Decoy Read Online Free Page A

cakes and a pot of tea.
    â€œI know it is a little late in the day but I can never resist ordering an afternoon tea when I visit London. This hotel is particularly proficient at preparing it,” he continued, the smile still in place, forced and unpleasant.
    Ahmed nodded. He could feel his stomach rumbling but a plate of pastries piled high with cream and custard was the last thing he wanted to eat.
    â€œI trust the operations you had to perform ran smoothly, no damage to the extracted items?” Monsieur Blanc asked, carefully selecting a millefeuille then pouring tea through a strainer. Ahmed thought about the one he dropped. He had held it close to his ear, checked the tiny heart was still beating.
    â€œNo problems at all, I am pleased to say,” he replied.
    â€œExcellent. Of course we never expected a surgeon of your calibre to encounter any serious difficulties. That is the case that contains them?” Monsieur Blanc pointed a chubby finger at the briefcase on the coffee table. Ahmed nodded. Two men appeared and took the case to the bedroom. Ahmed watched them through the open door as they removed the contents.
    â€œI’m afraid they may be a few moments. They have to check everything is in order.” Monsieur Blanc said, sipping his tea. “Do you plan to remain long in London, take in the sights? It is such a diverting city, don’t you think? One can find something to satisfy even the most unusual of appetites,” he said.
    Ahmed rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t tell if that was an allusion to his past, his affair with Padma or just innocent conversation. It wouldn’t surprise him if Monsieur Blanc had compiled a dossier on him, knew every detail of his former life. He seemed like a very precise man, very careful. Ahmed didn’t care either way. He was counting the minutes till he caught his flight home, money safely transferred to the account he had set up in the Cayman Islands.
    â€œNo plans to sightsee, Monsieur Blanc, perhaps another time.” He said, reaching forward and helping himself to a couple of cakes, realising he might not have another opportunity to eat for a while. One of the men returned from the bedroom, leant in close and whispered something in Monsieur Blanc’s ear.
    Ahmed didn’t get to eat the cake, he watched in astonishment as it spun from his plate, kicked by a heavy boot across the room. Before he knew what was happening his forearms were pressed against the arms of the chair, two men with a vice like grip holding him down. Rough hands round his neck, the choking twist of material and the sound of laughter from behind him. The voice of the mercenary.
    Monsieur Blanc rose to his feet, delicately wiping his hands on a serviette, taking his time, observing Ahmed’s bulging eyes, the sweat that had broken out on his forehead. He moved behind him, sighing deeply. Amidst his panic Ahmed detected a peculiar scent, rose water. A distinctive and unsettling fragrance.
    â€œDr. Seladin, I am known for many things, but patience is not one of them. I will ask you once why you did not deliver all ten devices. You will have ten seconds to give a satisfactory answer, after which my friend here will tighten the belt around your neck until you wish you had given me a satisfactory answer. Do you understand?”
    Ahmed tried to respond but the words got tangled in his throat. Monsieur Blanc checked his watch. “I make that six seconds now, Dr. Seladin.” He frantically tried to recall the afternoon’s events. The order of things. He’d deliberately blocked it from his mind, a form of self-hypnosis, shut it all out. The belt squeezed against his larynx, a bitter taste in his throat, like he’d swallowed a bar of soap.
    â€œOk, alright,” he gargled. The grip relaxed. He counted the patients in his head. It was only then that he saw it, the empty bed. Invisible to him at the time, he hadn’t thought anything of it.