Edge walked towards Hervey’s secretary and smiled. Mabel was busy taking a call, but she returned his smile and motioned for him to proceed into Hervey’s office.

Hervey’s face was grey. The lines seemed deeper. He passed his hand through his hair.

“Morning Shannon,” he said. “I don’t suppose you got any sleep either. Look, I’m sorry I screamed at you last night.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Edge said.

“The bodies were buried at sea a few hours ago,” Hervey said. “And I just handed my report to the Prime Minister about half an hour ago.”

“Greene. What about him?”

“Covered,” Hervey said. “And the cover story has been introduced into the pipeline.”

Edge didn’t ask what the cover story was. That was Hervey’s headache.

“Did we find out the names of the five men?”

Hervey shook his head. “Special Branch is still working on it.”

One of the phones on the desk rang. Hervey picked it up. He said “Hello” into the mouthpiece then sat listening without saying anything. Finally he said: “I’ll send him over.”

He put the phone down. “That was Special Branch,” he said. “Assistant Commissioner Cooper. He thinks he might have something for us.”

“That was quick,” Edge said. He didn’t think Cooper would’ve been that quick.

“It’s not about the five men,” Hervey said. “The Assistant Commissioner wants to talk to you about something else.”

Edge drove slowly through the late morning traffic. Driving in the city was easy on the eyes. Skirts had gone up a few years ago and had stayed up. Some of the legs were exceptional. The women had an easy, flowing unselfconscious rhythm and enormous vitality. Edge had seen any number of beautiful women, but he had never seen them so thick on the ground as in the Caribbean. A woman in a form fitting green and beige dress stepped on to the pedestrian crossing and flashed him a smile. His eyes stayed with her until she reached the other side.

Cooper said: “Glad you could come.”

He was a slim man, with alert confident eyes. He looked hard and durable, as though the sun and the rain and other people’s troubles had brought out some hidden strength in him.

“Hervey said you had something for us.”

Cooper took a bunch of keys. They went down the corridor past a row of offices and came to the cells. Cooper unlocked one at the end of the row. Edge followed him inside. A man lay on the bunk against the wall. Grey stubble showed through the sagging flesh on his face. His clothes were dirty and he smelled of stale sweat and alcohol. He sat up slowly and blinked at the two men through watery eyes.

“I need a drink,” he said. “I need a drink bad.”

Cooper said: “I brought a drink for you.”

He took a flask of rum from his hip pocket. He snapped the cork and passed the bottle to the man on the bunk. Boozy wiped the inside of his mouth with his tongue. He closed his eyes, held his head back and poured a mouthful of rum. The drink shook him. He held onto the bunk and waited until the shuddering stopped. He passed his hand over his face and wiped away the rum that trickled down his chin.

“Lets hear that story of yours again, Boozy,” Cooper said gently.

Boozy glanced from Edge to Cooper and back.

“He’s a friend of mine,” Cooper said. “I want you to tell him what you told me.”

“There’s going to be a big bank robbery,” Boozy said slowly.

Edge looked at Cooper. Cooper’s face showed nothing at all.

“The banks on Broad Street,” Boozy went on. He counted them on his fingers. “On Independence morning. While everyone is watching the parade. They’re bringing men from outside.”

Edge came off the wall. Boozy grinned at him slyly.

“How does he know about this?” he asked.

“I know,” said Boozy. “I heard men talking.”

“Who’s going to hit the Broad Street banks?” Edge asked.

“I didn’t see them,” Boozy said. “It was dark. I was sleeping on a bench in the park and I hear voices. But it was too dark. They was talking about the robbery.” He raised the bottle to his lips again.

“Maybe you were dreaming, Boozy,” Edge said.

Boozy shook his head. “No. I hear them. But it too dark for me to see.”

“Did they know you were there?”

“I dunno. I got frighten’ and I run. I don’t know if them see me. He lay back against the wall. His eyes measured the amount of rum left in the bottle. Cooper followed Edge out.

“Send for me when you are ready,” Cooper said. They left him clutching the flask of rum to his bosom.

“Is your man Boozy reliable?”

“He has given us a few good things over the years and no matter what I do I can’t shake him from this story.”

Cooper went and sat down behind his desk. Edge leaned against the wall.

“Independence anniversary,” Edge said. “We’ve got four days.”

Cooper said: “I’ve got every available man working on those identities for you.” He went to the tap and caught water in a kettle and came back and plugged it in.

“The morning of the big parade,” Edge said. “A national holiday. Bridgetown deserted. The regiment and the police will be at the Savannah entertaining the crowd. Half a dozen good men could swing it.”

“And get away with it,” Cooper added.

The kettle started humming. Cooper pulled the plug.

“Motive?” He spooned coffee into two cups and added water.

“Black,” Edge said.

Cooper passed a cup to Edge and added milk and sugar for himself.

“The obvious one is money,” Edge said. “There’s a lot of it in those banks.”

“There’s something else.” Cooper put down his cup and looked at Edge.

“Okay there’s the political angle,” Edge said. “Hit those banks and the economy collapses. Nobody gets paid. Even the civil servants will take to the streets. The whole nation will be marching. Marching for food. You can guess the rest.”

“Yeah,” Cooper said. “Riots, then a revolution. Every major act has political consequences whether those consequences are intended or not.”

“Let’s suppose they’re just bandits,” Edge said. “How would they get away?” He knew the answer before Cooper answered.

“Sea,” Cooper said. “We can’t watch every cove and bay twenty-four hours a day.”

Edge put his cup down on a table. “Given the national passion for mediocrity,” he said. “I don’t see how a local group could possibly be behind this.

“I’m with you,” Cooper said. He reached for his hat.

“Let’s go see a yacht.”

“Yours?”

“Yeah, mine,” Cooper said. He locked the drawers of his desk and they went out. “Went to the supermarket lately and seen those fancy prices?” he asked Edge. “I used to drink scotch once in a while. I’m back to rum permanently now. And I could use a new car, but I can’t even finish paying for the old one yet.”

Cooper’s car was an old Toyota. He unlocked for Edge, then got in.

“This yacht is called the ‘Liberty Queen’. Out of Galveston, Texas. Got in yesterday morning. Owned by one Thomas Bunker Hill. There are a few other freighters in port but none of them arrived after this yacht. I’ve got men checking out those too.”

The ‘Liberty Queen’ was riding at anchor about a hundred yards from the shore. Edge and Cooper stepped aboard a police cutter that was waiting for them. The cutter ran up alongside the ‘Liberty Queen’. A man appeared on the deck above them.

“Police,” Cooper called. “We’re coming aboard.”

The man caught the rope Cooper threw to him. They climbed aboard.

“Thomas Bunker Hill,” the man said. He held out his hand. “What can I do for you?”

Cooper showed him his card. Hill looked at it and passed it back. Hill was about six foot six and the cigar in his mouth looked only fractionally shorter. He was about seventy. His hair was white and there was a network of fine lines across his craggy face. The eyes reminded Edge of pebbles at the bottom of a pool. He wore a dark blue shirt open at the throat, grey slacks and cowboy boots. Edge looked around for the white Stetson, but he did not see it.

“Could I see your papers?” Cooper asked. “And the passports.”

A voice behind Edge said: “Is there a problem Mister Hill? If so, I’ll gladly dump the trash overboard for you.”

Edge turned. The man came off the rails and stood facing him. He wore a red and blue polo shirt, beige pants and heavy, oil-blackened boots. The arms were thick and covered in coarse, black hair. Part of one ear was missing. He topped Edge by at least four inches and by about thirty pounds. He looked fast on his feet and very sure of himself.

“Is that any way to welcome guests on your boss’s boat?” Edge asked politely.

“I have my welcome mat right here,” he said.

The man’s smile disappeared. The eyes narrowed and the left shoulder dropped. Edge stepped inside the right hook and hit him in the stomach. It was like hitting a tree. The man blinked and stepped back. There was a look of surprise on his face. Edge guessed that right hook had won him a lot of fights. The man’s hand dipped into his pocket and came up with a set of brass knuckles. Edge moved back. The sun glinted on the brass knuckles. Edge dropped to the deck and kicked the man’s left ankle from under him. He came up outside the blur of the brass knuckles and drove the heel of his left hand under the man’s chin, snapping the head back on the powerful neck. Edge tapped him in the throat with the side of his hand and cracked him on the point of his jaw with his elbow. The man sat down and blinked his eyes hard. Edge helped him to his feet. He had difficulty staying upright.

“You owe me an apology,” Edge said.

The man held his fingers against his jaw and opened and closed his mouth a few times. He looked at Edge. There was something in his eyes that was not there before.

“I didn’t mean no offence,” he said.

“No hard feelings,” Edge said.

Edge walked across the deck to where Cooper and Hill waited. Cooper’s face wore a look of weary disapproval as Hill studied him from behind a bleak smile.

“I can’t imagine what got into my man Trask,” Hill said.

“He’s usually very quiet and reliable. I trust you gentlemen will overlook the incident.”

“There’s probably a heart of gold under that rough exterior,” Edge said.

The eyes continued to study him.

The yacht’s papers showed Hill had sailed from Galveston five weeks earlier, and had stopped at Nassau and Jamaica on his way to Barbados. He told them he’d always wanted to sail the Caribbean but that he’d never got the chance until then. He told them he was mixing business with pleasure, that he was keeping an eye out for investment opportunities.

“Anything wrong?” he asked, as Cooper passed the papers back to him.

Cooper told him everything was fine.

“Was that really necessary?” Cooper asked Edge as they stepped onto the pier.

“Yes,” Edge answered.

“If you take on everybody who thinks like Trask,” Cooper said. “You’re going to have a lot of trouble on your

hands.”

“There’re worse kinds of trouble,” Edge said.

Cooper opened his mouth to say something, changed his mind and gave himself a cigarette instead. He parked the car and told Edge he would have the names ready in a couple of days. Edge said he would tell Hervey.

“Does Cooper believe this Boozy?” Hervey asked.

“Difficult to tell,” Edge said. “Cooper doesn’t give away much.”

“All right,” Hervey said. “So you think the story’s a plant.”

“It’s just a feeling I got,” Edge said.

“What about Hill?”

“Cruising the Caribbean looking for investment opportunities,” Edge said. “Owns a yacht and a few millions. Made his money in oil by the sound of things. Knows all the right people both here and in the U.S. Any minute now, somebody is going to elect him Chairman of the Barbadian League of Coconut Pickers.”

Nothing showed on Hervey’s face.

“Audel Firkhin flew out of Barbados yesterday morning,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Lucky son-of-a-gun,” Edge said.

His head ached. There was grit behind the eyelids. His mouth tasted of the previous night’s rum, of powder smoke and fresh blood. Perhaps it would help if I went to the washroom and made myself sick, he thought. But he knew he wouldn’t go. He leaned back in his chair and tuned out Hervey’s voice. The sun streamed in through the open window. From where he sat, he could see the tops of trees shining bright-green in the sun. A sparrow flew on to the window-sill, cocked an inquisitive eye at the two men, hopped a few steps, decided there were no crumbs to be had and flew off. On the street below, a woman with a tray of vegetables on her head passed singing a calypso.

“The Minister of Technology, Planning and Development wants to see you in his office at eleven.”

Hervey’s voice seemed to come from a long way off, from another world almost.