69

For all its magisterial size and dignity, a Rolls-Royce Phantom can be surprisingly nimble up a steep, winding road. Moses Mabeki was enjoying his Sunday-morning drive, staying well within the Phantom’s capabilities and taking Route Twisk at a pace calculated to enable Carver to catch him if he pushed his car to the limit.

The pleasure was made all the greater by the updates from Malemba that Mabeki was receiving through his Bluetooth ear-piece. The feeble attempt at a coup had been utterly crushed. Patrick Tshonga’s escape was a considerable irritation, but all his allies had been killed or captured. Those in custody were being questioned by interrogators untroubled by any concept of human rights, or any squeamishness about the use of torture. It would only be a matter of time before one of them gave up the information needed to track Tshonga down.

The news in Hong Kong was just as satisfactory. Mabeki had already contacted Zheng Junjie and updated him on Carver’s absurd disguise and the pathetically inadequate car he had chosen to drive.

In his jacket pocket, Mabeki had the phone Carver had given Zalika Stratten. He wondered what Carver would think if he knew it was no longer in her possession. He would probably be shocked; certainly surprised. But then, that was the least of the surprises Moses Mabeki had in store for Samuel Carver.