Shoot to Kill by James Craig Page B

here. Make this thing go away and you can come and see me in Everton’s any time.’
    Carlyle jumped to his feet before he could start seriously contemplating the offer. ‘Thanks,’ he mumbled, ‘but I think I’ll pass.’
    Throwing herself back in the chair, Christina banged on the table in frustration. ‘Fucking English faggot!’
    Carlyle felt a flash of anger in his chest.
Don’t call me fucking English!
Grabbing his file, he quickly slipped out of the door.
    The exhibition’s curator, an elegant man in his late fifties with the outsized moniker of Simpson Salvador St John, stepped in front of the shimmering crown. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said, addressing the small group, ‘this is our star attraction, one of the world’s most beautiful and priceless objects. At the time, it was the ultimate accessory, flat-packed for easy transport in the first century AD .’
    ‘How much is it worth?’ asked a man hovering at his shoulder.
    St John tried not to show his frustration at the vulgarity of the question. ‘Like many of the other items in this exhibition,’ he said patiently, ‘its value is incalculable. It was discovered by Soviet archaeologists in 1978 in an elite nomadic cemetery and has never been shown in Britain before.’ He gestured across the exhibition floor, the sweep of his arm taking in a dazzling array of classical sculptures, gold jewellery, carved ivory and enamelled Roman glass. ‘Most of these pieces are unique in terms of the information they give about ancient trading patterns and Afghanistan’s relationship with the outside world at the time.’
    Another of the guests began to say something, but St John, in no mood for any more banality, ploughed on with his prepared spiel. ‘At the heart of the Silk Road, Afghanistan linked the great trading routes of ancient Iran, Central Asia, India and China, and the more distant cultures of Greece and Rome. The country’s unique location resulted in a legacy of extraordinarily rare objects, which reveal its rich and diverse past. Nearly lost during the years of civil war and later Taliban rule, these precious objects were bravely hidden in 1989 by officials from the National Museum of Afghanistan, to save them from destruction. They were kept hidden until 2004, after the fall of the Taliban and the election of the new government. We should salute the courage of the Afghan officials who risked their lives in order to safeguard the treasure.’
    ‘Hear, hear,’ Dino murmured, finally steering Simpson away from the group.
    ‘It really is an amazing collection,’ Simpson said, trying to sound grateful for the invite.
    ‘I know,’ Dino agreed. ‘But they say that everything will go back to the National Museum of Afghanistan in Kabul, so God knows what might happen to it.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Anyway, let’s go and get some dinner.’
    Sitting in one of the first-class carriages on the Eurostar, heading for home, Dominic Silver looked across the table at Gideon Spanner,who was staring vacantly out the window. For years, Dom had assumed that Gideon was suffering from some kind of post-traumatic stress disorder from his time in the Army. Now, he had come to the view that he was just a very closed-off guy, with the enviable ability to switch himself on and off. In the car park in Clichy-sous-Bois with Tuco the gunslinger, Gideon had been totally alert. Now he was resting; on standby mode.
    Gesturing to the service assistant for another glass of wine, Dom pulled out his mobile and called home.
    Eva picked up on the third ring. ‘Is everything okay?’ He could clearly hear the mixture of irritation and concern in her voice and vowed not to rise to it.
    ‘It’s fine,’ he said calmly, ‘we’re on our way back. How are the kids?’
    ‘A handful,’ she sighed, ‘as usual.’
    He looked at the clock on the screen of his phone. ‘I should be home about nine.’
    ‘Do you want some dinner when you get in?’
    ‘No, it’s all