Dr Death took a seat at the table. ‘You are a friend of Anoush, visiting Islamabad?’
‘Yes,’ said de Payns. ‘I’m interested in the old trade routes and ancient cities between the Middle East and the subcontinent, so since I’ve come all this way for forty-eight hours of work, I thought I’d take the opportunity to visit the ruins at Taxila.’
‘That’s interesting. And you and Anoush work together, yes?’
De Payns shrugged. ‘More or less. I’m a consultant and Anoush is a translator for one of my clients. That’s how we met.’
Seeing that the discussion had started and was about her, Anoush went back to the kitchen. Alec played his role of innocent guest.
‘And you, Doctor—are you married? Do you have children?’
The scientist made a surprised face. ‘I’m afraid not. Given how I intend to influence the world, I prefer not to have children.’
De Payns could have killed him where he sat, but he had to laugh at the atrocious sentiment, to create empathy. It occurred to him that Dr Death was playing with him, and as soon as Anoush was out of earshot, the scientist leaned forward and said in his slow, sibilant voice, ‘You know that Anoush’s husband is one of my best friends? We did part of our studies together and it was I who introduced them.’
De Payns was careful in his reply. ‘No, I did not know that. Unfortunately I have never had the chance to meet him.’
Timberwolf held a long silence, staring into de Payns’ eyes, before resuming. ‘I do not understand who you are. I do not understand what you are doing here. I do not understand your relationship with my sister,’ he said. ‘I find it very dishonourable for her and our family, and I feel that something is wrong.’
Alec could feel the rope tightening around his neck. Timberwolf was being deliberately ambiguous, fishing for a reaction rather than accusing. The lack of urgency in the Doctor’s tone was actually more dangerous to de Payns’ ears than an outright denouncement. The man was skilled—he thought he was playing with this Frenchman and de Payns knew he had to get out of there, and quickly. Quickly, but without being arrested. He had to disrupt Timberwolf’s rhythm and the best defence might be attack.
‘Excuse me?!’ de Payns retorted, feigning outrage. ‘What exactly are you insinuating? I’m here at the invitation of a friend and colleague. I gather you are someone important, but that does not give you the right to speak to me that way.’
Hearing that the tone of the conversation had changed, Anoush emerged from the kitchen to see what was happening. De Payns leaped in quickly.
‘Listen, Anoush, your brother has accused me of behaving dishonourably and I don’t appreciate it. I’m sorry, but I’m going to leave you now. I’m not here to create a scene. I hope you enjoy your dinner—we can catch up some other time.’ He rose from the table. ‘Goodbye, Doctor,’ he said stiffly. ‘Please accept my best wishes. It wasn’t my intention to intrude.’
De Payns headed for the front door under the amused gaze of Dr Death, who obviously appreciated the situation. Moving deliberately, avoiding any jerky actions that would cause the bodyguard to react, he collected his windbreaker from the coat hook beside the kitchen door. For now he had only one play—act embarrassed and get onto the street. His palms had turned clammy as he put on his jacket, the pieces of the phone rattling in the pocket.
On the other side of the door the second bodyguard stood his ground, not moving when de Payns passed him. De Payns tracked his movements without staring at him. If the bodyguard went for a weapon, de Payns would crush his throat, take the pistol and deal with the man in the hallway. His heart was not racing yet, but the room was feeling very small and he could feel his pulse jerking in his throat. He was ready for violence, yet he had to avoid a confrontation at all costs. Just get onto the street without mishap, he reminded himself. Once his team had eyes on him, he trusted Templar’s guys against the ISI. Templar had once exfiltrated a blown agent from Cairo, keeping her safe for thirty-six hours while the secret police searched every corner of the city. He’d got her back to Paris at the cost of a bullet in one French operative’s leg, and a lost finger when an operative’s hand was slammed in a car door, which was a pretty good result.
He turned to say goodbye, rotating into the bodyguard, not away, so he could keep tabs on him. Raven stood in front of him, tears on her cheeks, her great head of hair suddenly flat and limp. She wanted to hug him but de Payns reached out a hand and offered a handshake.
‘Thanks for a wonderful evening, Anoush,’ he said. Over her shoulder, a man who could kill millions with his bioweapon looked at de Payns and smiled.
‘Good evening, Dr Bijar,’ said de Payns.
The other man didn’t reply.
De Payns headed towards the stairwell—to get down the stairs and into the street would take forty-three steps—if he wasn’t stopped by a hood over his head or a bullet in his back. He was at their mercy. The sweat on his scalp was ice cold.
He took the first of what would be the longest forty-three steps of his life.