Black Ice Read Online Free PDF Page A

worse.
    The members of the arms cartel wanted a fair share of those lucrative profits. And Hakim was disposable.
    Bastien was in no hurry to see things played out—he could spend a day or two watching and waiting. The members of the cartel had learned, one by one, that Hakim had been responsible for Remarque’s assassination, and it didn’t sit well. Someone would dispose of him in the next few days, and if they failed it would be up to Bastien.
    It had been easy enough to subtly spread the word about Hakim’s treachery. The various reactions of the main players had been interesting indeed because, in fact, Hakim hadn’t been behind Remarque’s death, even though he was entirely willing to benefit from it.
    One of the other members of the clandestine arms cartel had been behind the hit. Someone who was here now, or had yet to arrive. That person was probably delighted that someone else had been fingered, but so far the Committee had been unable to discern who had actually done it. Conventional wisdom suggested Baron von Rutter. Beneath his jovial exterior he was a brusque, impatient man and he’d made his way moreby bullying tactics than finesse. Not to mention his equal partner, his young wife Monique.
    One of Bastien’s fellow operatives had put her money on Mr. Otomi, the reserved, elderly Yakuza boss, and Ricetti was a good possibility as well with his Mafia connections. And one could never discount Madame Lambert.
    Any of them were capable and willing, and if any of them had ordered the hit then the Committee would not be alarmed.
    But Bastien was banking on the last of their little group to arrive. Christos Christopolous was, on the surface, merely a minor player. The Greek connection had always been low-key, but Bastien was paid to be untrusting. And in the eleven months he’d lived as Bastien Toussaint he’d learned that Christos was the most dangerous of them all. He was the one who was most likely to have arranged for Remarque to be killed by the car bomb, along with his wife, daughter and three young grandchildren.
    Thomason had taken his word and set the assignment. Hakim was to die—no matter who was responsible, the hit on Remarque couldn’t have been accomplished without his assistance.
    And if Christos was chosen to lead the cartel, he, too, must die. The others were manageable—the Greek wasn’t.
    Maybe Christos wouldn’t get chosen, and Bastiencould once more vanish into the obscurity of another name, another nationality, another mission on some other continent. Not that it mattered—they all seemed to be the same, the good guys and the bad guys interchangeable.
    One thing was certain, he wasn’t going to be able to do a damned thing if the innocent little newcomer stuck a knife between his ribs.
    He had no illusions that he was on his own here. Signor Ricetti’s young male lover was Jensen, a young British operative who’d told his wife he traveled a lot as a pharmaceutical sales representative.
    Bastien had learned not to trust anyone, including his co-workers. It was always possible that Thomason had decided that Bastien himself was disposable. Jensen could take him out if that was what he was ordered to do, but he’d have a better chance of success than the girl. Anyone would. If they really wanted to get rid of him they needed someone a little more knowledgeable to do it.
    Someone a little more adept than sweet Mademoiselle Underwood.
    She was either there for him or for one of the others. Maybe just to gather information, maybe to dispose of an unwanted player. He had only to say something to Hakim and she would be the one they disposed of. Even if Hakim himself had hired her, she would be wiped out neatly and efficiently.
    He wasn’t quite ready to do that, even if it was the safest route. He hadn’t been drawn into this business by the lure of safety, and Mademoiselle Underwood might offer more value alive than dead. He would find out who sent her and why, and the sooner he found