A red Mercedes Coupé braked and skidded to a halt. Ellie fell across the bonnet and rolled on the ground.
She jumped up, bruised and covered in dust. She looked for the man on the motorcycle, but he had gone. The door to the Mercedes opened and a familiar face smiled at her.
‘Can I give you a lift?’ Dougie Vanderstraaten asked.
She scrambled into the car, nearly landing her face in his lap.
‘That was quite an entrance.’ The old man eyed her dishevelled state. ‘I see you’re still as elegant as always.’
‘Thank you, Dougie. That was close.’
‘It was. Where would you like to go? Let me take you there,’ he said warmly.
Ellie thought for a moment. At the brothel, Manisha had recommended Arjuna take her for a drink at ‘the usual place’.
‘The Ceylon Cricket Club please, Dougie,’ she replied, trusting her gut and following the clues.
‘How fortunate, I was already asked to get you there,’ he replied. ‘I assume you had a good reason to be running through the streets of Colombo. Where is your man?’
‘Arjuna’s at work,’ she said, wondering the same thing about her friend. ‘Other projects.’
‘Keeping you safe is his project. I’m turning you over to him after my next drink. Rumour has it you’ve been seen at all the wrong places since our breakfast cocktail this morning.’
‘I’m investigating Ameena Fernando’s death. I’m going to the places she went to.’
‘As I said, all the wrong places. Why can’t you be like other aid delegates? Pretend to work and take advantage of the beaches, the grand hotels and the wildlife.’
‘I’ve encountered the wildlife.’
‘The other wildlife. Those thugs are CID. They’ve been following you from the moment you landed and triggered a red flag. So far, they’ve been gentle with you. But you’ve obviously touched a nerve.’
‘I can still trigger a red flag here?’
‘You are a red flag here and you always will be. You shouldn’t have come back.’
‘I was instructed to return. Redmond sent me.’
‘Well at this rate, Solomon will be sending you back earlier than Redmond may have expected.’
The car turned into the long driveway of the Ceylon Cricket Club. It was flanked by lush stretches of lawn as manicured as Dougie’s fingernails.
Above the portico, the Sri Lankan flag fluttered alongside the Club’s flag, its crossed cricket bats flying in the wind. A bank of black SUVs parked around the curve of the driveway, shining like polished coal in the last rays of the sun. A valet dressed in a crisp white uniform and gloves opened the door and welcomed them both out.
They were ushered into the foyer, its teak floorboards and panelled walls making it look like an East India Company ship that had run aground.
They walked past walls of sepia-toned photographs entombed in glass cases. Young men with their starched cricket whites, consumptive grins and lacquered hair parted sternly down the middle.
Dougie stopped at one photograph.
‘My grandfather,’ he pointed proudly to a young man. ‘He went mad in the end, refused to take his whites off, and started chasing the staff with his Gradidge Imperial Driver.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘I’m not, it was a fine bat. We buried him with it and bought a membership at Lords with some of the estate. Seemed fitting.’
‘Yes, that was very respectful of you.’
Dougie chuckled, leading her deeper into the Club to a pair of embossed wooden doors. These opened onto an antechamber where they were greeted by soldiers wielding security wands.
Without speaking, one of them scanned her body. The other searched her bag.
Dougie briefly clasped her arm. ‘I’m not invited to this party, Ellie. You have a friend in there. Let him do the talking, if you can.’
‘Thank you for finding me this afternoon, Dougie, I mean it.’
‘I didn’t “find” you, Ellie. Your Personal Locator Beacon told your people where you were, and they told me. I was just following instructions from your friend, Scott Barnett.’
‘You say that, but I know you care,’ she replied, surprised that Scott had called on Dougie to rescue her. The old man was resourceful and had survived Colombo for decades by following instructions, but he was no High Kidnapping Risk team.
He patted her on the cheek. ‘I’ll call Arjuna and wait for you at the bar.’
He pushed her gently into the cavernous hall and left. It was empty except for a group of people in an alcove at its far end, sitting by open glass doors with soft muslin curtains billowing around them, disguising them in a diaphanous shroud.
As she approached, she saw cultural attaché Eric Kwan stand up and shake hands with Dilshan Perera. He exchanged final words before he turned and walked towards her.
‘Lovely to see you again, Dr Harper. My daughter enjoyed the opportunity to engage with you today.’ His eyes wandered over her dishevelled appearance.
Dilshan Perera was sitting with Tenby, who looked relieved to see her.
‘You shouldn’t have dressed up for me,’ Dilshan laughed.
Ellie took a seat opposite him.
‘We were just continuing this afternoon’s talks,’ Tenby explained. The rash around his neck was getting worse. He really needed to see a doctor about it. ‘Your help was invaluable, Ellie, thank you. The US will provide the Sri Lanka Army with those landmine sweepers you mentioned.’
‘Great. There’s a lot more we could do together,’ she replied, looking for a waiter with a cold face towel.
‘Perhaps,’ Dilshan said. ‘But perhaps it’s time for you to go home.’ His features arranged themselves into an expression of mourning. ‘I see you are still looking into Ameena Fernando’s death. Ameena’s family and mine were—are—lifelong friends. Her father was even on my cricket team. I was devastated by her death. We are conducting our own inquiry and your presence here is getting in the way.’
‘We understand, sir,’ Tenby said smoothly. ‘Ellie’s mandate is simply to write a report for the family. I’m sure she will reassure them that you have everything in hand.’
‘Historically, Dr Harper has always exceeded her mandate. Much like Ameena.’ Dilshan didn’t take his eyes off her. ‘The Lanka Herald was unnecessarily provocative. Not that provocation justifies such a response. Who do you think murdered her, Dr Harper? She made many enemies for you to choose from.’
‘I don’t know yet, sir. Who do you think did it?’ she asked, daringly.
Dilshan sneered. ‘Some people say it was me. Can you believe a minister murdering a journalist? Do you suppose I threw my hands up in the air and exclaimed, “Will none rid me of this turbulent priest?” I resented Ameena. I was enraged by her and disappointed with her. But I did not kill her.’ He did sincerity so well. ‘My religion tells me to forgive her, so I forgive her.’
‘What does your religion tell you about the Tamils in the north, sir?’ she asked. The latest US satellite imagery did not show forgiveness from the Sri Lanka Army. They were pulverising the Tamil civilians as well as the Tamil Tigers. This latest military campaign was clearly intended to be the last of its kind, a final solution.
Tenby shifted uncomfortably in his chair, turning to call the waiter and gently nudging her with his foot at the same time. Annoyed, she nudged back harder.
‘The planets and Lord Buddha’s blessings are on us,’ Dilshan declared, as if that explained everything.
‘The planets,’ Ellie repeated. She thought about Ameena’s missing ring.
‘Yes. They have aligned auspiciously and we are ready to deal with the problem once and for all.’
‘That would be a wonderful achievement sir, where so many others have failed. What is your plan, if you don’t mind my asking?’
A military miracle seemed a lot, even for the planets and the Enlightened One.
‘That would be revealing military secrets,’ Dilshan replied.
‘Like the military secrets Ameena Fernando was investigating?’ she asked. ‘She was about to publish an exposé on it. I’ve seen the evidence and I know there’s a foreign power out there who will not be happy.’ Her heart raced. She had nothing, but she had to put some chips on the table. She had to give him something to fear, something worth bargaining for.
‘Spurious allegations, Dr Harper. We bought arms using state funds, as we are entitled to do.’
‘Ameena’s article referred to heavy artillery and cluster bombs—’
‘More lies. Although you’re hardly in a position to judge us if we were using cluster bombs.’
He was right. The US hadn’t signed the convention on cluster bombs. Nor had China.
‘As you know, we maintain a Zero Civilian Casualty Policy,’ Dilshan continued. ‘We would never use these kinds of weapons on our own people. China will help us end this war, and then educate our people and export our goods. It’s time the US was challenged. There is a new world order and all places are up for grabs.’
‘The old-world order could still serve you well, Mr Under Secretary,’ Tenby said tentatively. ‘We could help you serve your country’s interests. We’re just asking that you to talk to us more; perhaps talk to us first before you talk to … others.’
Ellie chimed in with her support. ‘We have the largest aid budget, defence force and surveillance network in the world,’ she said.
‘You do indeed. Are you willing to trade for it?’ Dilshan asked.
‘We are willing to share it,’ Tenby replied.
‘Share?’
Ellie made eye contact with Tenby, and he nodded his encouragement. ‘Yes, that’s what we do with our friends,’ she replied. ‘Perhaps USAID and the Defence Department could talk to your people about what that might look like. I’ve worked here before. I know which tickets need to be clipped.’
Dilshan shrugged. ‘Perhaps. It’s nice to be wanted. To be taken seriously. All we want is to rebuild our country. Ameena saw it differently. She saw it incorrectly and published it inaccurately. For which we were suing her in the Supreme Court of Sri Lanka.’
‘Why respond at all? You didn’t have to answer to her or refute her.’
‘Justice.’ The word was grotesque coming out of the man’s mouth. Dilshan looked past her shoulder. Solomon was walking towards them. ‘Ah, it’s time for my weekly security briefing. We work closely with the CIA here, all partners in the war on terror. The axis of good.’ He held his hand out, dismissing her.
Ellie stood and turned to Solomon. ‘Bill,’ she nodded.
‘Ellie,’ Solomon replied. ‘I trust you’ve not been making trouble.’ He looked to the Under Secretary.
‘Nothing I couldn’t handle,’ Dilshan answered. ‘She’s a little insubordinate, but I’ll allow it given her history in Sri Lanka. I’m surprised you let her return.’
‘She’s been useful in her own way,’ Solomon replied. He would never admit that Redmond had overruled him.
‘She’s been a great help to us,’ Tenby said more warmly. ‘We’ve made good progress this afternoon, thanks to her.’
‘You guys get together a lot, do you?’ Ellie asked Solomon.
‘The US is always welcome at my table,’ Dilshan answered for him.
‘It’s business,’ Solomon said.
‘Funny,’ she replied. ‘I thought it was politics.’
‘If you find out who did this to Ameena, I want to know,’ Dilshan declared. ‘I am your first call. Do we understand each other?’
‘We understand each other,’ Solomon replied on her behalf. He took her by the elbow and guided her out.
Through the antechamber, Solomon pulled at his collar, sweat from his neck sliding down into the crevice he’d created. ‘Last night I requested your immediate return to the States,’ he told Ellie without ceremony.
‘I’m still here. I guess you were denied?’
‘Redmond asked for forty-eight hours, which is all the Sri Lankans need to assassinate you and hide the body.’
She nodded. ‘So not really a stay of execution?’
As soon as her diplomatic immunity was revoked, she would become like any other Sri Lankan citizen—fair game. She had forty-eight hours to get the truth and get out. Thank God Scott had changed her status to High Kidnapping Risk, although the team’s recent failure at Pettah troubled her.
‘It’s expensive and logistically complicated for us to protect you,’ he said. ‘But even harder to locate and ship back your body.’ Solomon exhaled deeply. ‘So, set your watch, Ellie. There’s a flight scheduled for you in two days. Monday, 2100 hours.’ He adjusted his tie and returned to the hall, leaving her alone in the antechamber.
She walked out past the wall of photographs again, then remembered something Dilshan had said. She did some quick math in her head and walked up and down the walls until she located the photographs from 1965. A much younger Mahinda Rajapaksa, Dilshan Perera and Chaminder Fernando smiled for their team photograph.
‘The President and Dilshan and Ameena’s father, Chaminder, were childhood friends,’ Dougie said, behind her.
‘So Ameena would have grown up knowing Dilshan.’
‘Like an uncle. Dilshan was once a human rights lawyer who advocated for the land rights of villagers. I know it’s hard for you to imagine. You prefer your villains black and your allies white.’
She raised an eyebrow but didn’t disagree. ‘So how does Dilshan Perera go from human rights lawyer to—’
‘Please save your descriptive nouns for the safety of the American Embassy. Power is corruptive and corrosive in Sri Lanka. He wasn’t always like that.’
She turned back to him, surprised.
He blushed self-consciously. ‘I know—very poetic for an old drunkard?’
‘No, I was thinking that it’s a very intimate insight into the murder suspect. Do you know everything about everyone?’ she asked.
‘Often, yes. But in this case … come, come,’ Dougie beckoned her back through the ages to another photograph. ‘There,’ he pointed a crooked finger.
She read the names of the cricket team of 1948, the year of Independence. There was Dougie, aged twenty-three and a recently recruited spy for His Majesty George VI. His hair was jauntily parted on the side, unlike everyone else.
‘There are generations of ties in Sri Lanka,’ he said.
‘Generations of power,’ she remarked. The surnames in the photographs looked familiar: Bandaranaike, Dissanayake, Jayawardene, Senanayake. The names of presidents, politicians and judges. An inner circle in Sri Lanka that one could only be born into. Generations of bloodshed and secrets too, she thought.
They stepped out onto the tiled landing, under the shadow of the Sri Lankan flag. The lion held its sword and slashed away at the glow of the moon behind it in the wind.
Arjuna’s car pulled out of valet parking and glided around the driveway.
She thought about the white van that was almost certainly parked outside the gates of the Cricket Club and would follow her back to her hotel. She saw the motorcycle in the parking bay, though not its rider. He was never far behind. He was tracking her effortlessly, unhurried, often without her awareness, until he decided to show himself. She didn’t know which was more threatening—empty streets and unseen enemies or the white van and motorcyclist that declared their intentions.
Arjuna’s car stopped in front of her. She was grateful she was not alone but also annoyed.
‘Where were you? I waited for you at Sathyan’s,’ she asked.
‘I was told the HKR team would pick you up,’ Arjuna replied, looking confused. ‘Solomon’s EA asked me to take him from a meeting at Mount Lavinia to the Cricket Club; something about his usual driver being unwell. What the hell happened to you? You look awful.’
‘Thanks so much. The HKR team never came. And that motorcycle—that’s the one who’s been with me since that first day at Ameena’s office. He chased me into Pettah today.’
Arjuna reached over and pulled his camera with its heavy telephoto lens from the glove box.
While he took photos of the motorcycle, she reached for her phone and made a call, then several more. No one answered, so she left messages on voicemail.
Arjuna glanced at her, listening to her urgent words. He put the camera away and took his phone from his shirt pocket. ‘Control,’ he said to the Embassy switchboard, his voice tense. ‘I’m sending two addresses to you—get a couple of teams to both. Now.’
Ellie made another phone call as Arjuna finished his message and started the car.
‘If you’re hearing this,’ she said to the voicemail, almost praying. ‘Please get out of the house. Please.’
•
The motorcyclist stood in the shadow of the drivers’ quarters. He watched the American woman through the haze of cigarette smoke and pall of the early evening light. She was pretty. Black hair that framed delicate features. Light brown skin that looked like it bruised easily. She had started to notice him too. He liked that.
He pulled his earpiece out and called his contact.
‘Did you hear all of that?’ he asked. The surveillance in the Club was extensive. Many people had heard the conversation between the American and Dilshan Perera.
‘I did. She’s still fishing.’
‘She has evidence,’ the motorcyclist said.
The man cleared his throat, a tic the motorcyclist recognised now. He sneered, waiting for the man to frame his next instructions carefully.
‘Not all of it.’ The man didn’t sound convinced. ‘But she’s questioning the right people. She’ll piece it together soon enough.’
‘Do I have the kill order?’ The motorcyclist tried not to sound too enthusiastic. He knew enough about the man to recognise that he was morally conflicted about the jobs he ordered. But he was getting better. He had ordered the second hit more confidently and it was the right call. The motorcyclist had been impressed. ‘Do I have the kill order?’ he repeated.
‘No,’ the man replied at last. ‘No kill order, yet.’
Yet.
‘A hurt order. Just hurt—do you understand?’ the man asked.
‘Yes, of course,’ the motorcyclist replied. He had time. And now, so did the American woman. He dropped his cigarette into the dirt and let its embers burn out.
•
‘Any word?’ Arjuna asked, belatedly pulling his seatbelt across his chest.
‘Nothing. No one’s answering,’ she said, hitting redial on her phone. Still no answer. She left another message.
‘Where to, Ellie?’ he asked, accelerating hard, the car hurtling down the Cricket Club’s long driveway.
She rapidly made her choice—she just hoped she could live with it. ‘Colpetty, quickly,’ she said, tersely, expecting to see the motorcyclist follow them. She knew he couldn’t be far away.
Arjuna nodded, heading fast in the direction of the middle-class suburb. ‘Do you think Dilshan did it?’
‘Hard to tell. He’s had a hand in so many crimes here, it wouldn’t be surprising. He’s unapologetic and entitled by birth, but I didn’t sense the usual dilemma that narcissists have when they’ve done something wrong.’
‘When they need to hide it but they really want to boast about it?’
‘Exactly. Have you been inside the Cricket Club lately?’ she asked, her fingers hitting redial on her mobile phone.
‘It’s invitation-only, an elite crowd. I’m afraid I don’t cut it.’
‘I’m relieved you don’t cut it. A lot of familiar names.’
‘Sri Lanka,’ Arjuna shrugged. ‘The same offenders every time.’
She tried to remember where she’d seen a name before. ‘Dissanayake? Do you know him?’
‘Sure, everybody knows the Dissanayakes. There’s more than one. Plantation owners in the hill country. They were tight with the British but switched sides in the 1940s when the independence movement looked successful. Mostly lawyers and judges now.’
Arjuna honked at the bus in front of him and then swerved into the opposite lane, swerving back skilfully before oncoming traffic got anywhere near them.
Ellie was thrown against the car door and then back again. Unfazed, she took the encrypted laptop from her bag and scrolled through documents.
‘Lawyers and judges. Judges …’ she muttered.
‘What are you looking for?’ Arjuna asked.
‘Cyril Dissanayake. He was in the photograph with Dilshan …’
‘Which photo?’
‘On the wall of the Cricket Club.’
‘Cyril Dissanayake is a Supreme Court judge. His younger sister is a QC in London, or something fancy like that. I don’t remember the exact family tree, but they’re all famously upstanding members of the legal community,’ Arjuna said.
She finally found what she was looking for in her files. ‘Here it is. Supreme Court Justice Cyril Dissanayake authorised a warrant for police to search and seize anything from Ameena’s house and office. It was issued the day she died, Sunday eleventh January.’
‘That’s unusual for three reasons,’ Arjuna said, weaving in and out of traffic. ‘Firstly, courts are closed on Sundays. Nobody gets a warrant, even the Under Secretary. Secondly, Justice Dissanayake is a pedant for procedural fairness. That warrant is too wide.’
‘And thirdly?’ she asked.
‘Thirdly, in Sri Lanka, the police don’t bother with warrants. Anti-terror laws allow them to do whatever they want.’
‘This is a little different,’ she pointed out. ‘If you’ve been accused of killing a high-profile journalist and the right to free speech with it, you don’t want to violate the right to privacy before her body has hit the morgue, do you?’
‘Makes sense. You might want the technical permission of a warrant, but I wonder what brought on Dissanyake’s change of judicial heart? Blackmail, bribery, or the threat of violence?’
Ellie nodded. ‘Perhaps the judge was one of Manisha’s clients.’ Perhaps he was just a friend of Dilshan’s, like Ameena had been once. She thought about Ameena’s missing satchel. The warrant and all the searches. Dilshan Perera was looking for that third article. She needed to find it first. After Colpetty.