‘How will I know,’ Dan said, ‘that you are keeping your side of the bargain?’
‘Commissaire Khatabi will be our go-between. Won’t you, Hafid?’
‘Yes, sir.’
The last Dan saw of Naziha was him being thrust back inside the minister’s vehicle.
33
Dan sat in the back of the car. Both feet on the floor, back upright. He’d locked down his emotions. His fear for the boy, Mohammed and Mehdi was shut off deep inside. He couldn’t win this particular battle. Not with so many vulnerable people he had no ability to protect.
‘There is a flight to Heathrow at ten o’clock,’ Khatabi said.
Dan didn’t respond.
‘We will go via your riad to collect your passport and belongings.’
There seemed no point in saying anything.
An hour and a half later, with his bag in the back, passport in his pocket, they returned to the car. To his surprise, the Commissaire returned Dan’s mobile phone. Then he dropped his driver and the second man at the Commissariat.
‘I will drive you myself.’
Dan nodded. It didn’t matter who took him. He would have walked barefoot to the airport if necessary. Anything to keep Naziha safe.
It was only when they passed a large mosque with a lit golden dome that Dan realised they weren’t on the road to the airport.
‘Where are you taking me?’ His voice was calm but inside, a sense of unease crept through him.
Khatabi didn’t answer, simply kept driving.
Dan concentrated on keeping his breathing regular. No point in thinking about the fact Khatabi worked with the corrupt minister, and that he had a gun. He would remain alert and ready, and only act if necessary.
The Commissaire made a right turn on the other side of town, passing a scooter carrying a family of four, the wife in her djellaba perched side-saddle. He parked in a busy street lined with restaurants and bars. They hadn’t been there long before a striking woman, smartly dressed, approached. She came to the car and tapped her fingers on the bonnet, waving her red-lacquered fingernails at the Commissaire as she strutted past. She had glossy shoulder-length hair and a beautiful smile.
‘That is my daughter,’ Khatabi said. ‘Naima.’
Dan watched Naima go, her hips swaying and her leather handbag swinging. He could hear the minister’s voice in his head, commanding Khatabi to cover him with his gun. ‘Naima, Hafid.’ It had been a threat. Little wonder Khatabi had done the minister’s bidding. His family was at risk too.
‘Naima is a real-estate agent.’ His voice was proud.
At the airport, Dan checked in his bag and then joined Khatabi at a snack bar in the terminal hall.
‘What will you do?’ Khatabi asked.
Dan thought of Lucy’s investigation but he wasn’t going to trust Khatabi with anything. His daughter may be at risk from Jibran Bouzid but that didn’t mean they were now friends. ‘Go home.’
Khatabi frowned. ‘You don’t want to find Shaitan?’
‘Of course I do, but I also want Naziha to stay alive.’
Khatabi leaned forward, expression intense. ‘Bouzid knows nobody in the United Kingdom. He has no influence there. You can investigate and he will never know.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘He only has power here. Over people like me.’ He sent Dan a stare filled with challenge. ‘You will be free to continue the investigation. Just not in Morocco.’
‘Like Kaitlyn did?’
The policeman had the grace to look away.
Silence fell.
‘You must find Shaitan,’ Khatabi murmured.
Dan didn’t respond.
Khatabi raised his gaze to Dan. His eyes burned with desperation, anger, fear. ‘Please. Help me. I want the truth to come out. Then I will be free of him and my family safe.’
Dan considered the Commissaire. His beautiful daughter. The note Kaitlyn had made and stuck to Khatabi’s photograph.
I love you for helping me. I love you love you xxxx
‘What lead did you give Kaitlyn?’ Dan asked. ‘She’d made a note that you helped her… she was really grateful. I think it was information you gave her here that sent her to London.’
‘And which got her killed.’
‘Yes.’
Khatabi held Dan’s gaze. ‘I gave her the name of the company that sold Bouzid and the Moroccan government those so-called bomb detectors.’
Dan felt something inside him quicken.
‘Tactical Advanced Security Systems Ltd.’
Dan was suddenly taken out of the airport building to Kaitlyn’s hideaway office. He was gazing at the wall above her computer. The piece of paper torn from a yellow legal pad and folded in two, stuck at head height with a drawing pin.
TASS! Fucking TASS! If it wasn’t for TASS it would never have fucking happened!
‘Now, you will go and find Shaitan?’
Dan gave Khatabi a long look. ‘I’m sorry. But no. I have a family too.’
As he queued to board the aeroplane, Dan caught up with his messages. A particularly demanding client was, apparently, giving Philip a hard time, so Dan called the client direct and set up a meeting for the following morning. He’d spend the night in London, he decided. Return home when the client had, hopefully, been pacified.
The flight was only three and a half hours but it felt much longer thanks to the turbulence. Several people were wearing breathing masks, which Dan put down to the panic creeping across the media over the rumours that bled air, particulate pollution from jet engines, could turn you blind. Isla’s picture was everywhere. She was young and beautiful and it was a tragedy she’d fallen blind, but Dan wasn’t about to buy a mask. Not until the story had some real science behind it, anyway.
34
Using a pool car, Lucy drove to see Dan at his place on Saturday. She hadn’t been able to see him earlier thanks to his having to mollify what sounded like an exceedingly difficult client, and although he’d told her not to bother coming all the way to Chepstow, she’d
