Lethal Profit by Alex Blackmore Read Free Book Online Page B

know that we are here for good reason but, Wiraj, can’t we achieve the purpose peacefully?’ He stepped closer to his brother and laid a conciliatory hand on him. ‘After all, what kind of purpose must it be if we need to kill to achieve it?’
    Immediately Wiraj cast off his brother’s arm. ‘What purpose ?’ he spat. ‘You stand there and ask me what purpose?’
    He pushed his brother backwards with the flat of his hand, destabilising Nijam, whose face was etched with surprise. As suddenly he remembered they were not alone, Wiraj glanced warily over at the table where the other men sat; they continued to play cards but he could see they were listening. Roughly, he grabbed Nijam’s shoulder and hustled him over to the window, before continuing in a hushed voice. ‘Their purpose is unimportant, it is for our own ends that we are forced to do this. You forget, my brother, what we have lived through,’ continued Wiraj, stroking the thick scar running down his left cheek. ‘The poverty, the violence, the sanctions imposed on our broken nation by those that should have stepped in and helped. Instead they branded us terrorists, left us at the mercy of our corrupt government. These super powers, these rich nations. They will only help themselves.’
    â€˜But, Wiraj, now we have… ’
    â€˜Now we have nothing , Nijam, only an opportunity.’
    Nijam was silent now, his brother’s anger and the truth of his words hitting home with double-edged accuracy.
    â€˜We have nothing without this opportunity,’ repeated Wiraj at length. ‘Do you want to go back to Sudan a failure? Is that what you want?’
    Nijam quickly shook his head.
    â€˜If you had morals you should have left them back home.’
    He turned to Nijam and seeing the compliance on his brother’s face, Wiraj began to cool down. ‘Do you understand, my brother?’ he said, taking a step towards Nijam and cradling his left cheek with his hand. ‘Yes?’
    Nijam nodded, any religious fervour roundly trounced from him.
    â€˜Yes, Wiraj,’ he said quietly, ‘I do.’

    Eva opened her eyes. Nothing. She shut her eyes and opened them again but it made no difference. The darkness was complete. She blinked into the gloom then sat up and felt around for the light on the bedside table at the hotel. Her outstretched arm knocked over a glass and it fell to the floor with a loud crash. This was not her room at the hotel. Further exploring with the palms of her hands, Eva found that she was sitting on a single bed with a coarse covering that seemed to be wedged in the corner of a room papered with uneven wallpaper. There was a wall behind her head and also to her right; the air smelled of cigarettes and aftershave.
    For a second, Eva wondered whether she was dreaming. Since Jackson’s death she’d had almost no dreams but she had no idea where she was or how she had got here, which made a dream the only plausible explanation. But her left leg was aching horribly and her head was thumping. That pain was very real. As she felt herself starting to panic, she heard heavy footsteps coming closer to the vague outline of a door she could see across the room. Suddenly the door was thrown open, filling the room with light.

    Eva raised her hand to shield her eyes as her pupils adjusted to the brightness. As soon as she was able to see again she dropped her arm. She squinted at the shadowed form in front of her. A man stepped fully into the room; he had broad and well-muscled shoulders that looked enormous, like a cartoon action hero. Eva tried to control her racing pulse. This was not a good situation. The man flicked on a bare light bulb above the bed and stared at her for several seconds. She stared back, counting each breath in and out for three to make sure they remained even and calm.
    â€˜My name is Leon,’ said the man in English with a French accent, walking over