The Death Trade by Jack Higgins Page B

sorry.”
    â€œTake him back to his room,” Declan ordered. “I’ll speak to him again later.”
    Khan went, pushing Rasoul in front of him, Declan closing the door behind them. Husseini said, “That was well done. I’ll have another glass.”
    Henri, who had stood beside the champagne bar during the whole fracas, said, “Certainly, sir, what about you gentlemen?”
    Vahidi, who was yawning hugely, said, “Oh no, I’ve had too much already. You do as you want, I’m for bed.” He shambled to his bedroom at the other end of the room, called good night, and went in.
    â€œA night for surprises,” Husseini said, and Declan Rashid laughed. “Not really, that’s the trouble. I’ll see you in the morning.”
    He left, and Husseini said, “A night to remember.”
    Henri said, “I’ve seen it all before, or variations of it, during forty years in the hotel trade. Was there anything else?”
    â€œCould you leave clearing the room until the morning?”
    â€œYes, I could, but I’d like to check the welfare of the gentleman next door. He didn’t seem too good to me.”
    He didn’t wait for Husseini’s permission, went and opened Vahidi’s door, found the light still on and Vahidi, still wearing his suit, lying on the bed and snoring gently.
    Behind him in the doorway, Husseini said, “Is he all right?”
    â€œOh yes, sir, just one too many.”
    He switched off the light, and Husseini said, “I’ll say good night.”
    Henri, seizing the moment, said, “Actually, I do have a surprise for you, sir. A young lady desires a word with you and hopes you may remember her. Captain Sara Gideon.”
    Husseini was stunned. “Where is she?”
    â€œJust along the corridor. I can call her on the telephone.”
    â€œBut my bodyguard.”
    â€œIs out for about five hours. A sleeping pill in his champagne.”
    â€œWhat desecration.” Husseini smiled as he had not smiled in years. “But bring her on, Henri, bring her on.”
    â€”
    I t was Dillon who answered the house phone in their suite where the two of them had been waiting, hoping against hope. Sara wore jeans, ankle boots, and a heavy sweater that concealed a Glock in the belt holster.
    â€œIt’s ready and waiting,” Dillon told her. “Just a few yards up the corridor. I could come with you?”
    â€œI know you mean well, Sean, but I can handle it.”
    â€œOf course you can.”
    Her smile was radiant. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. You’re learning.”
    He smiled. “Go on, get out of it, go and save the world.”
    â€”
    T he corridor was quiet as she walked along, paused at the door, took a deep breath, and pressed the buzzer. It was Henri who opened the door.
    â€œWelcome, Captain,” he said. “Please come in.”
    She did and found Husseini standing by the piano. He stared at her, face drawn. “Sara?”
    â€œYes, it is me, Simon,” she said. A huge smile exploded on his face and he stepped close and threw his arms about her.
    Henri said, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go below to my room, sir.” He produced his card and put it on the coffee table by the door. “That has my mobile number. Call me if you need me, the captain can explain everything.”
    He let himself out, went down in the lift, and found Fatima lying on the small bed in the corner of his office, sleeping. He’d had enough to drink, nips of champagne, so he opened the large thermos he kept primed with strong black coffee, enjoyed a cup, smoked a Gitane, and studied Fatima and saw that she was quite lovely and that that he admired her much more than he’d realized. Could this be love? A long time coming. She turned to the wall, and he lay down beside her and closed his eyes.
    â€”
    S imon Husseini and Sara sat on the couch, and