The sweat poured off him as he pulled the heavy body through the undergrowth. It was much heavier than he could have ever imagined, rivulets ran down his arms and onto his hands making it difficult to get a firm grasp on the thick wrists that slipped slowly through his fingers as he pulled.
Stopping to take his breath, he plunged his hands deep into the warm sand, which stuck to his moist skin giving him a better grip. He looked up, to the left and right along the beach, it was deserted; simply the movement of the palms that waved lazily against the tropical sky. He laboured on, there was no time to lose.
He had pulled the body into the dense undergrowth, over a small rise well away from the beach, few people ever strayed that far from the sand, especially at that time of the year. He paused and looked at the body, it lay like a giant turtle or some other aquatic creature slumped down on the ground, helpless…and dead.
With an effort he pulled off the soiled trunks and then the wristwatch, he looked carefully at the body...no rings or chains. The sunglasses were back on the beach. He stood back letting the undergrowth spring back into place, pushing the vegetation with his foot to make sure the body was well covered.
He then made his way back to the beach, pulling the shrubs and plants into place where his path was visible, smoothing over the tracks in the sand. With luck nobody would come that far along the beach for days and there was even less chance of them going far into the thick vegetation.
He recalled what Colonel Supramanto had told him: in the tropics putrefaction sets in almost immediately after death; left in the open the body would be black and bloated, almost unrecognisable within twenty-four hours. If it was not soon discovered, the heat, insects, and land crabs with their powerful claws, would quickly do their work.
Wading into the sea up to his chest, he washed off the sand and sweat. He still had time to change his mind he thought as he looked out over the warm sea.
A hand touched his shoulder, he started violently.
‘Mr Axelmann, Mr Axelmann!’
He was trembling as he turned his head…trying hard to get his orientation. There was a pretty girl, she was wearing a flower coloured sarong and a purple orchid in her black hair. Who was she...he struggled to gather his thoughts; a prickling sensation of fear took hold of him.
‘Who…what?’
‘Mr Axelmann, I sorry, you must fasten your seat belt we’re going through a turbulent zone,’ the girl said smiling softly. He could make out the dim lights of a plane’s cabin.
Yes! That was it; the panic quickly subsided as he took hold of himself. He had dozed off, but even in his sleep he could not get the terrible images out of his mind. He looked at his watch; it was seven o’clock in the morning Indonesian time, almost fourteen hours since he had left the body on the beach.
‘Bring me a Scotch and soda,’ he said hoarsely to the hostess pulling himself up in his seat and grasping around for his seat belt. Then he realised only another couple of hours or so remained before the flight was scheduled to arrive in Zurich.
‘Sorry make that a coffee,’ he said forcing a smile and trying to appear as normal as possible. He would need a clear head on arrival; it was not the moment for whisky. As soon as the ‘Fasten Seat Belts’ sign went off, he would wash and shave; look respectable, that was it.
He peered through the window into the dark, there were no clouds, he realised that it must be the jet stream bumping the huge plane about. As he numbly gazed into the night sky he thought back to his first meeting with Brodzski in Paris.