slow, repetitive curls in a gym. Thin white snakes crawl across his knuckles and jawbone, long scars from years of street brawls. Antun notes where they are. All are right-sided defence wounds except for the mark on the left of his face, no doubt delivered by a right-handed attacker with a knife. He suspects the assailant is no longer around to brag about the encounter.
Aasif rips a wad of green paper towels from a wall dispenser and holds them out in his fist. ‘Here. Hurry up.’
Antun takes them and slowly wipes his hands. ‘What’s your rush? I thought
your kind
liked restrooms.’
‘My
kind
? What’s my
kin
d
?’
He smiles his way past him. ‘You know what it is.’
Aasif grabs his shoulder. ‘You say that again and I’ll rip a new asshole in your face.’
‘Sure you will.’ He stands eyeball to eyeball. ‘And we both know what you’d like to do with assholes.’
Aasif’s fists ball in anger.
Antun laughs in his face. He’s taken apart bigger and meaner creatures than Aasif. Most importantly he now knows where the ape’s trigger is and how quickly it can be pulled.
The two of them return to their seats in the rancid basement and glare across at each other. Both know their time will come.
Three bangs on the floor above their heads prompt Nabil to break his silence. ‘She’s here.’ He turns to Aasif. ‘Bring the vest.’
40
GLASTONBURY, ENGLAND
As well as his diplomatic duties and stewardship of the SSOA, Sir Owain Gwyn is the owner and non-executive chairman of Caledfwlch Ethical Investments, a multi-billion-dollar global investment company, started by his family generations ago. He is also the patron of more than a dozen charities and as a result, much of his first full day back in the UK is spent contacting his various offices.
The knight takes a late lunch with his wife, then returns to the SSOA’s underground control centre for a final briefing with Inner Circle secretary, Lance Beaucoup.
The room is dominated by a long wall of video screens and several rows of staff manning terminals and monitors linked to data, surveillance and satellite systems.
The two men sit in one of four concave areas that contain large desks-cum-conference-tables buffered by slide-across soundproof screens.
‘I’m afraid I have no news on Antun,’ confesses the Frenchman. ‘I just spoke to Gareth and he has been unable to contact him.’
Owain is worried. ‘I thought we had him under surveillance?’
‘We did. The team reported that they saw him meet Nabil, but we lost them both.’
‘How?’
‘We stayed with them for two changes of subway train, then they disappeared.’
‘What about the electronic tracker?’
‘Antun dropped it soon after the meet. Nabil must have gone to frisk him, so he had to.’
Owain is annoyed with himself. ‘We should have pulled him out as soon as the Americans made their raid. If anything goes wrong I will never forgive myself.’
‘Antun Bhatti is one of our best operatives; he can look after himself.’
‘Sometimes being the best is not good enough. Over the centuries we have filled graves with the best of men.’
‘I understand.’ Lance passes over a stack of screen prints.
‘What are these?’
‘Latest satellite surveillance shots from Togo. Mardrid has torched an entire village. Thirty deaths. Most of them burned alive. Fatalities include two coffee farmers shot in the head. I think they were the first to go.’
Owain throws the sheets onto his desk. ‘Damn every bone in his body!’ He rests his forehead on his hands and tries to control the rage. ‘I want him dead, Lance. I don’t care how. I want Mardrid lying beneath six feet of earth before he spreads any more of his cancer around the world.’
‘We can never get near him. His security is better than a Saudi king’s.’
‘Then until you can, stop this!’ He slaps a hand on the prints. ‘We’ve got people in Ghana; move them over. Find the ringleaders and give them to the
Aasif rips a wad of green paper towels from a wall dispenser and holds them out in his fist. ‘Here. Hurry up.’
Antun takes them and slowly wipes his hands. ‘What’s your rush? I thought
your kind
liked restrooms.’
‘My
kind
? What’s my
kin
d
?’
He smiles his way past him. ‘You know what it is.’
Aasif grabs his shoulder. ‘You say that again and I’ll rip a new asshole in your face.’
‘Sure you will.’ He stands eyeball to eyeball. ‘And we both know what you’d like to do with assholes.’
Aasif’s fists ball in anger.
Antun laughs in his face. He’s taken apart bigger and meaner creatures than Aasif. Most importantly he now knows where the ape’s trigger is and how quickly it can be pulled.
The two of them return to their seats in the rancid basement and glare across at each other. Both know their time will come.
Three bangs on the floor above their heads prompt Nabil to break his silence. ‘She’s here.’ He turns to Aasif. ‘Bring the vest.’
40
GLASTONBURY, ENGLAND
As well as his diplomatic duties and stewardship of the SSOA, Sir Owain Gwyn is the owner and non-executive chairman of Caledfwlch Ethical Investments, a multi-billion-dollar global investment company, started by his family generations ago. He is also the patron of more than a dozen charities and as a result, much of his first full day back in the UK is spent contacting his various offices.
The knight takes a late lunch with his wife, then returns to the SSOA’s underground control centre for a final briefing with Inner Circle secretary, Lance Beaucoup.
The room is dominated by a long wall of video screens and several rows of staff manning terminals and monitors linked to data, surveillance and satellite systems.
The two men sit in one of four concave areas that contain large desks-cum-conference-tables buffered by slide-across soundproof screens.
‘I’m afraid I have no news on Antun,’ confesses the Frenchman. ‘I just spoke to Gareth and he has been unable to contact him.’
Owain is worried. ‘I thought we had him under surveillance?’
‘We did. The team reported that they saw him meet Nabil, but we lost them both.’
‘How?’
‘We stayed with them for two changes of subway train, then they disappeared.’
‘What about the electronic tracker?’
‘Antun dropped it soon after the meet. Nabil must have gone to frisk him, so he had to.’
Owain is annoyed with himself. ‘We should have pulled him out as soon as the Americans made their raid. If anything goes wrong I will never forgive myself.’
‘Antun Bhatti is one of our best operatives; he can look after himself.’
‘Sometimes being the best is not good enough. Over the centuries we have filled graves with the best of men.’
‘I understand.’ Lance passes over a stack of screen prints.
‘What are these?’
‘Latest satellite surveillance shots from Togo. Mardrid has torched an entire village. Thirty deaths. Most of them burned alive. Fatalities include two coffee farmers shot in the head. I think they were the first to go.’
Owain throws the sheets onto his desk. ‘Damn every bone in his body!’ He rests his forehead on his hands and tries to control the rage. ‘I want him dead, Lance. I don’t care how. I want Mardrid lying beneath six feet of earth before he spreads any more of his cancer around the world.’
‘We can never get near him. His security is better than a Saudi king’s.’
‘Then until you can, stop this!’ He slaps a hand on the prints. ‘We’ve got people in Ghana; move them over. Find the ringleaders and give them to the
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