Oh, the shark has pretty teeth dear

Chapter Four

'Do not buy either the moon or the news, for in the end they will both come out'

Victor yawned loudly as we arrived outside Five Hilton Heathrow Hotel. Silently we took the lift...I can't remember the room number, could have been treble five, or, even treble six, it's all a blur.

It was a seriously spacious apartment, posh, luxurious, and expensive. I wondered who was picking up the tab. Most likely the Public purse, couldn't imagine Hussein coughing up. According to him the Spooks were enthralled by him. Falling over themselves to satisfy his every whim. 'Tell it to the Marines. Bullshit,' I thought, if it sounds like bullshit, smells like bullshit well it is bullshit, in my world.

Walking over to the sideboard Ali poured out two glasses of whiskey. I gingerly sipped it. WOW, nectar of the Gods, an expensive malt, I savoured every drop.

Victor sat in the corner staring at me with barely suppressed loathing. Occasionally he would tap the left breast pocket of his pricey Bodger leather jacket. Like a man in fear of being pickpocketed of something valuable. A concealed knife, I wondered. I didn't know what and didn't want to find out.

I sat down on a faux Chesterfield leather chair. Sir Ali was facing me directly sprawled out. He remained on the alert, smiling but watchful. His knee shuddering a little, eyes brightly twinkled.

"Sir...where are you flying too?" I asked Hussein casually or as casual as I could.

"I will tell you that...later...but then maybe not." He grinned.

"Are you really a Sir...got a knighthood."

Sir Ali pressed his hair back with both hands," yes...of course."

"How?"

"I've told you ...your government was extremely appreciative...for information I provided...particularly the Caledonian conspiracy."

"Caledonian conspiracy," I blurted.

Hussein stiffened at the remark, "questions, questions, "he replied listen and I will tell you."

There was a lengthy silent pause. Sir Ali's eyes scanned the room, he stood up, put his finger to his lips, and prowled around, stopping here and there, looking behind picture frames, investigating table lamps peering into dark corners, nooks and crannies, searching ever searching. I suppose, thinking back, he was looking for listening devices, but it never occurred to me, then.

"I will ask you again...why select me Ali...of all the journalists you could choose. Why me?"

"Good question, Jason."

Sir Ali sat down opposite me squaring an ankle over one knee," yes, I could have selected anyone, "he spoke in a whisper "but Verona convinced me you were the one. "

Hussein raised his hand, glanced away and then toward me," you see...I had an affair with your Verona...she tells you? "

"'No," I replied.

"Typical woman...eh," he sniggered, 'bastard,' I thought. I'd have given him a black eye at another time but no, not here...not now, well not ever, really.

Hussein hugged his arms around his chest," she said you were frightened ... easily...but once you'd calmed down...could be trusted."

He lent forward sitting on the very edge of the chair," remember the adage Jason, the smarter you are, the less you speak."

Sir Ali's voice became deep and dark, earnest." You wrote a short story called 'A Coptic Christmas Carol,' about a Christmas day in a migration camp, it was good...very good. And stuff about migrants and modern slavery showed compassion."