The Rift, Rachel Lynch [books recommended by bts .txt] 📗

offered hand and tried to work out the mettle of the man before him. His son, along with a trusted member of the household, was missing, but here was a man who appeared cool, collected and in charge. He waited.

‘Please sit down.’

‘Sir,’ Grant said. ‘I was sorry to hear about your son.’

Khalil grimaced and nodded sternly. ‘Thank you, Mr Tennyson. May I call you Grant?’

‘Sure, you pay my wages,’ Grant said.

‘Good. I accept your sympathy, but what I want is your experience.’

Grant sat down on the sofa offered to him, and Khalil sat next to him in an armchair with a laptop in hand. The arrangement felt casual, but Grant knew better than that. He watched his boss; he wore casual trousers and a crisp white shirt, which looked expensive, and his dark skin contrasted in a way that white men could only wish for: the guy looked minted. But then, he was.

‘I’ve brought you here because I want you to find my son.’

Grant waited.

‘I’ve got everything you need in these files. They’ve been compiled by the National Central Bureau of Interpol, here in Algiers.’

Khalil handed over the laptop as he spoke. Grant wondered if the kidnap of a regular civilian would attract the attention of Interpol so quickly. He knew enough about the organisation, with their HQ in Lyon, France, to know that international kidnappings were taken seriously; however, he was also under no illusion that Khalil had them on board quicker than most, through the local arm based in Algiers.

‘Is Interpol handling the investigation, sir?’ he asked.

‘Yes. My son has been placed on a yellow notice, and bureaus all over the world have been notified.’

Grant appreciated the political gravitas of Hakim’s disappearance. After all, his father was one of the wealthiest men in the world and had important trade links with Europe.

‘You’re booked on a jet to Paris in an hour. Your accommodation is arranged and your budget details are all in there. I’ve many contacts in France and I’m trusting you to use them as you see fit. I read your CV carefully before I employed you, and I should have made you head of my personal security when I had the chance. I’m now paying for that mistake.’

‘You don’t trust Jean-Luc?’

‘You’re direct, and I like that about you. Continue to ask all the questions you need to. I do trust him. Both our fathers fought on the same side in the revolution. His passed away last year and Jean-Luc took it badly. His cancer, some said, was a result of working in mining all his adult life.’

‘Your mines?’ Grant asked.

Khalil nodded.

‘So it’s plausible that he blames AlGaz for that?’

‘That’s your new job, to find out,’ Khalil replied.

‘He’s a Frenchman?’ Grant asked.

‘His father was Algerian, he has a French mother.’

‘She’s still alive?’

‘Yes, and living in Lyon. The address is in there,’ Khalil said, pointing to the laptop.

‘Do you trust your son?’

‘Yes. But if you prove me wrong during your inquiries, I’ll accept it. Hakim is a studious boy. No businessman, but he’s possessed with an academic intelligence I never had, and he applies himself. If he was planning to betray me, he could have easily done so without the drama.’

‘Good point. Enemies?’

‘You must know the answer to that, Grant. I sent him back to Paris early because I thought he’d be safer there. It was a last-minute change of plan. How wrong I was.’

It was the first sign of emotion that Khalil had shown. He got up and faced the glass wall. Grant followed his gaze to the ocean.

‘Did you suspect some kind of threat?’ Grant asked.

‘It was Jean-Luc who informed me that his men talked much about offers of bribes they received for information about the whereabouts of my family at specific times,’ Khalil said.

‘And? Were they investigated?’

‘Jean-Luc took care of it,’ Khalil said. His head bowed a little and Grant recognised the gesture as one of a man who has made a terrible mistake and bears that weight on his shoulders. He blamed himself, like any parent would.

‘So no details of actual plans or any names to work with?’ Grant wanted to be clear about the extent of Jean-Luc’s incompetence.

‘No. I did have a request from an old associate, but it’s nothing, really.’

Grant found the statement vague.

‘When?’

‘Around three weeks ago.’

‘Who?’

Khalil sighed. ‘Fawaz bin Nabil. He’s—’

‘I know who he is. I’ve just spent three weeks on your perimeter. His name comes up a lot. He’s your commercial equivalent in Morocco, though perhaps more interested in profit that doesn’t have to be declared. How was he your associate?’

‘Our fathers started out in business together, but Fawaz and I parted company over technical disagreements.’ Khalil coughed.

‘You mean the morality of dealing drugs and arms? You look surprised. It’s no secret who Fawaz is. What did he want?’

‘He wanted to use my ships between Algiers and Marseilles. I said no.’

Grant let this sink in. Khalil faced back towards the glass.

‘I’d like to be coming with you, but my head is not clear and my heart burns with rage. I need to be here to protect my wife and my other two sons. Part of your job is reviewing my personal security arrangements to look for holes. It’s clear that somebody betrayed me. My jet flies at very short notice, and Jean-Luc arranged everything – the pilots, the transport and the itinerary.’

‘Even old loyalties can be broken. There are a couple of people I trust out in the field looking after your perimeter. They should be transferred here. You need a tight group around you, but if you’re so sure that it was an inside job, then you should be coming to Paris with me. You’re not safe here.’

‘But if they were after the whole family, they’d have taken us together.’

‘Not necessarily. With Hakim gone, you’re vulnerable because you won’t expect another hit. You’re nervous now, so you’ll make mistakes. More importantly, you said it yourself, you don’t know who you can trust.’

‘What about Taziri and the boys?’

‘Bring them. I’ll make