‘Are you drinking?’ asked Liam.
‘It’s wine. With my dinner.’
‘It’s a bit early to be drinking, isn’t it?’
Shepherd laughed. ‘What are you, the alcohol police? I’m in for the night, I’m not driving anywhere, so let your old dad have a drink, why don’t you?’ He raised his glass. ‘Cheers.’
‘Where are you?’ asked Liam. ‘You’re not home, are you?’
‘London still,’ said Shepherd.
‘When are you seeing Katra again? Do you think she can come to the match?’
‘Maybe,’ said Shepherd. ‘If I can get the timing right I can go to Hereford, pick her up and come to your school.’
‘Please try, Dad.’
‘I will. Of course I will.’
‘You’re not going to sack her, are you?’
Shepherd put down his wine glass. ‘Why do you say that?’
Liam shrugged and looked away, embarrassed. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Come on, spit it out.’
Liam sighed. ‘You don’t seem to be at home much. And I’m at school all the time. So maybe you’ll decide that you don’t need her.’
‘That’s crazy,’ said Shepherd. ‘Someone still has to take care of the house. You’re at home for the holidays. And I’ll be back once this job is done and dusted. Trust me, I’m as fond of Katra as you are. As long as she wants to work for us, she can.’
‘Great,’ said Liam. He looked back at the screen, grinning broadly.
‘And what about maths? How are you getting on? Didn’t you have a test today?’
Liam’s face fell. ‘Can’t we talk about something else, Dad?’
Shepherd grinned. His son was still young enough to read like a book.
The Al Nakheel on the top floor of the Al Khozama Centre was generally regarded as the best restaurant in Riyadh. It certainly had the best view, and the tables on its panoramic terrace were almost always fully booked. Fully booked or not, Ahmed Al-Jaber was always guaranteed to be given a table. His connections to the Saudi royal family were second to none and, even in a country of billionaires, Al-Jaber’s wealth was revered. Al-Jaber was sitting at his regular corner table when Bin Azim walked into the restaurant. The lunchtime clientele was almost exclusively male and dressed in either made-to-measure suits or the full-length white Saudi robes and checked shemagh headdresses. Al-Jaber was a traditionalist and always wore a robe and shemagh, even when he was overseas. As always he was accompanied by bodyguards, large men in black suits and impenetrable sunglasses. Two of them stood at the far end of the terrace, hands clasped in front of their groins, and there were two more by the doors that led to the kitchen. Bin Azim walked over slowly, favouring his left leg. He would soon be turning seventy-five and the last five years had not been good to him. Diabetes, arthritis and a worrying tendency to forget people’s names. Bin Azim preferred a well-cut suit to a flowing robe and he always found the shemagh an annoyance, but he wore them out of respect for Al-Jaber.
Al-Jaber smiled when he saw Bin Azim walking towards him. In terms of money and status Bin Azim was a pygmy compared to Al-Jaber, but he was ten years older and, out of respect for his age, Al-Jaber stood up and held out his hands in welcome. It was Bin Azim who initiated the kissing, a soft peck on each cheek, before they sat down.
‘I’m not eating,’ said Al-Jaber. ‘But please order whatever you like.’
‘Coffee is fine,’ said Bin Azim, adjusting his robe around his legs. A hovering waiter asked him what sort of coffee he wanted and Bin Azim ordered an espresso. His doctor was constantly asking him to switch to tea but coffee was one of the few pleasures that Bin Azim had left in his life and he intended to enjoy it until his last breath.
‘How was Karachi?’ asked Al-Jaber.
‘It there a worse place in the world?’ said Bin Azim. ‘If there is I have yet to find it.’
‘Perhaps in Africa,’ said Al-Jaber. ‘But there is money to be made in Pakistan and the generals are easy to work with. Everything and everyone has a price there.’
Bin Azim’s hand moved slowly inside his robe. He was well known to Al-Jaber’s bodyguards but they still stiffened and their hands moved to their concealed weapons. Bin Azim’s hand reappeared holding a piece of paper and the bodyguards relaxed. He slid the piece of paper across the table.
‘The Americans had help,’ said Bin Azim.
‘From the Pakistanis?’ There was a pair of gold-rimmed reading glasses on the table by Al-Jaber’s right hand and he put them on.
‘From someone,’ said Bin Azim. He nodded at the piece of paper. ‘That’s the proof.’
Al-Jaber unfolded the sheet of paper. It was a photocopy of a hand-drawn floor plan.
‘It is a drawing of the compound and the buildings in it,’ said Bin Azim. ‘The walls and the exterior can be seen from satellites but, as you can see, the map shows the internal walls.’
Al-Jaber studied the map for almost a full minute before looking up. ‘And it is accurate?’
‘Absolutely. Every room.’
‘So it was drawn by someone who had visited the compound?’
‘That is the only way to get that amount of detail. You see the doors? The way they are drawn open?’
Al-Jaber looked back at the map. ‘Yes, I see that.’
‘The hinges are all on the correct sides. If the door is hinged on the left, it is drawn that way. And the furniture. It is exactly as it was in the house. I checked with his family.’
‘The Americans are saying that they followed The Sheik’s courier to the compound.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘Is that a lie, then?’
‘It might perhaps be how they found the compound. But the courier would never betray The Sheik.’
‘The map is definitely genuine?’ asked Al-Jaber.
‘I have no reason to doubt its veracity.’
‘They are duplicitous bastards, the Pakistanis. You shake a Pakistani’s hand and you had better count your fingers afterwards.’
Bin Azim laughed. ‘My contact is solid. He met with The Sheik himself, many years ago. And he has supplied us with top-grade intelligence in the past.’
‘Leopards can change their spots,’ said Al-Jaber. ‘Especially ones from Pakistan.’
‘I can vouch for him,’ said Bin Azim.
‘My concern is that the Pakistanis might want to cause mischief for the Americans.’ He held up the piece of paper. ‘ISI could have made this map after the event. Then leaked it to you.’
‘Why would they do that? What is there to gain? Are we going to hate the Americans more because of this map? Of course not.’
‘And the timing is very suspicious. Why release it now?’
‘It has only just been discovered. My contact says that they were clearing out one of the upstairs bedrooms and they found it under a mattress. The Americans were in there at night, the map must have been dropped in the confusion and the mattress tipped on top of it.’
‘So the Pakistanis didn’t search the building after the attack?’
‘Why would they? They would have assumed that the Americans had taken everything of importance.’ He held out his hand and Al-Jaber passed the map back.
‘What about the Americans? Could they have wanted the Pakistanis to find the map? The Americans might want to sow dissent among our ranks. We start to suspect everybody. Once an organisation loses trust, it cannot function.’
The waiter reappeared with Bin Azim’s coffee and they waited until he had set the white porcelain cup down on the table and left before continuing their conversation.
‘So that is the question we must ask ourselves,’ said Al-Jaber. ‘Did the Americans leave it to be found? Or do we have something that they would rather we didn’t have?’
‘The fact that ISI went public is an embarrassment to the Americans. It makes them look less than
