Chapter Five“I think someone was trying to recruit me the other day,” said Marquez.
Deakin had picked him up outside the Botanical Gardens, on the thoroughfare fifteen minutes' walk away from the Intercontinental. It was busy enough that no one would have noticed the foreigner slip quickly into the passenger seat of the anonymous black sedan the American was driving. “Really. Who?”
“He says he's an Austrian, name of Franz Donner. He says he's trying to set up a camera shop business here in Leopoldville, which has to be the worst cover I've ever heard.”
Deakin laughed, he had heard worse in his time, certainly, but had to agree that a photographic business in chaos-driven Congo was a bit like trying to sell inflatable rafts in a desert. It was pointless. The Congolese had bigger things t
