘That’s what we’re doing here, Dr Harper. We’re building a port in Hambantota that can receive those pre-fab clinics and a highway that can deliver them to people in need. The same ports and highways will take produce from Sri Lankan farmers and sell it to the international market. When the New York Times writes about the Belt and Road Initiative, they don’t mention that we have raised four hundred million people out of abject poverty in China over the last twenty years. That statistic doesn’t work with the Yellow Peril motif of Western journalism, does it?’
‘Maybe not,’ Ellie replied. ‘But that four hundred million averages out to only two per cent of your population per annum. If you’re not lifting two per cent per annum, then you’re just not trying hard enough.’
Su Lin burst out laughing. ‘You’re right, unlike you Americans, we don’t just read the briefings that reinforce our respective worldviews,’ she said. ‘The newspapers here will tell you how Chinese investment in Sri Lanka is improving people’s lives. Even The Lanka Herald wrote about it.’
Ellie turned to Dilshan Perera. ‘We make highways too, sir. We might not match the Chinese concessional loans but, unlike them, we will use local labour. That’s a guaranteed vote winner for you, Mr Under Secretary, given the national unemployment rate is at an historic high. Let me talk you through the rest of our presentation,’ she said, setting her shoulders back and clearing her throat to reclaim the room’s full attention. If she had to talk the delegates through the benefits of investing in maternal health, she’d do it quickly but properly.
•
At the end of her presentation, Ellie left the room quietly and without an exchange of the usual tedious pleasantries. Tenby caught up with her as she exited the hotel lobby.
‘Thank you for doing that, Ellie. It was fast but thorough. You excel at development policy, even if Redmond thinks you’re better at other things. Reminded me of old times. Stay for the next session, please,’ he implored. ‘I’m struggling in there and I need your help.’
She shook her head. ‘Tenby, I know Solomon wants you to mind me, but please, let me get on with what I’m here to do.’ She raised her hand, trying to flag down a tuk-tuk, but they passed her, full of passengers. ‘Look, check the ancillary agreements to the Mine Ban Treaty. Look for a bilateral agreement between Germany and us—I’m sure we can get those mine sweepers for less than the Chinese. You can leverage that.’
Tenby touched her arm. ‘I can’t convince Dilshan that you’re part of these talks if you skip most of them, you know. Please, Ellie.’
‘Tenby, you’re an accomplished diplomat. You’re First Secretary, for Christ’s sake. These people like you. Convince them for me.’ She hugged him briefly and then turned back to the road. She finally hailed a tuk-tuk, its bright red and black carriage like a whirring ladybird.
She held on to the railing of the tuk-tuk as it weaved through the traffic. The prayer beads on the rear-view mirror swung violently with every turn. She looked in the man’s side mirror and recognised the plates of the vehicle behind them. It was the same white van from Ameena’s crime scene, coming closer.
She made sure the GPS tracker was on her phone, then texted Arjuna and Scott to let them know her destination. The tuk-tuk stalled in traffic, horns honking around it. Children ran up to the open side-door to offer her tired plastic toys.
Ellie shook her head at the little vendors. The white van inched closer to her. She could see the driver and passenger now.
The tuk-tuk driver turned onto Horton Place, the clotted arterial road that carried smaller streets to the elegant homes of Colombo 7. Ellie leaned forward to shout in the driver’s ear.
‘Turn left here,’ she instructed.
‘No, no, madam. It is further along.’
‘Doesn’t matter, turn here—now.’ She looked behind. The passenger had rolled down his window, his arm hanging out of the van.
The tuk-tuk driver noticed him too. ‘You have friends?’
‘I do, and I don’t want them. You understand?’ She reached out with a twenty US dollar note in her hand.
‘I understand.’
‘Fast as you can.’
‘Formula One madam, but main road is safer for now. More people.’ He shifted the gears and the tuk-tuk engine spluttered angrily. She could smell smoke from the exhaust as the driver revved a few times, then mounted the curb. People screamed and shouted at him. The driver waved his hands, yelling in return. She grabbed the railing tighter as the tuk-tuk lunged back onto the road and flitted between cars. The driver shifted gears again, stalling it behind an Army truck.
Peppered with numerous embassies, Colombo 7 was a high security neighbourhood. Ellie checked her location. The US Embassy was twenty-five minutes away in the wrong direction. The nearest ally was the French Embassy, three blocks north. The British High Commission was four blocks southeast. That was her contingency plan. The white van was four cars behind them now. The door opened.
‘Go, go, go,’ she shouted. ‘We’ve got to go.’
The driver reached up and kissed the prayer beads. ‘Don’t get out madam, trust me.’ He wriggled the tuk-tuk forward so he was once again on the pavement, but this time he held on to the side rail of the Army truck. The soldiers in the back shouted at him. ‘Hold on,’ he ordered.
She held onto the tuk-tuk.
‘No, hold on, madam,’ the driver repeated. ‘Army truck—own lane.’
She transferred her grip onto the truck. With the tuk-tuk in neutral, it pulled them forward, sandwiched between the truck and a wall, riding caddy with soldiers who were now waving their rifles at them.
‘Few blocks only, madam,’ the driver reassured her. Soon enough, he directed her to let go and did the same, pushing off the side of the truck. He turned left down a narrow lane, wide enough only for tuk-tuks and motorcycles.
She turned back to see the white van skid to a halt and the passengers jump out. Two Sri Lankan men, in civilian clothing so they could blend into the streets more easily. One tall and athletic, the other stockier, with sweat dripping down his bald head onto his puffy cheeks.
The tuk-tuk entered the heart of Colombo 7, surrounded by colonial mansions rising above the stucco walls. The driver took three more turns and braked suddenly at the top of a stone stairwell. He kissed the prayer beads again. ‘We end here, madam, this is tuk-tuk, not jeep. You go downstairs, three doors on right. You have a very relaxing time after journey here.’ He smiled happily, as though this was a perfectly normal drive. ‘I wait for you?’ he asked.
She took out another twenty dollars from her wallet. ‘No, thank you. I’ll make my own way back.’
‘Are you sure? Goondas looking for you. Not far behind.’
‘I’ll be okay. Maybe lead them away for me?’ she said, smiling at his delight.
‘Aaah,’ the old man winked. ‘I understand. Go quickly.’ He doffed an imaginary cap and took off.
•
Ellie knocked on the battered wooden door, checking all sides of the alley. There was a small opening in the door at eye level, and a man stared out through the metal bars.
‘Ameena Fernando sent me,’ she said.
The opening slammed shut. She waited, hearing nothing after the receding footsteps. She pounded the door again.
‘Please, I was followed,’ she hissed.
The main door opened. The man stuck his head out, looked around, then ushered her in with a gun. He was dressed in expensive jeans and a tight t-shirt. She pulled the remnants of a tissue from her trouser pocket, wiped the grime off her face and pushed her thick hair back into some semblance of order.
She was led through a shadowy corridor into an open courtyard. She looked up at the shaft of sunlight. As her eyes adjusted, she saw that the courtyard was an atrium that rose three storeys high. Each floor had an internal verandah that circled the atrium, and doors that led to other rooms. Each floor also had a similarly clad man pacing the verandah.
‘Sit. Madam will be with you in a moment.’ The doorkeeper pointed at the silk cushions of a rattan sofa.
A young boy brought her out a glass of chilled avocado juice.
She took one sip, then another. She finished the glass quickly, to the boy’s amusement. He was about to offer more when an immaculately made-up woman glided towards her on the marble tiles.
‘Please, don’t stand up,’ the woman said. ‘Rest. You’ve had a busy trip already, Ellie.’
‘I’m sorry, do we know each other?’ She looked at the Madam closely. She had thick, arched eyebrows that framed her large eyes. Her kohl was artfully smudged underneath, and plum-red defined the soft abundance of her lips. The bridge of her nose was perfectly formed, as if it had been drawn with a ruler. She was stunning.
The Madam laughed a rich, throaty laugh at Ellie’s scrutiny. Her coquettish elegance gave way to an edge Ellie now remembered.
‘Manisha?’ she asked incredulously.
Manisha assembled her features back into studied sophistication. ‘I’ve aged a little.’
‘Not at all,’ Ellie disagreed.
‘Liar. It’s been a long time since you were in Colombo. Four years, no?’
‘Yes, four years. You were still the night manager at the Ceylon Cricket Club.’
‘I was more like an entertainment agent. Respectable men came in the front door of the Club and I discreetly brought the less respectable ones in the back door to service their needs.’
‘And here? What do you do now?’
‘The same thing, but with a little more honesty. We are still hidden away, of course. A private and safe space. But I don’t have to pretend that my clients are genteel old boys who’ve come for a gin and tonic and a chat about better times.’ Manisha adjusted her robes. ‘People come for what they need and I provide the skilled artisans to give it. Why are you here, Ellie? I don’t remember you as someone who used my staff.’
‘I’m looking into the death of Ameena Fernando.’
‘You mean the murder of Ameena Fernando. We can speak freely.’
‘Was she a client? Or a friend?’
‘If she was a client, I couldn’t say. I can tell you that she was a friend and a good person. We had a certain mutual respect.’
‘I know she came here. I have diary records of meetings she had with someone. Perhaps you? Perhaps one of your staff?’ Ellie suggested.
‘Again, I couldn’t say.’ Manisha rang a small bell and a young woman emerged from the wings, placing a silver tray down on the table between them. A plate of dumplings, a tea set and a bowl with small cubes of jaggery.
‘Tea?’ Manisha offered. ‘You know it’s rude to refuse in Sri Lanka. We cater for all tastes here.’ She picked up a piece of fudge and put it in her mouth.
‘Sugar, madam?’ The servant lifted a square of the fudge with delicate silver tongs. She dropped it carefully into the hot liquid when Ellie nodded. It bobbed to the surface, melting quickly like a small, brown iceberg.
‘Palm sugar. It sweetens everything,’ Manisha observed. She raised her cup to her lips, leaving a smudge of lipstick on the rim.
Ellie continued. ‘Although I didn’t know Ameena, I don’t think she came here to utilise your staff either. I’ve met her partner, and I don’t think she needed this place.’
‘Oh, you’d be surprised who needs this place, but please do continue.’ Manisha reached for another piece of palm sugar.
‘I wonder if she came here to meet her source. I’m just thinking out loud.’ Ellie didn’t want to reveal the conversation with Shirani. She had already exposed the journalist to danger. More danger.
‘And I’m enjoying listening to you think out loud. But I couldn’t offer an opinion. Another refreshment perhaps?’
‘No, thank you. There’s a lot going on in Colombo at the moment.’ Ellie walked to a mural on one wall of the courtyard. ‘People are negotiating the spoils of war. Are your clients Sri Lankan politicians or Chinese diplomats and businessmen?’ She motioned to the mural. It was a geisha girl flying through the air, carried by a flock of cranes. It looked like a commissioned composite of cultural stereotypes.
‘My clients are entirely none of your business,’ Manisha answered.
Ellie returned to her chair. ‘Ameena was investigating a story that got her killed. Let’s just agree she was meeting her source here and paying you for the privilege.’
‘It was my privilege to know her,’ Manisha replied.
Ellie added Manisha to her list of suspects. The brothel could have been the subject of Ameena’s investigation and it was too valuable to too many people to be exposed. She couldn’t see Manisha as the mastermind behind the murder, but she had learned the hard way not to assume innocence.
‘Ameena wasn’t the sex-gate kind of journalist, unless it impacted on good governance. Although when has sex not impacted on good governance?’ Manisha sniggered.
‘I’m trying to work out what those payments were for if she wasn’t compensating you for the use of a discreet room. Was she hiding a child? And were you blackmailing her because of it?’
‘Hidden children and blackmail?’ Manisha threw her head back and laughed again. ‘Oh Ellie, you watch far too many crime dramas. I keep secrets. I don’t trade them.’
‘Then why would Ameena send schoolbooks to this address, Manisha?’ Ellie’s eyes scaled the floors spiralling up to the light.
Manisha’s tone didn’t waver. ‘An administrative error. It happens.’
‘May I take a look around?’
‘Absolutely not,’ Manisha smiled. ‘May I take you to the door?’ She stood up and reached for Ellie’s arm, linking hers through it. ‘This way, if you will.’
She didn’t take Ellie back to the discreet entrance, though, rather led her up the stairs and onto the first floor. At the third door, she stopped and led Ellie inside.
‘This is my favourite room,’ she whispered.
It was dark, thick curtains drawn. A large cloistered cupboard with carved wooden screens stood to the side. Two lamps dangled above an altar, and as Ellie approached them she could smell the remnants of heavy incense in the air. It reminded her of her father’s neighbour at the nursing home, The Pray-er, and his holy oil.
‘Some of our clients have various issues with God and religion,’ Manisha murmured. ‘This room is called the Chapel. Some people come here to be punished by God. Or by me. Some people come here simply to confess and be forgiven.’
She stood by the wooden lattice that Ellie now realised was a confessional. Someone could enter either side and not see the person opposite, but they could hear them through the screen. Ellie walked around the room and then up to the confessional, opening a door to look inside. Ameena might have sat there and received confession after confession from her source without ever knowing who he or she was.
‘Some people come here to pray,’ Manisha continued. ‘What would you like to do, Ellie?’
‘I don’t pray anymore, Manisha. Not for many years.’
‘Me neither,’ the older woman confessed. ‘God left this island to its demons a long time ago.’
•
Manisha accompanied Ellie down to the courtyard. Arjuna was waiting for them. The Madam greeted him with the comfortable embrace of old friends.
‘You’re keeping well?’ She raised a hand to Arjuna’s scarred cheek and kept it there. He didn’t flinch or move away.
‘I am, thank you. I didn’t know you worked here. You look beautiful. The place suits you.’
Manisha twirled in a slow pirouette, showing off her satin robes and curves. ‘Any time, Arjuna. I’m always here for you.’
He smiled and shook his head.
‘Take good care of her, won’t you, darling? She barely survived Sri Lanka the first time. Both of you. Perhaps she needs a stiff drink at the usual place?’ Manisha suggested.
Arjuna nodded. ‘Yes, I hear their whisky selection is the best in Colombo. Thank you.’
Manisha turned back to Ellie. ‘Stay safe. This is a terrible place to die.’
‘I’ve seen worse,’ she replied.
‘No, you haven’t.’ Manisha kissed her deeply on the lips. She tasted like palm sugar.
•
As soon as Ellie and Arjuna left the brothel, Manisha made the call.
‘She just left, heading towards Colpetty,’ she lied. ‘No, I don’t think she’s armed. Will I be seeing you this evening?’
More questions about Ellie instead of an answer.
‘Of course, I didn’t tell her anything about you,’ she replied. ‘You know that’s not how I operate.’ She listened, bored, as the other person’s questions became increasingly frantic. ‘You knew this would happen,’ she said eventually. ‘She’s investigating Ameena, and Ameena came here. There was nothing we could do. She came here but she doesn’t know why or what for.’
She didn’t tell the man about Ellie’s theories.
•
Ellie wiped the plum lipstick from her mouth, put her seatbelt on and turned to Arjuna. ‘Thanks for picking me up.’
‘Solomon sent me. He’s pissed at you. Apparently, you arrived at a negotiation late and left early.’
Ellie dismissed Solomon’s criticism, which had undoubtedly been more colourful than Arjuna’s summary. ‘You and Manisha seem pretty friendly,’ she observed. ‘You know she was more than just the night manager for the Ceylon Cricket Club?’
‘Everyone knew. She was their fixer. Whatever clients needed, she got it for them. Whatever messes they made, she cleaned it up for them. She knew all their dirty secrets.’
Manisha knew but wouldn’t tell.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked.
‘Manisha said “the usual place”—the Cricket Club, of course. She was trying to help you. You need to listen more.’
‘You obviously understand her subtext better than me.’
‘It’s a guy thing. We also have higher emotional intelligence.’
She laughed. ‘Shut up.’
‘Have you added her to your suspect list?’ he asked.
‘Yes, for now. She has motive if Ameena was investigating her clientele. It just doesn’t feel right …’ She was missing something at Manisha’s. ‘Shirani talked about a trade that happens here—the Sri Lankan government receives weapons and kickbacks from China in exchange for awarding infrastructure projects.’
‘Like the Hambantota Port,’ he said, reaching out to wipe the dust off his side mirror.
Hambantota—where Su Lin Kwan said the Chinese could warehouse the pre-fab health clinics. She said even The Lanka Herald wrote about it.
She called Scott. ‘Did Ameena Fernando report on the benefits of Chinese investment in Sri Lanka?’ she asked.
‘Hey Scottie, how are you?’ Scott answered. ‘Thanks for tracking my phone and noticing that my route to the brothel was unusually circuitous and my speed was exceptionally fast. Thank you for demanding that Solomon send out a team to cover me.’
‘Thank you, Scottie,’ Ellie said. She hadn’t seen the team but she didn’t doubt that Scott had sent them, or that Solomon had balked. ‘I mean it. Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. I’ve also upped your security status to HKR.’ High Kidnapping Risk.
Ellie knew he was right to do so. ‘Thank you.’
‘And I’ll have a look out for China-friendly pieces by Ameena.’
‘If you can’t find anything on the internet, talk to the archives department at the Carter Center.’
‘Those Commie-lovers? Sure.’ Scott clicked off.
‘I’ll take you to Hambantota.’ Arjuna rolled his sleeve down to cover the scars on his right arm and buttoned the cuff. ‘We can visit my sister. Namalie talks about you all the time. She wants to cook for you, say thank you for all the gifts you send the boys.’
‘She doesn’t have to. It’s nothing.’ The gifts didn’t make up for what had happened. Forced together at the hospital, watching over Arjuna, Ellie had got to know Namalie well. If Namalie knew Ellie better, she would hate her.
‘I told her that, but she insists. Let’s get that drink at the Ceylon Cricket Club and work out a plan,’ he said.
‘Can we stop at Sathyan’s place first?’ she asked. The last time she had seen him, Tenby had been with them. There was so much more she wanted to say.
‘So you can traumatise each other again? Tenby said the visit to the Anti-Landmine Lobby was painful for everyone, including him. He’s worried about you. I don’t think seeing Sathyan again is a good idea. You need to stay on mission.’
‘He’s an important part of the mission. I have questions.’
‘I’m sure.’ Arjuna shook his head and turned left at the lights.