Alex King 18.The Enemy by A.P.Bateman

Author:A.P.Bateman [A.P.Bateman]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rockhopper Publishing
Published: 2023-12-09T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-Six

Alicante, Spain

“The clock is ticking.”

“What guarantees do I have?”

Newman shrugged. “As I said previously, we want the AI programme, and we want to keep you alive in case it doesn’t work. So, just so long as it works, you get to live out the rest of your days in luxury and peace.”

“And if it glitches?”

Newman smiled. “Then see that it doesn’t.”

Malek Zahedi stirred a sachet of sugar into his espresso and said, “It will go live within a week.” He shrugged. “After that, then it will be too late.”

“Too late?”

Zahedi nodded. “It will be ready to run. I cannot stop this, there are simply too many people in the loop. Ahmadi, for one. He is undertaking the construction of the facility we have chosen to run it from. For prolonged use or specific targeting of complex computer security systems, say NORAD or GCHQ or NASA, the power and cooling requirements are quite unique.”

“Where is this facility?”

Zahedi tapped his nose. “Not until I see the colour of your money…”

“I can’t authorise that,” Newman said, somewhat flustered and failing to hide the fact. “My superiors will need a sample, a demonstration. All we have so far is your word.”

“As do I…”

“Ahmadi is an arms dealer. What is he doing overseeing such a project?”

“The British secret service killed his family. He wants vengeance.”

“I don’t believe it. They would not knowingly kill a mother and a child.”

“Then, you do not know them as well as you think.” Zahedi paused. “Why then, would a multi-millionaire arms dealer leave his old life behind for a project such as this? Ahmadi makes money dealing in arms on both sides of the political and sociological fence.”

“He’s Iranian, just like you. He served under you in the Revolutionary Guard. Why wouldn’t you want a comrade in arms to be an agent for Iron Fist?” Newman paused. “Someone you trust, someone who is used to you giving commands to. I’m surprised, given his lifestyle and business portfolio that he’d…” Newman trailed off. He saw a flicker in the Iranian’s eye.

“What?” Malek Zahedi asked, masking his expression by drinking down the rest of his espresso. When he replaced the cup to its saucer, his face was an unreadable mask once more.

“Nothing,” Newman replied, not believing the man. If there was a way of getting a man to believe in your cause, possibly even sacrifice himself for it, then giving him a vested interest would be a start. Sending him on a mission of vengeance would cement the man’s loyalty and commitment. “Give me your account number. Let’s get the ball of trust rolling, shall we?”

Zahedi took a small notepad from his jacket pocket and extracted a tiny silver pen from the spine of the notebook. He opened to a blank page and jotted down a series of numbers, then tore off the sheet and slid it across the table to the American. “When I see that the money is transferred, then we shall meet again. Although next time, it will be in a cooler climate.

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