Ikertu knew where he was, they knew where he’d been, and now they were calling him. Perhaps they could tell him what was going to happen to him. He wanted badly to know. What a strange business Webster’s was. The Cayman police he could understand. They had a purpose. But what sort of a person did the bidding of a man like Tourna? Lock was half undressed. On his return from dinner with Onder he had taken off his jacket, shoes and trousers and poured himself a Scotch; the gin wasn’t quite working this evening. When Webster had phoned he was sitting on his bed, trying to find a film to watch on television. His body was confused: half of him was four hours east of here, the other half ten hours west, and he had no idea whether he was tired or not. He didn’t want to sleep, though. He needed something to occupy his mind. He flicked through the hotel’s on-demand service. No heist films, he thought; no romances, comic or otherwise; no drama either.
What do You think about The Silent Oligarch: A Novel?
