Shadow of the Rock (Spike Sanguinetti) Read Online Free Page A

Shadow of the Rock (Spike Sanguinetti)
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alien eye.
    Once Gaggero’s footsteps had faded, Spike walked over to the far wall. Leaning back against it, he took a tissue from his pocket and worked the two leaves of the material apart. He tore off a fingertip-sized piece, which he moistened with his tongue. After checking the door, he reached up and stuck the tissue to the CCTV lens. Then he returned to the table.
    Tipping one of the chairs onto its side, he brought a brogue crashing down on the pivotal leg. With a few more kicks, the wood splintered. He propped the chair back up in front of the table, then went round to the other side and sat down.
    His briefcase held a single-deck tape recorder, which he took out and positioned on the table. Moments later, the door opened fully and Solomon Hassan appeared, Alan Gaggero behind. ‘You remember the form,’ Gaggero said, gesturing at the wall buzzer beneath the camera.
    Spike nodded.
    ‘ Vale ,’ Gaggero said. ‘Enjoy.’ He withdrew, sliding the bolt into place.
    Solomon was back in his supplicatory position, head bowed, hands behind back. He wore prison denims now – belt-free trousers, coarse button shirt – and tatty flip-flops with, for some reason, a minute Brazilian flag on the straps. His skin was paler and his plump cheeks stubblier, like wintry copses seen from the air.
    ‘Have a seat,’ Spike said.
    The chair leg gave way at once. Solomon let out a yelp, making a lunge for the table but toppling sideways onto the lino.
    Spike moved round to his side. ‘You all right there, Solly?’
    Solomon lay on the floor in the foetal position, snapped chair beside him.
    ‘Here, let me help. Have mine.’ Spike hauled him up and brought his own chair round. Solomon sat down carefully, shaking his head.
    ‘I’ll perch,’ Spike said, sitting on the table. ‘So are they treating you OK?’
    ‘I have a slop bucket in my cell.’
    ‘Ouch.’
    ‘And the guy next door keeps praying. I can’t sleep.’
    ‘It is called the Moorish Castle, Solomon. You didn’t care for Drew Stanford-Trench, they tell me?’
    ‘He was vague on extradition treaties.’
    ‘Well, I’m briefed on those. Want to hear?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘There’s good and bad news. The good is that you won’t have to see Drew Stanford-Trench again.’
    Solomon gave a nod.
    ‘Nor me for that matter.’
    Solomon wrinkled his nose as though confronted by a sudden stench.
    ‘Because the bad news is that there’s a new Order-in-Council, extending the Extradition Act 1870. Only passed at the start of the year, part of a broader deal made by the Gibraltar government. Trying to seem squeaky-clean to the EU – any fraudsters skip across the Straits, we get them back. But it cuts both ways. So if the Kingdom of Morocco requests the company of Mr Solomon Hassan, they need only say the word.’
    ‘But I haven’t done anything.’
    ‘They just need a prima facie case.’
    ‘They don’t even have a proper justice system.’
    ‘Oh, I hear Moroccan public defenders can be pretty good. Some of them even speak English.’
    Solomon laid both hands on the table. His thumbs were criss-crossed with dark-flecked scabs. ‘Why are you –’
    ‘They’ve still got the death penalty in Morocco, you know that, Solly? Not used much, but in your case, a defenceless girl, a foreigner –’
    ‘I’m innocent, Spike.’
    ‘You ran.’
    ‘I told you, as a Jew –’
    ‘Where are the witnesses who saw you leave? Where’s your alibi?’ Spike dismounted and came round to Solomon’s side. ‘Let me tell you what I think,’ he said. ‘Stop me if I veer off track.’ He crouched down to Solomon’s level. ‘You’re on the beach, right? The sun is setting; it’s romantic, almost.’
    Solomon stared into the middle distance, picking at his thumbs. Spike leaned in closer. ‘This girl’s new in town, and she likes you, you can tell. You’ve had a few drinks, you’re sitting on the sand, and then suddenly you realise. This is it. This is why you left Gibraltar.
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