The Alex King Series, A BATEMAN [good books for high schoolers .TXT] 📗

about five times as much as mustard.” He watched the waiter leave, then smiled at Marnie across the table. “That’ll teach him.”

“For a moment I thought you were really going to smother that seared steak and yam and spinach fondant with tomato sauce,” she smiled. “Oh, wait. You’re going to, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

She smiled. “What on earth is a Springbok, anyway?”

“A gazelle,” he said. “Like their national animal.”

“Nice,” she replied sardonically. “Oh look,” she said. “Your tomato ketchup is here. And he doesn’t look to be happy about it.”

“He isn’t paying the bill,” Rashid said.

“Nor are you. It’s on expenses.”

“Will there be a hearing? Misuse of government funds? Moral turpitude regarding an inappropriate condiment?” he smiled, and she laughed; both ignoring the waiter as he placed the sizeable pot on the table and left.

“You sound like you know hearings. Been in trouble before, then?”

“Trouble could be my middle name,” Rashid paused. “Except it’s Mohammed.”

She smiled. “So, you’re not the first-born son, then?”

“No.”

“And is he as big a pain in the arse as you?”

“Wouldn’t know.”

“Not close?”

“No. He died.”

She looked shocked, held her fingers to her lips. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Rashid paused. “He died before I was born. An Indian raid in Pakistan. Sikhs verses Muslims, that sort of shit. They raided one day. Sliced and bludgeoned their way through our village. My parents fled, my mother got pregnant with me on the journey over. I was born here.”

Marnie said nothing. There wasn’t much she could say, and Rashid seemed to understand. She took a mouthful of her fish while Rashid smeared tomato ketchup onto a piece of his steak. They chewed in silence, Rashid sipped a mouthful of beer.

“So, what’s with Neil?” she asked. “The whole Botha thing has sent him into himself.”

“You noticed?”

“Difficult not to,” she said, sipping some more wine. “You were the hero, by all accounts.”

“I don’t think so,” he replied. “If it wasn’t for Neil’s quick thinking with that planter, I wouldn’t have got into the house so quickly, Botha would have probably fired again. I doubt he would have missed Ryan a third time.”

She nodded. She had been terrified, cowered in the car when she heard the gunshots. She had admitted it earlier, without shame. She was an analyst. She hadn’t signed up for field work. The most strenuous thing she did was Zumba on a Tuesday and Thursday. She had settled into her duties within MI5, and that had been part of her problem with Rashid’s suggestion she accompany them. She liked to be settled. Or at least, she thought she did. As she sipped her wine, ate her exotic fish and noodles and caught glimpses of Table Mountain in the setting sun from the restaurant window, she had her doubts. She watched Rashid across the table from her. He was ruggedly handsome. Medium height and physically fit. His eyes were almost black, his dark hair sat untended by recent cuts or product, sort of falling in an untidy mop that had once been shorn close at the sides and back. A military cut, long since grown out. His skin was a strong milk coffee colour but weathered from a life in the elements. She knew he was with the Army, guessed at the SAS because of his secondment with MI5. She knew those men were tough and silent types. She couldn’t help but to contrast the man with her fiancé – a city trader who lived in either pin-stripe suits with his old school tie or five-hundred-pound pairs of jeans dubiously paired with rugby shirts and blazers. A man she would not have normally been attracted to, but for the ticking body clock and too much champagne at a mutual friend’s wedding. Andrew was a generous man, but he should have been, he earned a fortune in the city. Enough to retire at the age of thirty-six if he wanted to. But to him, the status and rush that his work gave him meant that the money was less important than the thrill of earning it. She imagined the soldier opposite her would have little in either wealth or assets and could care less about the fact.

“How long have you been with the SAS?” she asked.

“Who said I was?”

“Obvious, really.”

“I can’t talk about that.”

She smiled. “There’s enough people who are. You know, SAS programmes on the television…”

“Ex-Royal Marine’s turned tattoo models, putting civilian triathletes through five days of hell?” Rashid interrupted and laughed. “All tight-fitting shirts and Lycra? No, they’re not what the SAS are about.”

“So, you won’t tell me?”

Rashid smiled, drank down the last of his beer and placed the glass carefully back down on the table. “Well, I could tell you, but…”

“You’d have to kill me?” she laughed. “That is a really old one. Tom Cruise said it in Top Gun, I believe.”

“No,” Rashid reached across the table and gently stroked the back of her hand. “No, I was going to say… I could tell you, but then I’d have to sleep with you…”

50

 

It was completely dark when Caroline tentatively followed Michael outside into the courtyard. There were a few noises, but those were behind them now, the sound of men drinking and playing cards. The night was clear, cloudless. The stars were out in all their heavenly glory, accentuated by the lack of light pollution. Caroline was reminded of how remote Eastern Europe could be.

“Where are we?” she asked, the thought coming to her now that Michael was on her side.

“Georgia,” he said quietly.

She nodded. She had thought Eastern Europe or possibly the Ukraine. She hadn’t been a million miles away. “So, what is that way?” she asked, pointing in the direction of the mountain range. There was nothing to see, simply the world disappearing into darkness.

“The