Will Adams - The Eden Legacy

He nodded, buying a moment to think this through. He’d have loved to show her the basement, give her Emilia’s report to read; but then he’d have to explain how the shelves had been pulled over, and that would inevitably lead to Boris, and this wasn’t the time for that. He therefore gave her the bowdlerised version instead, about how he worked for a company called MGS who’d been hired by Ricky Cheung for a salvage a little further north, and how Emilia had invited them on afterwards for another salvage, ostensibly the Winterton but in truth a Chinese treasure ship. He told her of the email from the Landseer Trust telling him that Adam and Emilia had disappeared, and how he’d been so worried for them that he’d come straight down here to check it out.

‘Why didn’t you just tell me all this that first night?’

‘Because your sister made us all swear not to. She was beyond adamant that if we told anyone at all, we’d be out.’

‘I’m not anyone.’

‘I’m sorry, Rebecca. But she made a special point of warning us not to tell you.’

‘Me?’ Her cheeks coloured. ‘Why me?’

‘I don’t know, not for sure. But you’re a celebrity, and people act like idiots when celebrities are involved. I think she was scared that one of us might approach you maybe, or shoot our mouths off; and that you’d hold it against her. She was terrified of doing anything to spook you, I know that much. She told me she’d got in touch with you when she was thinking of coming over, hoping to see you; but you put her off.’

Rebecca buried her face in her hands. ‘What have I done?’ she wept.

He took half a step towards her. ‘I was going to tell you all this two nights ago, I swear I was; but you threw me out before I could, and then you headed off to Tulear. And I was trying to broach it last night when your partner showed up.’

Rebecca wiped her eyes dry with her thumb and forefinger, then assumed a stern expression as though there’d be time for mourning ahead, but right now she had work to do. ‘My father was in a wetsuit,’ she told him, fishing a GPS unit from her pocket. ‘He was also wearing this. It logged his movements the day he and Emilia disappeared. As far as I can tell, he headed out to sea around seven-thirty that morning. At eight-forty the connection was dropped. The GPS wasn’t turned off, mind; it just lost coverage.’

‘He went underwater,’ said Knox.

‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘And this tells us exactly where.’

Knox nodded. ‘We’ll go out first thing tomorrow.’

‘No,’ said Rebecca. ‘I want to go now.’

‘It’s too dark, Rebecca. The sea’s getting up. Seriously, if we wait until-’

She held up the GPS. ‘This is where my father was murdered. This is where my sister went missing. Maybe this is where I’ll find information to help me get her back alive. Do you really think I’m going to sleep on it?’

He sighed, weary from his day; but he knew she was right. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I need to get some more fuel.’

‘And I need dive-gear.’

He looked at her in alarm. He hadn’t realised she meant to go that far. ‘Have you been night-diving before?’ he asked.

‘Sure. Several times.’

‘By yourself? On a reef? In a rough sea? With unfamiliar equipment?’

‘I’m doing this. Don’t try to stop me.’

He shook his head. ‘It’s too dangerous,’ he told her. ‘If anyone’s going diving, it’s me. It’s what I do for a living, remember. And all my gear’s already on board.’

‘I can’t ask you to do that.’

‘You’re not asking me. I’m volunteering. And that’s the end of it. Okay?’

Her eyes watered again. She reached out and touched his arm. ‘I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you,’ she said. ‘Not just for this. For everything.’

He was about to tell her there was no need for thanks when he heard noise along the track, looked up to see headlights approaching, a pickup weaving erratically towards them, pulling to a stop. Pierre threw open his door and almost tripped over his seat-belt in his haste to get out. ‘Becca!’ he sobbed. ‘I hear terrible news. Is it true? Have they found your father?’

‘It’s true.’

He gave a low wail, enfolded her in a hug. ‘I can’t believe it. The best of men. The very best of men. And your poor sister!’

‘Emilia isn’t dead yet,’ said Rebecca tightly. ‘We’re going to look for her now.’

‘How do you mean? In the forest?’

She shook her head, showed him the GPS. He gave it the baffled look of someone who refused even to engage with modern technology, so Rebecca talked him through how it had logged her father’s movements on his final day.

‘I come with you,’ he said. ‘I help you look.’

‘Forget it,’ said Rebecca. ‘You’ve been drinking.’

‘One glass, that’s all. Thirty-four years I know your father. Thirty-four years! You expect me to stay here and do nothing? Besides, I know your father’s boat. I know our reefs. Even at night, I know them.’

She glanced at Knox. He shrugged to let her know it was her call either way. ‘Fine,’ she sighed. They fetched the fuel, waded out. Knox released them from their mooring and took the wheel to steer them through the pass, Rebecca beside him plotting the GPS co-ordinates on the Eden chart.

‘So this is where we’re headed, yes?’ asked Pierre.

‘Yes.’

He frowned and opened his mouth as if to say something; but he checked himself and gave his earlobe a little tug, went outside.

Knox glanced at Rebecca. ‘What was that about?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know.’ She was silent a few moments, then asked: ‘You said my father arranged the salvage licences, right? Do you know who with?’

‘The Culture Ministry, I think. Though don’t hold me to that.’

‘But someone in central government, right? Not some local guy.’

‘Yes. Why?’

‘My father and sister both hated Antananarivo. They never went there if they could avoid it.’

‘They couldn’t have avoided it. Not for this.’

‘They could have if they’d sent Pierre instead.’

‘Is that likely?’

‘He was always doing stuff up there on my father’s behalf. Giving lectures, attending meetings, making sure the right people got their “commissions”.’ She rubbed her fingers and thumb together in the universal symbol of corruption. ‘My father loathed that side of Madagascar. Emilia, too.’

‘Would your father have trusted Pierre?’

‘Not enough to have told him where the wreck was. But that he’d found something, and needed licences… Yes, I can certainly believe that. And I know he’s been struggling to pay his bills recently. Imagine if you’d never done a day’s work in your life, and then you found yourself running out of money.’

‘And your best friend found a fortune on the sea-bed, but wouldn’t tell you where. Worse, he was intending to turn it all over to the government.’

‘Pierre was at a conference in Antananarivo all last week,’ said Rebecca. ‘If there were any details to finalise about the salvage, that would have been the perfect opportunity. He sent my father an email asking for new photographs of the white sifaka. But you don’t find sifakas here. You only get them south and east of Tulear.’

‘You think it was a code?’ frowned Knox. ‘You think he sent your father out to photograph the wreck?’

‘It’s possible, isn’t it? And my father certainly saw the email. It was one of the last he read.’

‘Why would Pierre ask for more photos?’

‘To trick my father into giving away the wreck’s location, of course. So that he could plant a GPS on board, plunder it himself before the salvage started.’

Knox shook his head. ‘You saw how baffled he was when you showed him your father’s GPS. That wasn’t faked. Besides, you said yourself that your father was murdered. He couldn’t have done that from Antananarivo.’