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

them argue, the surveillance of the cafe, as well as body-cam images of their arrests and initial forensic findings. The men’s DNA had been taken and Helen prayed the lab got back to her soon.

‘It looks like somebody was held here,’ one officer stated. The same assertion was put to the other suspect.

‘No comment.’

‘Was it this man?’ They were shown a photograph of Hakim Dalmani. Again, the body language of the two men changed dramatically when they looked at the evidence. But one of them in particular looked the more nervous of the two. Helen looked at his name. Farid. The same name as Hakim’s little brother.

‘No comment.’

‘Ask if their reward includes money to look after their families,’ she said into her mic. ‘Say their names,’ she added.

The officer did so, listing the various members of each man’s family back home in Morocco. The demeanours of the men shifted, and they fidgeted, and Farid put his head in his hands. Now for the master stroke.

‘DNA from Hakim Dalmani was in the car that was seized at the flat where you stayed. This woman identified you both as driving it. How do you explain this?’

‘I reached inside to steal a wallet,’ the cockier of the two replied, before his lawyer could stop him.

As Helen watched and listened, she scanned the files of the two men again, looking for a way in. She found it. She brought up another screen: it was Ahmad Azzine’s file, and a thrill of excitement rushed through her. She spoke into her mic.

‘Tell them we find it impossible that they don’t know Ahmad Azzine because they grew up in the same village in Morocco, and all three worked at the same canning factory for two years between 2005 and 2007.’

Silence.

The men looked at their lawyers, who asked for a break.

Chapter 35

Mid-air between Lyon and Marseilles, Grant used the sat phone to speak to his contact in Algiers. Levi Drum informed him that he was sitting in the lounge of the Marriott Hotel, in Algiers, sipping a genuinely good Singapore sling.

‘It’s simply the best in the city, with just the right balance of grenadine, lime juice and Angostura bitters. It’s not Raffles, but it’ll do.’

‘Thanks,’ Grant said, staring at his orange juice.

He owed Grant a few favours, which had stacked up over the years they’d served together in the military. The old boys’ network compromised no moral code; it was simply another layer of investigative usefulness. Over the years, Grant normally asked his old pal for details about potential employers or who might hold certain roles in local government.

They’d hooked up again when Grant got the Algeria job with Khalil Dalmani. Then, there’d been nothing to divulge about one of the richest men in Africa. He was unambiguously clean.

Levi had made it clear to Grant that all anyone was talking about at the embassy in Algiers, where Levi now worked as the deputy defence attaché, was the abduction of Khalil Dalmani’s son in Paris. Grant had confided to his old friend that Dalmani had launched his own investigation to find his son.

‘Anything for me, mate?’ Grant asked now.

‘I’ve heard from Paris that Sir Conrad Temple-Cray is getting twitchy. Is it true that Interpol’s inquiries are focusing on the movements of Fawaz bin Nabil?’ Levi asked.

Grant evaded the question.

‘We’re concentrating on the bodyguard. Were you aware that Helen Scott is helping Interpol with the inquiry, in fact, she’s heading the team?’ Grant asked.

‘Yes, why?’ Levi replied.

‘And you didn’t think to tell me?’ Grant asked.

‘I just assumed you’d know. Interpol usually aren’t at all obstructive like that,’ Levi said. ‘You two haven’t seen each other in years, anyway.’

‘They haven’t been obstructive, I was just not informed until recently. No, I haven’t seen her in years,’ Grant conceded.

‘You still got a flame for her, mate?’

‘No.’ The answer came too quickly and Grant knew it.

‘Right. You want me to call her?’ Levi asked.

‘That might look suspicious – she’ll know we’re still mates. I don’t need to compromise her – I reckon I’ve got more than she has, anyway,’ Grant said. ‘Besides, she’ll know soon enough because I flew here with Dalmani and she’ll have his passenger lists examined every time he moves.’

‘So, do you think she’ll call you?’ Levi asked.

‘Not interested, mate,’ Grant said. Again, the response was too speedy. ‘What are you up to?’ Grant asked, aware that his friend was shuffling about.

‘I’m going outside for a ciggie.’

Grant changed the subject. ‘I wondered if you’d seen any unusual activity around the port there in Algiers. Intelligence sharing at the moment is strongly focused on the possibility of either drugs or immigrants getting over the Mediterranean, but I wondered if anything different had reared its head?’ Grant asked. He had the contents of what he’d found in the two flats in his mind – one in Paris and one in Lyon – and what his Signaller pal had told him about drones.

‘Conversations here always revolve around what comes in and out of Africa. With twenty thousand miles of coastline to consider, it crops up a lot, but I’ve heard nothing specific directly. In fact, the border force at the port has been recently commended for the excellent job it’s doing working with Europe to control its entry and exit points,’ Levi said.

‘And the border with Morocco?’

‘Watertight. No one in their right mind would chance the land mines, bandits and guards charged with making the crossing utterly impossible.’

‘And if you had enough money, and you couldn’t go by sea or air?’ Grant asked.

Levi exhaled. Grant knew that Levi was impressively familiar with North Africa. Not only did he take an interest in the country where he worked, but he’d also travelled there extensively as a student before meeting his wife. That was back in the day before the war, when the border was open and the Sahara had been a safer place. They’d both been drawn in by the dangerous allure of the continent. It was something they discussed over Singapore slings