THIRTY-ONEI SPENT THE NEXT COUPLE of hours sleeping, passed out on the bed, only wearing the pair of purple trunks. I had asked Diana to do a complete scan of everything Noah Wilson-related from the past week or two and to give me a call-back in three hours.
She did, and she came back with everything I’d hoped for.
It turned out that Noah Wilson had been docked in Hout Bay harbor on the far west of the Cape coast—one of the most expensive strips of land on the entire continent. This little harbor sported about as many yachts and catamarans and expensive types of water vehicle as any other millionaire’s coastal playground did. According to her, his passport was scanned exactly a week ago.
He didn’t stay on board, however. He was staying at a hotel right at the base of Table Mountain over
