Under Fire: (A Dan Taylor thriller) by Rachel Amphlett Page B

things, and why he’s been kidnapped, right?’ He looked around the table, then at the analyst, who was glaring at him, his mouth silently opening and closing.
    Dan grinned. ‘Sorry – did I spoil it for you?’

Chapter 14
    Malta
    Hassan walked through the villa, his footsteps echoing through the living area as he strode among the rooms. The white walls reflected the winter sun streaming through partially opened windows and cast silhouettes on the tiled floors. A light breeze blew through the property, aided by slowly turning ceiling fans.
    He breathed in the scent of jasmine. Towards the back of the house he could hear raised voices from the kitchen as lunch was prepared. He smiled, revelling in the atmosphere, and the fact his plans were slowly but surely falling into place.
    He slowed as he turned into a wide hallway, crossed a decorative rug and approached the study. He adjusted the sweater draped casually across his shoulders over a navy blue polo shirt, and thrust his hands into the pockets of his beige trousers. He nodded to the bodyguard standing in front of the heavy wood-panelled door and waited while the man stood to one side, pushed open the door and respectfully stepped out of Hassan’s way, his head bowed.
    Hassan strode over to a desk which had been set beside patio doors. He reached out to touch a briefcase that had been placed on the desk. Picking it up, he felt the weight in his hands. He closed his eyes and remembered. This is an investment .
    He glanced up at Mustapha, who waited patiently by the patio doors, gazing out across the barren landscape.
    The second of the two bodyguards waited for Hassan’s signal, then slid open the tinted glass-panelled patio door. Hassan closed his eyes, savouring the faint sea breeze that wafted in from the adjacent cliffs, and then lifted his face up to the sun at its zenith in the blue sky.
    Lowering his chin, he opened his eyes and gazed at the barren landscape in front of him. The farm had long since ceased producing anything of use, with many of its outbuildings falling into disrepair from years of neglect. The stone walls, erected a century ago by skilled stonemasons, would in all likelihood remain long after Hassan had finished with the property.
    He tested the weight of the briefcase in his hand and stepped out onto the flag-stoned terrace, pulling his sunglasses off his head and over his eyes in one fluid motion.
    A pagoda provided shade over the area of the patio nearest the house, climbing plants left to entangle themselves up and over the wooden frame, providing natural shade from the noonday sun. A wrought iron round table and four chairs were placed under the shade. Two of the chairs were empty while their former occupants stood to the left of the shaded area, smoking cigarettes and talking animatedly between themselves.
    The other two chairs were taken up by one man who sat in one, and languidly stretched his legs across to the other. He appeared to be watching the other two men converse, a lazy smile playing across his lips. As he heard Hassan approach he turned his head and looked up at his host.
    ‘Everything okay?’
    Hassan nodded, and placed the briefcase on the table. ‘Your money is in there.’
    The man smiled, turned to the two smokers and signalled them over. They nodded, ground out their cigarettes on the flagstones and walked towards him. ‘You won’t be insulted if we count it?’
    Hassan shook his head. ‘I’m an honourable man, Mr Ivanov, but no, I won’t be insulted.’
    He waited as Dmitri Ivanov swung the briefcase round, looked at the combination lock, glanced up at Hassan, smiled and flicked the briefcase open. ‘If you’re so honourable, Hassan, how is it you know my personal pin code?’
    Hassan shrugged. ‘I like to know who I’m dealing with.’
    Ivanov shook his head and laughed. ‘I guess I’ll be changing my passwords.’ He pushed the briefcase towards his two colleagues. ‘You know what to do.’
    The men