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expert twist, she opened the largest oyster. She pushed the blade on to the glutinous darkness of the creature’s soft body. And both girls gasped again. For the movement of the oyster’s slimy flesh revealed the biggest, blackest pearl that either of them had ever seen.
    They were still crouching, side by side, staring down at the jet-black wonder when the Army of Christ the Infant swept out of the jungle and into the compound behind them.

FOUR
Tie
    â€˜W hite,’ said Richard incredulously. ‘You did say
white
?’
    â€˜White!’ confirmed Robin, calling through from her bathroom in their suite in the Granville Royal Lodge hotel. The Nelson Mandela Suite, the best that the five star establishment had to offer. Max Asov and his latest flame were in the presidential suite next door. A couple from the IMF were in the royal suite. These three suites comprised the most exclusive in the hotel. The World Bank rep and the various government middle-rankers also in attendance were travelling without partners so no one’s nose had been put too far out of joint by being offered the slightly less magnificent accommodation on the next floor down. And their teams, like Richard’s Heritage Mariner associates, were scattered through the rest of the world-class hotel’s lower floors.
    â€˜Not
black
?’ Richard insisted, towelling his hair vigorously as he looked glumly down at the bed. Since being driven under armed escort from the airport in a police armoured car with only Dr Holliday and Colonel Kebila for company – except for the squad of soldiers with their Ruger MP-9 semi-automatics – he had checked in and showered, yelling snippets of information through to Robin in her own bathroom next door. The silence in the vehicle had been salutary. And it had frankly come as something of a relief to find that they had pulled up outside the familiar front of Granville Harbour’s premier hotel instead of the equally familiar front of the city’s central police station.
    â€˜
White!
’ snapped Robin now. ‘It’s most specific! That’s why I had the laundry press it, starch it and lay it out for you.’
    â€˜Bloody hell!’ said Richard glumly, stepping into his underwear. ‘It’s just as well you brought the monkey suit with the rest of the clobber in the jet.’
    â€˜Stop complaining and get a move on,’ called Robin. ‘You’re already well behind schedule, what with your hare-brained airport adventure! From the sound of things it’s a providence that Colonel Kebila rescued you and got you here so fast. We certainly don’t want to be late, even if we do only have to take the lift down to the ballroom. And don’t you dare call it a
monkey
suit outside these four walls.’
    â€˜Penguin suit then,’ allowed Richard. ‘Penguins shouldn’t offend any sensibilities. But still and all,’ he added,
sotto voce
, ‘white tie!’ He sighed, picking up the starched icy white cotton of his evening shirt and reaching for his white pearl studs. ‘And as it turns out, the scheme at the airport was not hare-brained,’ he called more loudly as he crossed to the mirror and started wrestling his wing collar into place. ‘I learned a hell of a lot that will stand us in good stead when push comes to shove. And I suspect that it was by no means providential that Kebila showed up. I just can’t work out what his game is, that’s all. Nor what Julius Chaka’s game is come to that! White tie and tails! I’ll look like Fred Astaire! What is our beloved president up to?’
    By the time Robin swept out in her basque and suspenders, her golden curls coiffed, her grey eyes exquisitely mascaraed, the rest of her gamin face most carefully made up, slim neck and fingers bejewelled, curvaceous body perfumed and ready to assume the exclusive creation in turquoise silk and sequins that had played Ginger