The Death Trade Read Online Free PDF Page B

sitting by the open sliding windows to the terrace, drinking a Virgin Mary, not that he was averse to adding vodka to it if he wished. As chairman of Cyrus Holdings and incredibly wealthy, he was only lacking in life where family was concerned. Two sons killed in the war with Iraq, a third, Yousef, a libertine and drunk who disgraced himself with whores and refused to take anything seriously. Which left Khan with only Declan Rashid, a remote cousin of the family clan, but a man who would make any father proud, except for one thing—careful discussion with the colonel had indicated that he had not been moved by the words of Osama bin Laden, had not warmed to him at all.
    This was a pity and a complete reversal of what had happened to Emza Khan, whose conversion had been quite genuine after hearing Osama speak for the first time. He had immediately contacted the right people, made it clear that he believed in the great man completely, and was soon serving him as required. After Osama’s murder, which was how Khan saw it, he had placed himself at the disposal of those carrying on the holy work of their deceased leader via the Army of God. Following instructions, Khan had declared his opposition to al-Qaeda in newspaper and television interviews, and so now that was the public perception of him, and by everyone around him, including Declan Rashid. It would have been absurd, after all, to have believed otherwise, and al-Qaeda was hardly popular with the Iranian government.
    He was involved right now with extremely important work concerning the delivery of arms to various places in the Mediterranean. He had thought of involving Yousef in it, but hesitated, concerned at the consequences if failure occurred. That al-Qaeda could be unforgiving in such circumstances was a known fact.
    Rasoul Rahim came in from the kitchen, a green barman’s apron over his black suit, his beard perfectly trimmed, the scar vivid on the left cheek.
    â€œYou still look like an undertaker in spite of that ridiculous apron,” Khan told him.
    Rasoul didn’t even smile. “How may I serve you?”
    â€œAs Yousef is taking his time about getting here, I can only fear the worst. We’ll give him another half hour, then you must go and search his usual haunts in Shepherd Market. In the meantime, mix me a Bloody Mary, and don’t forget the colonel intends to drop by on his way home from the embassy with the schedule for the Paris trip.”
    Rasoul nodded and returned to the kitchen.
    â€”
    D illon and Sara, sharing a cab on their way to their respective homes, were driving along Curzon Street when Dillon told the driver to turn into Shepherd Market and drop them at the Blue Angel.
    â€œIt’s a piano bar,” he informed Sara. “One of the best in London, with one of the greatest players in the business.”
    â€œYou rogue, Sean.” She shook her head. “You intended this all the time.”
    â€œMe darling Sara, do I look that sort of a guy?”
    â€œAbsolutely,” she told him.
    â€”
    A t the same moment, Declan Rashid was turning into the underground garage at Emza Khan’s building. As he got out, George, the night porter, joined him.
    â€œI think you should know that young Yousef’s on the loose, Colonel.”
    Declan said, “Is he bad?”
    â€œDrunk as a lord, sir. I refused to give him his car keys and he tried to punch me. Then he said he didn’t need the car because he’d find what he wanted in Shepherd Market. He said he’d get me sacked.”
    â€œGood work, George, and hang on to those keys. Don’t worry about your job, I’ll see to it.”
    He was back in the car in seconds and reversing. It was only a matter of a few hundred yards through empty streets and he turned into Shepherd Market, parked, and saw Yousef at once in the middle of a cobbled alley approaching the Blue Angel, swaying drunkenly. He called his name as Yousef got the