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

it was the law of his family, of his ancestors, of Pukhtunwali, that saved him. It made better sense to him than the rules of crown and country, and it needed defending. He turned his back on the London career, and went home.

So when the large clock that hung behind the reception desk of his friend’s firm told him he’d been kept waiting for almost forty-five minutes, he was not surprised. It was a sign that he had been downgraded on the ladder of business courtesy.

When he finally arrived, Edward was apologetic but only superficially so. He looked dishevelled despite the sharp suit and shirt. ‘Idris,’ he said. ‘Sorry I kept you waiting so long. Billable hours! Some days I wonder why I go home. Come on, let’s go get a drink. I could use one after the day I’ve had. And the little something extra, if you’ve brought it?’

Edward’s car was waiting outside. Fifteen minutes later they pulled up outside a nondescript black door. A young brunette greeted them with a warm smile reserved only for the clients of London’s most exclusive private members’ club.

Inside, the conversation flowed, as did the drinks, and Edward was on his fourth when they began to talk business. Idris was still nursing his first. He’d tried drinking when he was young but it hadn’t been worth the guilt. It wasn’t that he was looking to appease Allah; it was that every time he put a step wrong he felt his dead mother’s disapproving eyes on him, and that was enough to stop any man drinking, let alone a Pukhtun. Still, a social drink was an integral part of the lawyerly life, and clients and colleagues were wary of networking sober. Saying no to a drink meant dragging up that great wall of difference, the wall that separated ‘them’ from ‘us’ and led to the sort of questions about religious ideology that every Asian Muslim kid dreaded. The only respectable answer to ‘Why aren’t you drinking? Is it against your religion?’ was ‘I’m an alcoholic’. But no one wants to do business with a man who overshares. And a man who overshares and can’t handle his liquor might as well declare himself bankrupt. So Idris would order one drink and keep it in his hand all evening.

‘I’ve been dealing with suppliers since Jesus was in nappies. You expect me to believe that you can seriously supply all the needs of our one hundred and forty thousand employees every week? What are you operating? Some kind of Deliveroo for drugs?’

Idris took a black folder from his briefcase and handed it to Edward. He flicked through the file, stopping at the first page. It detailed the names, addresses and personal details of every one of his employees, from the cleaning lady to the senior partners, and there were pictures. Pictures of powder being cut and snorted, sexual liaisons, of partners doing things they shouldn’t. Edward unbuttoned his collar. ‘How did you get this?’ he said.

‘It’s part of the service,’ said Idris. ‘We run a tech company. Data is our business.’

‘If I didn’t know you to be a man of integrity I’d think you were about to blackmail me.’ Edward laughed nervously. ‘You know my crowd, my colleagues, my clients – they aren’t your average street-corner junkies. They’re connoisseurs. While I trust you, I need to make sure you understand?’

‘I do,’ said Idris. ‘You’re in safe hands. I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.’

Jia arrived. Edward greeted her warmly. He knew her well from the old days. She took a seat opposite the two men.

‘Why hasn’t this been done already?’ asked Edward.

‘Because people always try and complicate matters,’ said Idris. ‘We have spent months developing systems with untraceable layers to launder money through eBay, Gumtree and other second-hand selling sites. We have created algorithms for money-transfer sites that allow black money to piggyback on white and be secreted into offshore accounts. And the most beautiful part of it is that we can give you receipts and invoices for legal products.’

‘If you’re so sure it works then explain it to me so that I can understand. None of this algorithm bullshit,’ Edward said.

Jia remained silent on the details, as she had with the Jirga. She hadn’t felt either the need to let them know her plans, or the desire to gain their support. She would tell them what she needed to when she was ready. She knew, in any case, that men responded better to each other; the patriarchy was the domain of all men, regardless of race and religion.

‘The internet is too big for search engines to index every single website on it,’ Idris said. ‘That means some get left behind and these are the ones that make up the deep web. The only way to find those sites is if you know their web address. Follow me so far?’ Edward nodded. ‘The dark web, or darknet as it is also known, is not only not indexed, but the user needs to have something special to be able to access it, like an authentication code. To add an extra layer of security, we use it with Tor – “the onion network”. It’s a software program that you load on to your computer, like a browser. It hides your IP address and it hides the route your information takes by bouncing it through a network of up to five thousand servers around the world. Think of it as a huge network of hidden servers that keep your online identity and your location invisible. It means websites can’t track the physical location of your IP address or find out what you’ve been looking at online…and neither can law enforcement or government agencies.’

‘The onion network?’

‘Like the layers of an onion, the websites you’re visiting are hidden behind layers of anonymity.’

‘Do I need to wipe my history or anything afterwards?’

‘It’s always a good idea. We’ll install a cleaner on your machine that will do this and clear your cache automatically.’

‘And you