Softly Calls the Serengeti by Frank Coates Page B

didn’t want to go into the more personal reasons for his trip to Kenya.
    â€˜A writer! How exciting. But I meant, why are you at this information night? Are you expecting our restless natives to attack because of all this political nonsense going on around us?’ Her smile was teasing.
    â€˜No. I’m here for the free booze.’
    A finger tapping on a microphone interrupted them.
    â€˜Ladies and gentlemen,’ said the man at the podium. ‘If I may have your attention, please.’
    â€˜What are you doing here?’ Riley whispered to her as the clamour of conversation receded.
    â€˜I’m a local businesswoman,’ she whispered.
    â€˜So how come the Australian taxpayer is buying you drinks?’ he asked with mock seriousness.
    Her smile vied with the sparkle in her eyes. ‘If you don’t tell, I’m sure they’ll never notice me.’
    â€˜Ladies and gentlemen,’ the man at the lectern repeated. ‘Your attention, please.’
    â€˜What kind of business are—’
    â€˜Shhh,’ she said, touching a fingertip to his lips. It was mildly exciting and for a moment he felt ridiculously pubescent.
    She turned to listen to the protocol officer who had begun to cover the purpose of the meeting.
    She didn’t look at Riley again during the speech, but he knew she was fully aware of his sideways glances. Her plain pearl earrings matched a necklace that sat just above the chiselled line of her collarbone. Her nose had a swept-up curve that contradicted the line of her high cheekbones. Riley had a weakness for high cheekbones, and he got the feeling that Kazlana somehow knew it.
    He tuned in to the speaker, who was recalling the 2002 elections. ‘…sadly, these incidents are symptomatic of much of Africa. I assure you that the Australian government stands prepared to evacuate our citizens in the event of any major civil or military upheaval.’
    Riley turned to glance at Kazlana again, but she had gone. He slipped his hand into his jacket pocket for his cigarettes before remembering again that he had none. Shit! Nevertheless, there was something in his pocket. He pulled out a business card: Kazlana Ramanova. Chief Executive Officer.
    He smiled. The very desirable Ms Ramanova had slipped her card into his pocket during one of the few moments he’d not had his eyes on her during the speech. Then he noticed the rest of the details on her card: Ramanova and Company Ltd—Logistical Support to Kenya’s NGOs.

CHAPTER 7
    The security guard took little notice of the tall, black man striding confidently towards the elevator and that was just how the man wanted it. He tucked his slim Department of Civil Aviation briefcase under his arm, pressed the elevator button and waited a little impatiently for its doors to slide open. Finally, the guard disappeared behind its closing doors and the panel light climbed towards level ten. He breathed more easily, straightened his tie in the mirrored wall, and flicked a fleck of lint from the lapel of his suit coat.
    He felt a stirring in his groin as he recalled the silky voice on the telephone giving him instructions on how to find her, and to arrive at the end of the day when her secretary would be gone and the building near empty. Her final words, I want to see you tonight , had made him feel weak in the knees.
    This would not be the first time he’d cheated on his wife, but it was definitely the first time he had been nervous about it. This woman was something special. He’d known it from the moment he set eyes on her when she came into his office to make enquiries about the details of a civil aviation accident. He had assisted her in an appropriate, businesslike manner, but when she took his hand to thank him for his help, she held it, and his eyes, for just a moment too long. She had been on his mind ever since. Even her name was tantalising. Kazlana Ramanova . It had the allure of the exotic,