Carte Blanche - Jeffery Deaver [79]
Hydt thought he sounded jealous – perhaps that the mercenary might have a project that would deflect attention from Dunne’s plans for Gehenna. He said, ‘Those sales figures are better than I thought. Thank you.’ He disconnected. Then he asked Theron, ‘How did you hear about me?’
Although they were alone Theron lowered his voice as he turned hard, knowing eyes on Hydt: ‘Cambodia. I was doing some work there. Some people told me of you.’
Ah. Hydt understood now and the realisation gave him a thrill. Last year on business in the Far East he’d stopped to visit several gravesites of the infamous Killing Fields, where the Khmer Rouge had slaughtered millions of Cambodians in the 1970s. At the memorial at Choeung Ek, where nearly nine thousand bodies had been buried in mass graves, Hydt had spoken to several veterans about the slaughter and taken hundreds of pictures for his collection. One of the locals must have mentioned his name to Theron.
‘You had business there, you say?’ Hydt asked, thinking of what Dunne had learnt.
‘Nearby,’ Theron replied with a suitable brush of evasion.
Hydt was intensely curious but, a businessman first and foremost, he tried not to appear too enthusiastic. ‘And what do Isandlwana and Cambodia have to do with me?’
‘They are places where there was a great loss of life. Many bodies were interred where they fell in battle.’
Choeung Ek was genocide, not a battle, but Hydt did not correct him.
‘They’ve become sacred areas. And that’s good, I suppose. Except . . .’ The Afrikaner paused. ‘I’ll tell you about a problem I have become aware of and about a solution that has occurred to me. Then you can tell me if that solution is possible and if you have an interest in helping me achieve it.’
‘Go on.’
Theron said, ‘I have many connections to governments and companies in various parts of Africa.’ He paused. ‘Darfur, Congo, Central African Republic, Mozambique, Zimbabwe, a few others.’
Conflict regions, Hydt observed.
‘And these groups are concerned about the consequences that arise after, say, a terrible natural disaster – like drought or famine or storms – or, frankly, anywhere that a major loss of life has occurred and bodies have been buried. As in Cambodia or Isandlwana.’
Hydt said innocently, ‘Such cases have serious health implications. Water supply contamination, disease.’
‘No,’ Theron said bluntly. ‘I mean something else. Superstition.’
‘Superstition?’
‘Say, for instance, because of a lack of money or resources, bodies have been left in mass graves. A shame, but it happens.’
‘Indeed it does.’
‘Now, if a government or a charity wishes to build something for the good of the people – a hospital, a housing development or a road in that area – they would be reluctant to do so. The land is perfectly good, there is money to build and workers who wish to be employed but many people would fear ghosts or spirits and be afraid to go to that hospital or move into those houses. It’s absurd to me, and to you too, I’m sure. But that’s how many people feel.’ Theron shrugged. ‘How sad for the citizens of those areas if their health and safety were to suffer because of such foolish ideas.’
Hydt was riveted. He was tapping his nails on the desk. He forced himself to stop.
‘So. Here is my idea: I am thinking of offering a service to, well, those government agencies to remove the human remains.’ His face brightened. ‘This will allow more building of factories, hospitals, roads, farms, schools, and it will help the poor, the unfortunate.’
‘Yes,’ Hydt said. ‘Rebury the bodies somewhere else.’
Theron laid his hands on the desk. The gold initial ring glittered in a shaft of sunlight. ‘That’s one possibility. But it would be very expensive. And the problem might arise later at the new location.’
‘True. But are there other alternatives?’ Hydt asked.
‘Your speciality.’
‘Which is?’
In a whisper Theron said, ‘Perhaps . . . recycling.’
Hydt saw the scenario clearly. Gene Theron, a mercenary and obviously