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  ‘Anything else?’ asked Henry.

  ‘Just a note from the High Commissioner’s office with a suggestion for your trek up into the hills with the President: take a case of fresh water, some anti-malaria pills and a mobile phone. Otherwise you could become dehydrated, break out in a fever and be out of contact all at the same time.’

  Henry laughed. ‘Yes, yes and yes,’ he said, as the phone on his desk rang.

  It was Bill, who warned him that the bank could no longer honour cheques drawn on the Swimming Pool Account, as there hadn’t been any substantial deposits for over a month.

  ‘I don’t need reminding,’ said Henry, staring down at Mrs Davidson’s cheque for twenty-five kora.

  ‘I’m afraid the contractors have left the site, as we’re unable to cover their next stage payment. What’s more, your quarterly payment of £1.25 million won’t be yielding any surplus while the President looks so healthy.’

  ‘Happy fiftieth on Saturday, Bill,’ said Henry.

  ‘Don’t remind me,’ the bank manager replied. ‘But now you mention it, I hope you’ll be able to join Sue and me for a little celebration that evening.’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ said Henry. ‘Nothing will stop me.’

  That evening, Henry began taking his malaria tablets each night before going to bed. On Thursday, he picked up a crate of fresh water from the local supermarket. On Friday morning his secretary handed him a mobile phone just before he was due to leave. She even checked that he knew how to operate it.

  At nine o’clock, Henry left his office and drove his Mini to the Victoria Barracks, having promised that he’d check in with his secretary the moment they arrived at General Olangi’s village. He parked his car in the compound, and was escorted to a waiting Mercedes near the back of the motorcade that was flying the Union Jack. At 9.30, the President emerged from the palace and walked over to the open-topped Rolls-Royce at the front of the motorcade. Henry couldn’t help thinking that he had never seen the General looking healthier.

  An honour guard sprang to attention and presented arms as the motorcade swept out of the compound. As they drove slowly through St George’s, the streets were lined with children waving flags, who had been given the day off school so they could cheer their leader as he set off on the long journey to his birthplace.

  Henry settled back for the five-hour drive up into the hills, dozing off from time to time, but was rudely woken whenever they passed through a village, where the ritual cheering children would be paraded to greet their President.

  At midday, the motorcade came to a halt in a small village high in the hills where the locals had prepared lunch for their honoured guest. An hour later they moved on. Henry feared that the tribesmen had probably sacrificed the best part of their winter stores to fill the stomachs of the scores of soldiers and officials who were accompanying the President on his pilgrimage.

  When the motorcade set off again, Henry fell into a deep sleep and began dreaming about Bermuda, where, he was confident, there would be no need to build a swimming pool.

  He woke with a start. He thought he’d heard a shot. Had it taken place in his dream? He looked up to see his driver jumping out of the car and fleeing into the dense jungle. Henry calmly opened the back door, stepped out of the limousine, and, seeing a commotion taking place in front of him, decided to go and investigate. He had walked only a few paces when he came across the massive figure of the President, lying motionless at the side of the road in a pool of blood, surrounded by soldiers. They suddenly turned and, seeing the High Commissioner’s representative, raised their rifles.

  ‘Shoulder arms!’ said a sharp voice. ‘Try to remember that we are not savages.’ A smartly dressed army captain stepped forward and saluted. ‘I am sorry for any inconvenience you have suffered, First Secretary,’ he said, in a clipped Sandhurst voice, ‘but be assured that we wish you no harm.’

  Henry didn’t comment, but continued to stare down at the dead President.

  ‘As you can see, Mr Pascoe, the late President has met with a tragic accident,’ continued the captain. ‘We will remain with him until he has been buried with full honours in the village where he was born. I’m sure that is what he would have wished.’

  Henry looked down at the prostrate body, and doubted it.

  ‘May I suggest, Mr Pascoe, that you return to the capital immediately and inform your masters of what has happened.’

  Henry remained silent.

  ‘You may also wish to tell them that the new President is Colonel Narango.’

  Henry still didn’t voice an opinion. He realised that his first duty was to get a message through to the Foreign Office as quickly as possible. He nodded in the direction of the captain and began walking slowly back to his driverless car.

  He slipped in behind the wheel, relieved to see that the keys had been left in the ignition. He switched on the engine, turned the car around and began the long journey back down the winding track to the capital. It would be nightfall before he reached St George’s.

  After he had covered a couple of miles and was certain that no one was following him, he brought the car to a halt by the side of the road, took out his mobile phone and dialled his office number.

  His secretary picked up the phone.

  ‘It’s Henry.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so glad you phoned,’ Shirley said. ‘So much has happened this afternoon. But first, Mrs Davidson has just called to say that it looks as if the church bazaar might raise as much as two hundred kora, and would it be possible for you to drop in on your way back so they can present you with the cheque? And by the way,’ Shirley added before Henry could speak, ‘we’ve all heard the news.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I was calling about,’ said Henry. ‘We must contact the Foreign Office immediately.’

  ‘I already have,’ said Shirley.

  ‘What did you tell them?’

  ‘That you were with the President, carrying out official duties, and would be in touch with them just as soon as you returned, High Commissioner.’

  ‘High Commissioner?’ said Henry.

  ‘Yes, it’s official. I assumed that’s what you were calling about. Your new appointment. Congratulations.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Henry casually, not even asking where he’d been appointed to. ‘Any other news?’

  ‘No, not much else happening this end. It’s a typically quiet Friday afternoon. In fact, I was wondering if I could go home a little early this evening. You see, I promised to drop in and help Sue Paterson prepare for her husband’s fiftieth.’

  ‘Yes, why not,’ said Henry, trying to remain calm. ‘And do let Mrs Davidson know that I’ll make every effort to call in at the bazaar. Two hundred kora should make all the difference.’

  ‘By the way,’ Shirley asked, ‘how’s the President getting on?’

  ‘He’s just about to take part in an earth-moving ceremony,’ said Henry, ‘so I’d better leave you.’

  Henry touched the red button, then immediately dialled another number.

  ‘Bill Paterson speaking.’

  ‘Bill, it’s Henry. Have you exchanged our quarterly cheque yet?’

  ‘Yes, I did it about an hour ago. I got the best rate I could, but I’m afraid the kora always strengthens whenever the President makes his official trip back to his place of birth.’

  Henry avoided adding ‘And death’, simply saying, ‘I want the entire amount converted back into sterling.’

  ‘I must advise you against that,’ said Bill. ‘The kora has strengthened further in the last hour. And in any case, such an action would have to be sanctioned by the High Commissioner.’

  ‘The High Commissioner is in Dorset on his annual leave. In his absence, I am the senior diplomat in charge of the mission.’

  ‘That may well be the case,’ said Bill, ‘but I would still have to make a full report for the High Commissioner’s consideration on his return.’

  ‘I would expect nothing less of you, Bill,’ said Hen