Ivory Nation Andy Maslen (best short novels of all time TXT) 📖

new prime minister. Tammerlane had insisted that, while he would do everything in his power to prevent any form of racism getting a hold in Britain, people had to recognise that the state of Israel was nothing short of an apartheid state and had to be treated as such by the international community.

Eli had sworn at the screen and descended into a black mood it had taken most of the day and a very good dinner to lift.

‘He has a majority, but we still have Parliament,’ Gabriel said now. ‘They’ll temper his worst excesses.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ she said. ‘Uri called me yesterday while you were talking to Acheson and the other Paras at the wake.’

Gabriel’s pulse jumped up. Uri Ziff was Eli’s old boss at the Mossad and had made no secret of his desire to hire her away from Don.

‘What did he want?’ he asked, keeping his voice level.

‘What do you think? “Eliya, things don’t look so good in England. Come back. Your country needs people of your calibre. Now more than ever”,’ Eli said in a rough approximation of Uri’s fruity baritone.

‘What did you say?’

‘I said, I’m living with the man I love. And he loves England. So here we stay.’

Gabriel stretched out his right hand and laid it on her thigh.

‘I love you, too, El, but…’

‘But what?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t think Tammerlane’s England is my England. If he starts stirring up hatred for Israel, well, you know where that could end. I won’t put you through that.’

‘You think we should have suitcases by the front door?’

‘No. The house in Hong Kong has everything we need.’

‘Ah. That other bastion of democracy.’

‘You’re right. Maybe I should sell it. Buy somewhere new.’

‘But it was Zhao Xi’s house.’

‘Exactly. His house. Master Zhao lives in here,’ he said, thumping his chest. ‘The place in Hong Kong is just a building.’

‘Take me there.’

‘What?’

‘Take me there! I want to see it. I want to meet Mei.’

She was referring to Gabriel’s sister, long believed dead after a botched triad kidnapping in the eighties. Gabriel had only recently found out she was living on the island and working as a bodyguard for the boss of the White Koi triad, now deceased.

He nodded.

‘Let’s get the job in Botswana out of the way, then we’ll go.’

Gabriel parked the big black muscle car on the gravel beside his simple, brick-built house on the Suffolk coast. The small garden was enough for a couple of steamer chairs where he and Eli could enjoy a glass of wine together, and that suited him fine.

With the V8 ticking as it cooled, he retrieved their bags from the boot and set them down. He inhaled and let the smells of salt and ozone flood his lungs.

He turned and looked towards the sea and its grey-green waters, topped with white horses. As he had known she would, Britta stood there amidst the cobbles, her fire-red hair loose and whipping around her head in the offshore wind. She lifted her right hand and waved. He lifted his hand out from his body to reciprocate, realised Eli was standing beside him, and let it drop.

‘You all right?’ she asked, interlacing his fingers with hers.

‘I was thinking about Britta. She was on the beach.’

‘Just now?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is your PTSD back?’

‘I don’t know. Delayed reaction?’

‘Can you find time to see Fariyah?’

He shrugged.

‘Would it help?’

‘It did before.’

He sighed.

‘OK. I’ll try. It depends on Don, though. How fast he gets everything together for the mission.’

Eli bent and picked up one of the bags.

‘Come on. Let’s go in and have a brew.’

He shook his head.

‘I have a better idea.’

Upstairs, Gabriel closed the bedroom door and turned to face Eli. He held his arms wide and, smiling a little, she stepped inside his embrace. He buried his nose in her long auburn hair and breathed in her scent that he had come to know so well: lemon and sandalwood.

Reaching up to the nape of her neck, he found the tag of the long brass zip closing her dress and dragged it, inch by inch, down along her spine. When he reached the swell of her bottom he dropped the tab and hooked his fingers around the soft black fabric on each side and drew them apart.

Eli shrugged once and the dress fell from her shoulders. She shimmied to the left and right causing the dress to slide over her legs and puddle at her feet. She took a step back and put her hands on her hips, then executed a slow turn until she was facing him again.

Holding Gabriel’s eyes in hers, she unfastened her bra and dropped it to one side. He allowed himself the luxury of taking in every curve, the swell of her breasts and the hardening brown nipples.

Without breaking eye contact, she stooped just enough to ease her knickers down over her thighs, her knees, and her calves until she could kick them free with an expert flick that sent them sailing across the bedroom and into the lidless laundry basket.

Gabriel grinned. It was a trick he didn’t think he’d ever tire of.

‘Now then, Mr Wolfe,’ she said. ‘Are you going to watch a poor Israeli girl get goosebumps standing here for your pleasure, or are you going to get undressed too?’

Gabriel shucked off his suit jacket, hooking it over the bedpost. The tie followed, after a few twirls and a wink that set Eli’s giggles off.

One by one he undid the buttons on his white shirt before sliding his trousers and underpants off together.

‘Come here,’ he said, when he was naked.

Eli closed the gap between them and put her hands on his shoulders. Gabriel held her around the waist, braced his knees and lifted as she jumped up.

She reached down with one hand and found him, guided him into her, gasping as she leaned out from him, and arching her neck to expose her throat.

Slowly they began to move together, she raising herself up and then letting herself push down onto him, he moving her