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

away the dishes beside him. ‘I’d like to have people be that scared of me when I’m old. And have them do my bidding,’ John said.

‘What, on eBay, you mean?’

‘Funny,’ said John. ‘Any leads on anything on that thing then?’

‘Plenty. I’m using this site called Yik Yak. People use it to post stuff about specific places,’ Elyas said. ‘Remember that shooting last year, the one outside the club? Well, there’s a lot of differing accounts about who was responsible.’

John raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it? Trial’s already begun.’

They were deep in conversation when Jia walked in. She spoke with the owner; Idris was with her and Michael waited by the door. The old man said something to the waiter before leading his guests to an office in the back of the restaurant.

‘Did you know she was going to be here?’ John asked Elyas. Elyas shook his head. ‘I’d give anything to know what business a high-flying legal eagle and a slick city boy are discussing in the back of a curry-house kitchen with that homeless man,’ said John. ‘Do you think she’s getting mixed up in their business?’

‘I don’t know… Anyway, how are things going with your new novel?’ Elyas replied, changing the subject. His relationship with Jia was now public knowledge. She was spending more time with Ahad, which was good, but something was wrong. The Jia he had fallen in love with and the one he knew now were very different. It was as if the sun and the moon divided her personality. During the day she was devoid of all emotion, her behaviour alien to him.

As John settled the bill, Elyas hoped she was not about to pay a price too high for her heritage.

Waiting at the back of the restaurant, Jia knew exactly what price life was about to extract from her and she was ready to make the payment. The old man spoke slowly, with the confidence of someone who knew his worth. ‘I know you have come to me because I am childless and so have no part in the power struggle that is happening. I know what you are planning, Jia Khan,’ he said, leaning forward as he spoke, looking her straight in the eye. ‘We all do. We are old men, Jia jaan. We have lived. And we have learnt from that life.’

‘My father spoke highly of you,’ she said.

The old man smiled. ‘You must know by now that to run this city is not easy. You must command the respect of the masses and the minorities. Sometimes it is the smaller groups that hold the power. Don’t underestimate anyone. At your age your father had the respect of his people.’

Jia considered his words carefully before answering. ‘You are right, respect must be earned. And I will do all I can,’ she said.

Samad Khan was part of the landscape. The only member of the Jirga without a family, his wife – another Jia – to whom he had been betrothed from birth, had been the only person he ever loved. He was a short, dark-skinned Pathan, she pale and attractive, as intelligent as she was fierce. He would show her off and bask in her beauty, both of them laughing privately at the comments they received about their contrasting skin tones. They had wanted for nothing in life. Except for good health. Doctors had advised them that childbirth would prove disastrous. But his wife was stubborn and ignored the warnings. The baby didn’t survive, and neither did she. After she died, Samad buried himself in work, emerging only when called by the Jirga.

Without a family to distract him, his business flourished. His curries were served by royal warrant and found on supermarket shelves and kitchen cupboards across the country. He knew power, how to wield it and take it, but it meant nothing to him.

His curry house was next door to the travel agency Nowak was using as his money-laundering headquarters. That was why Jia was here. She and her men needed access to put their plan into action. Samad was no threat to their operation, but without him and his blessing there was no plan.

‘There is nothing you can do,’ Samad Khan said. ‘The paving of the path to respect began many years ago. Only with time will you know if it reaches your front door. And besides, you are a woman, what will you do in the world of men?’

‘It is because I am a woman that you should trust my judgement,’ Jia replied.

Samad Khan was intrigued. She was his wife’s namesake and reminded him of her. ‘Explain,’ he said.

‘Under Islamic law a man must divorce his wife in the presence of a qazi three times before they are no longer bound,’ Jia said. ‘After the first two talaq they can still reconcile. Men are easily angered, slaves to their passion and makers of rash judgements, as you and I know. A woman, she must only say once that she wants it and it is done. We women are more tolerant, we measure and weigh up before we make our decisions. This is God’s ruling, not mine. But there are few who understand it. There is little choice here, Khan Baba. Nowak must go. He destroyed some of your storage centres, he has sent informants to the police saying that you hire illegal workers. It was only by my providing you with a tip-off that the raid came to nothing. On this you agree?’ she said.

Samad Khan nodded. ‘Those boys save every penny I give them to send home to their parents,’ he said. ‘They sleep ten in a room some of them, work all evening and late at night to help their families, marrying off their sisters, educating their brothers. They are not here to enjoy living off the benefits of the state. Nowak and his men, it is a sin what they are doing.’ Speaking about the kitchen staff had unnerved Samad Khan.