Chapter 27 #2
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Noah tried to piece together what he could, his mind racing.
If Prescott Federline had sent Hower to intercept Jack and Noah in France and Hower had simply pretended to be MI5 the entire time, it might mean that Knight wasn’t part of all this.
He’d wanted Noah for the job when they’d met in England, yes, but Noah hadn’t spoken to him directly since then—all his communications had been with Hower.
Had Hower’s real job been to distract him? Or monitor him, waiting to see if he reconnected with Jack?
If Knight was part of it, even tangentially, Noah had to move with speed.
Fahad had already told him since he’d arrived last night that Ginger had gone to Cairo and sent an urgent message for him to contact her.
Desperate as he was to do so, he needed to exercise caution.
Another wrong move could threaten his family—and he’d already killed Hower and the other Blackwell operative.
Rather than risk contacting Ginger, Noah had sent a cable to Alastair, asking him to take Ginger to a safe house. He’d join her there as soon as possible.
Even more motivation to find out just what Roche might know that would be of use.
Noah pulled a wooden chair from a table, then carried it over toward Roche. As he did, Fahad moved away, stepping into the shadows Noah had occupied before, which gave him a view of the road. His gun remained in his hands, though, but no longer aimed at Roche.
Setting the chair a few feet from Roche, Noah straddled it, bracing his forearms against the wooden frame of the back. “Tell me what you know of Sharif Kamal al-Rashid.”
Roche gave him a curious look. “Al-Rashid? I fail to see how he is relevant.”
Noah’s expression didn’t change, and Roche shifted. “No matter.” He cleared his throat. “Al-Rashid is a Hashemite. I’m not clear on his relation to Hussein bin Ali, the former emir of Mecca, but I believe he’s a distant relative.”
That much Fahad had already told him.
“What does he want with the Iraqi throne?” Noah asked tersely.
Roche leaned back against the pillows on the divan, wiping his palms against his trousers. “Officially—nothing. You won’t find a word about him in the newspapers or official reports.”
“I’m more interested in the unofficial accounts.”
Roche smiled pleasantly enough. “Off the record then, al-Rashid has been stirring up support among the Shia Moslem majority in Iraq for the last few years, using their conflict with the Sunni to sow discontent with Faisal and now his son, Ghazi. He believes Faisal was too soft in his response to the British and French—little more than a puppet. And he’s loudly anti-Zionist.”
Noah tensed, watching Roche’s face closely. “In other words, he’d be the perfect candidate to seek alliances in exchange for support for his own causes from other countries that might view Britain as an enemy. Like the Germans.”
Roche nodded, looking around the room with less caution, and Noah followed his gaze as it trailed along the thick adobe walls of the sitting room, cool despite the sun.
Most of the shutters were drawn, slats leaking bars of light onto the tiled floor.
Roche’s polished shoes looked absurd against the worn rug.
“And he likely would have wanted Faisal dead,” Noah mused, rubbing his chin. Fahad’s gaze was on him now, alert.
“You aren’t the first to theorize that, though, Benson.
” Roche crossed one knee over the other.
“For an expert in the region, you’re woefully uninformed and out of touch with the current state of things.
But there’s no evidence Faisal was murdered.
Or that al-Rashid had anything to do with it.
” Some of his confidence appeared to have returned.
No evidence … that Roche knew of.
But what if someone else had found it? Someone who’d been in Iraq. Who’d disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Who Sharif al-Rashid had come looking for.
The idea sank through Noah’s stomach like a stone.
If Alice and Kit had found proof—real, damning evidence—that tied Sharif al-Rashid not only to the Germans but to the death of Faisal himself …
Then they wouldn’t have just uncovered corruption. They would have upended a would-be kingmaker’s entire plan.
And now they were gone. Not disappeared—taken.
They might also no longer be alive.
Noah breathed slowly. But Alice and Kit were smart.
They’d been working in the espionage world for long enough to know that their best hope of survival would be leaving the evidence they’d found somewhere that someone else might find it—and a trail.
With that threat lingering, al-Rashid would have less reason to simply kill them if he captured them.
And the fact that they hadn’t resurfaced strongly suggested that they’d been captured.
The air felt thinner suddenly. If they’d been taken—if the wrong people had found what they uncovered—then they were either bargaining with death … or already gone. And Jack didn’t even know.
But it was a lead, nonetheless.
Noah stood slowly, his gaze now fixed on Fahad. The sheikh still hadn’t come, and it was well past the time Fahad had invited him for.
He’s not coming. He doesn’t trust either of us now.
And without his help, Noah’s last link to Kit and Alice might be lost.
But the boy had said the sheikh had hidden the women from al-Rashid, which meant he couldn’t be one of al-Rashid’s allies. It also meant the sheikh might be able to help Noah trace their movements before and after they’d been taken, if they’d been captured.
Noah turned toward Roche. “Thank you. You’ll be working for me for a few days, Roche. In exchange, I promise no harm will come to you and we’ll part this as friends and allies.”
Roche chuckled. “And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll sell you out to Blackwell. Hower is dead. They’ll be looking for whoever killed him and I’ll be more than happy to supply your name.”
Roche went white once more. “What do you want from me?” he whispered.
“We’ll start by using that infamous well-connected network to help me find out where Jack Darby was last seen. And then you’ll help me follow the trail his sister took before she disappeared. We have no time to waste.”