Dead Men Read Online Free PDF

cool, fragrant smoke. She had often thought of starting an airline that offered only smoking flights. Non-smokers would be banned, and all the flight crew would smoke. She was sure she could fill every seat.
    Elizabeth would have preferred to fly on an American airline, but the British police officers accompanying her husband had already booked tickets on the British flag-carrier. He had paid for upgrades for the cops and they were sitting at the rear of the first-class cabin. They were dressed in reasonable suits and their shoes were shined, but they clearly didn’t belong in first class, so the dyed-blonde stewardess and her gay male colleague had virtually ignored them throughout the flight.
    ‘Not long now,’ said Kinsella. Two lawyers were sitting on the other side of the cabin, one a partner in the Boston firm that handled much of the legal work for the Kennedy family, the other a partner in a top London firm of criminal lawyers. They had brokered the deal that was bringing Kinsella back to the United Kingdom. As part of the deal, he would not be handcuffed and there would be no physical contact between him and the officers as they left the plane.
    Officially, Kinsella was not flying back of his own accord, he had simply stopped fighting the extradition order that had been filed against him. It was a fine detail, but it had given him an edge when he was negotiating his return. It meant that he could fly first class to London where he would be arrested, but instead of being taken into custody he would be allowed to spend two nights in a five-star hotel before flying on to Belfast. He would be officially charged in Northern Ireland but would be immediately granted bail until his trial, which the British Government had agreed to fast-track. The two lawyers would ensure that the authorities stuck to their side of the deal.
    The plane landed smoothly and taxied to its stand. The Kinsellas waited patiently for the steward to open the door and hand the passenger manifest to the ground staff. Then he smiled at the couple and waved for them to leave.
    ‘Thank you for taking such good care of us,’ said Elizabeth, with a smile. They stepped through the door, closely followed by the two policemen.
    Two men in suits were standing in the gangway. ‘Noel Marcus Kinsella?’ said one. He had a Belfast accent, as did the two policemen who had flown over with them. The Northern Ireland police had no intention of allowing their English counterparts to steal their glory.
    ‘Present and correct,’ said Kinsella, brightly. He reached for Elizabeth’s hand.
    ‘Noel Marcus Kinsella,’ said the man, ‘I am charging you with the murder of Robert Carter on the twenty-eighth of August nineteen ninety-six. You do not have to say anything unless you wish to do so, but I must warn you that if you fail to mention any fact which you rely on in your defence in court, your failure to take this opportunity to mention it may be treated in court as supporting any relevant evidence against you. If you do wish to say anything, what you say may be given in evidence.’
    ‘Heard and understood,’ said Kinsella. ‘Now, can we get to our hotel, please? I need a shower.’
    The old man inhaled the steamy fragrance of the mint tea, then sipped. It was the first Monday of the month and, as he always did on the first Monday of the month, he was sitting on a large silk cushion in a palatial tent in the desert some twenty miles from Riyadh. He had driven there in a convoy of four-wheel-drive SUVs. When he had been younger he had made the journey on a camel, as befitting his Bedouin roots, but now he was in his eighties and had a swollen prostate so he had no choice other than to travel by car.
    The old man was Othman bin Mahmuud al-Ahmed, and he was worth a little more than four hundred million pounds. By most standards Othman was rich, but he was a pauper compared with the men he served. The princes who ruled the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia measured their