The Geneva Option A Yael Azoulay Novel by Adam Lebor

Author:Adam Lebor
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Suspense
ISBN: 9780062208569
Publisher: Harper
Published: 2013-05-28T04:00:00+00:00

Sixteen

The duct tape was exactly where Joe-Don had promised Yael it would be: on the right-hand side of the bed, under the mattress. Hakizimani lay on his side in the lounge, gagged with a hand towel, his hands bound together behind his back and taped to his ankles. His breathing was ragged but slowly stabilized. He groaned softly as he opened his eyes and blinked.

Yael crouched on the floor next to him, the handset in her hands. “It will take you a good hour to recover full movement. If you move, shout, or try to attack me, I will use it again. So soon after the last charge, death will be instantaneous. Nod if you understand me.”

Hakizimani moved his head slowly, staring at the black device.

Yael said, “I am going to take off your gag.”

Hakizimani’s eyes opened wide to show his agreement. Yael took the cloth from his mouth.

“What do you want?” he asked, panting, his forehead covered in sweat.

“Firstly, to show you something,” said Yael, as she reached into her handbag. She ripped the lining open, took out a photograph, kneeled down, and held it in front of his head.

“Who is he?” asked Hakizimani.

“David Weiss.”

Hakizimani looked puzzled. “Nice-looking boy.”

Yael felt a lump rise in her throat and her stomach turn over. “He was.”

“Who is the girl on his shoulders?”

Yael said nothing, just stared at him.

He looked at the photograph, at Yael, and back at the photograph. Recognition dawned in Hakizimani’s eyes. “What has this got to do with me?”

“You killed him.”

“I’ve never met him.”

Yael breathed slowly and deeply, forcing herself to keep calm. “You or your militiamen. It makes no difference. He was one of the nine UN workers murdered at the Belgian Mission School.”

Hakizimani wriggled and tried to get more comfortable. “I told you, that was the Tutsis. The Belgian Mission School massacre had nothing to do with us.”

“Don’t lie to me anymore. David Weiss was my brother. He was twenty-four. The UN was his first job,” she said, her voice thick with anguish.

He looked up at her. “Weiss?”

“We each took our grandmothers’ maiden names.”

Hakizimani watched her warily. Yael sensed that he was calculating that her personal involvement was clouding her judgment, and so was weakening her. Which could give him an opportunity. She needed to take control of the situation. Immediately. She opened the dressing gown around Hakizimani’s neck, and ran her finger down his throat to his upper chest, feeling the clammy sheen of moisture on his skin.

“Sweat is a great conductor,” Yael said. She switched the handset back on and held it a centimeter from his neck.

Hakizimani jerked back and tried to crawl away. “Yael, I am very sorry for your loss. I had no idea. Really. But ask your boss why New York did not reply to their calls for help. Ask him where the peacekeepers were. If I killed your brother, Fareed Hussein was my accomplice.”

How true, thought Yael, although she could hardly start agreeing with him. “He is not my boss anymore. You were right.

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