‘Where is the woman?’

Kiraci’s eyes widened in amazement, then narrowed. What sort of game was his opponent playing? What could he gain by showing ignorance about Annabel’s abduction? Would her non-appearance allow the astute businessman to claim that she had escaped and thus prove to his colleagues in the network that he, Kiraci, was unreliable and unworthy to be a member? Hasan could then take over his holdings and have the backing of the other stakeholders in doing so. Kiraci decided to play along with his guest’s charade. ‘She is no longer with us,’ replied the merchant watching the face of Ali Hasan intently.

‘Good.’ Hasan looked around checking the position of his men, then he smiled at the merchant. ‘No trace?’

Had Kiraci had a gun in his hand he would have shot the smug entrepreneur on the spot. He continued the game and smiled back. ‘No trace,’ he confirmed.

‘Excellent, now we can deal with the business at hand. I need to speak with the agent you are harbouring. Please get him for me.’

The tone of voice enraged the man. How dare he be a guest in his home and make such demands. He would never be subservient to this manipulator. He would no longer accept his leadership and he would see to it that before sunrise this man would meet his death even if he had to kill him himself.

‘That is impossible, the man is still too ill to be brought here,’ the merchant replied emphatically.

‘Then we shall go to him. Where are you keeping him?’ Hasan signalled his men and they all stood protectively.

Under no circumstances did Kiraci want the leader questioning the agent. The merchant had planned to use all information gained from interrogating Newman-Smith to his own advantage. He would distort the facts and place Hasan in an impossible position which would quickly bring specific areas of the latter’s empire crashing down whilst he, Muammar Kiraci took over others. In his mind he already knew how this was to be achieved, and how easy it would be to convince the others in the network to join him.

‘I have said this is impossible.’ Kiraci’s blood pressure rose sharply, his heart began to race and a pulsating vein stood out in his thick neck. ‘We shall conclude this meeting now,’ he said through clenched teeth. His bodyguards moved a little closer.

‘Nonsense, this issue cannot wait.’ Hasan checked his watch. ‘It is almost one a.m. and I have another appointment later this morning.’ He pointed to one of Kiraci’s staff, ‘show us the way.’

The audacity of this action had the same effect as waving a red cape in front of a bull. All logical thought was swept aside, replaced by a manic thirst for retribution. Kiraci raced forward, took a gun out of his bodyguard’s holster and fired at Hasan. Within seconds bullets whizzed everywhere, and four men were hit. Kiraci’s bodyguards took bullets in the legs, chest and groin. One of Hasan’s men was killed instantly with a bullet through the head.  

Kiraci was hit in the arm, and mortally wounded when a stray bullet lodged in his lung. He slid down onto the floor gasping for air. He was to suffer a slow death as his chest cavity gradually filled with blood and he began to drown. Hasan remained unscathed and the merchant, in his weakened state, watched helplessly as his man was forced to take the intruders to where David was held.

The control room frantically tried to contact police and ambulance but to no avail. Hasan’s men had cut communications. One by one, the monitors had ceased to work as the mogul’s crack team removed all opposition both physical and technical throughout the building.

Lying in a pool of blood Kiraci watched as a lifeless form, slumped in a wheelchair, was pushed across the room towards the main entrance. An arm, dripping with blood flopped from under the covering sheet and dragged along the floor leaving a crimson trail behind. As the procession passed him the sheet caught in one of the wheels and pulled off, revealing the body of David Newman-Smith. The merchant witnessed this event unable to move. He closed his eyes and the world went black.