The Evolution of Fear (Claymore Straker #2) - Paul E. Hardisty Page 0,33
No forwarding address.
He tried the chalet again, checked each digit of the number as he dialled, the same number he’d used to reach Madame Debret a few days ago from England. Again, no ring tone, no busy signal, nothing – as if the line had been disconnected, had never existed. He filled his lungs, let the air go, closed his eyes, felt the floor pitch beneath him. For hours and days he’d thought of nothing but this one call, the rush of her voice on the other end of the line. Had she quit Cyprus as he’d asked? Or had she simply changed hotels, checked in somewhere else under an assumed name, understanding his warning that she was in danger, but not heeding his advice to leave the island? And why was the line to the chalet down? What had happened there over the last six days to cause this? Fear marshalled in his chest, nightmares making ready to escape their starlit prison.
He put down the phone, walked outside, tried to do his breathing, stood looking down along the dock, the boats there shimmering in the midday sun, halyards flapping in the breeze, the cloud-strewn harbour beyond, all of it pure in its indifference.
When he went back inside the boy had returned with a copy of The Independent, the other things and whatever money was left. Clay thanked him and gave him a ten-euro note. The boy smiled. Clay spread the paper on the table, pinned the fold with his stump and peeled open the front page. He scanned the headlines. The eighth of November 1994: the Space Shuttle Atlantis mission, Ronald Reagan’s Alzheimer’s, Johan Heyns, long-time critic of apartheid, assassinated at his home in Pretoria. Clay was surprised it had taken them this long. And, on page eight, just below the OpEds, a piece by Lise Moulinbecq, byline Nicosia. As he read it the youth stood behind him, gazing over his shoulder.
North Cyprus Development Threatens Turtles with Extinction Neo-Enosis, an ultra-right wing Cypriot militant group, has lashed out publicly at the UN and the EU claiming that illegal development in Northern Cyprus is driving Mediterranean sea turtles to extinction. In a communiqué delivered to AFP, Neo-Enosis claims that new tourist resorts in the occupied north are being built on land stolen from Greek Cypriots when the Turkish Army overran the northern third of the island twenty years ago. The developments, which the group claims violate the 1974 Geneva accords, will allegedly disturb turtle-nesting beaches protected by the United Nations as World Heritage Sites. The group is threatening direct action against the developers if the UN and Turkish governments do not immediately halt construction of the resorts. Neo-Enosis has been unofficially linked to at least two recent murders of prominent businessmen in the north. Several major new resort proposals have been put forward by developers on both sides of the border seeking to cash in on the tourism boom in Cyprus. Dr Hope Bachmann of the University of California has been studying turtles in the Mediterranean for over a decade. Her research reveals a steady decline in turtle numbers since 1970 due to illegal harvesting, accidental drowning in fishing nets, and the destruction of nesting beaches. The green turtle is now threatened with extinction. Despite anonymous death threats, Cyprus-based Bachmann has continued to call upon the UN, the European Union and the Governments of Cyprus to enforce bans on coastal development near the remaining pristine nesting beaches. Accusations of theft, murder, environmental negligence and the lure of huge profits have heightened tensions between north and south to a level not seen on this island since the 1970s.
Clay put down the paper, looked out across the water.
‘In Spain also this happens,’ said the youth.
Clay looked at him.
‘When I was a boy there were many fish here. Now to catch one is difficult.’
Clay guessed the kid at seventeen, maybe eighteen, the same age he’d been when he’d made his first kill, watched that SWAPO fighter collapse in the dust. ‘My hand will the multitudinous seas incarnadine,’ he said.
The boy frowned, not understanding.
‘Something I just read.’
‘What does it mean?’
‘We do things,’ Clay said. ‘And then we can’t change them.’
The boy thought about this, nodded.
Clay pointed at the telephone. The boy smiled at him, nodded, turned and left, closing the door behind him. Clay picked up the handpiece and tried LeClerc, Rania’s long-time editor at AFP. The receptionist said he was not available, was in meetings all day. Three more times Clay tried the