Rotten Gods Read Online Free PDF

violently, swinging rifle butts onto the sides of heads, depositing victims in a row on the carpet on the dais, pushing them down, and all the time shouting, ‘Kneel, kneel!’ Blood flows from nostrils and lips onto the carpet.
    The voice drones on: ‘Hussein Malik of Pakistan; Wasef Ansari of the Afghanistan Transitional Government …’
    Muslim leaders are treated more savagely than the Westerners, suffering hammer-like blows from pistol butt and boot, as if a special breed of hatred is reserved for them.
    Someone shouts, ‘For the love of God, leave them alone.’
    The speaker is identified and a lone mujahedin leaves the pack, drags the man from his seat and beats him about the head until he slumps to the floor, a groaning, bloodied, mess.
    The war criminals kneel in a row that extends across the dais, some shaking, others weeping openly.
    Day 1, 12:35
    Simon Thompson has flown everything from a Piper Aztec to a Boeing Y3, working his way up through the British Airways hierarchy from trainee pilot to first officer, and finally captain, four gold bars on his epaulettes. He has seen it all  — force eight storms over Greece; flying through black, fortress-like cumulonimbus cloud formations with St Elmo’s fire dancing on the wingtips; visited every major country on earth; and been propositioned in both the sexual and the criminal sense.
    Still, after ten years in the cockpit he loves his job, loves the rush as the full-bellied 747-8 rises up through thirty thousand feet, loves to see the Gulf from the air, set against the brown desert landscape of the Emirates.
    Beginning the initial adjustments that will see them land in some thirty minutes, he smiles to himself. With Dubai the scheduled stopover on the way to Singapore, he has two hours at the airport. Isabella will be busy at the conference, but Kelly has promised to bring the girls out from the Towers Rotana on Sheikh Zayed Road to see him. They’ll have lunch, and talk a bit before he has to board. If he has time, he will choose a gift for each of the girls at the airport shops — a book perhaps. Frances, the eldest, reads teen romance novels that stop short of sex with vampires but make up for it with plenty of suggestive neck puncturing. Simon smiles when he thinks of her — a pretty girl, so attractive that one of Isabella’s brothers mumbled once: Boys are gonna slash their wrists over that girl, you just wait and see.
    Hannah, two years younger, likes fairy tales and spooky stories, when she can sit still for long enough to read more than a page or two. Her preference, of course, would be a new charm for her Pandora bracelet. Already she has six sterling silver charms, one gold, purchased from gift shops and jewellers around the world.
    Isabella might get away from the conference and bring the girls out herself. A little jolt of electricity sparks through his chest. Three months have passed since the separation, and still he wishes she did not look so perfect, that she would not smile at him in quite that way …
    Lost in his thoughts, he looks up as Penny Maynard opens the bulkhead door and enters the cockpit, immaculate in her red scarf and dark blue British Airways blazer.
    â€˜You wanted me, sir?’
    â€˜Just thought I’d let you know that there might be some moderate turbulence on the way down  — thermals off the desert. Could be a bit uncomfortable. Let the passengers know it’s nothing serious, will you?’
    â€˜Sure. Is that all?’
    â€˜That’s it, thanks.’
    The door closes behind her, leaving a lingering and expensive scent. Simon half smiles to himself, enjoying the fragrance, while returning to the series of manoeuvres that will soon see the giant craft taxiing down Runway 12L at Dubai International.
    The SELCAL light on the aircraft communications addressing and reporting system lights up, and a beep sounds, signalling a ground-to-air voice