The Assassin Read Online Free PDF Page A

all that food and wine—and the goujis for me—is it really big, this money?’
    â€˜It could be very big,’ Keller said slowly. ‘The more I think of it, little one, the bigger I believe it could be. The kind of money one dreams about. Enough to take us out of the Lebanon, enough so we could live anywhere we liked and never worry again.’
    â€˜Then I don’t want you to do it.’ She pulled away from him and sat up; he looked into the big eyes, fierce with emotion.
    â€˜That sort of money means danger. You would be in danger. I know it. Tell them we don’t want anything. I can get money if you want. But don’t do anything for Fuad. Don’t get into danger, Bruno. I can earn money for us.’
    He pinched out the red end of the cigarette, his skin was so tough he didn’t feel the burn. ‘I’ve never hit you,’ Keller said, ‘but if you ever speak like that again I will.’
    â€˜I won’t say it again.’ She put her hands to her face and began to cry. ‘It’s only that I love you.’
    She was the first women he had ever known who hadn’t been sliding about on her back for years. He remembered the bedaubed child prostitute at the bus shelter that morning, and the sly, oiled smile of Fuad when he talked about the girl. His own mother had been some kind of whore. ‘I know why you said it; I know you mean well, but you don’t understand. You’re my woman. No other man will ever touch you. And if we get some money our lives will change. You’ll be a respectable girl with a house of your own.’ He looked at her and wiped away the tears with the side of his hand. He might even marry her. But this he didn’t say.
    â€˜Be a good girl now, and don’t cry. Come and I will show you that I’m not angry any more.’
    He was picked up in a taxi outside the St George Hotel. Fuad was in it. He made a gesture to Keller not to speak. They drove for an hour, and then the taxi stopped outside a restaurant. Fuad paid and got out. He went to another car, got into the driver’s seat, and with Keller in the back, drove out on to the coast road. Keller noticed that after a few minutes another car was following them.
    â€˜Where are we going?’
    â€˜Out to Jebartaa,’ Fuad answered. He kept glancing in the driving mirror. The car Keller had noticed was a black Mercedes 2000 and it was still following. Jebartaa was two hours’ drive from Beirut. Keller looked at his watch. They had been going for about that time.
    They went through Jebartaa and turned off about a mile outside; the road became a track, the car jolted and lurched over ruts and chasmic pot-holes. There were no houses in sight. Nothing, so far as Keller could see out of the windows, but bleak fields.
    â€˜There’s a case on the floor, by the other seat.’ Fuad had stopped the car; he was half-turned round to look at Keller. He reminded him of a sallow rat in human clothes; his bright black eyes flickered back to the rear window. Keller followed the glance. The Mercedes was right behind them. The driver was Lebanese—he could tell that immediately. Not a regular taxi driver, more like somebody’s chauffeur without his uniform cap. There was somebody sitting in the rear, but there was a partition between them and the front seats. It was made of smoked glass. Whoever was inside could see but couldn’t be seen.
    Keller found the case.
    â€˜Get out,’ Fuad said.
    Keller stayed where he was. ‘I get out when you do.’ All his back hairs were up; it was all very organised, very untypical of the Middle East. He didn’t like the car parked behind them and that shadow behind the smoked glass.
    â€˜You must get out,’ Fuad protested. ‘Bring the case with you.’ He was so nervous that he sounded shrill. ‘You don’t have to impress me, Keller. If you want this job you’ve got to satisfy