The Khan by Saima Mir (best thriller novels of all time .txt) 📗

herself had learnt, with hardship comes ease. And so here she was, less than twenty-four hours away from the car journey that would take her back to the arms of the family who had wiped her tears, nursed her through childhood fevers, promised to love her without condition, and then made it impossible for her to stay when she needed them most.

CHAPTER 5

Elyas Ahmad was packing when his son called to him. He put down the shirt he’d been folding and went to the boy. He was sitting up in bed, exhausted and unable to focus. The squint he’d had in infancy returned whenever he had a migraine. ‘I’m so tired, Dad,’ he said. Elyas felt that familiar pang of helplessness that comes with finding yourself unable to solve your child’s problems. The gruelling schedule of babyhood was nothing compared with this.

He sat down beside the boy. ‘You shouldn’t be reading,’ he said, taking the book from his son’s lap and glancing at it before placing it on the bedside table. ‘The Dark Web? No wonder you have a headache.’ He gently pressed his fingertips over the boy’s forehead, the way he used to do for Jia all those years ago. The tiny, almost invisible dimple on his son’s chin wasn’t all he shared with his mother. He also had her eyes, and her drive. But stubborn and prone to overstimulation, Ahad had inherited his mother’s worst qualities as well as her best. ‘I’m bored and I’m sick of being sick,’ he said.

‘I know. Hopefully the change of air will put an end to the headaches,’ said Elyas, and then he watched as Ahad’s face turned suddenly pale. He grabbed a bucket, bringing it swiftly to his son’s mouth. The boy threw up violently, then tired and clammy, clutching his head, he leaned back on to the pillows, the exhaustion leaving him grey.

Elyas’s concern was evident across his face; he’d never been able to hide his feelings when it came to his son. ‘That settles it, I’m not leaving you like this,’ he said.

‘I’ll be fine. And I’ll catch you up the day after. I’m an adult now, I can do this.’ But his words did little to allay Elyas’s worry. Both of them were booked on the 11.10A.M. from King’s Cross out of London tomorrow, as Elyas was due to start his new job in the next few days. But Ahad came first. He always came first. He was also the reason Elyas had accepted the position.

‘Son, you’re only fifteen. You don’t want to be in any hurry to take on the responsibility of adulthood, trust me,’ Elyas said. He pulled the duvet up, tucking Ahad in, and then leaned in to kiss his head. Illness was the only time the boy allowed his father to look after him – it had a way of pushing people back to infancy. His father’s touch soothed him and the pain ebbed a little. So too did some of Elyas’s concerns. The migraines didn’t worry him so much as what might be underlying them. Elyas wondered what demons were yet to appear. He wished Jia could see how much of her was in their son. He knew she’d be proud of the man Ahad was becoming, despite the problems he’d been having at school and with the police. But she had made no effort to see him and, as yet, Elyas had no way to explain her absence.

He wiped the boy’s forehead and helped him to take a sip of water. Sometimes he worried he was trying too hard, but guilt and parenting seemed to go hand in hand, and he reminded himself that some things were beyond his control. He was doing the best he could.

Ahad finally asleep, he slipped quietly out of his bedroom, breathing a sigh of relief in the hallway. He paused to look at the row of pictures and awards that hung on the walls. The British Press Association’s ‘Foreign Reporter of the Year’ for five consecutive years, ‘Journalist of the Year’ for the Foreign Press Association, one of Time magazine’s ‘Most Influential People’. He was privileged. He had worked in television and film, doing the things he loved. And the offers were still there, but after the events of this week, he was looking forward to the simplicity of print.

‘You want to close the production company because of some trainee camerawoman?’ His business partner had been livid, refusing to accept what he was hearing. ‘You’ve known me for twenty years. You’ve known her for twenty days. Come on.’

‘I do know you. And I know that this partnership is over,’ Elyas had said. He remained steady, trying to maintain some dignity in front of the man he’d once regarded as a friend, the man he had started his company with, who’d handled the business side so that Elyas could make the films he wanted. They’d won awards and accolades together, broken stories and changed lives. But accusations were being made and it was clear that his partner had crossed a line, one he could not come back from. ‘When I return, I want you gone,’ said Elyas.

‘You’ve lost your mind. If we fold now, we’ll never work in the industry again. No one will commission us.’

Elyas leaned forward. ‘You took advantage of a defenceless woman,’ he said. ‘You got off on a technicality.’ He paused, waiting for some response. Waiting for his partner to fill the silence. ‘I’ve spoken to her. I’ve seen the police report. You belong in jail.’

His partner’s face showed no remorse. ‘She was asking for it,’ he said. ‘She wanted to climb the ladder, and I helped her.’

Elyas stood up and walked towards the door. He needed to leave the room; if he didn’t he was worried he would punch him. He wanted to pummel him until he was bloody and broken, but he wouldn’t. That’s not the kind of man he was. The once-friend’s inability to keep it in his pants,