Shiloh (Wishes #6)

  “Finally.” His white smile transcended the darkness. “Now you’re sounding like an asset worthy of information.”

  His choice of words only added to my mistrust. In our line of work, assets are intrinsically disposable and tradable. Sacrificing me to move his operation forward was a highly probable scenario at that point. Determined to keep my wits about me, I repeated my demand for information.

  “Your government cares about stolen diamonds,” he told me. “Mine is more interested in how the proceeds are spent.”

  I was grateful when he elaborated. It saved me from asking anything stupid. “If the funds are being used to finance insurgents, it could literally mean war for this country,” he explained, “which is why we need to find out who is profiting from this.” Louis Osei was his number one guess, but after months of surveilling him, he was still chasing proof. Louis’ standover tactics at the port and his many other shady dealings weren’t of concern to the Kaimte government. Their only interest was finding out if he was plotting a coup. “Diamonds buy a lot of guns,” he said ominously.

  Mike didn’t explain how the AFP had become involved in the operation, but it didn’t take a genius to work out why they’d taken it on. Jorge Creek was an Australian-owned company. If their diamonds were being used to fund an impending war, it was in their interest to put a stop to it. No amount of tarmac roads and community donations would make up for that.

  I spent the next few minutes building a cache of questions in my head but didn’t bother asking any of them. For now, my concentration needed to be focused on where we were heading.

  The further we drove from the coast, the bleaker the landscape became. Despite the darkness I could tell the terrain was flat, uninhabitable desert. I didn’t protest when Mike instructed me to turn left onto a crude dirt track. I glanced at the odometer, covertly noting that we’d driven just seven miles from the Crown and Pav. If it came down to it, the walk home would be long but manageable.

  “Fear jeopardises your operation, Shiloh,” he told me. “I can tell you’re frightened. Replace it with another emotion.”

  “I’m not afraid of you.” I snapped out the lie. “I was just thinking how I wish I’d worn more sensible shoes.”

  Mike laughed – a seemingly genuine chuckle that infinitesimally put me at ease, and when lights came into view in the distance a few moments later I felt even better.

  As we approached the camp, I realised it looked very similar to the cardboard village, but without the great view. There were three small shacks made of tin and concrete bricks. Goats, chickens and dogs ran free, and when a couple of small children saw the Range Rover pull in, they ran free too.

  “This is my home,” he declared, somehow managing to ignore the two little boys knocking on the passenger side window. “You’ll be safe here.”

  “I wasn’t feeling unsafe until you approached me from behind like a thug,” I snapped.

  With one hand on the door handle, he turned to face me. “You’re not as weak as I expected you to be.”

  I nodded and waited until he was out of the car. “Kicked your arse, pal,” I muttered.

  ***

  The woman who tended Mike’s wounds was obviously used to patching him up. As soon as we walked through the door, she grabbed a basket of medical supplies and wordlessly went to work.

  Being there felt intrusive and uncomfortable, but as I sat on one of the brightly coloured cushions scattering the tiled floor, I reminded myself that I’d had little choice in the matter – and I still wasn’t sure whether I was free to leave.

  Mike’s home didn’t appear to be part of any cover story, and if it was, his family certainly weren’t. Thrilled that their father was home, the two little boys ran amok, bouncing off cushions and chasing each other around until Mike ordered them out of the room.

  An elderly lady shuffled in, carefully balancing a tray of tea. Mike made no attempt to help her out by taking it, nor did he thank her when she set it down on the mat in front of him.

  “Tea?” he asked me.

  My answer was unimportant. The lady was already pouring it. The glass she handed me was no bigger than a shot glass, and when I brought it to my lips I realised the tiny portion was necessary. The minty black tea was sweetened beyond belief.

  “Your first taste of Kaimte tea?” asked Mike, raising his glass to his lips.

  “It’s very sweet.”

  “Mostly sugar,” he replied. “An acquired taste.”

  I made of a point of thanking the old lady as she left the room, mainly because Mike hadn’t. She smiled, which was the most friendliness I’d been shown in hours.

  The lady wielding the medicals supplies snipped at the end of the gauze with a pair of scissors and gathered up her basket. I didn’t understand a word of the rant she directed at Mike, but knew it was harsh.

  He put his hand up to the bandage, let out a chuckle and dismissed her, adding weight to my theory that Iron Mike was an arse.

  As soon as we were alone in the room, he got straight down to business. He’d claimed that he hadn’t made contact before that night because he had no use for me. As soon as he started speaking, I realised that had changed.

  “You have expertise with electronics.” I wondered what else he knew. The whole notion of him having intel on me pissed me off. “I have a job for you,” he added.

  Nothing about being his errand girl appealed, but I sipped my tea and let him talk.

  “Another quantity of stones went missing from the mine two days ago,” he explained. “Intel suggests they’re being shipped out of the country within the next few weeks.”

  A pocket full of diamonds was no good to anyone in their raw form. The only option the thieves had was to send them out of the country to be cut and sold, which is why Louis Osei was a sure bet.

  The sticking point was that it was far bigger than a one-man operation. Louis had the means to get them out of Kaimte, but not the mine. Presumably that’s where Glen Harris came into the equation.

  I really had nothing to add to the conversation. Every bit of my information had come from a file in Dan Grace’s office. It was embarrassing that another theft had occurred right under my nose, and humiliating that Mike was the one to tell me about it.

  “What do you want me to do?” I asked.

  “I can’t be with Louis twenty-four hours a day.” He refilled my glass and held it out to me. “I want to know where he goes and who he sees when I’m not there. I want you to put a GPS in his car.”

  Risking the onset of a diabetic coma, I took the glass from him. “Tracking his phone would be easier,” I suggested.

  Mike frowned. “I’m not seeking the easiest solution,” he replied. “I want a permanent, hardwired device concealed in his vehicle. Can you do it or not?”

  Almost every word out of his mouth was offensive in one way or another, and whether I was being over-sensitive or not, I figured I’d put up with enough. “I can definitely do it,” I told him, placing my tea glass down on the tray. “The bigger question is what can you do for me?”

  The grin that slowly crossed his face was positively sinister. “What do you want?”

  “You have a source working at the mine,” I said pointedly. “Someone there is giving you information.”

  Mike chuckled at the floor. “I have sources all over town.”

  “Do you know Glen Harris?” I asked. “He’s head of security. He’s also my boss.”

  “I know he’s the mule who’s getting the diamonds out – a small but vital player.”

  “I want you to get me closer to him,” I continued. “I can’t do my job if I can’t get near him.”

  He nodded, just once. “I can do that,” he replied. “Do you have any other demands?”

  He was humouring me, but I didn’t care. “Yes,” I replied strongly. “I want some lock-picking tools – titanium so I can get them through the metal detectors at the mine.”

  Mike’s bandage began to slip, much like my tenacity.
Obviously I had no locks to pick, but I was determined to pretend otherwise.

  He pushed the dressing clear of his eye and stared at me. “Do you know how to breach a lock?”

  “Better than most criminals,” I retorted.

  That much was true, and for a quick moment I allowed myself to marvel at the fact that my skill set was actually quite diverse.

  “Fine,” he replied, seemingly satisfied. “Give me two days, three at the most.”

  “Okay.” I nodded stiffly. “Get me the GPS and some tools too.”

  “What else will you need?”

  I chewed my bottom lip, pondering the massive task ahead. “Time to work,” I replied. “It’s going to take a while if you want it hardwired.”

  Mike promised to work out the details and get back to me. I hoped for both our sakes he was a meticulous planner. Getting caught screwing with Louis Osei’s car didn’t bear thinking about.

  “How will you contact me?” I asked, moving the conversation along.

  He turned his head and shouted to someone in Afrikaans. A minute later the old lady shuffled back into the room with a zip lock bag. Mike grabbed it from her and tossed it into my lap. “With this.”

  The bag held a mobile phone and charger, both of which looked at least ten years out of date.

  “It’s untraceable,” he explained, once she’d gone. “You and I shouldn’t need to meet in person again.”

  I nodded in relief. Never seeing him again suited me perfectly fine.

  Mike’s instructions regarding the phone were very clear. Contact would only be made via text. I was to hide the phone and let no one know of its existence.

  “Keep it turned off at all times,” he added.

  “How will I know if you’re trying to contact me?”

  I hoped it was a reasonable question, but it was impossible to tell. Iron Mike had a knack for making me feel foolish.

  He frowned, momentarily deliberating. “I will signal you,” he eventually replied. “The T-junction sign in town – you pass it often, yes?”

  I shrugged. “A couple of times a day, at least.”

  “If I need to contact you, I will put a chalk mark on the signpost.” He almost smiled, perhaps impressed by his own ingenuity.

  “And if I need to contact you?”

  “You won’t,” he replied. “I would be of no use to you.”

  ***

  I made it back to civilisation without being murdered or dumped in the desert, and was almost proud of the accomplishment. At my insistence, Mike dropped me off on the corner and, like a kid afraid of breaking curfew, I ran home along the beach.

  There was some housekeeping to do when I got there, and when I glanced at my watch and realised it was after midnight, I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to get it done before Mitchell got home.

  I started with the blood on the deck. Iron Mike wasn’t much of a talker, but he was definitely a bleeder. Small crimson spots peppered the weathered wood. The slow trickling garden hose proved useless at removing them, but I persevered because I had no other choice. Mitchell could never know what had gone on that night, and as I carried out the task of scrubbing a man’s blood off the floor, I realised he’d be better for it.

  Fire And Brimstone

  MITCHELL

  My car was a twenty-five-year-old piece of junk, but usually reliable. When it refused to start, I took it as a sign from above that I needed to slow my roll. I didn’t even try to fix it. I threw my shoes on the back seat, locked up and began the long walk home along the beach.

  Midnight strolls are usually reserved for lovers and the lonely. I’d been both in my lifetime, but tonight I was stuck somewhere in between.

  The cloudless night was warm and still, and the bright sky cast a silver glow for as far as I could see. It was a scene that should’ve been shared, and only one person came to mind when I thought of who I’d share it with. Shiloh Jenson seemed to be invading my thoughts a lot lately, which bugged me because I knew I’d never act on them.

  A job transfer had brought her to Kaimte, not a burning sense of adventure or a desire to explore somewhere new – and that’s how I knew she wasn’t the girl for me. Pursuing her was pointless, no matter how strong the attraction was.

  I felt guilty that Shiloh’s time here had been so rough. The antics of creepy Louis and mad Mimi kept her in a constant state of unease, which had to be nothing less than exhausting. Living in the shack was no picnic for her either. It was creaky, dilapidated and seriously under-furnished. Not once had she complained, but the luggage standing by the door when I arrived home was a stark reminder of how desperate she was to get out of there. Right or wrong, my plan was to let her go.

  Shiloh sat bolt upright in bed as I walked into the room.

  “You’re awake?” I asked, stripping off my shirt.

  “I was getting worried about you,” she replied. “It’s late.”

  The small gesture of caring whether I was alive or dead made cool detachment impossible. I smiled at her. “My car wouldn’t start so I had to walk home.”

  “Oh,” she mumbled into her lap. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry?” I asked. “It’s an inconvenience, not a tragedy.”

  She lifted her head. “Nothing ever fazes you, does it?”

  I silently answered her question by dropping my pants to the floor and walking buck naked to the bathroom. “Life’s too short to spend it stressing,” I called.

  If she replied, I didn’t hear. I stepped under the flow of the shower and spent the next few minutes washing the day away.

  ***

  Considering she was only moving five hundred metres up the hill, waking up beside Shiloh the next morning felt remarkably final. I crept out of bed and left her sleeping, opting for a few hours in the water so I didn’t have to deal with the tinge of loss I was feeling.

  The clear night had paved the way for a brilliantly bright morning. A quick check of the weather gauge on the deck showed that the temperature was already pushing thirty degrees.

  “It’s going to be hot, hot, hot,” called Melito from a distance. I turned to see him and Vincent strolling up the beach after their morning swim.

  “How’s the water?” I asked.

  “Calm and warm,” he replied. “Not ideal for you.”

  “No,” I agreed, grinning. “I like it cold and rough.”

  “Like your women?” teased Vincent, awkwardly staggering through the sand as he towelled himself dry.

  “If that’s the case, he needs to rethink his affection for the lovely Shiloh,” suggested Melito. “An ice cube and a hard slap on the butt couldn’t make that girl cold and rough.”

  Their infectious guffaws stopped dead the second Shiloh stepped outside. I hoped she hadn’t heard the tactless comment, but one look at her face told me she probably had.

  “Hey,” I quickly greeted her.

  “Hey,” she returned, drawing out the word. “My ears were burning.”

  “Not surprising,” I replied. “It’s hot out here.”

  Having thrown me under the bus, the sleek Greeks made a hasty exit into their shack. A change of subject was my only hope.

  “I was going to go for a surf, but I can’t find my towel,” I told her. “Have you seen it?”

  “No.” Her expression was filled with worry as she glanced around the deck. “I haven’t.”

  “I left it on the railing,” I explained. “Somebody probably swiped it during the night.”

  True to form, Shiloh looked much too concerned – a side effect of over-thinking things. I slung my arm around her and gave her a quick shake. “It’s just a towel,” I reminded her. “No worries, okay?”

  “None.” She nodded stiffly. “Just a towel.”

  For the second time in less than a minute, I found myself trying to divert her attention. I turned her to face me. “I should probably go down and fix my jeep before it gets too hot to work on it. You should come.”

  “I’m suppos
ed to be moving today.”

  I dropped my hold on her and put forward a deal designed purely to keep her around a bit longer. “Help me fix my car and then I’ll help you move. Deal?”

  Granting me a tiny smile, she nodded.

  “Excellent,” I replied, heading for the door. “I’ll get my keys.”

  Shiloh called my name at the last moment, and like a fool, I turned back.

  “Just for the record,” she began, “ice cubes would probably cool the core temperature of all girls.”

  Maintaining eye contact was difficult, but being a smart arse came easily. “Even witches?” I teased.

  The cheeky question elicited a wicked smile befitting any witch in town.

  “Mitchell Tate,” she huffed in mock annoyance. “We’re not entirely made of fire and brimstone, you know.”

  ***

  It wasn’t the best day to be trekking a long way on foot, even along the beach. The weather was scorching.

  Shiloh strolled at the water’s edge, trying to stay cool by keeping her feet wet. It was effective, but slow going. I wasn’t in any hurry, but that didn’t stop me teasing her. “Could you move any slower?” I asked, stopping for the umpteenth time to let her catch up.

  “Yeah.” Like a petulant child, she stopped dead in her tracks and threw her arms wide. “I could just stand here for a while. How do you like them apples?”

  I stalked toward her. “Fighting words, lady.”

  With her hands up in a stay back motion, Shiloh edged away. “You won’t win, Mitchell,” she warned.

  I was prepared to take my chances. Without warning, I lurched forward with the intention of throwing her over my shoulder, but it was a move that quickly went bad. Shiloh countered by turning sharply, twisting my arm behind my back and kicking my legs out from underneath me. Before I knew what was happening, I was face down, eating sand.

  I groaned, mainly to prove I was still alive.

  “Mitchell!” She rolled me onto my back. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Where did you learn a move like that?” I choked.