Crash Course Derek Fee (interesting books to read txt) 📖

painless than he had anticipated. Kane was not the most intelligent creature he had ever encountered but he was not looking for a brain surgeon. He was looking for a man with nerves of steel who wanted money and wasn’t squeamish about how he came by it. And Kane fitted the bill perfectly.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Kane returned to his room, picked up the phone, and dialled Tom.

“It’s Mark. My room, ten minutes.”

“What?!”

“No questions. My room, ten minutes.”

He phoned Doc and gave him the same message.

Kane was packing his bag when the two men entered his room. While he continued stuffing clothes into his bag, he told them the content of his conversation with Safardi.

“I forbid you to go,” Tom said when Kane had finished.

“It was your plan. And against all the odds it worked. So far, we have nothing. Safardi has been clever enough not to tell me the exact nature of the favour he wants me to do. In other words, we have no evidence. Maybe he simply wants me to test drive his new boat. But I doubt it. Unless I go with him, we’ll never really know.”

“It’s too bloody reckless,” Doc said. “We need to clear this with Davenport. There are protocols.”

“To hell with the protocols. We’ve no time to go through channels.”

“I agree with Doc,” Tom said. “You’ve gone far enough. I never wanted to put you in danger.”

“We’re wasting time on a fruitless discussion,” Kane said. “I’ve got to meet him downstairs in twenty minutes. I’m going and that’s that. In the meantime, I want you to get de Vries to go over Safardi and Barrett with a fine-tooth comb. Understand.”

Tom nodded his head.

“What about Davenport?” Doc asked.

“I’ll leave that to you. Only don’t call him until I’m gone.”

“Thanks, he’ll rip me a new arsehole for not stopping you.”

Kane felt comfortable with being in command. It would go down his way no matter what Doc and Tom thought. “Doc, you got to get inside Barrett’s room somehow. There must be something there to incriminate him.” He turned to Tom. “Any news on Barrett?”

“Broken arm, bruising. He’ll be out in a couple of days.”

“Okay, Doc. You got two days max. Get inside and find me something. Anything that ties Barrett and Safardi to drugs and money. Got it?”

“Got it,” Doc said. “I’m still not happy.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Tom pleaded.

“I do. By Wednesday it’ll all be over. We’ll have Safardi and Barrett dead to rights. You’ll have what you wanted and Davenport can terminate the operation. All round it’s the best solution.”

“Good luck,” Tom said and held out his hand.

“Don’t worry.” Kane clasped Tom’s hand. “It’ll all go like clockwork.”

“Take care, mate.” Doc slapped him on the shoulder.

“Tell Morweena that I had to leave on some urgent business. I’ll try to stay in touch.”

Kane closed the door behind him. With a bit of luck, it would all be over on Wednesday and maybe he could begin a new life. He wanted desperately to believe that he had a chance.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

The Gulfstream began its descent after they passed Granada giving a spectacular view of the Sierra Gorda and the Serranía de Ronda rising high above the coastal plains.

Kane had spent the relatively short flight from Nice airport sleeping in his comfortable chair. He had already decided that private jet was the only way to travel. Plied with every drink on the market and blessed with legroom that any executive would kill for Kane had found the trip to Malaga very much to his liking though Safardi hadn’t exactly been good company. He had spent the trip from the Majestic to the airport and virtually the entire flight on the phone speaking in what Kane took to be Arabic, French and Spanish. In fact, the only language that Safardi had studiously avoided was English. Kane was still completely in the dark as to what the sheikh had in mind and what his business might be. However, it was evident that the young Arab was a busy individual. The hostess acted more like a secretary bringing Safardi a seemingly unending stream of documents during the flight.

Kane looked out the window as the tiny jet swooped between the breath-taking but barren mountain ranges of the Sierras and the coastal plain before descending further to run parallel to the sandy coast making a final approach to Malaga airport. The Gulfstream landed gently and taxied slowly along the runway before slotting neatly into a pre-arranged location in the private section of the airport. As the pilot cut the engines, a Rolls Royce Silver Cloud pulled away from the shade of a hangar and parked alongside the stationary jet.

Safardi terminated a call as the jet came to a halt. He handed the phone to the hostess and unbuckled his seat belt. “We’re here.”

The hostess released the door and pushed down the steps. A stream of warm sunlight immediately flooded the cabin.

“I love the climate here,” Safardi said. “After so many years spent in the cold north, I’ve come to appreciate the south of Spain. In many ways, it is like my own country.”

“Which is?” Kane asked. He had taken his carryall from the hostess at the top of the steps. Safardi didn’t appear to have his luggage.

The Latin equivalent of the heavyweight champion of the world jumped out of the passenger seat of the car and held the door of the rear compartment open. He was dressed in white chino trousers and a Hawaiian shirt open to the waist. Three strings of gold chains hung from his neck and dangled above a thick matt of black hair on his chest.

“Emirate of Hawat,” Safardi said handing his briefcase to the bulky individual holding the door and climbing inside. “Gracias, Jaime.”

“Never heard of it,” Kane handed his bag to the muscle-bound retainer and climbed in after Safardi, taking a seat beside him. He looked at the man’s pug visage. It was the colour of dark mahogany. The nose was flattened against the face