Distant Annihilation. (Tarquin Collingwood Adventures Book 1) by Azam Hossain Page B

It was this fortune that enabled him to become a big player in the underworld and thus expand into so many different areas. He ’s been involved in arms dealing in Chechyna and Afghanistan, extortion, kidnap, smuggling, drug trafficking and the occasional murder.
    “What a nice fellow,” purred Ollie sarcastically.
    Just then Solomon with his escorts came out of the apartment building and drove off.
    “Do we follow them?” I enquired of Guy.
    “No. We know where he’s staying. After he’s stewed for a couple of hours you and Ollie can pay him a visit.”
     
     
    Later that evening Ollie and I arrived at the Kempinski Hotel. A moment before we arrived, Ollie took a phone call informing her of the number of Solomon’s room. Upon my enquiry she explained that the British Embassy had informants, one of whom worked at the hotel. We swept in confidently into the plush lobby, which was adorned with a fountain and piped music and walked up the stairs unnoticed.
    The questions I would at long last be able to put to Solomon kept going through my mind, as we walked down a corridor looking for the door numbered 316 behind which lay our quarry. I raised my hand and knocked thrice. We waited a moment. I knocked again slightly louder. We then heard the sound of someone approaching the door from inside and a few seconds later the door was opened whilst still on the chain, just wide enough for Solomon to get a look at us.
    “Yes? Can I help you?” he said nervously.
    “Please don’t be alarmed,” I counselled.
    My English accent seemed to relax him somewhat. With this in mind I decided to assume the role of the affable English fellow, “Good evening Mr Solomon, my name is Collingwood.....Tarquin Collingwood and this is Ollie Beaumont,” I said cheerfully.
    He was curious now rather than nervous.
    “I knew Andrew Sinclair, he was a friend of mine . May we come in?” I asked gently.
    He opened the door and stood aside for us to enter.
    When the door was closed he asked, “I’m sorry about your friend. But what can I do for you?”
    “Mr Solomon, I want to know what Andrew was doing in Russia, who killed him and why,” I said firmly.
    “I know nothing, other than that he was here on business and was involved in a car accident,” he said disingenuously, “If you want to know more you must speak to the Police.”
    “Mr Solomon please,” pleaded Ollie, “Mr Collingwood has come all the way from London to investigate his friend’s death, can’t you be more helpful?”
    “Andrew was my business partner. I was naturally distraught when he died. I don’t know what else I can say,” he said opening his palms to emphasise his point.
    I thought I would have one last attempt at being civil.
    “I’m sure you know more than you’re telling. Please....Andrew and I knew each other since we were at school together,” I beseeched.
    My pathetic pleading only seemed to embolden Solomon. He was now a different man to the one who ha d initially opened the door to us. He drew himself up and said with faintly concealed derision that we should stop wasting our time, that he knew nothing more and that we should return to England. My patience was finally exhausted. I went up to the odious Jew and in an instant grabbed him by his shirt and pinned him against the wall. He was so shocked he said not a word.
    “I want some answers Solomon. All you’ve done is lied to us. I know of your meeting this evening with Zhukov. Start talking!” I screamed at him.
    And then as if to reinforce my point I punched him on his left jaw with my right fist and gave him a good shake. Ollie was as surprised at my remonstrating with him as I had been. He was perspiring and cowering at my every word.
    “Remember the road safety advice you received this evening? I would hate for you to die in the middle of the night on some lonely road as my friend did,” I said sneering at him, with a cold deliberation and implacability that I perversely enjoyed, now