He had not been there at the delivery. He’d sent only a half dozen men with the valuable cargo, all disposable. El Jafar rubbed his mustache. He hoped they were all disposable. If Tsemyakov was smart enough not to come himself, then he was probably smart enough to know not to send anyone important from his staff. The delivery crew had been taken care of. Which left Tsernyakov as the only outstanding issue. Take him out before he became a liability or keep him in case his services were needed in the future? He grunted in impatience when one of his servants came in, bowing, interrupting his thoughts. “What do you want’” “There’s a man at the door. He says he has a message from his sheik. Wouldn’t say which one.” “Bring him in.” He poured himself a drink and drained it, then lit a cigar. He hadn’t expected a messenger. Something had gone wrong. Allah willing, it was something minor. He’d forbidden all phone communication at this stage, not daring to risk detection.
