THE LAVENDER CODE

Espionage, Love and Conseqeunce

The first person Urongo killed was the woman he loved.

At least, that was what the official report said.

SUBJECT TERMINATED AT 23:47 HOURS.

No name.

No photograph.

No explanation.

Just a number.

FILE 17-A.

Urongo had read the report seventeen times.

Each time, the words became less believable.

Because he had watched her die.

He had held her in his arms.

He had felt the warmth leave her body.

And yet, three years later, he still received messages from her.

The first had arrived on an ordinary Tuesday morning.

There were only four words.

THE LAVENDER IS GONE.

Urongo stared at the screen.

His hands began to tremble.

Nobody knew about lavender.

Nobody except Zawadi.

And, as far as he knew, Zawadi had been dead for three years.

He deleted the message.

Then another arrived.

THEY LIED TO YOU.

Urongo stopped breathing.

A third message followed.

COME ALONE.

Then an address.

He knew immediately what it meant.

The dead were not supposed to send invitations.

But Zawadi had never been very good at following rules.

PART ONE

THE WOMAN WITH THE LAVENDER SCENT

CHAPTER ONE — ZAWADI

He fell for her the moment his eyes fell on her.

Urongo had not seen such beauty and elegance in one person for a long while.

Her eyes carried a strange fire.

Her nose was perfectly poised.

Her face looked almost angelic.

Her body had the graceful symmetry of an hourglass.

And her perfume—

Lavender.

It was subtle, almost invisible, but it followed her like a secret.

She walked with confidence, one leg moving gracefully before the other, carrying herself with the kind of assurance that could make an iceberg melt.

She was, according to Urongo, the perfect woman.

And right there, before he even knew her name, he decided he wanted her.

So he walked toward her.

He smiled.

She smiled back.

They began talking.

She was intelligent.

Funny.

Observant.

Dangerously charming.

Then came the sentence that should have ended everything.

“I have a boyfriend.”

Urongo smiled.

“Then I suppose I arrived too late.”

She laughed.

“Very late.”

Neither of them knew that those words would eventually lead to the deaths of forty-three people.

Neither knew that their meeting had already been recorded.

And neither knew that, somewhere in a government building several hundred kilometres away, a file bearing Zawadi Aisha's name had just been reopened.

CHAPTER TWO — THE OTHER LIFE

Zawadi never told Urongo everything.

She told him enough.

She was a lecturer.

At least, that was what everyone believed.

She travelled occasionally.

She had friends in government.

She knew people in places where ordinary people did not have friends.

She sometimes disappeared for days.

She always had an explanation.

Family.

Work.

A conference.

A sick relative.

Urongo accepted them.

Because he...