Girls High.’ He knew it was a peace offering. He poured the clear spirit over the crackling ice in the long glass, then filled it with juice. She thanked him with a smile. When he had poured Scotch into his own glass they saluted each other. After they had both sipped and murmured approval, she sat back and studied his face.
‘My husband told me once that you fly by the seat of your pants. Are you right about this one, Cross?’ she asked him. He touched the side of his nose.
‘It smells good to me. It’s better than a hunch. It’s a reasoned scenario that all hangs together.’
‘Then where is my daughter? If this is a hostage taking, why haven’t they come through with a ransom demand? It’s been almost ten days since the Dolphin disappeared.’
‘They are giving themselves time to get well clear. Their vessel is probably a slow and nondescript sailing dhow. They want to be in their own territorial waters where they are safe from the warships of the civilized Western powers before they break cover. Also they want you to soften up and start breaking down with the suspense and the uncertainty.’
‘How much longer?’
‘Say they can make fourteen knots, and they are heading for Yemen or Puntland in Somalia, then they will almost have reached their destination by now,’ he said. ‘Not more than two or three days more.’
‘You have mentioned Puntland before. I’ve never heard of it until now.’
‘It’s in north-eastern Somalia and comprises the Great Horn of Africa. It is an inhospitable semi-desert, rugged and arid, three times larger than New Mexico. It is virtually cut off from the rest of Africa by the high mountain range on the west side of the Great Rift Valley. These mountains also block the prevailing westerly winds which drop all their rain on the slopes. The vegetation of Puntland is coarse acacia, thorny shrub bush and sparse rank grass. However, the country is very strategically positioned on the coast of the Gulf of Aden guarding the approaches to the Red Sea. Puntland broke away from the rest of Somalia at the end of the civil war and declared itself autonomous. It named itself after the Land of Punt in ancient Egyptian historical lore. It is believed to be the country to which Queen Hatshepsut sent her famous expedition in 1550 BC. Now it is governed by a loose-knit gang of independent warlords who answer to nobody and keep their own particular brand of law and justice.’
He changed the subject with disconcerting suddenness. ‘Will you take your dinner in your room where you will be able to mope in private? Not recommended. Or will you dine with me in the mess? Chef has some superb Japanese Wagyu rib eye beef. Food, wine and company most highly recommended on page one hundred of the latest edition of the Michelin guide.’ She had sat alone all these last dreadful nights, and at least he was not boring. Infuriating? Yes definitely, but not boring. She smiled and capitulated.
During the meal he kept the conversation away from the subject of her missing daughter and yacht, instead he spoke about the political structure of Abu Zara and the operations of Bannock Oil in the Emirate, then he moved on to the subjects of horses and horse racing which he knew interested her.
‘My father kept a few horses in training on the ranch,’ he explained when she looked askance at his obvious knowledge of the subject. ‘As a skinny kid I was his head groom and jockey. Once a month we attended the race meetings in Nairobi. It was all knock-about and amateur stuff but we took it extremely seriously.’
He was informed and articulate, with a wry and quirky sense of humour which diverted her just a trifle from her worry over Cayla. She relaxed and let herself enjoy listening to him. She had drunk only an inch or so out of the wine glass but he lifted the bottle to top it up. The wine was a lovely ten-year-old Romanée-Conti. It amused her that he had researched her tastes so accurately. It seemed a
‘My husband told me once that you fly by the seat of your pants. Are you right about this one, Cross?’ she asked him. He touched the side of his nose.
‘It smells good to me. It’s better than a hunch. It’s a reasoned scenario that all hangs together.’
‘Then where is my daughter? If this is a hostage taking, why haven’t they come through with a ransom demand? It’s been almost ten days since the Dolphin disappeared.’
‘They are giving themselves time to get well clear. Their vessel is probably a slow and nondescript sailing dhow. They want to be in their own territorial waters where they are safe from the warships of the civilized Western powers before they break cover. Also they want you to soften up and start breaking down with the suspense and the uncertainty.’
‘How much longer?’
‘Say they can make fourteen knots, and they are heading for Yemen or Puntland in Somalia, then they will almost have reached their destination by now,’ he said. ‘Not more than two or three days more.’
‘You have mentioned Puntland before. I’ve never heard of it until now.’
‘It’s in north-eastern Somalia and comprises the Great Horn of Africa. It is an inhospitable semi-desert, rugged and arid, three times larger than New Mexico. It is virtually cut off from the rest of Africa by the high mountain range on the west side of the Great Rift Valley. These mountains also block the prevailing westerly winds which drop all their rain on the slopes. The vegetation of Puntland is coarse acacia, thorny shrub bush and sparse rank grass. However, the country is very strategically positioned on the coast of the Gulf of Aden guarding the approaches to the Red Sea. Puntland broke away from the rest of Somalia at the end of the civil war and declared itself autonomous. It named itself after the Land of Punt in ancient Egyptian historical lore. It is believed to be the country to which Queen Hatshepsut sent her famous expedition in 1550 BC. Now it is governed by a loose-knit gang of independent warlords who answer to nobody and keep their own particular brand of law and justice.’
He changed the subject with disconcerting suddenness. ‘Will you take your dinner in your room where you will be able to mope in private? Not recommended. Or will you dine with me in the mess? Chef has some superb Japanese Wagyu rib eye beef. Food, wine and company most highly recommended on page one hundred of the latest edition of the Michelin guide.’ She had sat alone all these last dreadful nights, and at least he was not boring. Infuriating? Yes definitely, but not boring. She smiled and capitulated.
During the meal he kept the conversation away from the subject of her missing daughter and yacht, instead he spoke about the political structure of Abu Zara and the operations of Bannock Oil in the Emirate, then he moved on to the subjects of horses and horse racing which he knew interested her.
‘My father kept a few horses in training on the ranch,’ he explained when she looked askance at his obvious knowledge of the subject. ‘As a skinny kid I was his head groom and jockey. Once a month we attended the race meetings in Nairobi. It was all knock-about and amateur stuff but we took it extremely seriously.’
He was informed and articulate, with a wry and quirky sense of humour which diverted her just a trifle from her worry over Cayla. She relaxed and let herself enjoy listening to him. She had drunk only an inch or so out of the wine glass but he lifted the bottle to top it up. The wine was a lovely ten-year-old Romanée-Conti. It amused her that he had researched her tastes so accurately. It seemed a
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