Nick shouted above the sound of his own speed.“About thirty seconds worth, at the rate you’re going,” Paula yelled back. “I don’t understand you at all. First you want to walk because it’s quieter and then you steal a car from some wretched dirt farmer with five banana trees and a mortgage on his shack. Slow up, will you? You’ll go right past the village! There’s Toury, down the slope to the right.”Nick slowed and looked at the tiny cluster of houses huddled together near the waterline. He drove on for several hundred yards and swerved sharply into the rough driveway of a small coffee plantation. He glanced at his watch in the dashboard light before tugging loose the wires he’d crossed several minutes before when he’d helped himself to the parked car. Twelve forty-five. Not bad. Twenty minutes to take a quick and silent walk, hijack an antique buggy, and park two minutes’ walk away from a boatdock in Toury.“We weren’t followed when we left,” he said. “But I know we were followed earlier.
