Redemption (39 page)

But despite her sudden display of gentle femininity, he could see she was holding her body in preparation, muscles taut and ready to react in an instant if he tried to attack her.

Drake couldn’t tell what she was saying, but he did pick up on the word Hussam being used several times. The name of her contact, he assumed.

The big man listened as she spoke, his expression changing from one of outright anger that a woman dared to speak out of turn, to surprise, confusion and growing comprehension as her words sank in.

When she finished speaking, he stood silently in the
doorway
, mulling over everything she had said. Then at last he grunted something and stepped aside, beckoning for them to come in.

Giving Drake an encouraging look, Anya stepped inside. With little choice if he didn’t fancy keeping the stray dogs company, Drake followed her, giving the giant as wide a berth as possible.

They were standing in a wide tiled hallway with doors leading off on either side. The walls were bare stone painted over white, though they were largely covered by several big tapestries set at intervals along the corridor.

They could smell food, tea and tobacco smoke. Voices echoed from further down the corridor.

With the giant keeping a wary eye on them, they were led onward and conducted into the second room on the left.

The air was thick with tobacco smoke, blurring details and stinging Drake’s eyes. Still, even he could tell that the place was busy. Half a dozen men of various ages sat scattered around the room on padded cushions, smoking, drinking tea and talking together.

The talk abruptly ceased when Drake and Anya entered the room, an uneasy silence descending on the gathering as half a dozen pairs of eyes fastened on the two strangers.

Drake said and did nothing. Not knowing a word of Arabic, there wasn’t much he could say in any case. Better to wait and see what happened.

One man rose from his seat, which was no easy task considering how overweight he was. He was dressed in a crumpled grey business suit, but even this couldn’t conceal the voluminous gut hanging over his belt.

He looked to be in his late fifties or early sixties, with a thick greying beard, wide fleshy face and eyes like coals.
His
wavy hair, probably once thick and dark, was now grey and thinning on top.

His eyes never left the woman as he barked a sharp command. Straight away the other men in the room started to pack up their belongings, finishing off their tea or stubbing out cigarettes.

One by one they filed out in silence, each giving both Drake and Anya a hostile glare, until only the fat man and the giant remained.

The first took a step towards her, his fists clenched, his eyes piercing the smoky gloom. Drake felt the irrational need to interject himself between them, though he rejected the notion as soon as it entered his head. Anya had neither need nor desire for his protection.

Stopping in front of her, the fat man looked her up and down slowly, as if comparing the woman before him with some mental picture stored away in his mind.

‘You’ve gotten old,’ he said at last, speaking in gruff, accented English.

Anya stared right back at him, her icy blue eyes boring into his. ‘And you’ve gotten fat.’

Drake held his breath, sure she had just signed their death warrants.

But to his surprise, the fat man’s face broke out into a wide grin.

‘Ameera!’ he laughed, throwing his arms around the woman and embracing her in a crushing bear hug. ‘Praise Allah! I had never thought to see you again! Come, let me look at you properly.’

He pulled back and looked her over again, beaming with joy like a father reunited with a long-lost daughter.

‘You grow more beautiful with each passing year,’ he decided, all trace of his former hostility gone now. ‘How long has it been?’

‘Too long,’ the woman replied, sadness in her eyes.

The man was perceptive enough to realise that was a conversation for later. ‘And who is your young companion?’ he asked, turning his attention to Drake.

‘His name is Ryan Drake. We’re travelling together. Ryan, this is Hussam. He’s an old friend.’

Hussam thrust a hand out to him. ‘
Salaam alaikum
,’ he said as Drake shook it. ‘You travel in good company, my friend.’

‘It’s certainly never dull around her,’ he remarked with a pointed glance at his female companion.

Hussam laughed again. ‘This much is true.’

‘I apologise for our sudden arrival, Hussam,’ Anya began. ‘I would not have come here if there was another way, but you are the only man in the country I trust.’

‘Of course. You are always welcome here, Ameera.’ He looked at both of them, then gestured to the seating pads laid out around the room. ‘Come, sit and we’ll talk. I believe you’ve already met my nephew Haifaa,’ he added with a nod to the giant by the door. ‘He is good for frightening small children, but he is harmless. Mostly.’

Drake was inclined to take that one with a pinch of salt. No man who looked as though he could crush boulders with his bare hands was harmless.

They sat down on the stuffed cushions, and within moments a woman came in to serve them tea and bowls of dates. Drake assumed she was Hussam’s wife, though she looked many years younger than him.

As he’d expected, her body was hidden under a shapeless black robe called an
abaya
, though her face was uncovered. He guessed her to be in her mid-thirties, neither beautiful nor ugly, but rather plump and with an oval face, a prominent nose and a weak jawline.

She avoided eye contact with him, and he didn’t spend
long
looking at her. In this neck of the woods, it was impolite to show a man’s wife anything beyond casual disinterest. The last thing he wanted was to put Haifaa’s peaceful nature to the test.

The tea was strong and sweet, served without milk in the traditional Middle Eastern style. It certainly wasn’t to Drake’s taste, and after a couple of hours spent bouncing along hot desert roads, the thought of a steaming hot beverage was even less appealing. However, a stern look from Anya persuaded him to accept a cup anyway.

He thought he saw a flicker of amusement in Hussam’s eyes as this happened. They must have seemed like an old married couple.

‘So, Ameera, tell me what brings you here?’ the old man asked.

‘We must get across the Iraq border tomorrow. I need to know the best place to make the crossing. We also need weapons, preferably assault rifles.’

Hassam surveyed her with heavy-lidded eyes. ‘That is much to ask.’

‘I know you have the weapons. You always have them. And I know you have men watching the American border patrols. How else could you smuggle petrol into the country?’

For a moment, Drake saw anger and surprise flare in the old man’s eyes, though it was soon masked.

‘I would not ask if it were not important,’ Anya went on, perhaps trying to sooth his wounded pride. ‘Across the border in Iraq, there is a man we must find at all costs. He holds secrets that people are willing to kill for. Many lives may depend on this, Hussam.’

She was smart enough not to divulge anything about Munro holding Drake’s sister hostage, or the secret arms
deal
that Anya’s contact apparently had evidence of. The less he knew, the less chance there was that he could compromise them if he was ever captured.

‘If the wrong people find him first, there’s no telling how much damage it could do,’ Drake lied, hoping that together their words might sway him.

‘Only you can help us,’ Anya chimed in.

Hussam reached for a date, chewing it thoughtfully for several moments before coming to a decision. ‘Very well. Whatever you need will be yours,’ he said, then his expression softened a little. ‘You have not eaten tonight, have you?’

Anya gave him a rueful smile that somehow made her seem a lot younger than she was. ‘Aside from an apple in Riyadh …’

Hussam laughed again. ‘Then the two of you will be my guests tonight. I will have a room set aside where you can wash and rest.’

Chapter 54

‘TELL ME SOMETHING
, Lieutenant,’ Dietrich began as they strode away from Tariq’s office. ‘What did you say to your superior to change his mind?’

Al Ameen was in his early thirties, he guessed, with a good-looking, clean-shaven face and keen eyes that missed nothing. Unlike most of the grim-faced bastards who inhabited this place, he possessed an easy, almost disarming smile. The only reminder of his true age was his receding hairline, though he had cut his hair short to disguise this fact.

‘You can call me Rahul,’ the lieutenant informed him. ‘I told him you were not worthy of his time, and that I would relieve him of the burden of dealing with ignorant foreigners.’

‘Very generous of you,’ he remarked.

‘Why are you so eager to help us?’ Keegan asked.

‘Men like Tariq are part of the older generation. They see the West as an enemy to be guarded against. I do not.’

‘Yeah? So how do
you
see us?’ Frost pressed him.

‘As partners,’ he answered. ‘We work together, and we both profit. We work against each other, and we both fail. My country is the wealthiest and most developed in the Persian Gulf because of American money. I would not wish for this to change.’

Fair enough, Dietrich thought. ‘Tariq will blame you if we fail here.’

The younger man flashed an almost boyish grin. ‘Then we should make sure you do not fail, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Then what do you need?’

‘Frost, enlighten the man,’ Dietrich said, turning to the young woman.

‘I need access to the entire security camera system in central Riyadh. Traffic, surveillance, security – everything,’ she said straight away. ‘Our best chance is to find them when they left the airport and follow their movements from there.’

Rahul’s eyes opened wider and he shook his head vigorously. ‘No, no. This is no good.’

‘Why not?’

‘You are American. And you are a woman,’ he explained. ‘This is no good for you to be doing such things. It is not allowed. You can instruct our own technicians on what to look for.’

Her eyes flared. ‘It’ll take twice as long.’

‘There is no choice.’

‘I thought you said we should work together,’ Dietrich challenged him.

‘I did. But there are things even I cannot allow. This is not America.’

Dietrich took a deep breath, marshalling his patience before turning his eyes on Rahul again. ‘Ms Frost is the best technician we have.’ He ignored Frost’s look of surprise as he carried on. ‘She’s also our best chance at finding these two fugitives. If she can’t do her job, we can’t do ours, and we will fail. And I think you know what happens if we fail.’

Rahul looked at him for a long moment. ‘I will see what I can do.’

Drake leaned over the sink to splash a handful of water on his face. It was delightfully cool, and a welcome relief from the stinging dust that had been their constant companion since arriving in the country.

‘What’s this Ameera business?’ he asked. ‘Is that your cover name or something?’

They had been lent a room on the building’s upper floor, its single window facing westward. Drake had opened the shutter to let some air in, allowing the warm evening breeze to sigh through. Outside it was dusk, the sky in the west turning deep orange now that the sun had dipped below the horizon.

The room itself was a simple affair: just a bed in one corner, a small wardrobe that wobbled slightly on uneven legs, a chipped sink, an old writing desk that looked as if it had seen better days, and a couple of wooden stools scattered around.

Anya, seated on a stool with her feet up on the desk, shook her head. ‘No, it is … a nickname. Something Hussam gave me a long time ago.’

‘What does it mean?’

She looked almost embarrassed when she spoke again. ‘It has no direct translation, but I suppose the closest word would be princess.’

Drake, in the middle of drying his face, turned to look at her. ‘Princess, eh? Not quite how I pictured you.’

It was quite a contrast from a goddess of war.

She shrugged. ‘It was his choice, not mine.’

Turning her attention to more practical matters, she
logged
into her Hotmail account using Drake’s phone, and from there pinged Typhoon’s private chat room.

It took about thirty seconds for him to join her online, and Anya wasted no time getting to the point.

Guest: I AM IN SAUDI. WHERE DO WE MEET?

Host:
LAT – 30.8136, LON – 43.6717. BE THERE TOMORROW BY 18:00 OR I WON’T BE
.

Anya exhaled slowly, mulling over his words. He was getting nervous and agitated now that the witching hour was approaching. The initial euphoria of making contact with her again had faded, and now doubts and insecurities were creeping in. To make himself feel in control, he was exerting authority he didn’t have.

She was under no illusions about the man’s desires or motivations. This was not some sentinel of truth and virtue out to expose wrongdoing – he was a selfish, greedy man who had seen an opportunity to improve his lot in life. And he needed her to make it happen, otherwise he would have ignored her.

Guest: I WILL BE THERE ON TIME.

Host:
IF I THINK YOU ARE COMPROMISED, THE DEAL IS OFF
.

Guest: NO SUCH THING WILL HAPPEN.

Host:
AS YOU SAY. TOMORROW, THEN
.

Host is now offline
.

With relief, she jotted down the latitude and longitude coordinates, terminated the connection and laid the phone aside.

‘Well? What’s the verdict?’

‘He will meet us tomorrow. He gave me coordinates.’

‘Let’s see them,’ Drake prompted, digging the Magellan out of his pack and firing it up. He inputted them as Anya read them out, then waited a few seconds for the unit to lock down the location.

‘It’s near a small village called Ash Shabakah, about a hundred miles across the border,’ he reported. ‘Middle of nowhere, basically.’

Anya leaned back in her chair and ran her hands through her hair. Her head and eyes hurt from exposure to the harsh sunlight, and she could already feel the itchy beginnings of sunburn on her arms and face.