A Reluctant Spy: A gripping spy thriller debut by David Goodman

Author:David Goodman [Goodman, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Headline
Published: 2024-09-11T16:00:00+00:00

32

Nicola

Ocean Jewel Resort, north-east coast of Zanzibar: now

Once they’d sat down and ordered, the man lapsed into silence. He regarded both of them over steepled fingers, eyes watchful behind his rimless glasses. Nicola was glad of the sharp South African white wine. It took the edge off the pulse of adrenaline that Bocharov’s name had brought on.

Her phone buzzed and she slipped it out of her pocket.

PRIMROSE

Tulloch was in place. She wasn’t sure if that was a relief or not.

‘So . . .’ she began, as the waiter put down the plates and backed away.

‘You are wondering who I am? And whether you can be honest with me?’

‘Wondering who you’re talking about,’ said Sylvan. ‘Bocharov? Sounds Russian. Haven’t seen any Russians here. We’re just here on holiday, mate.’

‘Please, Mr Lenahan, which I am sure is not your real name, I know why you are here. Let us drop the pretence, yes?’

‘You start,’ Nicola said, spearing a sweet potato chip and dipping it in the spinach artichoke dip she’d ordered. She took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. ‘What’s your interest in us, exactly?’

The man took a sip of his wine, then sat back. ‘I am Adil Komba. I work for the Tanzanian Intelligence and Security Service, here on Zanzibar. TISS for short. This is my . . . patch, is the phrase?’

‘What, like MI5 or whatever?’ said Sylvan, keeping up the gormless-tourist act. Nicola put her hand on his arm.

‘I think we can drop it. He knows we’re not tourists. Though of course I can’t confirm or deny what you think we are.’

Komba shrugged. ‘You’re Kate Askwith, FCDO officer. So your diplomatic passport says. I would be very sad to make you persona non grata, should that prove untrue. And of course, your physical description is curiously close to at least three reports I have of a British officer working in Kenya and Somalia. I would not wish to look into some of the things our brother services there have reported to me. That terrible business in Nairobi, for example.’

Nicola’s hand stilled halfway to her glass. A local guy, showing up a little too early for his warehouse shift. Lying there in the dust with an arms dealer’s bullet in his guts.

She’d been gone for twenty minutes before the Kenyan NIS had shown up. But there must have been a camera. These days, there was always a fucking camera.

She completed the movement and picked up her glass, swirling the wine. The sun was a deep bronze line on the horizon and would soon be gone. A light breeze came in from the water and cooled Nicola’s bare shoulders, delicious after the afternoon in the burning sun. She sipped, then spoke over the rim of the glass.

‘Veiled threats are still threats, Mr Komba. What is it you want from us?’

Komba tilted his head to peer at her. ‘I have already said. I want to know what you think you are doing. This is not London, my friends.’

‘It’s not St Petersburg either, but Bocharov seems to be doing what he likes,’ said Sylvan, a note of distaste in his voice.

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