Read Online The Unquiet Dead by Ausma Zehanat Khan - Free Book Online Page A

house.
    Make them shoot each other. Then kill the rest.
    They took my son. They shot him before my eyes.
    I’m thirsty, so thirsty.
    How sorry I am to die here so thirsty.
    A terrible sense of dread pressed against Rachel’s heart. Her stomach dropped, her palms went damp. She knew what she was looking at, but she wanted to hear it confirmed. She needed Khattak to admit what he long must have known.
    The letters were never meant for Christopher Drayton.
    They identified another man altogether.
    Her voice raspy in her throat, she skewered Khattak with a look.
    â€œWho the hell is Dra ž en Krstić?”

 
    7.
    Under a big pear tree there was a heap of between ten and twelve bodies. It was difficult to count them because they were covered over with earth, but heads and hands were sticking out of the little mound.
    There’s never any joy.
    Khattak’s phone rang, a temporary reprieve from questions he could no longer ignore. He didn’t believe the truth would set him free. The truth in this case was a trap. One he had willingly entered, on the word of an old friend. Because friendship was more than a source of comfort, or a place of belonging. It was a responsibility. One that Nate had failed. He wouldn’t fail Tom in turn.
    That’s not the only reason, Esa, you know that. You’re not detached, pretend as you must. This is about identity. Yours. And his.
    The phone call corroborated his fears. He’d told Rachel not to use up resources, not to widen the circle, but he’d sent a picture of the gun to Gaffney. And now Gaff had told him what some still resistant part of himself didn’t want to know.
    â€œBring those with you. You said you were hungry,” he said to Rachel.
    â€œSir—”
    It wasn’t an evasion. He had never meant to keep her in the dark this long.
    â€œI’ll answer your questions while we eat.”
    And Rachel, ever loyal when she should have been screaming at him, bagged the evidence without a word and followed him to the car.
    Evidence? What evidence? A man fell to his death.
    If he kept repeating it to himself, it might prove true.
    He chose a restaurant near the marina, familiar to him through colleagues at 43 Division. And through Nate. He and Nate had eaten here all the time. The food was good, the views abundant.
    His salad arrived swiftly along with Rachel’s grilled chicken sandwich.
    She tossed the bag of letters beside his plate.
    â€œTalk,” she said.
    Glad of the excuse not to meet her eyes, he turned his attention to the bag. A disjointed phrase slipped toward his salad.
    Not one of our leaders remain. No one returned from Omarska.
    Rachel was already putting pieces together.
    â€œWho called you from Justice, sir? Who asked you to find out if Christopher Drayton really fell from the Bluffs?”
    His salad tasted dry in his mouth. This was Rachel. This was going to be a nightmare for every branch of government involved, but Rachel he trusted. She had more than proven her loyalty in Waverley, but it wasn’t loyalty alone that had shown him her real worth. Rachel had a dogged commitment to the truth that outstripped her pride and ambition alike.
    â€œTom Paley,” he said at last. “He’s a friend.” There was no point delaying the truth further. “He’s also the Chief War Crimes Historian at Justice.”
    Rachel’s mouth fell open, disclosing an impressive amount of chewed-up chicken.
    She was bound to know Paley’s name. Every now and again, his Nazi-hunting endeavors surfaced in the press.
    She swallowed with difficulty, setting down her sandwich so she could count off her fingers. “The map Drayton marked. It was of Yugoslavia. The code to the safe—it was Drina, like the river on the eastern border.”
    â€œLike the Drina Corps,” Khattak amended. “Like the gun. It’s a Tokarev variant, the M70 model. Standard issue for the Yugoslav National