I

Boris had to wait over an hour at Antananarivo Airport for Davit. The arrivals board was broken, and he began to fret they’d miss their connection to Morombe. But the big man finally showed. ‘Hey, boss,’ he said, looking rumpled and weary from his flight, yet nonetheless cheerful.

Boris nodded sourly to let Davit know he hadn’t forgotten Greece. ‘We need to get moving,’ he said.

The plane to Morombe was an antique Twin Otter. It reeked of fumes and was so cramped that Boris had to duck his head to walk down the aisle to his seat, while Davit had to bend almost double, then sit sideways. It struggled to make it off the ground, its engines straining for altitude before faltering altogether, allowing the aircraft to plunge back towards earth, causing several passengers to scream out and making even Boris grip his armrests, before they picked up again.

He looked out and down. Madagascar’s capital was hemmed in by lush green paddyfields that shrank quickly behind him. They crossed mountains, forests and lakes. Though they were quite low, Boris couldn’t see a single road. Turbulence tumbled and jolted them. Through the threadbare curtain separating the cabin from the cockpit, he saw the pilot thump one of his dials with the heel of his hand. The fumes grew worse. Across the aisle, an old woman opened a sick bag and vomited into it with impressive decorum, like she was clearing her throat. Afterwards, she rolled up the top of the bag and held it clenched in her lap like a packed lunch, but the smell leaked out even so, making Boris feel nauseous himself. It was an immense relief, therefore, when they bounced across Morombe’s bumpy runway and then the door opened and the steps arrived and they climbed down on to the sun-baked concrete, and he could stretch his back and arms. ‘That was fun,’ he muttered.

‘Tell me about it,’ said Davit.

They collected their bags, went to find a taxi. There were just two of them, battered and yellow, but neither driver spoke English. They all looked at each other in dismay. ‘Hotel speak English?’ asked Davit.

The taller of the drivers grinned and gave them the thumbs up. They climbed into his cab, bumped along a potholed road into town. Young Malagasy men stared sullenly through the windows, assessing them for wealth. They pulled up outside a compound protected by high wooden palisades. ‘Hotel speak English,’ said the driver.

They paid him off, went inside. Two windsurfer boards and an outboard engine were lying on reception’s red-tiled floor, but there was no one in sight. Boris called out impatiently. An elderly man appeared, rubbing sleep from his eyes. ‘You speak English?’ asked Boris.

The man shook his head. ‘Claudia!’ he yelled. ‘Claudia!’ An attractive young Malagasy woman with milk-coffee skin and braided shoulder-length hair arrived through dappled shadows. The man gestured at them. ‘English,’ he said.

She nodded and smiled warmly. ‘You want a room?’

‘Two rooms,’ said Boris.

‘I show you our very best.’ They followed her along a sandy path. Furled sunshades leaned against stacked loungers. Mopeds and beach-buggies were coated with bird-lime and dust. A small wooden boat was turned turtle on the sand. There was no sign of any other guests here at all. Business looked dire. They reached a pair of cabins raised a foot or so above the ground, their porches offering fine views of the beach and sea. Claudia removed the padlock and led them in. It was gloomy inside, even after she’d opened the tattered curtains. ‘Is nice, yes?’ she beamed.

The double bed sagged, the mosquito net was torn and mended with safety pins, the toilet was missing its seat, and the shower area had no shower any more, just a huge plastic tub three-quarters filled with water. But they weren’t here on holiday, and having an English speaker mattered more than comfort. Besides, Claudia was undeniably charming, a perfect way to kill any downtime before they completed their mission. He nodded and set down his bags, ushered them both out, closed his door, stripped and doused himself in a couple of buckets of cool water. Then he dried himself off, put on a fresh black shirt, shorts and Ray-Bans, and went to check out the town.