Temple of the Gods - Andy McDermott [21]
Alderley had to be right. It was a code, one that could give him the answers he wanted. But without the clue he needed to crack it, it was worthless . . .
The music changed: the opening bars of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s ‘Free Bird’. One of Eddie’s favourite records, but on this occasion it filled him with an unexpected melancholy. At one time, it had been a symbol of his wanderlust and desire for action when he felt stifled by the demands of his relationship with Nina and an office job at the IHA. Now, though, a life of everyday domesticity with her was the thing he wanted most in the world. Longing pulled at his heart . . .
‘Eddie, my friend!’ Strutter’s voice jerked him back to grim reality. He looked round to see the middleman approaching, wearing an electric blue suit and a purple silk shirt beneath it.
‘You found some new threads, then,’ said Eddie as Strutter sat opposite him.
‘I have an image to maintain.’ He regarded Eddie’s beard. ‘You should consider yours too.’
Eddie shrugged. ‘I dunno, I like it. Makes me look distinguished.’
‘More like disreputable. But as for myself, I wouldn’t attract many clients in prison rags, would I?’
‘Lose much business while you were away?’
‘In Africa, there is always business for mercenaries. I’m already getting back into the heart of the storm. It takes more than Zimbabwean thugs to keep down Johnny Strutter!’ Registering Eddie’s thoroughly unimpressed expression, he became more muted. ‘But you no longer want to be part of that world, do you, my friend? A shame – you always were a very good fighter. Still, there will be plenty of work for Maximov.’ He tapped his forehead. ‘Not too smart, but the man is like a walking tank!’
‘I’m only interested in Stikes,’ Eddie said impatiently. ‘Do you know where he is or not?’
Strutter leaned closer. ‘No. But,’ he added quickly, ‘I know someone who does. I put the word out to my contacts, and I heard back from a man in Yemen, who had spoken to another man in Pakistan—’
‘I don’t care who talked to who. I just want to know what they said.’
The sharpness in Eddie’s voice warned Strutter to stick to the facts. ‘Okay, okay. There is an American called Scarber, Madeline Scarber, in Hong Kong. She knows where Stikes is.’
‘So where is he?’
Strutter shifted uncomfortably. ‘Well, the thing is, my friend . . . she would not tell me. She will tell you – but only in person.’
Eddie had never heard of Madeline Scarber, and didn’t like that the reverse was apparently not the case. ‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. But that’s what she told me.’
‘How do you know she’s not working for Interpol? Or Stikes, for that matter?’
Strutter shook his head. ‘People I trust have vouched for her.’
‘The only people you trust are on banknotes, Strutter,’ Eddie said scathingly. ‘You’ve spoken to her?’
‘Yes.’
‘Recently? Like, just now?’
‘Before I came here, yes.’
‘Call her. I want to talk to her.’
The Kenyan wasn’t happy at the prospect. ‘I don’t know if that is a good idea.’
‘Flying all the way to Hong Kong to meet someone I don’t even know on your say-so isn’t a good fucking idea either. Make the call.’
Strutter reluctantly acquiesced. After a brief exchange, he held his phone out to Eddie. ‘She’ll talk to you.’
‘Good.’ He took it. ‘Madeline Scarber?’
‘Speaking,’ came a dry, rasping voice. Scarber was clearly a chain-smoker; she sounded quite old.
‘I’m told you’ve got some information for me. About Alexander Stikes.’
‘You betcha.