They glanced at each other. The first man, the talker, said, ‘There is also the question of Mr Baines … situation here.’

  Big Paul eased forwards in his seat. ‘Next wrong word and I’ll put the both of you fuckers in hospital for a very long time.’ He stared at them. ‘And if I’m nicked, I’ll talk about enough to bring down the fucking government. Got that, tossers?’

  ‘Paul, please,’ Jimmy said, waving Big Paul down.

  Didn’t know about our visitors, but I was afraid.

  Our guests stood. ‘We’ll be in touch.’

  Jimmy stood. ‘I’m off to Kenya in a few days. Till then I’ll be here.’

  With the visitors gone, Big Paul pulled out the sofa’s seat covers, retrieving a small bug. He dropped it into a cold tea.

  ‘Fifty metres,’ Jimmy said to Big Paul, getting back a nod.

  ‘Fifty metres?’ I repeated.

  ‘Small bug, close range,’ Jimmy explained. ‘It would need a localised booster, or they’d need to be in the flat below. Go search your room for anything odd.’

  Big Paul set about the lounge, soon on his back under the coffee table. We found nothing. Jimmy called down to the doorman and he popped up. Soon we knew we had a new neighbour, his flat under my bedroom. Close enough.

  ‘When we’re away I’ll arrange a baby-sitter for the apartment,’ Jimmy suggested.

  ‘I’ll check my room later,’ Big Paul added. ‘But if you don’t mind me asking –’

  ‘Why didn’t I see it?’ Jimmy said with a smile. ‘Things can change, the future is fluid. Small things can alter, and sometimes bigger ones. And everything I do affects the time-line around me, giving it some chance of change. Like moving through a swimming pool; you move the water and cause ripples.’

  An hour later we got a call, taking us up on our offer to take someone to Kenya. The man’s name was Cosuir, pronounced ‘cosy’. Big Paul didn’t know him, Jimmy did.

  ‘Who is he?’ I asked.

  ‘Freelancer, French colonial parents from Guniea, West Africa.’

  ‘How does it work out?’ I asked.

  ‘He’ll join the team,’ Jimmy replied.

  Four days later we were back in Nairobi, the customs officer recognising us and chatting with Jimmy like old mates. Rudd met us again in the UN jeep, the quiet Dutchman always making me smile, and we all piled in, plenty of room for four or more. Cosy turned out to be a slender and tanned individual, same height as me, and with similar black hair. He had tired eyes and permanently looked as if he wanted to be somewhere else, which was probably true in this case.

  As we headed for the usual hotel, Jimmy said, ‘Rudd, this is Big Paul, he’s a driver and bodyguard.’ Rudd said hello. ‘The other gentleman is from British Intelligence, checking up on my operations here. They’re concerned that I might be involved with certain mercenaries.’

  ‘Mercenaries? The old men at the airbase?’ he laughed.

  ‘And the ones hunting the poachers,’ Jimmy added.

  ‘Ah, yes. They look tough. They are former British soldiers, yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jimmy confirmed.

  ‘They caught some poachers this week,’ Rudd added.

  ‘And?’ Jimmy nudged after Rudd fell silent.

  Rudd glanced at Cosy. ‘They brought back six sets of matching ears.’

  ‘Ears?’ I repeated. ‘Well, either they killed them … or some poor bastards will have a hard time reading the papers – their glasses slipping off.’

  We all laughed, even Cosy. Booked in, we met at the rooftop bar, Jimmy ordering drinks in a local dialect again.

  It stirred a reaction in Cosy. ‘You speak Bantu?’

  ‘And reasonable Nilote, although there’s so many variations it’s hard to distinguish sometimes.’

  ‘You speak Maasi,’ Cosy noted. ‘Not bad after just three short visits here.’

  ‘I’m a quick study,’ Jimmy said with a grin.

  Cosy sipped his drink, then stared into it. Making eye contact with Jimmy, he asked, ‘You ordered this?’ Jimmy nodded. ‘How do you know what I like?’

  ‘When they told us you were coming along they gave us a list of things about you – favourite foods, time you like to be in bed, stuff like that.’

  Big Paul laughed quietly, Cosy not happy, Rudd not following. And I clocked a lovely girl in a bikini at the poolside.

  ‘What else did they say about me?’ Cosy demanded, none too happy.

  ‘That you’re just the distraction, keep us off the real spy,’ Jimmy explained. It seemed to ring a bell with Cosy. ‘While we’re all being careful what we say or do around you, the real spy will be snuggling up to Paul here.’

  ‘What?’ I asked, suddenly back in the conversation.

  ‘Clocked the tasty bird yet?’ Jimmy knowingly asked.

  ‘Shit. She’s a … you know?’ I asked.

  ‘Marta Hari?’ Jimmy prompted. ‘Yes, a professional. Cosy here is someone they think is just a bit of a joke.’

  Now Cosy was definitely not happy, but not at us.

  Without taking his eyes of Cosy, Jimmy told me, ‘Paul, I need you take one for the team.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘I need you to leave us, to go chat-up that girl and shag her. Just … close your eyes and think of the team.’ Big Paul and Rudd laughed. ‘Oh, invite her along, keep her tight, boast about money to her.’

  I stood. There came a time when every man had to do what he had to do. I had a mission, and I was not going to let the side down. Off I went.

  ‘Who is she?’ Cosy asked.

  ‘You know Tasker?’

  ‘The American,’ Cosy unhappily clarified.

  ‘She works for him. Bob Telling called him, asked for a favour.’

  ‘You’re well informed,’ Cosy grumbled.

  ‘And you’re not,’ Jimmy countered. ‘Still, pleasant week or two, back to accepting handouts from Bob Telling. Unless of course…’ He finished by turning to Big Paul, making eye contact.

  ‘You won’t convert him, he’s too stupid,’ Big Paul suggested. ‘He’ll go back to Blighty and suck up.’

  Cosy stood. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

  Jimmy bade him a fond farewell in Flemish, Cosy’s childhood language. Cosy stopped and stared for a moment before heading to his room.

  ‘What language was that?’ Rudd asked. ‘It sounded like Flemish.’

  ‘West African Flemish,’ Jimmy explained. ‘His main language is French, then English, then his childhood Flemish, some Pigeon English Creole.’

  ‘Sounds like you know him well,’ Rudd suggested.

  ‘I do my homework. Anyway, what’s new in Kenya? Family alright?’

  I joined Jimmy and Big Paul an hour later, Rudd off home to get some rest before a long drive in the morning. ‘Gentleman, this is Judy.’ They stood. ‘Judy’s an air hostess.’

  ‘Pleasure,’ Jimmy said as he shook her hand. Big Paul nodded, that actions particular meaning undetermined.

  I told her, ‘This is my business partner Jimmy Silo, and this is Big Paul the driver.’

  We all sat, Judy still in her bikini and showing some signs of the cooler night air.

  ‘So you guys own hotels down here?’ she prompted.

  ‘A beach hotel and a safari park,’ Jimmy explained. ‘You’re welcome to visit, bring a few friends if you’re on a stopover.’

  ‘The stopovers are never more than two days; be time to turn around when we got there,’ Judy explained.

  ‘You on a stopover now?’ Jimmy asked, beckoning a waiter for her, to order a drink.

  ‘No, I had some holiday time due - had to use it up, so decided to stay here at the end of a flight.’

  ‘By yourself?’ Jimmy puzzled.

  ‘Not to start with, but my friend fell ill on the first day, she’s in Park Hospital.’

  ‘Poor dear, we’ll have to send her something,’ Jimmy suggested.

  ‘To be truthful … I never really like her that much; she nagged to join me. So actually I’ve been getting some peace.’

  ‘I’ve invited Judy along with us,’ I told Jimmy.

  ‘More the merrier,’ Jimmy responded. ‘We’ll be up early in the morning mind you.’

  ‘Not a problem, a few Rums and I sleep like a baby,’ she suggested. ‘Anyway, Paul promised me a nice meal downstairs.’

  We stood.

  ‘7 am,’ I said.

  ‘7 am,’ Jimmy responded.

  We headed down to her room, some warmer clothes thrown on, a quick flash of boob caught. This was for the team, I reminded myself.

  The hotel offered two restaurants, one decidedly better than the other, and open to the richer populace of Nairobi. If anything, we were the ones underdressed. We sat and ate, chatted and downed drinks, getting on famously. She asked a lot of questions, not about Jimmy, but the kind of “husband material” questions. She was good, real good. At bedtime she made her excuses, a kiss on the cheek, and I headed to my room.

  ‘Oh, yeah, she’s good, real good,’ I muttered. ‘Not on the first night.’

  I sat in my room with the lights off and curtains open, watching the flickering lights of Nairobi, a huge stupid grin across my face. The mini-bar slowly emptied, and I felt good all over, trying to force some sleep around 1am and managing to nod off.

  We were on the road at 7am, Rudd as punctual as ever, now six of us in the jeep. Since it was designed for six it was not a problem. We headed down towards Mombassa and River View first.

  Booking in at around 2pm, Judy with her own hut, we mostly split and did our own thing, Rudd beavering away, Jimmy sat reading accounts and Big Paul scuba diving. I showed Judy around, pointing out the improvements I had made and even taking her opinion on a few things. I introduced her to Steffan and Lotti, and she nervously agreed to some diving the next day, so long as it was shallow. Yeah, she was good.

  Within an hour we were naturally holding hands and could have been mistaken for a honeymoon couple as we ambled along the shore. She was introduced to the young elephant, the beast growing rapidly, and we patted the disabled lion. Damn lion almost made her cry. We caught sight of Cosy wandering around and checking things out during the day. What was there to check out? It was a beach hotel, no secret base hidden in a hut. For the most part we noticed him sat at the beach bar with Jimmy, sipping beer.

  In the evening we all met up and had a lengthy dinner together, four courses with wine, Jimmy relaying interesting stories and facts about Kenya and Africa that none of us had known, not even Cosy. Afterwards, Judy dragged me for a long walk after the meal, both of us needing it. Beyond the headland we stepped down into a smaller bay.

  ‘You own this as well?’ she asked.

  ‘Yep. And another half a mile further.’

  ‘Cool.’ In the moonlight she stripped off whilst maintaining eye contact with me. ‘Come on then, bashful.’

  She did not need to ask twice. Stood in the gentle surf up to my waist, she wrapped her legs around me. At the time I could think of nothing other than what a great advertisement this pose would make for the hotel – a couple in the surf in the moonlight.

  ‘Strange,’ I said.

  ‘What is?’ she whispered into my ear.

  ‘I’ve never felt like I was on holiday down here, till now. This is probably what honeymooners do.’

  ‘Well, hotel owner, this … is your day off.’

  Back on the beach we made love under the stars, using our clothes for a beach blanket.

  Half way through, she said, ‘What the hell is that?’

  I was hurt, injured, my pride was dented. What had I done wrong?

  She pointed. ‘What is that?’

  Turning my head, I focused on the slow moving lump getting closer. ‘It’s a fucking turtle!’ I whispered.

  ‘I love turtles,’ she whispered.

  We interrupted ourselves, and crawled on all fours towards it, giggling like teenagers. Next to the large beast we stopped in awe, our bums sticking up.

  ‘It must be laying eggs,’ she whispered.

  ‘No, there’s a beach for that miles away – up the coast I think.’

  ‘Then she’s lost, poor love.’

  ‘Best leave her to it. I’ll send staff to watch over her.’

  We fumbled to get our clothes back on and headed back to reception. I reported the mother turtle and sent a guard to watch, and to keep guests away in the morning. After that I gave Judy a piggyback to my room and threw her into the shower fully clothed. The water was cold and refreshing, the wet clothes discarded on the bathroom floor. Someone had genetically modified stem cells coursing through his veins and he was not going to waste a second. And of all the girls I had dated, Marta Hari here was stimulating me the most.

  At breakfast I found a note: Jimmy and the others at orphanage, not for honeymooners. So we stayed on the beach all day, frequent trips back to the hut, but I also noted how quiet it was. At 4pm we heard guests asking other guests if they had photographed the turtle yet, and I soon realised where everyone had gone. And it was our fault. We headed over and took charge, but could not see any harm in people watching. The guard had seen no egg laying or burrow digging, so we stood and scratched our heads; there was no other reason for the turtle to come ashore. A vet was summoned, arriving half an hour before dusk.

  ‘It’s a male,’ the vet reported.

  ‘A male?’ I queried. ‘What’s it doing crawling up the beach?’

  He shrugged. ‘There’s a lot we don’t know about them. It could be sick, but it looks OK.’

  Steffan and Lotti were already in wetsuits, and carried the hapless male into the surf. It turned around and crawled out again. They repeated the exercise, with as much success.

  I paid the useless vet just as the gang arrived with torches at dusk. ‘Know anything about Turtles?’ I asked Jimmy.

  ‘More than most. It’s a poofter.’

  ‘A … what?’ I queried.

  ‘Nature, like humans, throws up those who are born into the wrong body. It’s a male with a female instinct, hormone imbalance. It happens sometimes.’ He raised his voice. ‘Steffan, Lotti, hand feed it small fish, get some from the kitchen, or it’ll die.’

  And so started the legend of the “poofter turtle” of River View Hotel, the lonesome soul of indeterminate sex carried over to the next bay for guests to enjoy. If it wasn’t sure if it wanted to lay eggs or not, we’d look after it till it made its mind up or swam off. Little did we know that the damn thing would still be there twenty years later, and still dependent upon us.

  The orphanage conversion

  As we pseudo-honeymooners enjoyed ourselves, the others headed for the orphanage in the UN jeep. The orphanage walls had now been rendered and painted, the wooden window and doorframes painted blue. Even the curbs had been painted. Rudd entered first, followed by Cosy.

  Jimmy stopped Big Paul. ‘Café on the corner – eyes on.’

  Jimmy entered the orphanage as Big Paul stepped across the road junction and took up station, soon to be scanning the streets as he sipped a beer. The orphanage’s courtyard buzzed with kids in neat blue uniforms, now thronging around Rudd and Cosy. And Jimmy caught our watcher smiling. The walls around the courtyard had also been rendered and painted, the whole place now appearing a great deal better – on the surface at least. A wall at the rear of the courtyard was down, now a view through to scrubland that was being cleared, a few small fires burning.

  Sister Woman appeared in a smart new blue uniform and apron, waving towards Jimmy. The old bat even looked like she’d had a bath. She hurried across. ‘Come and see.’ She dragged Jimmy by the hand towards the rear and through the downed wall. Visible to left was an area the size of a football pitch, several sets of foundations being laid by locals.

  ‘You’ve been busy, Sister Woman,’ Jimmy noted. He reached into a pocket and produced wad; forty thousand dollars. ‘You’ll need this.’

  She fell silent as she accepted it. Finally, she said, ‘We had eighty children when you came – the first time. Now we have three hundred and fifty.’

  ‘I know,’ Jimmy softly let out. ‘Let me introduce you to some help, but you must watch what you say.’

  ‘I say nothing to anyone,’ she quietly affirmed as they re-entered the courtyard. ‘Only Anna.’

  They approached the gang. ‘This is Rudd.’

  ‘Rudd?’ She exchanged words in Dutch, both pleased to find a compatriot, soon chatting like old friends, Rudd explaining his role with Jimmy and the other charity.

  With a pause in the chatting, Jimmy said, ‘And this is Cosy, he is a man without a heart - seeking a cause.’

  Cosy frowned his lack of understanding at that, greeting Mary in Flemish. She was just as pleased as she been with Rudd, the three of them chatting away.

  ‘Rudd,’ Jimmy called. ‘Draw up a list of what Mary needs, use her office.’ They headed off. He faced Cosy. ‘You … come with me.’ They climbed the stairs to the terminal ward, a stark contrast to its original state, finding Anna in attendance, beaming a huge smile. ‘Hello Anna.’

  They shook, Cosy also shaking her hand.

  ‘Deutsch?’ he asked.

  ‘Yah? Sie?’

  ‘Nederlander.’

  ‘Anna studied in Amsterdam,’ Jimmy told Cosy. He chatted to a few sick children as Cosy and Anna chatted about Amsterdam. Returning, he noted, ‘Many more sick children.’

  She sighed. ‘Yah, they know we have money.’

  Jimmy faced Cosy. ‘The locals dump their sick kids here. We’ve gone from eighty to three hundred and fifty.’

  ‘And now two or three a day,’ Anna put in. ‘We do not turn any away.’

  ‘I’ll buy the land behind, it’s only swamp at the moment.’

  Anna straightened. ‘How much land?’

  ‘Enough for three thousand children.’

  ‘Drei tousand!’

  ‘Was there a reason you remained here, Anna?’ Jimmy knowingly asked. ‘You’ve been here three months.’ Cosy was not following.

  ‘I gave up my work to stay here,’ she softly explained. ‘Mary gives me food and a room.’