A Covert War Read Online Free

being upped a little, and balancing the scales between his sources and his customers was causing extra friction.
    In short, Abdul’s almost inviolable powerbase seemed to be coming under threat; as though some others wanted to move in on his operation and effectively reduce his influence to that of a mere cog in a big wheel. His position as a warlord was becoming increasingly untenable.
    Abdul’s ability to sense danger was legendary; he had the awareness of a wild animal. He also understood that his position in the chain of operations between his powerbase and the big hitters in the West could only be undeniable so long as he held the upper hand. And he knew there was a sense of impatience in the demands being made on him, and powerful men were becoming restless.
    But the American guy sitting across the table from him was not in that league, and he would often try to extract more from Abdul whenever he negotiated the deals on behalf of his paymasters. Despite his power, Abdul was no mug; he needed to keep the Americans and the British happy. But keeping the big guns happy didn’t mean he had to listen to the inflated ego of a minion. The man was becoming a nuisance and Abdul was losing his patience fast.
    ‘The girl has been spoken for,’ Abdul told the American. ‘She is part of my next shipment.’ He waved a dismissive hand at the American. ‘It was a mistake that you saw her. Believe me, she is not for you.’
    The American persisted. ‘Abdul, my friend, who is to know if the girl has been used?’ He shrugged. ‘And we have been doing business for some time. I think you owe me.’
    Abdul put up a restraining hand and stood up. ‘I owe nothing to nobody but to keep my word. And my word is that this girl will be delivered clean and untouched.’ He went to move away from the table when the American reached forward and grabbed his arm. Abdul looked down at the man in surprise. Then that emotion turned to disbelief that the American should have the temerity to lay hands on him.
    He pulled his arm away and stepped out from the table. ‘You will not do that again,’ he said quietly, but venomously. Then he walked over to the door of the room and pulled it open.
    The American stood up and was about to say something when the two men who had been in the room with them stepped forward and blocked his path. Abdul nodded his head sharply and left the room. If the American was wondering what was happening, he was about to find out. The moment Abdul closed the door a crashing fist sent the American into oblivion.
    Fifteen minutes later the two men carried the American’s body out of the farm house and tossed it into the back of a Toyota pick-up truck. There was no sign of Abdul, just the faint trail of dust from his Landcruiser that signalled his departure.
    The two heavies climbed into the pick-up. Beyond them was an enormous expanse of wasteland; an enormous expanse in which to dump the dead American.

    THREE

    Marcus followed Susan into Old Street Underground station. He had put on the sunglasses and zipped his leather jacket, relying on an amateur like Susan to have no idea she was being followed by a professional. Marcus liked that word; it made him feel good. Susan was easy to keep in sight, probably because she had her mind on other things. Marcus was intrigued as well, but not by what she had said; more by what she had unwittingly revealed to him.
    He used his Oyster Card to walk through the turnstiles at the station and followed Susan down to the Northern Line platform. She was heading south. He stood about twenty feet away from her, losing himself among the other travellers and listened out for the rush of air that would signal the presence of an oncoming train.
    From time to time he would glance at Susan and have little fantasies about her. He wondered what she would be like on a date, and how far he could get with her. Would dinner be sufficient, he wondered? Would he have to impress her with conversation,