The Old Enemy by Henry Porter (reading a book txt) 📗

no sway over her whatsoever. In fact, she held him in contempt.’ He paused. ‘It was a sad story, but he was a bully and a son of a bitch and there won’t be too many mourners at that funeral.’ He leaned forward and looked directly into Anastasia’s eyes. ‘I am sorry that we had to go into what happened in your husband’s former life. I am afraid it was unavoidable.’

‘Thank you. Denis had prepared a statement on his computer that left no doubt about those events.’ She didn’t use the words ‘massacre’ and ‘war crime’, but in his notes Denis hadn’t shied from them.

‘There is one thing I don’t understand,’ said Samson. ‘Why did you start pushing Denis on those events in the hearing on the day of the attack? What were you trying to do?’

‘There were two reasons. I spent time in Iraq, and I saw atrocities committed by both sides. This is not something that I was prepared to overlook, even though I knew some of the information came from Mila Daus. Second, Denis needed to get it out of the way before we started talking about systemic penetration by Russia.’

‘You are speaking as if you had some idea of what he had on that computer and, moreover, that you knew he wasn’t going to use it that day,’ said Samson. ‘How did you know all that?’

‘We talked.’

‘You talked! When?’ demanded Anastasia.

‘Two nights before the attack. He knew I was going to push him on Iraq. He agreed that was necessary before he made these allegations. It was the thing that Mila Daus held over him and he needed to get that out of the way.’

He rose and went to take Anastasia’s hand. ‘I have a tight schedule of TV appearances. Suddenly, the conservative from the South is the hero of the liberal media. You were magnificent today. You’ve done this country a great service. Thank you, and thank you all.’ He nodded to Toombs, and left.

Anastasia smiled at Samson and got up. ‘That explained a lot. Look. I have some things I need to do. I have to go.’ Samson gave her an enquiring look. She shook her head. It wouldn’t involve him.

She didn’t explain outside the room either, but she didn’t have to. He knew. He hugged her and told her he loved her. ‘I know it,’ she said. They kissed and she walked away.

Late that night, Anastasia took off in Denis’s jet with his body. Over the Atlantic, she looked out at the dawn rushing towards the plane, then glanced at the casket at the rear of the cabin. She had wanted him to be with her and now murmured her gratitude to him. Despite everything in his life and her unfaithfulness and love for Samson, she still loved Denis. She loved him and revered him. And she told him so. The secrets they’d kept from each other didn’t seem at all important.

They refuelled in Cyprus and took off for a place on the far eastern side of the territory in northern Iraq, where the Kurds desired to create a fully independent state. They touched down and taxied to a spot in front of a rudimentary terminal building. Word had spread. Thousands of people had made the journey in pickups, battered cars and even tractors to pay their respects to their hero. On a baked apron, Anastasia watched his casket being unloaded then placed on the back of a large black pickup, where it was draped with the Kurdish flag – a sunburst on red, white and green bands. It was there, with the wind tearing at the black scarf she wore over her head and dust devils racing across the tarmac, that she felt she had done her duty and returned Denis to his people. She was offered a seat in the vehicle travelling behind the pickup in a long chaotic cortège that snaked across the desert and through villages where little crowds had assembled with flags. They headed east, gathering more vehicles along the way, until they came to a village cemetery where his ancestors lay, shaded by almond and olive trees. On the grave marker, his people gave him back his name – Karim Qasim. It pleased her because she had always preferred it to his adopted name, although she would, of course, keep Hisami for herself.

Acknowledgements

Writing a book in lockdown means there are fewer individuals than usual to thank because talking to people face to face and travel were not possible. However, I say thank you to my wife, Liz, who cooked for me every evening, listened patiently and advised on my plot problems and put up with me returning to my shed for a final hour or two at the end of the day. I would also like to express my gratitude to Jane Wood, my long-term editor and friend, who brings such clarity and good judgement to a work of fiction. She is the best. And, finally, I offer a deep, socially distanced bow to my agent Rebecca Carter of Janklow & Nesbit. Without them, this book would not be in your hands.

Table of Contents

The Old Enemy

Also By

Title

Copyright

Dedication

Contents

PART ONE

Berlin Blue

GreenState

Survivors of the Bridge

Room 2172

Bulletin

The Balsam Tree

Cock and Bull

Anastasia

Düppel

The Pit

Strains of Illyria

The Gravel Washer

The Tulip Guy

Sex, Venice and a Bullet

Live Frog

Bubble Wrap

The Bird

PART TWO

Leverkusen-Opladen Intersection

Firefly

The Peacock

KaPo

Ulrike’s Story

The Sargasso Sea

Wet Grass

Zoe

Funeral in Tallinn

Confession

Open Toombs

Raw Data

In pectore

PART THREE

Locked in

Seneca Ridge

Angel

Blink

Sunset on Potomac

2172 Revisited

Old Friends

Epilogue

Acknowledgements