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in this case, when you hear our terms, you will be.’
    ‘ “Our”? I like to know who I’m being propositioned by.’
    A short laugh from the speaker. ‘That is quite fair. My operational name is Ming Lo. I am a representative of Ling Chi, Minister of State Security in Beijing.’
    ‘I see.’
    ‘We have recently learned that a rather dangerous artefact has been discovered in the Pacific.’
    Toit could not hide his surprise completely.
    ‘You should not expect our intelligence people to be any less efficient than your present employers, nor indeed the agencies of the West.’
    ‘I don’t,’ Toit responded. ‘I’m just unclear as to how you have concluded this find is at all dangerous. Is it not an academic matter?’
    ‘If it were of purely scholarly interest why would you meet your employers in such a clandestine manner? And why would Glena Buckingham be so interested in the aforementioned
artefact?’
    ‘So, what do you require of me, if your people are so efficient?’
    The small laugh again. ‘Personally, I like your attitude, Mr Toit, but you would not do well working within the official agencies in my country.’
    ‘Then, Mr Ming, it is fortunate that working in Beijing is not on my bucket list.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’ve a busy evening ahead of me, so if you could please come
to the point.’
    The line was silent for a moment. ‘We believe the relic discovered by the pair of researchers from the Institute of Marine Studies is more than a trophy for a billionaire fan of Amelia
Earhart. I would ask you to study the attached document.’
    Toit tapped the screen and Ming’s face was replaced with a file. He opened it and sat in silence for a few minutes, reading. He then touched the link once more and the blurred face
reappeared.
    ‘Exclusivity is expensive.’
    He could see the man’s expression change through the digital camouflage. ‘We are not poor.’
    Toit rubbed his fingers across his chin. ‘OK. You have my attention.’

11
    Ten minutes after their meeting with Toit, Glena Buckingham and Hans Secker were seated in the back of the black BMW760Li and in spite of the fact that the car had recently
been purchased for a little over £100,000, it was stuck in traffic like a jalopy.
    Buckingham looked out at the crowds of commuters either side of Pall Mall, the grand grey facade of the Reform Club and the throng of besuited workers crossing the entrances to St James’s
Square.
    ‘It would be faster to walk,’ Buckingham declared. A beep came from a flat screen on the back of the driver’s seat. She touched the screen and a man’s face appeared. He
looked flushed, a bead of sweat nestled in his philtrum.
    ‘Joyce,’ Buckingham said to her Deputy Chief of Operations (Southern Region). ‘You look positively glowing.’
    Joyce took a deep breath. ‘Some interesting news, ma’am.’ He swallowed and straightened in his seat. ‘Just picked up a transmission from close to the new Chinese island,
Dalton.’
    ‘Stop before you say anything else. I take it this is a scrambled line?’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘Go on.’
    Secker was leaning to his right to better see the screen. Buckingham could smell his breath.
    ‘My team is aware of your memo, ma’am – about the plane spotted using the equipment on Flotta. They will keep their eyes peeled and ears to the ground for anything linked with
it. We only caught fragments of this recent transmission, but we’ve pinpointed it, and Flotta IDed the caller. It came from a chartered ship,
Inca
, moored off Howland close to
Dalton.’
    Buckingham raised an eyebrow. ‘What was the gist of the transmission?’
    ‘The caller mentioned finding Amelia Earhart’s plane.’ He glanced at some papers in front of him. ‘A Lockheed Electra 10E?’
    ‘Oh my goodness!’ Buckingham brought a hand to her mouth. Neither Joyce nor Secker had seen their boss demonstrate such emotion before.
    Buckingham nodded as though she were processing the