The Amulet of Power - Mike Resnick [93]
“No one’s questioned why you needed landing coordinates?” asked Oliver.
“No,” she said. “It seems to be a very laid-back place. And given how many private planes there are here, it’s only natural that some of the pilots would need directions.” She climbed down to the ground. “I’m surprised that it’s not more humid.”
“Ocean breezes,” suggested Oliver, joining her. “Besides,” he added with a grin, “they wouldn’t allow too much humidity in Eden. The Seychelles have been cashing in on General Gordon’s description for a century or more.” He looked around. “I wonder where Praslin is from here?”
“Twenty miles north and east,” said a voice, and they turned to find themselves facing a tall man in his fifties, his grizzled face browned from the sun, a thick gray beard reaching down to his chest, piercing brown eyes trained upon Lara. He was dressed in a white outfit that wasn’t exactly Western, wasn’t exactly Indian, and wasn’t exactly Arabic.
“Who are you and why have you approached us?” she demanded.
“Do not be afraid, Lara Croft,” he said. “My name is Ibraham Mohammed el-Padir. My cousin told me you would be arriving and asked me to watch over you.”
“You’re another of Omar’s cousins?”
“Yes. I am here to serve you.”
“Prove it,” said Lara.
The man nodded, as if he had expected her to test his claim. “Omar told me to tell you that he had ‘burned the rest.’ He said you would know what that meant.”
Lara smiled. “Pleased to meet you, Ibraham,” she said. “Now, I have something in my shoulder bag that I don’t want to take through customs and immigration. Do you know a way to get it through unnoticed?”
“I can do that,” said Ibraham. “But you must go through Customs.”
“All right. Bring it to my hotel.”
“Where are you staying?”
“I knew we’d be landing just before dark, and I thought it would be too late to take the ferry to Praslin Island, so I reserved at the Beau Vallon Beach Resort tonight. Then tomorrow we’ll go over to Praslin.” She took off the bag and held it out to Oliver. “I believe you have something you’d prefer not to take through Customs, too?”
“It’s no problem for me,” he answered. “As I told you, I’m still officially on the Kenya police force, and I have a license for the Magnum. They’ll let me carry it through as a professional courtesy.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’ve done it in other countries.”
“All right,” she said. “Ibraham, we’ll meet you at the hotel as soon as we get through all the red tape.”
She left her bag with him, and she and Oliver went off to clear customs. They passed through quickly and without incident, had their passports examined and stamped, and soon caught a cab. It drove west for a few miles, then turned right and shortly thereafter pulled up to a sprawling, luxurious structure right on the beach.
They walked through the spacious tiled lobby to the desk that overlooked a huge T-shaped swimming pool. Lara stopped at the desk, waited while the clerk found her reservation, and picked up keys to adjacent rooms.
“Have you no luggage, Madame?” asked the clerk in a heavy French accent.
“It’s coming from the airport,” she answered. “Don’t bother calling the bellboy. We’ll find our own way.”
She checked the numbers on the keys, then began walking down a long, cool corridor, the walls painted in muted colors, until she came to their rooms. She handed one key to Oliver, then opened her own door with the other.
The room was spacious and filled with all the amenities of a five-star hotel: mini-fridge, complimentary robes, a walk-in closet, coffeemaker, hair dryer, whirlpool tub, and sliding doors to a private patio facing the water. She was still exploring its features when there was a knock at the door.
“Come in, Malcolm,” she said. “It’s not locked.”
“It should be,” said Ibraham, entering the room and tossing her shoulder bag onto a leather chair. “You are not safe here.