BooksBarbecue
Back The Dead Line
Chapters (87)
  1. Cover
  2. By the Same Author
  3. Dedication Page
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
  83. 80
  84. 81
  85. Acknowledgements
  86. Also Available by Holly Watt
  87. The Hunt and the Kill

They smiled him away.

When he had gone, the waiter brought out coffee, topped up wineglasses, folded the thick linen napkins. Patiently, Casey waited for him to go.

‘Mr Halim has been having some difficulty getting a visa for Britain,’ Casey said, baldly, when he did.

‘Oh dear,’ said Bantham. ‘I am sorry to hear that.’

‘There are,’ Casey spoke in careful transatlantic syllables, ‘misplaced concerns about his businesses back in Indonesia.’

‘It can be very tricky,’ nodded Bantham.

‘Would you have any advice?’ asked Casey.

They talked for a while, Bantham giving the advice that any diplomat would dole out.

Time. Patience. Top immigration lawyers.

But there was a hesitation, now and again. Almost a suggestion. His words trailing away into a silence.

Finally, Casey turned towards him.

‘Is there a way, Mr Bantham, that we could streamline the process? Mr Ibrahim is such a very busy man. And’ – a pause – ‘a most generous one.’

Bantham had done this before, she knew at once. The awkwardness gone in the smoothest stream of words.

It was simple, Bantham’s plan. Easy.

A junior minister. A pet project. The most generous dollop of sponsorship. And afterwards, he would be helpful, the minister. The quietest of words, that’s all this sort of thing would need.

‘It doesn’t take much, I assure you.’

‘You make it sound so easy.’ Casey met his eyes.

‘It is.’ He was blunt.

And for Bantham, the consultancy fee, at first. And a success fee later, maybe. It always sounds so proper. A bonus. A signing fee. Nothing so vulgar as a bribe.

All paid into an offshore account, of course.

‘You spend so much time abroad,’ she nearly winked at him. ‘Anyway.’

She was signing the bill to her room, partly because that meant she didn’t have to pull out a bankcard, emblazoned with her real name.

They were smiling now. They understood each other.

Upstairs? The quick suggestion in his eyes.

Not today. But she added a hint of regret.

They parted with a handshake, a nod.

‘We’ll talk soon.’

‘We will, Katie Faraday.’

‘A pleasure.’

‘All mine.’

6

6

When Casey got back to her room and flopped on the grey velvet ottoman, there was a message waiting for her. Call me.

‘One of the women in the camp found me.’ It was Savannah, the words pouring out of her in a rush. ‘I had been asking around, Case. I could hear you really needed to know.’

‘Thanks, Savannah. It’s so kind of you.’ Casey imagined the aid worker sitting in her small hotel room in Cox’s Bazar. She was short, Savannah, and fizzing with energy in her charity-branded T-shirt and bright pink jeans. Her long red hair pulled back into a plait, her face plastered in suncream because her skin burned so easily.