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

the truth, I did. Have been, in fact, since I took up the job. Needs must, eh?’

‘That the only reason you were brushing up your marksmanship?’

Don steepled his fingers under his nose.

‘Hmm. Mm-hmm. A teacher makes a five-hundred-and-fifty-yard head-shot through a ten-mile-an-hour crosswind over hot urban streets. Smelled fishy to me, so I checked with Six. Lieberman left the army in 2012 and I got to wondering how feasible it would be for someone that rusty to make that kind of shot.’

‘And?’

‘Well, I couldn’t. And I went through a hundred rounds trying. Paul Brooke is the best firearms instructor on base, and even with him spotting for me I couldn’t shoot for shit.’

Gabriel frowned, processing the information.

‘What are you saying?’

‘Not exactly sure, Old Sport. But I’ve put in a call to the Met. Asked if we could take a look at their analysis of the rifle.’

He pushed a thin brown cardboard folder across the desk. Gabriel read the top sheet and the fingerprint analyst’s clipped sentences. He passed it to Eli, who scanned the notes then closed the file.

‘The fourth print. You think there was a second shooter?’

‘I don’t know,’ Don said. ‘But at worst we know that there was someone else involved. I checked with the Met. The rules on handling firearms are strict. Only the armourer and the AFO to whom the weapon is assigned handle it.’

‘Tammerlane?’ Gabriel asked.

‘His prints weren’t on it. The Met asked him to provide a set for elimination purposes.’

‘Lieberman was a fall guy,’ Eli said.

Gabriel could hear the hope in her voice. That, even now, there was a chance normality could be restored. His heart was a weight in his chest. Because he didn’t see it.

‘I’ve passed on my concerns to the Met, along with a few carefully chosen thoughts on the marksmanship issue,’ Don said. ‘They told me they’d bear it in mind, but you know what the cops are like. At the moment it’s an open and shut case. Ballistics match the round to the G3K. They have a dead man with his prints on the murder weapon. And a witness in the person of our own, dear prime minister.’

‘But surely they can see it doesn’t make sense!’ Eli said, raising her voice. ‘Israel’s a friend of Britain. Why would the Mossad assassinate a princess?’

Sensing Eli’s mounting impatience, Gabriel changed the subject.

‘What about the mission? Are we good to go?’

‘There, we do have clarity,’ Don said. ‘I’ve booked you on a Virgin flight for tomorrow evening. Leaves at five past eight. You transfer in Johannesburg then on to Gaborone. You arrive 10.35 a.m. the following morning.’

‘Kit?’ Eli said.

‘Waiting for you in Gaborone. Our friend John has a contact in the region,’ Don said. ‘Chap runs a private security firm called Kagiso Group. Our intel team have checked them out. They look after Western interests in the region. Pipelines, factories, mines, that sort of thing. He’s sending a driver for you.’

‘What about a cover story?’ Gabriel asked.

‘The old standby: freelance journalists. We’ve prepared IDs for both of you. Poaching’s a big issue so it makes sense you’d be out there researching for a story.’

Eli shifted in her chair. Gabriel caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and turned. Her brow was furrowed and there was a tightness around her eyes.

‘Boss,’ she said, ‘there’s something I need to tell you.’

Don smiled at her.

‘What’s that?’

‘Uri Ziff asked me to go back to Israel. To rejoin the Mossad. I’m…’ She paused and reached out with her left hand to find Gabriel’s. She gave his hand a hard squeeze. ‘I’m seriously considering it.’

‘Because of this business of Tammerlane’s?’

‘I work for you, but my passport’s Israeli. I only have a month to…’ she swallowed, ‘…get out.’

Don nodded. He opened his desk drawer.

‘Do you like working for me?’

Her eyes flashed.

‘Of course I do! You know that. I already turned him down once.’

‘I do know. But has anything changed? Apart,’ he added quickly, ‘from Tammerlane.’

‘No.’

‘Here,’ Don said, sliding a brown envelope across the desk.

‘What is it?’

‘Open it and find out.’

Gabriel watched Eli reach for the envelope and slide her thumbnail, her bitten thumbnail he noticed, under the flap.

She tipped up the envelope and out slid a brand-new British passport.

She looked at Gabriel, then at Don.

‘You said my citizenship was a grey area for now,’ she said with a grin.

‘From grey to blue,’ Don said, with a smile. ‘I pulled a few strings at the Home Office. Couple of people there owe me favours.’

She opened it and flicked to the photo page. Held it out for Gabriel to inspect.

‘It’s definitely you,’ he said, earning a punch to the arm.

Then the frown returned.

‘Legally, I can stay. But what if this is only the start, boss?’ she asked. ‘What if it’s Israelis today, Zionists tomorrow and Jews the day after that?’

‘I honestly don’t think it will come to that, Eli,’ he said. ‘But I understand your anxiety. We look after our own here. If you ever decide you need to leave,’ he glanced at Gabriel, who nodded to the unspoken question, ‘along with Gabriel, I will personally arrange a flight anywhere you need to go. With an armed escort from our friends in Hereford, if necessary.’

Eli flicked her index finger at the corner of her right eye.

‘Thanks, boss.’ She sniffed. ‘I mean it. And I will let you know. I promise.’

Gabriel looked at her and took her other hand in his. He knew, in that moment, that he would leave everything behind to be with her.

Don smiled.

‘That’s settled then.’

13

BOTSWANA

On the last leg of their journey to Botswana, they’d overflown thousands of square miles of scrub, savannah and forest. Nothing but green and reddish-brown from one end of an in-flight movie to the other. So to emerge from the jetway into the air conditioned splendour of the arrivals hall at Gaborone’s Sir Seretse Khama International Airport came as a shock to Gabriel.

He turned to Eli.

‘Why do I feel we’ve just landed in Geneva?’ he asked.

She grinned.

‘I know. Look