when first I come to Spain. He’s a good man. And he pays well.’
Rosie didn’t really want the details. They were written all over the face of this beautiful young boy. He was sixteen or seventeen, if that, and already ruined.
‘Taha,’ she said. ‘You said the man was an important man. Do you know his name?’
Taha nodded. He reached into his pocket and took out something. ‘I knew him as Thomas,’ he said. ‘But the name is different. On this.’
He opened his hand, and in his palm was what Rosie recognised as a House of Commons security pass. He handed it to her. She didn’t need to look at the name,because the photo on the pass was enough to make her head swim. The Home Secretary, the Rt. Hon. Michael Carter-Smith, was looking back at her with that arrogant expression which dared anyone to take him on.
CHAPTER 8
She was like the puppy, snuggling against him, and it was an odd feeling. He wasn’t used to having someone close to him like that.
In the back of the car, Besmir moved the sleeping child’s arm away from him. He looked at her pale face as she slept, exhausted, her eyelids puffy from crying. The car was stifling, and a tiny strip of sweat gathered under her hairline. His fingers reached out and almost stroked her forehead, but he pulled back. She was nothing to him. Just a package to be delivered. He rolled down the window, but the air coming in was dry and sweltering, so he closed it again. He put his head back and closed his eyes. He would be glad when this was over.
The worst moment had been the journey from Elira’s apartment in Algeciras. They had to leave at first light and the girl had started to scream as Besmir put her into the boot of the car. They had to be vigilant in case police were looking in every car for the missing girl. A private boat would take him to the Tangiers coast, but he wouldreturn by the ferry, using a fake German passport Leka had given him.
Elira had insisted he take the puppy with them, despite Besmir’s protests that he’d have enough with the girl. But she’d said it would help once they were on the journey as it might keep the girl calm. Elira had named the girl Kaltrina, Albanian for ‘the blue girl’, because of her striking blue eyes.
Besmir didn’t like the way Elira was fawning over the kid as if it was her own. Just get on with the job. Get to Tangiers and deliver the girl, then get back to Spain and his money. He promised himself that as soon as Leka paid him he’d get on the road and none of them would ever see him again. But for now, he was stuck with this little girl and a puppy in the back of the car.
The motor boat had dropped them off at the small isolated cove on the Moroccan coast. It hadn’t been able to come right up to the shore because of the rocks in the shallow waters. It had put out a small rubber dingy to take them to the shore, but it still left them some way out from the beach. Besmir cursed as he carried the sobbing girl and the puppy, wading knee-deep in the sea towards the young Moroccan man waiting for him on the beach.
He’d been tempted to give the girl the drink Elira had given him to put her to sleep, but he was scared in case it would kill her. Knowing Leka, the last thing he wanted to do was deliver the package dead.
The young driver said nothing when Besmir emerged from the sea. He simply nodded and walked away, Besmirfollowing him towards a battered car parked on the dirt-track road. As they approached he noticed there was someone in the passenger seat. A small, fat Moroccan smoked furiously and spat out of the window as Besmir got into the car with the girl clinging round his neck.
‘Can you shut her up?’ the fat man said, tossing his cigarette out of the window.
‘Just take us to where we have to go,’ Besmir snapped at him, prodding his back firmly with his finger, as he got into the back seat.
Whoever this fat old Moroccan was, he was not in charge here, and Besmir wanted to make sure he was in no
Rosie didn’t really want the details. They were written all over the face of this beautiful young boy. He was sixteen or seventeen, if that, and already ruined.
‘Taha,’ she said. ‘You said the man was an important man. Do you know his name?’
Taha nodded. He reached into his pocket and took out something. ‘I knew him as Thomas,’ he said. ‘But the name is different. On this.’
He opened his hand, and in his palm was what Rosie recognised as a House of Commons security pass. He handed it to her. She didn’t need to look at the name,because the photo on the pass was enough to make her head swim. The Home Secretary, the Rt. Hon. Michael Carter-Smith, was looking back at her with that arrogant expression which dared anyone to take him on.
CHAPTER 8
She was like the puppy, snuggling against him, and it was an odd feeling. He wasn’t used to having someone close to him like that.
In the back of the car, Besmir moved the sleeping child’s arm away from him. He looked at her pale face as she slept, exhausted, her eyelids puffy from crying. The car was stifling, and a tiny strip of sweat gathered under her hairline. His fingers reached out and almost stroked her forehead, but he pulled back. She was nothing to him. Just a package to be delivered. He rolled down the window, but the air coming in was dry and sweltering, so he closed it again. He put his head back and closed his eyes. He would be glad when this was over.
The worst moment had been the journey from Elira’s apartment in Algeciras. They had to leave at first light and the girl had started to scream as Besmir put her into the boot of the car. They had to be vigilant in case police were looking in every car for the missing girl. A private boat would take him to the Tangiers coast, but he wouldreturn by the ferry, using a fake German passport Leka had given him.
Elira had insisted he take the puppy with them, despite Besmir’s protests that he’d have enough with the girl. But she’d said it would help once they were on the journey as it might keep the girl calm. Elira had named the girl Kaltrina, Albanian for ‘the blue girl’, because of her striking blue eyes.
Besmir didn’t like the way Elira was fawning over the kid as if it was her own. Just get on with the job. Get to Tangiers and deliver the girl, then get back to Spain and his money. He promised himself that as soon as Leka paid him he’d get on the road and none of them would ever see him again. But for now, he was stuck with this little girl and a puppy in the back of the car.
The motor boat had dropped them off at the small isolated cove on the Moroccan coast. It hadn’t been able to come right up to the shore because of the rocks in the shallow waters. It had put out a small rubber dingy to take them to the shore, but it still left them some way out from the beach. Besmir cursed as he carried the sobbing girl and the puppy, wading knee-deep in the sea towards the young Moroccan man waiting for him on the beach.
He’d been tempted to give the girl the drink Elira had given him to put her to sleep, but he was scared in case it would kill her. Knowing Leka, the last thing he wanted to do was deliver the package dead.
The young driver said nothing when Besmir emerged from the sea. He simply nodded and walked away, Besmirfollowing him towards a battered car parked on the dirt-track road. As they approached he noticed there was someone in the passenger seat. A small, fat Moroccan smoked furiously and spat out of the window as Besmir got into the car with the girl clinging round his neck.
‘Can you shut her up?’ the fat man said, tossing his cigarette out of the window.
‘Just take us to where we have to go,’ Besmir snapped at him, prodding his back firmly with his finger, as he got into the back seat.
Whoever this fat old Moroccan was, he was not in charge here, and Besmir wanted to make sure he was in no
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