Instruments of Darkness. Robert Thomas Wilson. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Robert Thomas Wilson
Издательство: HarperCollins
Серия:
Жанр произведения: Зарубежные детективы
Год издания: 0
isbn: 9780007379682
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      Instruments of Darkness

      Robert Wilson

       For Jane and in memory of my father

       1922–1980

      Table of Contents

       Cover Page

       Title Page

       Dedication

       Chapter 10

       Chapter 11

       Chapter 12

       Chapter 13

       Chapter 14

       Chapter 15

       Chapter 16

       Chapter 17

       Chapter 18

       Chapter 19

       Chapter 20

       Chapter 21

       Chapter 22

       Chapter 23

       Chapter 24

       Chapter 25

       Chapter 26

       Chapter 27

       Chapter 28

       Chapter 29

       Chapter 30

       Chapter 31

       Chapter 32

       Chapter 33

       Chapter 34

       Robert Wilson

       Praise for Robert Wilson

       By the Same Author

       Copyright

       About the Publisher

       AUTHOR’S NOTE

      The French West African currency, the CFA, was devalued in January 1994 from 50 CFA to 100 CFA to the French franc. All financial transactions in this novel are based on the old rate.

      Although this novel is set very specifically in West Africa, and its backdrop is the Liberian Civil War, all the characters and events in it are entirely fictitious and no resemblance is intended to any event or to any real person, either living or dead.

       Map

       Prologue

      My name is Bruce Medway. I live in Cotonou, Benin, West Africa, along that stretch of coast they used to call the White Man’s Grave because it was hot, humid, and full of malaria. It still is, but we don’t die so easily now. Air conditioning and quinine have made us smell better and more difficult to wipe out.

      I travelled across the Sahara a couple of years ago and stayed. I knew I wasn’t going back before I came. I used to live in London where I made good money in a shipping company. The boredom crushed me, the traffic nearly killed me and the recession threw me out of a job.

      Now I live in this warm, damp hole in the armpit of Africa and it suits me. The house is rented. I share it with Moses, my driver, who occupies the ground floor and Helen, my cook and maid, who lives with her sister nearby and comes in every day.

      I don’t make much money. I’d make more without Moses and Helen, but then, cooking and driving in 100 degrees isn’t much fun, they need the money, and I like them.

      I’ve got some work. I collect