Chapter 75: An Offer You Might Refuse

The preparation of Basher's colonial harem was well under way. I was back in the Whitechapel office. I finally got a chance, albeit fleeting, to talk to Clegg.

"How was the meeting with Anatoly?" I asked. "Is there anything I need to do?"

Freddie shook his head. "No," he said. "we are clean as far as I can tell. Elly had a conversation her contact in the National Crime Squad to try to get a fix on what's going on. Apparently, in the best tradition of detective novels, the police are baffled. The press have lost interest since as far as they can tell there's no evidence of any government cover up or incompetence and that's the only thing they seem to want to write about. Beside the story is all of two weeks old; so what chance is there of anyone remembering it?"

"And how's Anatoly?"

"Spitting mad - but not at us. I reckon he half thinks there might have been a genuine Chechen plot but he's also worried because the container malfunctioned."

"Malfunctioned?"

"Yes. Anatoly's got his transport containers tricked up so if you open them the wrong way they dump a lethal dose into the veins of whosoever happens to be inside. Tricia should be dead by all accounts. Anatoly's relieved we think she was completely wiped and worried in case he's got a bad apple in his own team."

"What's your view?"

Clegg looked impassive. He sucked in his breath slowly and shook his head.

"Constanza?" I asked.

"Oh, I'm sure she would never consider such a thing." It was Elly's voice. She had come into the office behind me. She managed to say it in a way that made me think that she felt Constanza might well be guilty of considering such a thing and then doing something after the considering.

Freddie took the opportunity to use the interruption to change the subject. "How was the visit to Steve?"

I filled him in on the trip. He actually seemed a bit more interested than I expected but I didn't get very far on tying him down to doing anything about it. I felt a bit frustrated that I wasn't getting anywhere with our discussions. Elly just smiled as I left Freddie's office. "Don't worry," she said, "he'll take it on board. He just likes to think things through.

I was back in my office when the phone rang. "Hi," said Brad when I picked up the phone. The line was crackly and Brad's voice sounded as though there were several socks spliced into the wires between him and me.

"I wondered if we could have a chat. The Trade Minister has had some thoughts and he thinks your business could help us. Why don't you come over? He's got some time at the end of the week if you're free."

"When you say come over, you're not talking about the Castle are you?" I asked, sensing that even allowing for the usual problems with telephones here, the British Telecom were unlikely to have found a way on incorporating a two second time lag between London and Worcestershire.

"Ah, no, Kolin actually. Don't worry about the flight, there's an air force transport leaving Stansted tomorrow if you can be on it."

I wasn't sure that Kushtian military aviation was likely to be any better than the civil sort but at least there wouldn't be any pretence at comfort and security would probably be more than adequate. "Sure," I said. I was happy to oblige, particularly if it led to some more business. I told Sukie and Rachel that I would be away again for a few days, both of them looked worried. I tried to reassure them, Elly agreed to keep an eye on them while I was away and that seemed to comfort them. Ownership is a real responsibility. I didn't think I could just send them down to the cells as though they were being kennelled and besides, Rachel had work to do.

The Kushtian Air Force flight was, well, an experience. It wasn't quite as bad as I thought when I walked up the ramp at the back of the Ilyushin 76 into its cavernous hold, half empty, half filled with crates of indeterminate origin. I was staring around looking for something that resembled a seat and beginning to think I'd have to do the flight standing up or propped against a crate when a voice called from the front of the hold.

"Mr Ross? This way please."

I walked the length of the aircraft's hold. A woman in the blue serge uniform of the Kushtian Air Force stood at the foot of a short metal ladder. She gestured for me to climb it.

At the top of the ladder I became more encouraged. A cabin with some twenty seats in it had been built into the front of the hold behind the flight deck. It looked a great deal more luxurious than I would normally have expected for a military aircraft. The reclining seats looked as if they had been bought by the Kushtians the last time that Virgin refitted their first class cabin. At least I might get a reasonable sleep. A smiling officer emerged from the flight deck. "Mr Ross, welcome," he said. "We'll be taking off shortly. Do take a seat. Anywhere you like."

"Just me?" I asked.

The officer nodded. "Yes," he said. "Don't worry though. We'll try to look after you. Aerina Kolanka Kuslanis will take care of anything you need."

I chose a seat about half way back in the cabin and strapped myself in. Kolanka — I assumed that Aerina was her rank rather than her first name — appeared at the top of the ladder and closed the hatch. She smiled at me and took her place on a fold down jump-seat beside the flight deck door. As she tightened the straps of her harness I could see that beneath her uniform jacket was a body of interesting possibility. The engines fired into life with a cough and splutter that did little to encourage belief that they would keep going until we reached Kushtia. Aerina Kuslanis seemed unconcerned, however, and I took some comfort from that.

The flight was largely uneventful. Kolanka proved immune to such charms as I could muster. Her uniform remained depressingly well buttoned up for the entire flight.

When I got there, Brad and the Trade Minister were sitting waiting for me in the lounge. Brad suggested that we go through to the pool bar. "I hope you enjoyed your trip here," the Minister said.

"It was fine," I said, "the Kushtian Air Force seems to have its operations well organised."

"Yes," he said. "At least the transport."

"And how is the economic development programme going?"

"Quite well, I think. Up to a point. The Emir here has found a number of companies that it will prove most beneficial for us to work with and of course our relationship with your business has worked very much as we had hoped."

"I'm glad things are working out well, Minister. Can I ask how the last concubine we arranged for your use has turned out?"

The Minister chuckled. "Ah, yes, your diplomatic baggage! Miss Argyll, wasn't she called?" I nodded. The last I had seen of Cora Argyll was sitting shackled and gagged in a cell under the Minister's House. "She has proved most accommodating after her initial reservations had been overcome. I have found her to be a most useful diversion from the cares of office." I smiled. "But how are you? You managed to avoid the attentions of those that were seeking to disturb your operations?"

"I did indeed, Minister. All is resolved." I looked across at the pool, two girls, naked except for their collars, were swimming back and forth with two rather over weight men. "And the Emir's facility is proving an asset?"

"Somewhat," said the Minister. "It has been useful to get us started but I believe we will be suspending our operations there. Let us just say we are learning more about the niceties of international trade and we would not wish to be felt to be trampling on local cultural differences. Still, I understand you were able to provide some excellent staff. Those two for example," he pointed to the girls in the pool, "have been a great help." I realised it was Karen and Peta, the two volley ball players. "Very athletic; most capable entertainers of those we wish to influence. They are here to learn a little of true Kushtian culture first hand. They too came by Air Force jet, but with less comfortable accommodation than your own." I thought back to the crates arrayed in the hold of the Ilyushin and wondered whether there had been any on my flight. They hadn't looked as though they were as well equipped as Clegg and Anatoly's cargo containers.