The Evolution of Fear (Claymore Straker #2) - Paul E. Hardisty Page 0,90

now.’ Hope disappeared into the other room.

‘Straker.’ Crowbar reached out for him.

‘I’m here, oom.’

‘She’s lekker, ja?’

Clay tried a smile and failed.

‘Beautiful,’ Crowbar grunted. ‘Smart, too.’

‘Rest, oom.’

Hope was standing at the stove, barefoot in her dress, stirring a pot of something. The kettle was on, already steaming. She looked up when Clay entered. Her eye makeup was ruined. She’d been crying. ‘You both look like hell,’ she said.

‘Crowbar just said the opposite about you.’

A hint of a smile creased the edges of her mouth. ‘I’m going to Chrisostomedes’ dinner tonight. I was just about to leave.’

Clay took a glass from the cupboard, filled it with water from the tap, drank it down then filled it again.

‘So it wasn’t Rania,’ she said.

‘No.’

‘And we’re no further ahead.’

‘No. Maybe worse.’ Zdravko’s words did circuits in his head.

‘What does that mean?’

‘Nothing. I’ll explain later.’

Hope frowned. ‘The doctor will be here in half an hour. He’s an old dear from the village. I’ve known him for years. Don’t worry, he won’t say a word.’

‘Thanks.’

Hope turned off the gas, poured soup into an earthenware bowl and produced a spoon from a drawer. She placed the bowl and the spoon on the table. Then she reached for the kettle.

‘Sit’ she said. ‘Eat. I’ll look after your friend.’

‘Crowbar.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why don’t you say it? Crowbar.’

‘What kind of name is that for a grown man? What’s his real name?’

‘No one uses it.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because the few who’ve tried have ended up in hospital.’

‘Tell me anyway.’

‘Marie-Claude. Marie-Claude Van Boxmeer. His family were Huguenots, on his mother’s side.’

She looked out the window a moment then turned back to face him. ‘Why did he destroy my station, Clay?’

‘To get close to Medved.’

She stood tall, wiped her eyes.

‘He did it for Rania, Hope.’ He did it for you. I know you can’t see that right now, but it’s true. He did it for me. He did it because that’s who he is. Clay wanted her to understand this, to know what he knew, to know that as a young NCO, Crowbar had taken part in one of the first deep recon patrols inside Angola, and when the other two members of his unit had been badly wounded, he’d stayed with them, held off repeated enemy attacks until a rescue force could reach them. They counted twenty-three enemy dead scattered around his position. For it, he was given a battlefield commission and the Honoris Crux, the South African equivalent of the Victoria Cross, for bravery under fire. A stain now, yes, but an honour back then. Clay wanted her to know that Crowbar was the bravest, most honourable man he knew. And he wanted her to know that, when it had mattered, back there at the cottage in Cornwall, Clay had believed his friend capable of betrayal. But he didn’t say any of it.

‘Thank you,’ she said, walking towards the doorway.

Clay said nothing.

Hope turned, faced him. ‘Come with me tonight, Clay. Please.’

Clay looked down at his torn and bloody clothes.

‘Drive into Paphos,’ she said. ‘It’s close. The shops are open till seven. You have plenty of time.’

‘I should stay with Koevoet.’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll look after him.’ Hope looked down at her feet, up into his eyes. ‘Please, Clay. I need you with me.’ Fear swam in her eyes.

‘What happened?’

‘My friend from the north, the one who was with us that night in Karpasia, he contacted me this morning, after you left. He told me that the two men you pulled from the fire were taken to hospital in Nicosia. He visited them yesterday. They seemed to be doing well, he said.’

Clay listened.

‘He said that one of them, a man who has lived in the village since he was a boy, spoke to him. He told my friend that two years ago, in winter, he came across some workmen digging what he said was a long trench in the beach, above the tide line. They were laying some sort of cable, or pipe, he didn’t see which.’

‘The cable I snagged with the anchor that night?’ said Clay.

‘I don’t know. It could have been. My friend said that when he approached the workmen, they told him to go away, that it was government business, a new telephone line for the area. He went back a few weeks later, but all trace of the trench was gone. He walked along the beach for miles, but found nothing. Then one day, months later, they were there again, the workmen, this time just three of them, in one truck. They weren’t digging this