Three Great Novels (40 page)

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Authors: Henry Porter

Tags: #Thrillers, #Action & Adventure, #Fiction

BOOK: Three Great Novels
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There was nothing for the first fifteen minutes, apart from the even noise of Khan’s breathing. Then she heard Loz come into the room. This must have been after he had lost his temper with her under the trees. Khan seemed to pick up on his mood and weakly asked what the matter was. No reply came, but then Loz moved close to him and began to whisper.
‘We have to leave, Karim.’
Khan replied, ‘Why?’
‘Because we have to. This girl is not so stupid.’
Silence followed. Then Karim said, ‘You go without me. I’ll be all right here… Does she know?’
‘Know what?’ His voice was far sharper than usual.
‘That you were…’
‘No… But now you are rested we must leave.’
‘I cannot.’
‘You must. We need to get away from here. It is too dangerous for us to remain. I have some help. You will be well cared for. A night’s rest and you’ll be fine, old friend.’
Both voices faded at that moment and for several minutes she listened to the muttering she had heard when she first sped through the tape before sending it to Vauxhall Cross. Then something suddenly occurred to her and she switched the machine off and sat up in the bath. ‘Jesus wept, I’m an idiot,’ she said aloud. She lay back again, this time not into the bunched material of her robe but into two hands which caught her head and then slipped to her neck. She looked up to see Loz.
‘I don’t think you’re an idiot,’ he said, relaxing his grip but not letting go.
‘What the hell are you doing in here?’ she demanded. ‘Get the hell out.’
He drew back and studied her without saying anything.
‘Get out!’ she shouted.
‘I have seldom seen such beauty in a woman - particularly in one who does not know it.’ He moved from behind her, one hand still holding her neck so that it pressed against the side of the bath.
She struggled a little, but the pressure of his hand increased. ‘Get out now.’
‘But we need to talk. I wanted to thank you for what you have done for us.’
She covered herself with her hands as best she could.
‘Don’t do that,’ he said playfully. ‘If you could see yourself, you’d understand why I am lost for words.’
‘But you’re not lost for words.’
There was something different about his expression. The easy charm was there, but also an odd, embarrassed savagery. His face was streaked with sweat.
‘I’m warning you. Please leave now.’
Loz pulled the robe from the end of the bath and felt the material. ‘Ah yes, I thought you had something in here.’ He pulled out and examined the pistol, then let go of her neck and drew back. ‘I mean it, Isis, I’m awed by the sight of you. The way the light surrounds your body, yet does not reveal you completely.’ He paused to contemplate her further. ‘They say that each woman experiences a perfect twenty minutes during her lifetime when everything - her skin, hair, body, the expression in her eyes - is perfect. Have you heard of this?’
She said nothing.
‘I believe I am witnessing that moment in your existence. You’re truly radiant. I am overwhelmed.’
Herrick took stock. There was absolutely nothing she could do. The question was, what did he plan?
He smiled and moved to sit on the side of the bath. ‘In my culture the use of water - the preparation and purification of the woman’s body - is part of the act of love. Properly, there should be no division between the two.’
‘In my culture you are committing a crime and behaving like an arsehole.’
‘I mean you no harm. I took this away from you so that you didn’t shoot me as we talked. That’s all.’ He pulled up his sleeve and slid his hand into the water, then ran it up and down the inside of her calf, stroking her other leg with the backs of his fingers. ‘What were you listening to when I came in? Can I hear it too?’
‘Please stop doing that.’
‘What were you listening to?’
‘One of the recordings I made of our conversations. You were there.’
‘There’s nothing to hear. We have done nothing. We are what we seem.’
‘In which case you don’t have anything to worry about. Would you please stop touching me?’ She lifted his hand out of the water and placed it on the side of the bath. He dried it on his sleeve, then touched her face.
‘Another place and another time, Isis, and we…’
‘Give me my towel and my clothes, then leave!’
‘We haven’t had our talk,’ he protested. His hand went to her face and played on her forehead and cheek, then slipped round to her neck. ‘You know, this would be as great a pleasure for you as it would be for me.’ His finger traced a line round the depression at the base of her throat. ‘I could do so much for you.’ He paused. ‘After all, we may never see each other again and I for one would regret that we did not take the opportunity that has been given to us here.’
Herrick shifted her position in the bath and tried to read his expression in the light of the lamp. ‘Look,’ she said, her tone softening. ‘You
are
an attractive man. Anyone can see that. And yes, in other circumstances I might be tempted. Even now I find myself drawn to you. But threatening me is no way to seduce me, and you
are
threatening me.’
‘I am not,’ he said with a note of injury.
‘But you must see that to walk in here, take my gun and then use your advantage to touch me is very threatening behaviour.’ She paused. ‘Now, I am going to get out of this bath and I want you to hand me my clothes.’ With this she stood up and faced him, without bothering to hide herself. He picked up the lamp and stood.
‘Really, you’re quite beautiful.’
‘My towel,’ she said, putting out her hand.
He did not move.
She lifted her foot to the flat rim of the bath.
‘Stay,’ he said. ‘Stay there. I want to look.’
‘For God’s sake, give me my towel!’
Instead he reached out and touched her right breast, then moved to her left side. They looked at each other for a few seconds. She shook her head and removed his hand. ‘No.’
‘Let’s start this scene again,’ he said with a sudden boyish enthusiasm. ‘Believe me, it will be worth it. This is how we will do it. I will come in again and you will be dressed, and then we will take our ease together. You can drink a little of the whisky - but not too much - and we will talk.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But you will have to stop pointing that gun at me.’ She stepped onto the damp floor and made for the towel herself, feeling ridiculous and very angry. As she bent down he seized her and held her in both arms so that the gun reached round to the back of her head. Then he placed his lips on her mouth and kissed her with incongruous tenderness. She did not return his kiss but pulled her head away and looked into his eyes.
‘You’re not going to do this. It’s against everything you stand for. You render yourself a criminal in the eyes of God and a pathetic creep by the standards of the American society you profess to love.’
‘No,’ he said, in a tone that seemed to mock her unreasonable behaviour. ‘This is what we both want. You do not understand yourself, Isis. I know this.’ He bent down and kissed the top of her breast then moved to her neck with his lips. But he did not relax his grip on the gun.
‘Stop,’ she said, as his free hand began to explore her behind and the top of her leg. ‘Why don’t we talk for a while? That’s what you said you wanted to do.’ She shivered suddenly, knowing she would now have to scream or attempt to beat him off.
‘Sure. Why not? We will talk. There’s no hurry.’
‘Then let me get my clothes,’ she said. Without waiting for an answer she picked up the robe and put it on. Then she reached for the recorder, unplugged the earphones, and placed it in her pocket.
‘What do you want to talk about?’ he said indulgently.
‘It was you who came to speak with me,’ she said, ‘but since you ask, I would like to talk more about your past.’
‘You never give up,’ he said.
She began to make for the door. ‘Let’s go and have that drink.’
‘No,’ he said sharply, then modified his tone. ‘It’s good in here. More romantic, don’t you think?’
She turned. ‘You said you wanted to thank me. That is exactly what you should be doing, instead of threatening me. You owe me. Without me, Karim would never have been freed. And now… well, this is a very strange way to show your gratitude.’
Loz thought about this. ‘I am grateful to you. But you were doing it for your own ends as well. You wanted to know about Karim, just like the others did.’
‘With good reason,’ she said. ‘We’re fighting a war and Khan made some connections we’re interested in.’
‘Is this the way to fight your so-called war against terror? With torture, holding people without trial or legal representation, bombing innocent civilians? You know those people being held by the Americans? Nobody even knows their names.’
She shook her head. ‘You know what I think about torture and that goes for the whole of the British government and scores of other countries in the West. Whatever the deficiencies of the war against al-Qaeda, it must be obvious that we did not start this thing.’
‘But you did. Don’t you see that?’ Again the sudden flash of temper. ‘Look at the conditions of the Middle East, the people in Palestine. Look at the poverty here in Egypt. Look at Africa. These people are suffering because of the West’s greed and selfishness. No one can argue against this truth.’
‘Look,’ she replied quite calmly, ‘we all understand that the West must help less wealthy nations and that we all have to do something about the social problems, but let me just remind you that in Arab countries torture is routine. Remember why the CIA brought Khan here - because he was being strung up to the roof of a prison cell by an Arab government. So don’t give me a lot of bullshit about the mistreatment of suspects in the West. Torture and imprisonment without trial is the norm in your world.’
‘You do not understand! You have not seen how our people suffered in Bosnia, in Palestine. Everywhere. That’s what we are fighting for.’
‘Fighting for, Dr Loz? Who are you fighting for? You’re a US citizen and you enjoy all the delights and riches of the West, yet you say you’re fighting. For whom? Against what?’
‘No… I mean, the Arab peoples. This is what
they
are fighting for. They struggle for… justice.’
She exhaled heavily, realising that he was on the point of making an admission, and once he had there would be no turning back. He would have to kill her. At the moment there was still a residue of the urbane Manhattan doctor, the pretence of reason and consensus, but it had slipped twice already that day and she was certain he would not leave that room without getting what he wanted. ‘Let’s go and sit down utside,’ she said quietly.
He shook his head.
‘Look, it’s you who needs to relax. You’ve barely had any sleep in the last three days.’
‘I am fine,’ he said. ‘We will stay here.’
‘Then let me get a cigarette.’
‘No.’ He raised the gun. ‘Sit there.’
She wiped the edge of the bath with her towel and sat down.
‘Let’s not pretend any more,’ she said. ‘We’re on different sides. You know what I do and I now have a pretty good idea of what you are. For example, I guessed you were injured in Afghanistan, not Bosnia, and that Karim Khan saved you there and took you to Pakistan to be treated. All along you have been worried not about Karim - poor, misguided Karim - but about what he might reveal. You knew you couldn’t rely on him because, let’s face it, he’s really quite naïve, and the only reason he didn’t tell them about you was because his interrogators didn’t know precisely what questions to ask. Until you got the first postcard, you believed that the only man who could harm you was safely tucked away in Afghanistan, maybe even dead. Then the card came and you realised he was on the loose and - more dangerous to you and your organisation - untraceable in the shifting population of migrant workers coming from the East.’
Loz’s eyes were utterly expressionless. ‘Go on,’ he said.
‘Well, it’s pretty simple really. The picture you had of Khan wasn’t given to you by a homeless man in New York. You brought it back with you from Afghanistan. For some reason I recall that in 1998 all photography was banned by the Taleban except for official purposes. The portrait of Khan looks very much like the ones from the Taleban’s records recently handed over by the Northern Alliance. So my guess is that you were in Afghanistan in 1998 or 1999 for a period of training and planning. And you managed to get a copy of one of those pictures. You were there. I’m right, aren’t I?’
‘You’re forgetting that I’m a Shi’ite.’ He said evenly. ‘The people in Afghanistan were all Sunni Muslims, like Karim.’
‘That’s a detail. The point about your war is that it’s not really about religious practice, despite all that bullshit about jihad; it’s about the inequalities between the West and Islam. That’s what you’re fighting against, although the foot soldiers like Khan really have no notion of this. You don’t believe it’s a religious war any more than I do. It’s about economics.’

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