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I wish for a moment that I could take him down a peg or two.
We go past the kiosks to a gunmetal gray door with a large sign warningDÉFENSE D’ENTRERand a doorknob with a key-card entry system below it.
Jeremy once again shows the rules don’t apply to him: blocking the keypad from my view, he taps in the correct code and opens the door.
“This way, Amy,” he says.
We enter a narrow corridor with overhead fluorescent lights, and the door slams shut behind us. The floor is scuffed tile and there are three doors before us: one at the end of the short hallway, the others to our left and right.
Jeremy starts to say something when the two nearest doors fly open and the corridor quickly fills with nice-looking young men in fine suits, all of them pointing pistols at us.
I remember my earlier desire to take Jeremy down a peg, and with it that old, wise saying.
Be careful what you wish for.
Chapter56
AFTER Along, refreshing shower, Rashad Hussain is enjoying a traditional afternoon tea with his trusted associate Marcel Koussa at the Millennium Hotel London Mayfair, directly across the street from Grosvenor Square.
When he was at boarding school in Scotland, the afternoon tradition was lukewarm tea, stale scones, and sour jam. Here, costing more than thirty pounds, the service includes homemade sandwiches; warm, home-baked fruit; and plain scones served with Devonshire clotted cream, lemon curd, and preserves.
“Here,” Rashad says, pouring Marcel a cup of tea. “My turn to be mother. How did the cleanup go?”
“It went well,” Marcel says, drinking the tea with just a touch of cream. “A dedicated forensics team, with the latest equipment and lots of time, may find trace evidence, but I doubt it. My cleanup crew is from Chechnya. They know how to do a good job and keep their mouths shut.”
Rashad nods in satisfaction, but there’s an edge to Marcel’s voice that he doesn’t like. Marcel is a good boy and for the most part can be entirely trusted, but Rashad wants to know what he’s thinking.
“You don’t approve,” Rashad says quietly.
Marcel replaces the teacup on the table. “It’s not my place to either approve or disapprove, sir.”
“But I sense you seek an understanding. True?”
“If you wish to give me one, sir, I will not object.”
Rashad lowers his voice. “For years I have been a warrior, and a warrior—above all—must be dedicated to his service, to his God, and not allow any distractions or obstacles to get in the way of completing his mission. I’ve had success upon success these past years, with your assistance and that of others, but as always, there can be doubts. Am I doing the right thing? Am I understanding God’s word? And…above all, do I still have the drive to remain focused?”
Marcel seems to consider this, and Rashad continues.
“My encounter with those two whores was a test. A test to see if I could resist their wiles, their flesh, their sexual temptation. Through God’s power, I was able to resist on all fronts. And then…well, there must be no witnesses, at such a delicate stage. Correct?”
“Absolutely.”
Rashad picks up another small sandwich, the crusts cut away. “Are you ready for your trip? And the meet-up?”
“All is in place.”
He starts to talk and spots a quiet bustle at the other end of the hotel dining room, past the curtained windows and paintings hanging on the pale blue walls. Rashad has a shock of recognition as he spots an older man talking to a hostess, with two younger men behind him. Rashad turns his head, but it’s too late.
He’s been spotted.
Marcel says, “Sir?”
“A man is coming over here who thinks he’s my friend. Act accordingly.”
Marcel nods and the approaching man says, “Rashad! What an unexpected surprise!”
Rashad stands up, extends a hand, receives a quick shake in return. The man is stout, dressed in a fine dark-gray suit half a size too tight, with a white shirt and regimental tie. His thick white hair is combed to one side, and there are fine webs of broken capillaries on his nose.
