The Death Trade by Jack Higgins Page A

Dillon said. “There’s only one problem. In spite of the difference between him and Rasoul, they’re on the same side. Never forget that.”
    â€œI’m not likely to if you keep reminding me. I think I know my duty.”
    â€œSo you could shoot him if necessary?”
    She frowned. “You are a bastard, Sean, even on your good days.”
    â€œYes, I worry about that constantly.” He gave her his special smile.
    â€œAnd you can forget the blarney, the Irish charm isn’t going to work on this occasion.”
    â€œGod save us, but you’ve seen through me at last.” He tightened his grip on her, fending people off.
    She laughed. “You clown,” she said. “Let’s get back to the hotel and see what Claude Duval has for us.”
    â€”
    T he small champagne party booked by Emza Khan took place in Husseini’s suite. It was all waiting when they returned, and Henri dismissed the staff and served the champagne himself. He was hoping that the party would be of short duration, for downstairs in his office, Fatima was waiting. He had found her in the bar at nearby Marco’s when he had gone in for a sandwich and a glass of wine, sitting there in her blue uniform. Temptation had proved too much for Henri, and he now had the prospect of untold delights later.
    Duval had assured him that the pill he had provided for Vahidi would dissolve instantly and induce a deep sleep within an hour of its being administered. Vahidi would awake in five hours or so refreshed and unaware of what had happened to him. Henri, offering the tray, managed to leave Vahidi till last, the pill concealed in his right palm, dropped at the correct moment as Vahidi looked left at Emza Khan, who was obviously about to speak.
    â€œTo the Islamic Republic of Iran.”
    â€œIran.”
    â€œI think that went well,” Khan said, holding his glass out for a top-up and turned to Husseini, who had gone to the piano and was sitting down. “I warned you to be sensible, and you were. I suppose we can call that some sort of progress.”
    â€œThen you would be wrong.” Husseini was playing a little Bach, ice-cold stuff as his fingers rippled over the keys. “Your flight from London was short, mine from Tehran rather long. I’m overtired and bored, and I felt that way all during the ceremony. I wanted it to end as soon as possible, and that’s why I behaved myself as the lies floated round me. I wanted to shout out the truth to the world.”
    â€œBut you can’t, can you?” Emza Khan snarled. “Because you know what will happen to your mother and daughter.”
    â€œOh, I know that well enough,” Husseini told him. “With ghouls like you lurking in the wings, just wishing for the order to do them harm.”
    Emza Khan cuffed him. “Learn your place, dog.”
    Husseini slapped Khan in the face. “You learn yours first. If anything happens to me here, you won’t be back in London, you’ll be trying to explain your miserable self in front of a government tribunal in Tehran.”
    Rasoul moved in, pulling his Master to one side, his right hand slamming the keyboard lid down. Husseini managed to snatch his hands away, and Rasoul drew a Webley revolver from his pocket. Declan moved with astonishing speed, stamped behind Rasoul’s right leg, punching him in the kidneys, grabbing him by the collar. Off balance, he fell to the floor.
    Declan picked up the weapon and put a foot in Rasoul’s back, holding him down. He looked at Khan, his face cold and hard as he said, “If anything happens to Husseini, we will all be held responsible. The consequences will be as bad for you, in spite of all your money, as they will be for me.”
    There was sudden fear on Khan’s face, and he kicked Rasoul. “Control yourself, you animal. On your feet now.”
    Rasoul heaved himself up, panting. “I’m