The King's Pawn by Lucy Hooft

Author:Lucy Hooft [Hooft, Lucy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-11-16T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 27 - bxc5 exf4

Sarah races back to where she last saw Ibragimov, but he’s vanished. She returns to the lounge area where she had first seen him holding court, but the space is deserted. All the delegates have moved on. Waiters shuffle between the high tables, removing empty cups and discarded napkins. She roams the conference venue, trying not to look as harried as she feels, until finally she sees him. Amongst the crowds of people gathering by the exit, his distinctive brown suit is unmistakable. She pushes her way through his hangers-on and walks straight up to him, grabbing hold of the first excuse she can think of for making such a bold approach. ‘Mr Ibragimov? Do excuse my intrusion, I know you are a busy man. I wonder if I might have a few minutes of your time.’

Ibragimov glances at his gatekeeper, clearly surprised that she has not been intercepted. The assistant, small sharp teeth bared, shoots her a vicious stare. He moves in as if to barrel her away from the boss, but Ibragimov calls him off. He’s intrigued.

Sarah offers her hand. Her pulse soars at the touch of his large liver-spotted hand in hers. She turns up her smile, hoping to cover the rush of responses provoked by finally finding herself in front of him. The epicentre of the threat—the man ruthless enough to introduce a disease for his own financial gain; brutal enough to stage a train crash to kill the agent who reported on him; and the recipient of a major arsenal of weapons for use in another imminent attack. What she would give to peer inside his head, to see the world as he sees it, to understand what makes him tick. Is he the only one who knows the extent of what he has planned? Sarah wonders how many others he can trust to carry out his dirty work. The tools available to her to communicate as a stranger feel woefully inadequate. How can she hope to understand this man, standing before her with the refined poise of a grand seigneur, clicking the sharp tip of his silver pen? It would take weeks to win his trust. She only has minutes.

‘How may I be of service?’ his words are muffled by heavy lips and a lazy tongue.

Sarah’s cheeks quiver with the effort to hold up the smile while choosing the appropriate attack. ‘My name is Lisa Spalding; I am a freelance journalist and I’m working on a story about family business empires in Azerbaijan. I was wondering if you might consider giving me a little of your time to share your thoughts?’

Ibragimov considers her, a curious smile creeps over his elongated face, his eyes inscrutable.

‘You would like to interview me?’

‘Well, it need not be as structured as an interview; just an informal chat to hear your views.’ Sarah channels Lisa’s imaginary boldness.

‘I do not speak to the press,’ he replies flatly, the half-smile still in place.

‘I know you are not a fan of journalists, but I was hoping you might consider making an exception.

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