How to Betray Your Country by James Wolff (spicy books to read .TXT) 📕

course of all that, did you demonstrate the ability to work as part of a team? Did you put in place measures to assess your progress and adapt your approach where necessary?”

“Do you know what wasta is?” said Youssef. “It is when you get a job because you know the right person. This is the Syrian way. At least with wasta you get a job in the end. Maybe it is not the best job in the world but at least it is a job.” He looked at his watch and put the cigarette August had given him into his own packet. “One thing before I go.” He looked around, took a step towards August and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Two young bachelors in Istanbul, this is what the woman said. Expense account. You will definitely need girls. Any kind, I can get them all – black, brown, white, young, old.” He counted them out on the fingers of one hand. “As many as you want. If you want to go to clubs to watch women dancing, I will take you there, I will make sure nobody steals from you. I can get you very cheap whisky and vodka. Very cheap and very high quality. Marijuana, this is also easy. Cocaine too. Even —”

August put his hand up to stop him. The sound of voices was coming from the stairwell.

“This is Mr Larry?” asked Youssef.

“I’m afraid so. I didn’t think they’d find us up here.”

“I understand. You do not wish to see him.” Youssef looked around the rooftop. “Over there,” he whispered, pointing at a water tank on the other side.

Beatrice was speaking. “It’s such a stroke of luck, Larry, you two knowing each other. August was thrilled to hear you’ve been posted out here.” It sounded as though they were almost at the top of the stairs. “I can’t imagine what he’s doing up here.”

There was just enough space between the water tank and the edge of the roof for August to stand. He heard Youssef call out, “Miss Beatrice, have I said your name right? What a pleasure to see you again.”

“What the hell are you doing up here?” she said. “Where’s August?”

“I am afraid he has left for an urgent meeting,” said Youssef.

“What do you mean? What meeting?”

“Oh, well, a very important meeting. I do not know any more. With his bank, I think. My goodness. Very urgent indeed. He hurried out in a great rush.”

“For Christ’s sake. I’m sorry about this, Larry, I really am. What a waste of your time.” A murmur or two, nothing August could make out. Then, much louder, “Will you get off this rooftop, please? It’s private property.”

The two English voices disappeared into the stairwell. A few seconds passed and Youssef called out, “Mr Larry? Mr Larry?” There was the sound of hurried footsteps across the roof. “Mr Larry? My name is Youssef, sir.” His raised voice echoed down the stairwell. “Mr August told me many fond things about you. Do you happen to know if there are any jobs at the embassy? Sir? Can you hear me? I can do anything, security guard, driver. Anything except cleaning. Sir? Sir? Shall I send you my CV?”

9

“This is unfortunate,” said the vizier, as August had come to think of the man at the other end of the phone. It had rung just before midnight. “We cannot afford mistakes. My information was clear: he will arrive at the address at ten o’clock in the morning, possibly dressed in the same grey suit and black shoes he has been wearing since he arrived, and he will leave approximately one hour later. Fifty years old, short grey hair, glasses with a black frame. He carries a leather briefcase everywhere he goes.”

The address had been left for August in the cemetery, printed by hand on a piece of paper hidden inside a crumpled cigarette packet. The vizier had been adamant: no names, no addresses, no numbers to be discussed on the phone. Anything specific to be communicated in writing. He had been able to explain, however, that the objective was to identify where the man was staying. “We need to know this immediately. You are a European, he will not suspect that someone like you would follow him.” The only thing they knew for certain was the time of the appointment at the five-storey building in the neighbourhood of Otogar. August wondered if an IS sympathizer worked there and had passed the information to them. But then the man hadn’t turned up and August was having to defend himself.

“I swear he wasn’t there. Can you tell me any more about him?” he asked. “Where’s he from?”

“How will this information help you to follow him? All you need is a description. It is possible his meeting was delayed, but you must make allowances for such things in your planning. We have talked before about your impatience.”

“I waited for ages. I’m telling you, he wasn’t there. One hundred per cent. I even checked inside.”

“What do you mean? I told you to stay outside the building. What if someone challenged you? I cannot tolerate disobedience. In a few days this opportunity will be gone, and if we fail I will be held responsible.”

August was certain he hadn’t missed the man. He could be sure about this because of the seven people who had left the building during the time he had been sitting in a café across the road: four had been women, two had been men in their twenties and the seventh had been a builder carrying a ladder. At 11.30, despite strict instructions to keep his distance, August had gone inside to confirm there wasn’t a second exit at the back. One reason for this was that it looked disobedient, impulsive, reckless – it looked like something 34c might have done. It definitely didn’t look like something a professional would have done, given the uncertain circumstances, and he was at pains to demonstrate that he