Read Online Comfort Zone by Lindsay Tanner - Free Book Online

child support or something?’
    â€˜As you are no doubt aware, there are significant problems within the Somali community. Islamic extremism is taking hold. It’s our job to keep an eye on things, make sure we know what’s going on. We aim to stop them before anyone gets blown up.’
    â€˜Shit! Farhia’s a terrorist? You must be kidding!’ The incredulity in Jack’s voice masked a touch of excitement. Things were getting interesting.
    â€˜We have no reason to believe so, but we keep every eventuality under consideration. Her behaviour is sufficiently suspicious to warrant some investigation.’
    This guy sounds like a cop in the witness box , Jack thought. What a pompous dick .
    â€˜Maybe she was just embarrassed about private family stuff.’
    â€˜We can’t afford to take risks.’
    â€˜Yeah.’ Jack wondered if he knew anything about the bloke with the knife. He could easily be a terrorist — but Jack wasn’t about to complicate things further by mentioning him.
    Silence settled upon the gloom again. Jeffrey stood up, and Jack eyed him up and down in the murky light. He was quite tall, reasonably good-looking apart from the funny eye, with short dark hair and longish limbs. He was rather unremarkable overall — other than the eye — which Jack assumed was helpful in the spy business. He could blend into the background. He wondered whether the dodgy eye was real: maybe it could be switched back to normal somehow.
    Jack felt some embarrassment about his humble dwelling. What must this guy be thinking? Dead-beat in a suicide flat, place smells of unwashed single man, can’t be bothered cleaning, carpet’s dirty and worn, windows are brown, furniture looks like it’s falling apart. He felt ashamed for a moment, and then retreated into his crusty shell. Who cared what this spook thought anyway? Probably had a similar place himself, but a bit cleaner and nicer. South Yarra maybe, or even in the city.
    Jeffrey broke this train of thought, signalling that the conversation was over by beginning to move towards the door.
    â€˜We will be back in touch. Here’s my card. When you find your phone, contact me straight away. We’d appreciate it if you stay in touch with Mrs Mohammed, find out what she’s up to and so on.’
    Jack was struck mute by this final request. He shook Jeffrey’s out-stretched hand mechanically, and he was gone.
    Jack stood lost in thought, absent-mindedly fingering the business card Jeffrey had given him.
    Fuck me , he said to the door, looks like I’ve landed in the middle of a terrorist plot . He snickered cynically and walked back into the lounge area.
    Robert Jeffrey’s business card was suitably understated. Its only text was ‘Australian Government’, ‘Attorney-General’s Department’, and Jeffrey’s name and contact details.
    Jack had to sit down to collect his thoughts. He got up again to make a cup of coffee. In difficult situations, coffee was always a good idea, even if it was only Nescafé Gold with two sugars.
    As he walked into the kitchen, he sneezed violently. His eyes reddened and he sniffed a couple of times. Hayfever’s back , he informed the fridge as he opened its door and extracted a milk carton.
    Jack had long held the view that stress triggered hayfever. He had yet to find a doctor who agreed with him, but that didn’t alter his opinion.
    While he went about organising his cup of coffee, his thoughts wandered back to his visitor. Questions swirled around in his head. What was really in Farhia’s book? Why was she so touchy about it? Was she an Islamic extremist? A terrorist? A spy? Was she being manipulated by an extremist organisation like Al Qaida? Where did the bloke with the knife fit in?
    Eventually these speculations got so ridiculous that Jack had to give up. It was all too confusing. He resolved not to think about it again until