City of the Lost by Will Adams Page B

to their website, they provide business intelligence services to multinational corporations.’
    ‘Company spies,’ muttered Butros. He glanced at his elder son. ‘Are they the ones your London friends warned you about?’
    ‘They only told me they’d been approached themselves,’ answered Michel. ‘They didn’t know who if anyone had been hired.’
    ‘Anything else?’ Butros asked Georges.
    ‘Mustafa Habib wasn’t alone. He had a companion with him. This companion gave his card to a paramedic in case they should need to contact him. His name is Iain Black. He is director of Global Analysis’s Middle-Eastern operations. Which makes it all but certain they were in Daphne on a job.’
    ‘A job!’ scoffed Michel. ‘They were there for us. They set that fucking bomb.’
    Butros shook his head. ‘What kind of assassin takes business cards on a hit with him? What kind of assassin would then give one to a paramedic?’
    ‘You’re not suggesting it was coincidence, are you?’ protested Michel. ‘I don’t believe it.’
    ‘Nor me.’ He brooded a few moments before he came to his decision. ‘Michel,’ he said. ‘Get in touch with your London friends. Have them find out what they can about this man Black and his company Global Analysis. Their clients, their reputation, their range of services. But discreetly, discreetly. I don’t want them knowing we’re onto them.’ He turned back to Georges. ‘I want to talk with this man Black myself. I want to look him in the eye when I ask him what he was doing at the hotel. I want to look him in the eye when I ask him if he tried to kill me.’
    ‘You’re not leaving the boat, Father,’ said Georges. ‘Not until we know what’s going on.’
    ‘Then perhaps we should invite him here for lunch tomorrow.’
    ‘As you wish, Father,’ said Georges. ‘But what if he says no?’
    Butros smiled thinly. ‘I really wasn’t thinking of that kind of invitation,’ he said.
V
    Iain and Karin chose a restaurant close to the hotel, too weary to explore further. They sat upstairs on an open roof terrace of polished terracotta tiles hedged by potted cypresses. Few tables were taken; the atmosphere was subdued. Every so often voices would be raised in anger, not only against the bombers, but also against the perceived feebleness of the government’s response. Everyone seemed agreed that someone new was needed to take up the fight; someone with the stomach to do whatever was necessary to restore order. And everyone seemed keen to take part in Friday’s Day of Action.
    They ordered beers that arrived already poured into miniature brass tankards, to protect the sensibilities of their more devout customers. They clinked them together in a dull toast then tried some small talk, but it proved hard work and Karin soon fell into an introspective silence.
    ‘Tell me about him,’ prompted Iain.
    ‘About who?’
    ‘Your boss. His assistant. Whichever one it is you’re thinking of.’
    Karin shook her head. ‘I really didn’t know Rick all that well.’
    ‘Nathan, then. What was he like?’
    ‘He was fine. He was nice. He was
rich
.’ She gave a sad smile. ‘I don’t mean that in a bad way. It’s simply that some people have so much money it becomes part of who they are. You can’t describe them without it.’
    ‘How do you mean?’
    ‘I don’t know. I guess I used to think of money as something you bought stuff with. That the more money you had, the more stuff you could buy. But it’s not like that, not when you’re born into an oil dynasty, as Nathan was. At that level, it’s more like a force. Like gravity. It shapes the world and everyone bends to it, whether they want to or not.’
    Iain looked curiously at her. ‘Including you?’ he asked.
    ‘You know us Dutch?’ she said. ‘How tolerant we are. Live and let live, all that shit? Well, my family isn’t like that. Not one bit. My parents are very Calvinist. They raised us to think a certain way: that