NO KISS FOR THE DEVIL (Gavin & Palmer 5) (19 page)

He smiled
without humour and gestured at a metal framework surrounding the door they had
just passed through. ‘No need. You were screened as you came through.’ He
turned towards a small lift on the other side of the lobby. ‘We’ll take this up
to the third floor.’

The lift was
fast and smooth, and brought them to a narrow corridor lined with thick carpets
and soft lighting. Koenig excused himself and led Riley towards a set of glossy
double doors. He ushered her through and into a long room furnished with a twin
line of chairs around a boardroom-style table. More discreet lighting reflected
off the polished wood, and a rich aroma of coffee hung in the air.

‘Kim’ Al-Bashir
was sitting on the far side of the table.

He had a cup of
coffee at his right hand, and looked chubbier in the flesh than Riley expected,
with full cheeks and his hair cut close to the scalp. He was dressed in a crisp
white shirt and a grey suit with a discreet check, and wore a diamond-pattern
tie with a neat pin behind the knot.

Riley was
immediately struck by how unremarkable he looked. For a man who always loomed
larger than life in the headlines with news of his latest business deals, he
appeared almost insignificant in the flesh.

But there was
no mistaking the aura which sprang off him when he looked up.

Al-Bashir
nodded at Koenig, who stepped forward and dropped a fan of papers onto the bare
table.

The dramatic
nature of the gesture wasn’t lost on Riley. She stepped forward and looked down
at them. They were photocopies of a selection of her past work going back
several years.

‘As you can
see, Miss Gavin,’ said Al-Bashir evenly, ‘we know all about you.’ His voice was
surprisingly soft.

Riley felt her
heart thumping. The search and screening downstairs, the security guard at her
shoulder, the sombre atmosphere, the display of control, power and now personal
knowledge – it was all intended to dominate and intimidate.

‘I’m
impressed,’ she said, and spotted a typo on the top sheet. God, she thought,
how humiliating. It was the first paper she’d worked for, long since closed
down, where the desire to deliver local news fast had often taken priority over
presentation.

‘What do you
want?’ Al-Bashir twirled his cup with a faint squeak from the elegant bone
china.

‘What will
happen if you win the Batnev network licence?’

Al-Bashir
lifted his eyebrows in mild surprise. ‘Is that all you wish to know? My media
department could have answered that question with a simple phone call.’ He frowned.
‘You said you had some information for me.’

‘I do.’ Riley
breathed easily.

‘Really. Then
name your price.’ Al-Bashir already sounded bored.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘You have
information to sell. Name your price and I’ll judge if I wish to pay.’

Riley felt a
stirring of anger. He was treating her like a money-grubber. Maybe it was
because of the people he usually dealt with.

‘You think
that’s what it’s about?’ she said. ‘Money?’

He shrugged.
‘That is what most people want. If you are different, then please say so.’ He
glanced at Koenig, and Riley sensed the meeting was about to be cut short.

‘I have reason
to believe,’ she said, ‘that reports about your wife are shortly to be
circulated in the foreign press.’

Several
heartbeats went by before Al-Bashir responded. ‘There are often reports against
me,’ he growled. ‘How do you know this?’

‘I’ve seen the
notes.’

‘Notes? What do
they say, these…notes?’

The door behind
Riley opened and she realised Koenig had slipped out. She hadn’t seen a signal
from Al-Bashir; maybe he’d been summoned by thought control.

She took a
calming breath before speaking. ‘They concern issues of a personal nature.’
Riley chose her words with care. Saying something to trigger Al-Bashir’s
legendary temper might do more than merely get her thrown out on her ear.
Suggesting his wife was having an affair was bad enough; telling him she was
doing so with another woman would likely result in a reaction she might not
survive, professionally at least. For one, she had no firm proof. But the mere
suggestion would be something Al-Bashir could not ignore.

‘Personal. When
are they not?’ Al-Bashir made a gesture of contempt for such things. But she
sensed the tension that had suddenly entered the room. ‘What sort of personal
issues?’

‘Your wife’s
conduct. Alleged conduct.’

*******

‘I
beg your pardon?’ Al-Bashir sat forward in his chair, his voice dangerously
low. The atmosphere in the room had suddenly changed and Riley felt a shiver
settle across her shoulders. Now, more than at any time, she knew that making
the allegations contained in the folder would be reckless in the extreme. It
would be like poking a king cobra with a sharp stick. A short one.

‘They claim,’
she said, carefully amending the words she had been about to use, ‘to have
reports of activities unbecoming to the wife of a man in your position…and
faith.’

Al-Bashir
crouched as if ready to spring out across the table at her. Riley noticed his
fingers were pressed flat on the table before him, the skin white and
bloodless.

‘What
‘activities’?’ The words came out in a near whisper.

‘Extravagance.
A lack of modesty in her spending. That sort of thing.’

After a few
seconds, Al-Bashir seemed to relax. He sighed and sat back, lifting his hands
from the table. He nodded slowly, then said, ‘So what? Asiyah is a wealthy
young woman. Do these notes suggest she should not enjoy herself?’

‘No.’

‘What, then? Is
the press the moral arbiter of how my wife should spend my money? You think
that bothers me?’

‘Not that,
either.’ Riley had struggled on the way over for a way of testing the water
with regard to how Al-Bashir might react to the rumours. She didn’t want to
find herself faced with legal action – or worse, if the stories about his
security team were to be believed. ‘There are implications,’ she continued,
‘that any stories circulating at this time might not be viewed in a good light
by those behind you.’

‘Behind me?’

‘Your backers.
The investors you represent. Specifically, those you will be dealing with in
the Batnev project.’ She saw he wasn’t going to respond and continued. ‘They
are going with you because the network will eventually spread far beyond the
current proposed boundaries. They are banking - literally - on controlling the
spread well across the Middle East, through India, Pakistan and beyond. Maybe
even China.’ She waited to see if he would laugh in her face. He didn’t, so she
added, ‘Potentially, you’d be controlling the biggest telecoms consumer market
on the planet.’

‘Really?’
Al-Bashir smiled, and Riley felt the chill return. ‘And who told you that?’

She said
nothing.

Al-Bashir
tapped a fingernail on the rim of his cup. ‘I don’t know where you got your
information, Miss Gavin,’ he said carefully. ‘But let me tell you this. There
are no reports. There is no basis for anyone to have ‘notes’ about my wife or
anyone else in my family. And if anyone - anyone - tries to suggest otherwise,
they will regret it to their dying day.’ He lifted a hand and adjusted his tie.
‘Of course, if you were able to allow my security manager to have details about
these notes you speak of, I would be most grateful.’

He knows,
thought Riley. She could see it in his eyes. In spite of his casual demeanour,
a flicker of uncertainty hovered behind the bland façade, like smoke behind
glass. And the chill in the room had not diminished in any way. No wonder he’d
looked ready to leap out from behind the table. The notes must be true.

‘I’m sure you
would,’ she told him, her voice level. ‘But I didn’t come here for that.’

Behind her, the
door opened and Koenig stepped up alongside her.

Al-Bashir
didn’t take his eyes off Riley. ‘So why did you come?’

‘For the
truth.’

‘Ah. The
truth.’ Al-Bashir looked sour. ‘Not exactly what one looks for in your
business, I think.’

Except when it
suits you, Riley wanted to say. ‘Maybe. What would be the effects if such
reports came out?’

He didn’t
reply. Riley took it as answer enough, and wondered just how fragile this man’s
position really was. She was beginning to see how clever his enemies might have
been.

Koenig leaned
forward and placed a folded sheet of paper in front of his boss. Al-Bashir
opened it. Inside was a photo. He read the note, then swept it to the floor
with a sharp flick of his hand. It was the first clear sign of irritation.

‘It seems you
were followed here today,’ said Al-Bashir. He pushed the photo across the table
so that Riley could see it. It appeared to have been taken from high up near
the ceiling, and showed the area around the information desk downstairs. A man
was standing nearby. He was short and heavily built, like a weight-lifter.
‘This man entered the building thirty seconds after you. He is waiting
downstairs, pretending to study the floor plan, but not very convincingly. His
name is Pechov.’

Riley tried to
remain casual. Followed? By whom? ‘Pechov? I don’t know anyone called Pechov.’

‘Of course not.
But he seems to know you. He was watching you all the way to the desk and only
turned away when Mr Koenig went out to meet you.’ He nodded at the security
man. ‘Mr Koenig is a very experienced security consultant. He can identify a
bad tail at a hundred metres.’

Riley began to
feel queasy. In spite of the brief flash of temper just now, this man was far
too calm. And now she appeared to have collected a follower.

‘I still don’t
know who he is,’ she insisted.

‘Then it’s just
as well we do, isn’t it?’ Al-Bashir smiled triumphantly. He nodded at Koenig,
who cleared his throat and spoke for the first time since she had met him
downstairs.

‘Piotr Pechov
is a former Russian military intelligence officer,’ he said calmly. ‘He’s
employed by an organisation affiliated to a network of organised crime across
Eastern Europe. The current head of that organisation is believed to be a man
named Fedorov. But he uses many other names.’

‘I’ve never met
him, either.’

‘You should
count yourself lucky.’

‘There still
remains the question, Miss Gavin,’ put in Al-Bashir, ‘of how you heard of
this…plan to discredit me through my wife. You didn’t read about it on a London
bus, did you? It was not something you picked up on YouTube.’ When Riley didn’t
reply, he pulled a mock-sad face. ‘Oh, don’t tell me: you can’t reveal your
sources.’

Riley said
nothing. Either Al-Bashir was a master of control or he was superb at playing
the part. But at least she now knew that he was aware of his enemies. And
knowing that, she knew a lot more about the seriousness of the game he was
engaged in.

‘Never mind.’
Al-Bashir stood up. He was barely five feet six but his lack of inches clearly
didn’t bother him. ‘Thank you for your visit, Miss Gavin. I will take it from
here.’

‘What about
this Pechov person?’ she asked.

Al-Bashir
raised his eyebrows. ‘What about him? He was following you, not me.’ His smile
was cold. ‘Perhaps you should ask him when you go back downstairs.’ With that,
he left the room.

Riley followed Koenig
back along the deserted corridor to the lift. He said nothing on the way down,
but as the lift door opened, he held a powerful arm in front of her, blocking
her way.

‘Don’t stop to
shop,’ he advised her. ‘And don’t come back. The boss was being polite. You
won’t be welcome here.’

Riley felt her
face flush. ‘I’m being banned? Why? That’s unfair!’

He gave a faint
sneer. ‘Maybe, maybe not. Don’t worry – I’m sure the boss will cope with the
drop in revenue.’

‘You know,
don’t you?’ She decided to risk asking the question, although she doubted she
would get an answer. ‘About his wife. What would happen if it came out. What
would he do to prevent it?’

Koenig leaned
closer, until she could see right into the depths of his eyes. He was so close,
she could see individual hairs which he’d missed when shaving. ‘Drop it, Miss
Gavin. Whatever you do, drop it.’ The menace in his voice was clear, and Riley
felt a sudden desperation to get out of this place.

Before she
could say anything else, he dropped his arm and allowed her to pass.

‘More worrying
for you,’ he said, ‘is that you’ve been in contact with Fedorov. He may have
used another name.’ He held up a hand to stop her speaking. ‘Frankly, I
couldn’t care less. But you’re lucky it didn’t come to anything bad.’ He led
the way over to the lobby door and held it open. ‘Stay well, Miss Gavin. It’s a
dangerous world out there.’

Riley stepped
through the door and walked out into the street.

The man they
had called Pechov was nowhere to be seen.

********

It
was mid-morning when Riley arrived back home and found Frank Palmer waiting for
her on the front step. He was looking sombre.

She led the way
inside and poured a glass of wine.

‘Don’t,’ she
said, waving at his raised eyebrows. ‘I’ve had a trying morning.’ She told him
about her visit to Al-Bashir’s office.

‘Sounds like a
fun meeting,’ said Palmer, taking a seat. ‘What else?’

‘You mean,
apart from being followed by a former Russian spook named Pechov.’

He sat up. ‘Who
told you he was a former spook?’

‘Al-Bashir’s security
chief, a man named Koenig. He reminded me of you. He advised me to stay away
from Pechov. He also banned me from ever going back to the store.’ She scowled
in irritation. ‘Bloody nerve of the man – I should sue him for discrimination.’