Christopher Jones - The Jackal's Share

It was possible, of course, that the old bastard had gone for a walk. Or to his office, to prepare. But somehow it seemed more likely that he was doing something that would throw their delicate plan into confusion: he was seeing the Americans on his own to talk up the price or tell them the whole deal was off; he had finally given in to the despair that Webster had seen growing in him and was now poised on a high bridge or wading slowly into the sea, inviting his doom. He had to be found.

Webster looked at his phone, searched for Ava’s number, and called it. The line rang twice and then went dead; she had canceled the call. He redialed, and found himself talking to her voicemail.

Running a hand through his hair he looked up and down the street, and did his best to think. Qazai’s phone sounded as if it was off. Even if he had the means it would take far too long to trace. No, that route was closed. But Ava might know where her father was, and if she didn’t, the answer might lie in the house, which only she could open for him. Regretting even more keenly that he hadn’t treated her better, he wrote her a text message.

If your father isn’t at his office by noon he will be dead by the end of the week. Help me find him and I’ll explain everything. I know I should have done so before. Ben.

He hit send, watched the message go, and sat down on the bottom step of the Qazai house to wait. It was warm again, the sun just showing through thick morning haze, and the air already felt slow with unreleased heat. Webster took off his jacket and draped it across his knees. He could find out where Ava lived, if he needed to, though what good that would do he wasn’t sure.

His phone bleeped, and a message flashed onto his screen.

No need to explain. Find him yourself.

Webster stared at the words and did his best to take them in. No need to explain. She knew. Did she know? He shook his head and took in a deep, worried breath before replying.

You may be dead too. And others more dear to you. If you know anything, you should know that. Call me.

A butcher’s van passed, and on the opposite side of the street an old man, incongruously unkempt, wheeled his bicycle along the pavement, muttering to himself and occasionally ringing the bell, tinny and clear against the low hum of traffic from surrounding streets. Webster watched him make his progress. Surely she would call.

But she didn’t. Not straight away. After a full two minutes, just as he was making plans to find her house and somehow force her from it, his phone rang in his hand.

“Where are you?”

“Mount Street.”

Ava hung up as the old man rounded the corner out of sight.

In three minutes a small, understated Mercedes, black, with black windows, drew up in front of the house, and after a nervous moment, just long enough for Webster to begin to worry that she had changed her mind and was about to drive away again, Ava got out. She walked briskly toward him, with such purpose that for a moment Webster thought she was going to hit him; and he wished, when she stopped in front of him and started speaking, that she had.

“You don’t need to explain. I found out.” She was wearing no makeup and her face was drawn, the skin around her eyes thin and bruised, the eyes themselves bloodshot and black and raging, as if all the life in her was concentrated there.

Webster didn’t know where to start. “I’m sorry.” He meant it, but it sounded redundant. “Did he tell you?” It began to dawn on him that perhaps Qazai had disappeared to escape the fury of his daughter.

She shook her head, her arms tightly crossed. “No. I found out. I went to Paris.” Each word was hard and distinct. Webster looked blank. “To see my friend. He told me what he couldn’t bring himself to tell me before. What you thought you should keep to yourself.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? Because my father’s a traitor? Or because you lied to me?” There were tears in her eyes.

“I never lied to you.”

“You never told me the truth.”

He nodded. He could tell her that it had been necessary, and that would have been true, but she was still right.

“Does he know?”

Ava drew the back of her hand across her eyes, sniffed, collected herself. “When I think of all the good people his money has had killed. All the guns his money has bought. He disgusts me.” She looked up at Webster. “He knows. He was still up when I got back. I told him… I told him I was leaving. I told him he wasn’t my father. That he never had a daughter.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“I don’t care where he is. I won’t ever care where he is. He tried to get me to stay. Told me if I did anything stupid, that Raisa, and…” She trailed off.

“That’s all true,” said Webster.

She shook her head. “It’s bullshit. He’s lying, all the time, to everyone. He’s sick with it.”

“Not now. If he doesn’t pay them back, in four days, you and your family are at risk. Mine, too.”

Ava looked away down the street, watched a car drive too fast toward and past them.

“They’re dangerous,” he said. “I think they killed Mehr.”

“So did they…” The words caught in her throat. She turned and looked at him, her eyes courageous and fearful at once. “What happened in Dubai?”

He hesitated. He knew what had happened in Dubai. “I don’t know. Really.”

“Did they kill Timur?”

With effort, he held her eye. “We don’t know.”

“Oh God,” she said, clutching herself, shaking her head, her hands scratching at her upper arms. “Oh God. Tell me that wasn’t because of my father. Tell me. I couldn’t…”

Webster moved toward her and put his hand on her shoulder, felt her body gently rocking.

“We might never know. Ava. Look at me. Look at me. This is real. If your father doesn’t pay back what he owes something bad will happen. They will make it happen. It’s their job. It doesn’t matter where we go, how many guards we have, they’ll keep coming. Ava, look at me. I know that you don’t want to save him. I don’t either. But if we don’t…” He couldn’t finish the thought. “I have to find out where he is.”

Her eyes, endlessly sad now, held his for a moment, and so intense was the pain there that he felt sure he had lost her, that all she could hear was her grief. But then she spoke, sniffing and wiping her eyes.

“Your family?”

“Yes, my family. And yours.”

She nodded, as if considering something for the first time.

“Your children?”

“My children, yes. A girl and a boy.”

“Where are they?”

“Somewhere safe. Fairly safe.”

She turned away from him and for perhaps a full minute stood staring down the street, her head gently shaking.

“What do you need?” she said at last.

“I need to get into the house. And I may need you to go a meeting.”

Blankly, she nodded, and he guided her up the steps.

“LEAVE US,”Ava said to the guard once they were inside. He hesitated for a moment, clearly wondering whether Webster posed a threat. “It’s all right,” she said. And then with irritation as he continued to stand there, conspicuously upright and in protective mode, “Go. Please. I’ll call you if I need you.” Webster watched him leave without satisfaction.

“He’s good,” he said, once he had disappeared down the corridor that led out of the hall at the back of the house.

“No doubt. I just don’t want him in my world.” She looked at Webster meaningfully.

“I won’t be around for long.”

“You’re here now. Do what you need to do.”

“I need to ask you some things.”