63

To avoid poisoning himself, Carver had placed two saxitoxin-free wafers into the pyx, as well as a dozen poisoned ones. That allowed one for the actual service and another in case anyone asked him to prove, in advance, that the wafers were edible. The two wafers were each marked with a very slight notch, to distinguish them from the rest. He had only needed one of them, leaving the second spare. But now there were two Chinese housemaids, one of them a woman who had gone undercover in this madhouse to help him, expecting communion.

Upstairs, Moses Mabeki was walking slowly but as inexorably as the angel of death down the corridor towards the master bedroom. As he moved, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun.

In the bedroom, Zalika Stratten was reaching into the safe and grabbing a green velveteen bag. It was heavier than she’d expected and there was a scrabbling sound of cold, hard surfaces rubbing against each other as she picked it up.

Carver was doing his best to be cold-bloodedly professional. His mantra had always been: don’t worry about things you cannot control. It was Zalika’s responsibility to look after herself. It was his to carry out the assassination. So think about that and come to the obvious conclusion: find the damn wafer, split it in two, and give them half each.

But the bloody thing had disappeared. It had become jumbled up with the others while he was serving the bodyguards.

Christ, had he given one of the guards the dummy wafer?

Carver told himself to calm down. There were still seven wafers left in the box. One of them, with any luck, was safe. Six to one: hardly needle-in-haystack time. So just look.

He riffled around the inside of the pyx with his right index finger. Tina Wong was looking at him with a quizzical expression.

‘Close your eyes, my child,’ Carver said.

She obeyed.

A cough came from one of the chairs behind him, the wheezing cough of an elderly man. It tailed away in a dry retching sound.

At last, Carver found the wafer he was looking for and halved it.

The Chinese girls were kneeling in front of him, Tina Wong perfectly composed, the other leaning to the side, eyes wide open, trying to see round him and find out what was happening up at the front.

Now Faith Gushungo had started coughing.

‘The body of Christ,’ said Carver, firmly, and shoved half a wafer into the hands of Tina Wong.

‘Amen,’ she said, and put it in her mouth.

Carver stepped a pace to one side, blocking the view of the second maid.

‘The body of Christ,’ he said.

The bodyguards were starting to suffer now. One was bent over, clutching at his guts.

‘This bad!’ the maid said, casting horrified glances at the sickening men before throwing the half-wafer to the floor. ‘You give us bad bread!’

‘You’re fine,’ Carver hissed. ‘Now get out of here.’

The girl didn’t move, just knelt there.

‘Scram!’ Carver said.

Tina Wong jumped to her feet and started dragging the servant away, screaming at her in Chinese.

Carver spared them no more time. He could hear movement behind him. He spun round on one foot, uncurled his fist and punched the heel of his hand into the face of one of the guards, who had got to his feet and was clumsily trying to reach inside his suit for the handgun holstered to his ribcage.

The blow snapped the bodyguard’s head sideways, straining his neck ligaments and sending his brain bouncing round his skull like a pinball against the bumpers. The guard reeled backwards, collided with Faith Gushungo’s chair and landed in a heap on top of his mistress, who was physically incapable of resisting his momentum. The two of them collapsed on to the floor where Henderson Gushungo was already lying like a landed fish, gasping for air, incapable of any movement bar the occasional spasm of his body or limbs.

Moses Mabeki stood quite still a couple of feet inside the door to the master bedroom, watching Zalika Stratten. She had not noticed he was there. All her attention was on the bag. She had been unable to resist opening it and pulling out an uncut diamond the size of a quail’s egg. It sat in her palm, the light glinting off its countless rough, irregular surfaces, just waiting for the diamond cutter’s skill to bring it to full, sparkling life. Mabeki was happy to let her enjoy the sensation of holding such a magnificent gemstone. It was a pleasure to watch her and almost to enjoy the self-denial of delaying for those last few seconds before he took possession of her again.

Finally, he could wait no longer. He coughed quietly, as if politely clearing his throat.

Zalika spun round, her eyes widening as she saw Mabeki and the gun in his hand.

‘I think you’d better give me the diamonds,’ he said, quite calmly, watching the emotions play across her features as she took in the reality of his presence, and his actual flesh-and-blood appearance.

He crooked his right index finger and wordlessly gestured for her to come to him.

Even after ten years, the obedience drilled into her in Mozambique had not entirely gone away. The fiery pride and independence that had animated Zalika during the time she had spent with Carver vanished as swiftly as a desert mirage. She went to him without the slightest act of defiance.

‘Put the diamonds in your bag and then give it to me,’ Mabeki said.

She did as he asked. Mabeki slung the bag over his left shoulder and then, without warning, smashed the grip of his pistol, clasped in his right hand, into her temple.

Zalika was taken completely by surprise. She made a noise halfway between a gasp and a whimper and tottered unsteadily on her feet.

Mabeki grabbed her round the neck with his left arm. He pressed the gun to her head with his right.

‘Come with me,’ he hissed into her ear. ‘Time we dealt with your boyfriend.’