Death of an Assassin by John Creasey

Author:John Creasey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: House of Stratus

Chapter Thirteen

Fusal

Roger saw her sleeping peacefully, before he returned to the Hotel Mucci, and went to bed. By then he was tired to a point of collapse, and silly with relief. It was well past dawn, nearly seven o’clock; and he would be no use at all until he’d had some sleep. He woke a little after eleven, with the uneasy feeling that comes with an awareness of strange surroundings and unfamiliar routine. He sensed that it was late. The light at the windows hurt his eyes, the reflection of the wall was so dazzingly bright. He could see the top of the hotel, where the wall ended abruptly and the hard, metallic blue sky took its place. A bird was perched on the edge of the roof, head bobbing up and down; a pigeon? No, a white dove. A vacuum cleaner was humming, in the same way that it would at home. He—

Janet!

He remembered.

Soon, he pushed the sheet back and got out of bed, closed the windows after drawing the shutters so that only a little of the dazzling daylight came through, and then had a cold shower. He felt better; almost completely himself. Four hours was plenty of sleep. He had a lot to do, a steady round of work – and first, collect Janet.

Thanks to Prince Asir.

As Roger West, he could hardly cast doubts on General Fusal’s story. It might even be true. Johnson and Severini had made it clear that they didn’t think so, but – well, he was biased. Severini had his hands full; he would be looking for the murderers of Bob Whittaker, and he would be in trouble with his superiors; the murder of foreign nationals always brought complications Roger splashed under the shower.

He began to think about the Corrisons, the coincidence that Barnett should have had dinner with the Angito Oil boss on the evening that the attempt had been made on Prince Asir’s life. Coincidence was one of the things you didn’t accept until you had proof that it wasn’t part of a logical sequence of events.

First, the Brotherhood of the Zara, and their oath to kill the Prince.

Second, the oil deals – here and in England.

Third, the picture which Barnett, or rather Anne Pegler had taken, and which seemed to have been the cause of Barnett’s murder; and perhaps other films which Mucci had thought the girl might have seen.

Fourth—what did the right order matter?—the two attempts to assassinate Prince Asir, and the death of Colonel Yahuni.

Fifth, Whittaker and the risqué journey with Janet, their capture, his murder, her release.

Roger could think about that for as long as he liked, without shaking the obvious doubts about Fusal’s story. He hadn’t much doubt that this morning Severini felt even more sure the story was false. How about a little colourful guesswork? Now if Asir’s men had killed Whittaker—

Janet would have a story to tell, and would probably clear up a lot of the odds and ends. It was time he called her.

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