Exit wound

‘I don’t know it.’ There was no fear in her voice. She was angry, a bit like she’d sounded at the press conference. ‘Please let go. I’m not going to run. I’m not going to shout. I’m not going to do anything. I’ll do what you say.’

‘Why is he here?’ I shoved her face back against the glass.

‘To buy ground-to-air missiles. SA-16s.’

‘Who from?’ I wanted to know everything she knew.

‘M3C, of course. That’s why he’s in the Neptun building. Look, I can help you. Tell me what you want to know. Just fucking let me go.’

‘What’s Neptun?’ I stood directly behind her, forcing her back against the wall. I twisted my hand further into her hair. Her skin tightened like a bad facelift. ‘What’s Neptun?’

‘The building – the office. The company’s called Neptun. It’s one of the companies M3C absorbed when it went multinational. It produces handheld surface-to-air missiles. That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it? That’s what we’re both here for.’

‘The Taliban buying 16s?’

‘Well, you’re British, aren’t you? You’re here about the missiles, trying to stop them getting into Taliban hands, yes? Look, I can help you. Just let me go. I’m not going to do anything. We’re both here for the same reasons, for God’s sake. What do you think I’m going to do?’

‘Spark up like yesterday. How are they being paid for? Is there a middleman? They dealing direct?’

‘Heroin cash – and direct, of course. Why would he be at Neptun if not? Either drugs direct or cash from the sales – I don’t know exactly which and I don’t really care. All I want to do is expose the deal – maybe even stop it in its tracks. Why don’t you let me help you? We want the same things, don’t we?’

The Taliban had stopped praying and was back on his feet. He started rolling up his mat, then stopped and dug a cell phone out of his jacket. Headlights rolled into the square and the Neptun gates swung open. The Taliban put the phone to his ear as the Merc pulled in.

I let go of her hair. ‘Pick up the binos. Tell me who you recognize.’

She nodded and did as she was told. The reception lights were now on. I zoomed the Nikon in on the white-marble-floored hallway. A large French-style three-seater settee with mahogany arms stood on the right-hand side of the foyer, opposite an ornate desk complete with repro Bakelite telephone and a couple of high-backed chairs. Tattoo and the Taliban waited just inside the glass entrance.

‘You know the guy with the Taliban?’

She took a couple of seconds to check him out. ‘No.’

The Merc swept round the forecourt. The rear door opened before it had come to a standstill. Out jumped Altun, arms at full stretch. He and the Taliban embraced and lavished multiple kisses on each other’s cheeks. Tattoo skirted round them and kept eyes on the square.

‘Do you know him? You know the lad who’s just got out?’

She scoped him for another few seconds and shook her head. I could feel her disappointment. ‘He was at the press conference, but I don’t know him, no. Who is he?’

‘That’s one of the things I aim to find out. Who were you expecting?’

‘Brin.’

The name didn’t register with me.

‘He owns M3C. That’s why I’m here. If I can prove the deal is going ahead, I can shine a light on some high-level corruption. I may also help prevent your planes and helicopters, and America’s and Pakistan’s, getting blown out of the sky by my country’s missiles…’ She took a deep breath. ‘I keep telling you, I can help you. Isn’t it about time you started to believe me?’

The three of them piled into the Merc and they drove back out of the gate.

Agnetha rested her head against the window, her eyes closed as the headlights disappeared towards the main. Either she didn’t know as much about what was happening as she’d claimed or she was bullshitting. It didn’t really matter which. We probably did want some of the same things, but I doubted she had the solutions in mind that I did.

There were plenty of people like her out there who were bent on saving the world, and a conscience was a good thing, I supposed – except that in situations like this it could easily get you killed. Crusaders for truth look great under the studio lights. But in the real world they get swatted like flies.

85

I thought about pushing her back down onto the floor and giving her the Timberland treatment while I packed my day-sack, in case she made the mistake of thinking we were new best mates.

‘M3C are trying to hide the SA-16 deal by using Iran as the broker. That probably explains the guy in the Mercedes.’ She gestured towards the Neptun building. ‘Look, I can’t prove it yet, but Brin is where all this shit begins. The Taliban may fire the guns and Iran may think it’s pulling their strings, but M3C loads the bullets. If we can close Brin down, that’s where it ends.’

‘Until some other fucker takes his place.’ I pulled the cord to close my day-sack and spotted a nylon shopping bag close by where I’d found her.