Beirut - An Explosive Thriller Read Online Free Page A

resettling herself on the stool. ‘And then I
leave.’
    ‘ As you
like,’ he said. ‘It is after all a free world.’
    He felt her
eyes on him. ‘You know, you’re not a very good
prostitute.’
    Her laughter
softened her fierce glare. ‘Is this a compliment, I
wonder?’
    ‘ Why do you
do it?’
    ‘ This is my
business, Charles with no family name who speaks German like a
Bavarian but who is not, I think, German.’
    Duggan
inclined his head, accepting the compliment. She talked to the
glass again. ‘I am, as you say, not very experienced as a
prostitute. You would have been my second customer. I washed myself
so hard after the first one that I have been not able to work for
the past week.’ Her small smile was a private mourning. She was
fierce again. ‘I hurt myself.’ Tears brimmed in her eyes. ‘Thank
you. You looked kind. You are kind.’
    Duggan hadn’t
expected her to be so vulnerable. Her eyes were dark under the
makeup. He shook his head. ‘There are other ways to make
money.’
    ‘ Really? This
was the only one that came to mind,’ she snapped. She raised her
eyes to the roof, took a breath and held her palms up at him.
‘Sorry. Sorry, Charles with no name. I shall call you Charles
English, I think. You are English, aren’t you? You speak very good
German.’
    ‘ British. And
my family name is Duggan.’
    ‘ So, Charles
Duggan. I am running away from my home because it is dangerous for
me. I cannot do any decent job because this requires identity and I
cannot afford to have this identity because they will find me. And
now I have no money, I must eat while I try to survive from these
murderers.’
    ‘ Your
father?’
    ‘ You say I am
melodramatic, so you will not believe me, but yes, my
father.’
    ‘ Why would
your father want to kill you, Elli?’
    ‘ He is
breaking the law for money. I know what he is doing. The bitch’s
brother helps him.’
    ‘ The
bitch?’
    ‘ His wife.
Not my mother. His second wife. His business is doing badly and the
bitch is bleeding him dry with her dresses and handbags, her
surgeries and diamonds. They are selling bombs to the
Arabs.’
    Duggan kept
his face neutral but his body tautened and his movements slowed.
‘Does he often do that?’
    ‘ Sell to
Arabs? Yes, but usually he sells them boats. Not bombs. This is the
first time. It will make him a lot of money. They’re not his. He
found them.’ Elli glanced up at him. ‘I am telling the truth,
Charles.’
    He left money
on the bar. ‘I believe you,’ he said, taking her arm. ‘Let’s go
somewhere quieter and safer and perhaps get cleaned up
properly.’
    She pulled
free. ‘And what if I don’t want to go with you?’
    Duggan smiled
down at her. ‘I will arrest you. Come.’
     
     
    They sat in
the coffee shop of Duggan’s hotel, Elli jittery and Duggan
intrigued. It was late and they were alone. The red upholstered
chairs and dark wood fittings marked a hotel overdue for a refit.
He ordered coffees and a club sandwich to share. When the food
arrived, Elli grabbed a tranche of sandwich. She balanced the
sandwich in one hand, trying to cover her over-large mouthful with
the other. Duggan spoke in German, grateful for his fluency. ‘It’s
been tough, then.’
    She nodded,
reaching for a napkin, then her coffee. He waited for her to wash
down the food. ‘Yes. I am trying to be polite for you.’
    He pushed the
plate at her. ‘Don’t bother. Eat.’
    ‘ Alone?’
    He smiled,
picked up a fry and dipped it in ketchup. ‘No. But I think your
need is perhaps greater than mine.’
    She paused,
uncertain, the food held up to her mouth. He looked away, beckoned
the waiter and ordered a bottle of sparkling water, fussing over
the brands the hotel offered precisely so she could have some time
to eat, his glances confirming she was famished and yet desperate
to maintain some sort of decorum.
    Finally she
leaned back and wiped her mouth. ‘Thank you.’
    ‘ It is
nothing.’
    She appraised
him, the