The Outsiders by Gerald Seymour Read Free Book Online Page B

twilight world and under that particular roof. Authority was backed by violence. He knew of no other way to guarantee control. It was done, agreed.
    He held out his hand, the gesture that pledged his word better than any lawyer’s contract. The shipping agent flinched. The Major had watched the man’s eyes all through the meeting: they had flitted across his hand, his warrant officer’s and the master sergeant’s. The missing fingers enhanced the threat. The warrant officer had sat behind the shipping agent, with his back to him, and had watched the hotel building; the master sergeant had a view of the area where the recliners were stacked and into the car park. The shipping agent shook the hand. The meeting was finished.
    There was material to be sent from the laptop.
    ‘Is the Gecko back?’ He was not.
    A shrug.
    ‘For fuck’s sake, he only went to buy pills for toothache.’ But he had not yet returned.
    He led them inside. He would go back to his suite and the girl would be there. She’d had enough time to see her hair fixed – the last time he would pay for it. He reminded himself to take back the earrings before they flew.
    ‘Send the Gecko to me when he gets back.’
     
    By her own admission, Liz Tremlett was a bit player in the world of international diplomatic relations. Until that morning she would have bet against herself on negative involvement in intelligence gathering. She had been called by the front desk.
    The resident spook, Hugh, was across the border in Armenia on the monthly brainstorm meeting, his PA with him, and the ambassador was home on leave. The first secretary was in the northern town of Saki, opening a secondary school funded by British aid, and the military attaché was at home with influenza. Anyway, his home was in Tbilisi, Georgia, and . . . She had reached the spook by open phone and been told what to do. Paramount was that Bear should be with her every inch of the way. She had sensed, down the line, a crackling disappointment that the man was not where she sat.
    Among her normal work, Liz Tremlett organised the annual English-language essay competition in Baku. She would have described the boy as pitiful. No spare weight on him, light stubble on his cheeks, an abrasion on his forehead and another on an elbow. His jeans – threadbare and faded – were torn at a knee and his glasses were bent. They were in an interview room behind the reception and security area but still cut off from the main staircase and lift. She should have been arranging the guest seating for the ambassador’s monthly dinner, or a greetings-card list, or working at pre-publicity for a Welsh choir’s visit – and there was preparation to be done for the Confederation of British Industry seminar . . .
    Having the Bear with her was massively reassuring. He was a man of few words, had been a company sergeant major in a commando of marines, and was the embassy’s security officer. He was fit, athletic and owned a presence.
    What was the visitor’s name? Natan. Would Natan, please, stand up? The boy had done so. Would he, please, extend his arms sideways and open his hands? Liz Tremlett had watched the Bear frisk the boy. Opened hands showed he had no explosive trigger device. The Bear had crouched at the boy’s feet and slid off the trainers. He had bent them, then put them on the X-ray tray by the metal-detector arch in front of the security door. She had seen the boy shiver and known it was not cold that caused it. Watching the shaking in the shoulders, the tremor in the hands and the slack jaw, she had known that the boy had made a life-changing decision by walking into the building. Would Natan, please, empty his pockets of everything metallic? It was done: belt, spectacles, mobile phone, loose change, everyday paraphernalia. She had led, and the Bear had followed the boy through the door while the machine had scanned his possessions. Liz had reckoned that any sudden movement the boy had made would