Read Online Killing for the Company by Chris Ryan - Free Book Online

trickled down the nape of his neck. ‘Fag break, is it?’
    ‘You,’ said one of the men, and he poked his finger in Chet’s direction. ‘With us.’
    Chet looked from one to the other. He considered trying to sweet-talk them, but if ever a couple of goons looked impervious to charm, they were it. He forced himself to smile at them, but they didn’t once lose that dead-eyed look as they led Chet across the busy road and into the building he had been contracted to sweep.
    The ride in the lift up to the sixth floor was a silent and uncomfortable one. Chet’s mind turned cartwheels. Had Stratton’s guys followed him when he left the building? Did they know what had happened on the roof? How the hell should he play this?
    They exited the lift and strode towards the meeting rooms, all eyes from the offices on them. From the corner of his vision, Chet could see the kid who had first greeted him, now watching intently. The third bodyguard was still standing outside the room Stratton and the bald man were using. As they approached, he knocked gently on the door.
    Almost immediately the bald American stepped outside. ‘What the hell ,’ he whispered when he saw Chet, ‘is going on?’
    Chet started to formulate a response, but he didn’t get a chance to speak.
    ‘We saw you up there,’ the bald man said. ‘Who was it? What were you doing?’
    ‘I thought there was a security breach,’ he replied firmly. ‘I went to investigate.’
    ‘And?’
    He almost told them – about Suze McArthur and the listening device. But something stopped him. He didn’t know what. The tension the man was displaying, perhaps. The palpable anxiety oozing from him.
    ‘It was nothing. A student peace protester putting up a banner. I sent her packing.’
    Silence.
    Suddenly the door opened and Stratton appeared. He said nothing, but his face was pale.
    ‘We should leave, Prime Minister,’ the bald man said.
    Stratton nodded, then strode back down the corridor, followed by the bald man and the bodyguards. Chet stood there and watched the PM’s entourage head towards the lift. As the doors opened, Stratton looked back over his shoulder. He narrowed his eyes, then faced the front again and hurried into the lift.
    Chet’s heart was thumping. He could feel the blood in his jugular. He walked into the other room, where his rucksack was still on the table. He gathered it up quickly and looked out of the window as the girl’s voice echoed in his head. You haven’t heard what I’ve heard . . .
    But Chet had heard enough. That fragment of conversation he’d heard suggested that the PM was being pressured by the Americans to go to war. But everyone knew war was coming anyway. Certainly Chet could read the signs. Was there anything more to it than that? Probably not. Suze McArthur was just a kid with a head full of ideals. There were a million anti-war campaigners like her the length and breadth of the country. They didn’t understand the real world. They didn’t understand that sometimes war was the price you had to pay for peace.
    He realised as he made his way back down the corridor towards the lift that the price for the morning’s events could well be his job. And all thanks to that stupid girl. The bald guy from the Grosvenor Group was clearly annoyed, and it was nothing to him that the chances of Chet finding another job like this were practically zero.
    ‘Happy fucking birthday,’ he muttered as he limped out of the room. It was time to go find himself a drink.

SIX
    Somewhere near the Jordan–Iraq border.
    A car drove through the dusk. A red Toyota, automatic transmission. Its chassis showed signs of wear – a large dent along the side, a broken brake light and rust patches all along the undercarriage. But despite being beaten up, it was lovingly decorated. A picture of Saddam Hussein, the disciple of Muhammad, was propped on the dashboard and surrounded by little fairy lights; multicoloured garlands were pinned along the top of