The Old Enemy by Henry Porter (read with me .TXT) 📕

Naji was turned away and still had his phone close to his face. She found a chair at the far end and dialled the doctor’s assistant. He was busy. She waited, aware of the disconcerting thought that she had buried the real possibility that Denis might not recover. She dialled again and was put straight through to the usually upbeat Dr Jamie Carrew. But his voice was grave and there were no pleasantries. ‘I know you are out of DC, Mrs Hisami, so I wanted to bring you up to date with some concerns of mine. Are you aware of any history of breathlessness in Denis?’

‘No, he’s pretty fit. He plays tennis and exercises in the gym maybe five times a week.’

‘I looked at the notes sent to me by his doctor in San Francisco, and there was nothing to explain his arrhythmia, in his case a sometimes dangerously slow heartbeat. His fitness would explain an efficiently low heartbeat, but this is out of the ordinary. I just wanted to establish if this was an underlying condition. So, he hasn’t experienced shortness of breath?’

‘No.’

‘Any chest pains?’

‘No, not as far as I’m aware.’

‘A fluttering in his chest? Unusual fatigue?’

‘No, Denis has exceptional energy.’

‘And no blackouts?’

‘No.’

‘But as you told me, he has a very stressful life. He drinks maybe a little too much and he smokes cigars occasionally. Neither of those is helpful, but I don’t believe that they’re the cause. So we’re going to put him on some medication that should increase his heart rate, but if that doesn’t work we may be considering other options. Possibly a surgical intervention, but that has to be balanced with the needs of recovery from the nerve agent. I’ll be consulting with other specialists to see what’s the best course.’

‘This doesn’t sound good,’ she said. ‘Without the heart issue, how’s he doing?’

‘Better than expected, but he’s still in the coma and we won’t know what kind of neurological impact he has suffered.’

‘God, I wish I hadn’t left now.’

‘Well, he is comatose, so it wouldn’t make a heap of difference. I believe he will recover, but I want to keep an eye on his heart. I’ll let you know if there’s any change in his condition or in our plans for him. When do you expect to be back in Washington?’

‘In two or three days.’

‘Good, I look forward to seeing you then. We’ve got your cell number and will call you with any developments.’

She hung up and walked over to Naji, feeling lousy and wondering why she’d left the States. She communicated some of this to Naji, who looked up and for the first time properly engaged with her. ‘You are in charge of Denis’s money. You have to be here and you have to be at Mr Harland’s funeral because you and Denis owe him.’ He gestured the plain truth of his logic. ‘You are the boss of this, Anastasia.’

‘Then why won’t you talk to me about it?’

‘I can’t. We must wait. Others know things.’

‘Who?’

‘Zoe.’

‘Who is she?’

‘The person Samson was protecting. Very beautiful,’ he concluded. He snapped up his phone and peered myopically at the screen again.

‘What are you doing?’

He jerked his head towards two men at the reception desk. He was using his back camera to watch them. ‘No bags,’ he said.

Anastasia moved a little to see round a palm plant. Without warning, Naji got up, then, dragging his foot and hooking his arm in front of him, as though he had impaired movement on his right side, he set off towards the reception. He revolved his head and spoke in Arabic to a non-existent caller, smiled goofily at the two men and lunged for the complimentary bowl of sweets on the reception desk, where he spent a little time making his choice. Anastasia held her breath. She had seen him do something like this in the camp when he jumped a food line, and he’d told her that he had put on an act to get past ticket inspection on the ferry to Piraeus. The two men stepped back. Naji wheeled round chaotically and, laughing manically, fell into one of them, then, by way of apology, offered the sweets in his hand to the man. The man stepped back with a look of horror and Naji continued on his way towards the dining area.

A moment later a text came to Anastasia’s phone. ‘Russians.’

She called him. ‘What do we do?’

‘You must leave now. They don’t know what I look like, but your face is everywhere on the internet. I’ve got the room key. I will get your bag. Go to the car park. I’ll meet you there.’

She felt he was being paranoid, but watched closely from her cover of the palm and a pillar. One of the men casually wandered off in the direction Naji had gone. The second waited for the receptionist to process their bookings and was looking around at the other guests with a keen interest. She got up and backed away to a side door that led to a covered area where some rustic wooden tables and chairs had been pushed together because of the rain. She headed for a strip of wet grass to her left and followed the line of the building into the darkness. At the end she saw a small car park. Naji was nowhere. She moved to the lines of cars, crouched down and dialled Naji’s number, but got no reply. She texted: ‘I’m in car park. Where are you?’ She heard a car’s lock operate and saw its lights flash in response. She remained in a crouching position, waiting for the car to start up and leave. Nothing happened. Then she heard Naji call out. She stood up and saw him standing triumphantly by the open door of an Audi. ‘Come, we must leave now,’ he said.

‘You can’t just steal a car like that.’

‘Rentals are shut.’

‘I know, but we have a flight in six hours. Anyway, whose car is it?’

‘Russians. They are looking