Undersea Prison by Duncan Falconer Read Free Book Online

of trouble to hide the device but he had to concede it was a smart way to ensure that it was not lost. If Durrani had a serious accident or was attacked and robbed, unless his body was completely destroyed the device could still be retrieved. ‘I leave right away?’
    ‘Sena will give you all you need. Money and food. You will travel with four of my men.’
    ‘Would it not be better if I travelled alone?’ Durrani asked, even though he knew the mullah would not agree.
    ‘I know you like to work alone, Durrani. And it is not that I don’t trust your abilities.You are the best of my mujahideen. But this time I need to know where you are every second of every hour. The men who travel with you will not know that you carry anything other than an important message inside your head. Not even those who you will meet in Chaman will know your true purpose.You will be taken to Quetta where you will meet great leaders of our cause who are expecting you. These men will know your purpose.’The mullah emphasised the gravity of his words with an intense stare. ‘Durrani. I believe that whatever this is inside you is of great importance to us and to our cause.’
    ‘It will be delivered,’ Durrani assured him. He was flattered, despite his concealed indifference to the so-called cause.
    ‘Sena,’ the mullah called out and the door opened.
    Durrani pulled on his robe, a streak of pain flashing through his gut as he raised the garment over his shoulders.
    ‘Allah will watch over you,’ the mullah assured him.
    Durrani nodded. As he turned to walk away the mullah grabbed his arm and held up the packet of pills. ‘Use these if you think there is infection,’ he said.
    Durrani took the packet and left the room.
    The mullah went back to his desk, glanced down at the charred briefcase on the floor, pulled out his packet of Woodbines and lit one.

Chapter 3
    Sumners walked into the security-conference ‘bubble’ on the sixth floor of the Secret Intelligence Service’s London headquarters by the Thames and placed a file on a slender chrome podium standing to one side of a wide-screen monitor. Bubble was an obvious nickname for the multi-layered mesh-and-plastic module apparently suspended inside an ordinary room. It had insulated contact points with the floor, walls and ceiling and was protected by layers of various technical screens that prevented all forms of transmission, X-ray and vibration from escaping the module. In short, it was an anti-eavesdropping environment for top-security meetings.
    While Sumners attached a memory stick to a USB port on the podium a man in a smart pinstripe suit who looked like a First World War general with his snow-white hair and matching handlebar moustache stepped up into the bubble. He paused in the entrance, planted the tip of his cane on the rubber floor and looked around as if unsure where he was.
    ‘Good morning, Sir Charles,’ Sumners said in a jaunty tone without pausing from setting up his presentation.
    Sir Charles nodded grumpily. ‘Am I early?’
    ‘No, no, you’re right on time,’ Sumners said, producing the smile he reserved for his superiors.
    Sir Charles looked at the four comfortable leather armchairs spread around in no particular pattern. ‘Anywhere?’
    ‘Oh, yes, anywhere you like.’
    Sir Charles plonked himself into one of the chairs, exhaled heavily, rested his cane against the side of the armrest, put on a pair of spectacles and perused a thin file he had brought with him.
    A moment later another man walked in, younger than Sir Charles, lanky, highly intelligent- and sophisticated-looking with his cold eyes and very white skin.
    ‘Good morning, sir,’ Sumners said, with distinct gravitas and no smile. This time he paused for the newcomer and there was a hint of a servile nod too.
    Sir Charles looked up at the man. ‘Van der Seiff,’ he said casually before going back to his file.
    ‘Sir Charles,’ Van der Seiff replied, a surgical precision in his tone as he