THE UNKNOWN SOLDIER by Gerald Seymour Read Free Book Online Page A

her clothing - the other women wore cocktail dresses, but she was in a blouse that was clean but not ironed and a shapeless denim skirt that hung on her hips. She was stocky but he thought that there was no flab under the blouse and skirt, only muscle. Other women wore gold chains, pendants and bracelets bought in the souk, but she had no jewellery.
    'Mind if I say something, Dr Bartholomew?'
    'Bart, please - feel free.' He'd lost the conversation on in-flight radar failure. He smiled sweetly. 'Please, say what you want to, Miss Jenkins.'
    'OK, Bart.' She looked directly at him, one of those wretched people who had no disguise. He detested honesty. She reached out and picked up his glass, took a handkerchief from her skirt pocket and wiped the base, then rubbed hard at the ring on the bookshelf.
    His grin was as limp as his handshake. He disliked women who fixed him in the headlights of their eyes. He was the rabbit. He shuffled. The Tornado people had split and moved on. He was fearful of women, particularly those who seemed to strip him down, leave him naked. It was a long time, so long, since he had been close to a woman - then there had been tears, his, and arguments, hers, and the overwhelming sense of private failure. He did not know where Ann was now, where she lived with the children, and the shield he used to safeguard himself from that failure was that he did not care.
    'You don't look like a man who enjoys being a guest of the Kingdom.'
    It was an extraordinary remark. She knew nothing - nothing of his past and nothing of his present . . . He frowned, then downed the contents of his glass and slapped it back on to the bookshelf. 'It is, Miss Jenkins—'
    'I'm called Beth.'

    'It is, Miss Jenkins, almost a privilege to be a humble part of this fulcrum of the sophistication and technological excellence of Saudi Arabia. Actually, I hate the bloody place, and all who sail in her -
    yourself, of course, excepted.'
    Her eyebrows arched. She laughed richly, as if at last he interested her. She followed with a flood of questions. When had he come here?
    Why had he come? What were his hobbies? Where did he live? How long was he staying? His answers were staccato. He deflected her with responses that were rude in their brevity, but she seemed not to recognize it. He was frightened of close questioning. In the expatriate community he avoided the endless discussions about family, work conditions, terms of service, anything that might expose the lie with which he lived.
    'You don't want to mind me, Bart. Where I live, down south, I don't get too many chances to talk to people. It's like one of those monasteries with a vow of silence.' She touched his hand, was smiling . . . Then rescue came, of sorts . ..
    He hadn't seen Wroughton arrive, hadn't seen him among the guests. Wroughton's fingers pulled at his sleeve, his head gesturing towards the door. No apology at the interruption, but Edward -
    Eddie to his female friends - Wroughton never apologized, wouldn't have bloody known how to. Bart blundered away from the young woman, followed Wroughton into the hall and down towards the kitchen.
    Wroughton leaned against the wall. Then his finger poked in a tattoo on Bart's chest. 'You cut our last meeting, Bart.'
    'I was busy.'
    'You don't cut meetings with me.'
    'Just pressure of work.'
    'I waited two hours, wasted two hours.'
    'And I hadn't anything to give you.'
    'Then just pedal a bit bloody harder.'
    'Sorry about that, Eddie.'
    'Mr Wroughton to you. Got me?'
    'It won't happen again, Mr Wroughton,' Bart whined.
    'Listen to me - I don't want to be fucked about here. It's not pleasant, believe me, but I have you by your shrivelled little balls, and I will squeeze and I will twist and —'

    'What I just heard, there's problems on the in-flight radar of the Tornado aircraft they've got.'
    'Which squadron?'
    'Don't know.'
    'Jesus, you're a useless piece of shit. Have you been listening?
    You're going to have to do better or I'll be