Between you and me, we’re about to announce a new find. Biggest yet. We’re looking for partners to develop it. Tarek was certain you’d have an interest, Lester. You know, get in on the ground floor, so to speak.”
“Hadrian, please.”
Al-Thani ignored him. “Mentioned that Minister Sukarno would most likely come aboard as well. Oh well…up to you. Perhaps another time.”
The Qatari finished his drink and grunted a command to his wife.
“Don’t be hasty,” said Hadrian. “HW is always interested in a profitable venture.”
“Don’t make me twist your arm.”
“Not at all. If Tarek suggested I should take a look…”
“In fact, I may have some documentation in my suite.”
“You’re staying here?”
“Royal Suite. Cramped, but it will do. Why don’t we have a look? I think you’ll find it quite remunerative. Make my visit worthwhile. Keep Tarek out of the doghouse. You’ll be back in ten minutes.”
Hadrian checked the room. He was due to give a speech at seven, just something off the cuff. He looked at his phone, wondering once more why the hell Kruger hadn’t checked in, finding it impossible to imagine something had gone wrong—who could stop a man like him?—then thinking there was just time to hear the sheikh out. If he was a close friend of Tarek, he had to be crooked as the day was long. New gas fields. Ha! Maybe he was even telling the truth.
“Shall we, then?” said Tamani Al-Thani.
“After you.”
The three got off at the seventy-third floor. The sheikh led the way into the suite, his obedient wife bringing up the rear. They walked through one room to the next, arriving at a sprawling sitting area big enough to hold the Glastonbury music festival. Cramped indeed.
“Sit down. Get yourself a drink,” said Al-Thani. “Be right back.” The sheikh disappeared into the bedroom.
Hadrian dropped into a quilted armchair. The sheikh’s wife sat nearby, facing him. Frankly, he was surprised she was present. Then again, Qataris prided themselves on being quite modern in certain respects, the abaya notwithstanding.
“Enjoying your stay?” he asked the woman. “First time in Singapore? Amazing city, isn’t it?”
The woman didn’t respond. He caught a flash of her eyes behind the gauzy veil. It was nice to know that there was a human in there. It was hard to tell much about her figure. At least she wasn’t one of those beasts of burden you so often saw trailing behind her husband. As big as camels some of them.
He heard the door to the bathroom open, adjusted his posture. This was business. Back to being vice chairman of the most profitable investment bank in the world. If Al-Thani wanted him as a partner, Hadrian damn well planned on driving a hard bargain.
A fit, well-dressed man entered the room. Dark suit, broad shoulders. Then he noted the three-day stubble, the green eyes he’d glimpsed behind the sunglasses. Could it be?
“Sheikh Al-Thani?”
The woman lowered the hood of her abaya. She wasn’t an Arab at all but a striking Eurasian woman. In fact, he recognized her. Lester felt his stomach drop.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said, “but he’s not really a sheikh.”
“Actually, the name is Riske. This is Ms. Li. We’re going to have a little talk.”
Chapter 49
Singapore
Simon sat perfectly still. Blood coursed through his veins as it never had, making his heart pump wildly, flushing his cheeks, bringing a terrible pressure behind his eyes. If he moved, if he lifted a finger, he would lose control.
You, he thought. You did it.
He had not been prepared for the flood of emotion unleashed by the sight of Hadrian Lester, the knowledge that he was one of the men responsible for Rafael de Bourbon’s death and the carnage in Bangkok. He’d met more than his share of white-collar criminals—they were his stock-in-trade, so to speak. A thief was a thief, whether he stole a thousand, a million, or a billion. The only thing that changed was the cut of his suit and whether he wore it on the left or the right.
But Lester was a murderer. He’d sent Shaka to kill London Li. Simon had every reason to believe that he knew about the embassy in Bangkok. Oh yes, he knew, thought Simon, having read the slew of emails between Lester and Al-Obeidi and Sukarno and all the other fund managers he was in cahoots with. Lester was the mastermind, or at least one of them. Nothing happened without his knowledge. It went without saying that he would go to any lengths to prevent the discovery of his crimes.