Free The Burning Gates by Parker Bilal Page B

magnanimously at the garden. ‘It’s glorious at this hour, isn’t it?’
    ‘Delightful. Have you lived here long?’
    ‘Forty years. It’s been in my family for generations.’ A wistful look crossed Kasabian’s face, as if recalling a distant past. He snapped back to the present. ‘Now, what can I help you with?’
    ‘There were a couple of queries. I understand this is a delicate matter, but I think it might help if I could speak to your client, the American buyer.’
    ‘I’m not sure why you think that would be of use to you,’ frowned Kasabian, ‘but I see no objection. He is obviously concerned with maintaining a low profile.’
    ‘I understand that. It would just be for a few minutes.’ Makana smiled. ‘Just to help me get my bearings.’
    ‘Interesting.’ It wasn’t clear that Kasabian entirely believed him. ‘Well, I see no harm in it. As a matter of fact I was just preparing to go and meet him. We have an appointment for afternoon tea. Why don’t you join me?’
    ‘If it’s no inconvenience.’
    ‘Not at all,’ Kasabian waved the matter aside. ‘Let me finish dressing.’
    Makana let Sindbad know what was happening and then waited on the veranda for another fifteen minutes. Turtle doves cooed in the trees. It gave him time to think. He recalled the conversation with Ali about enemies. It was quite possible that Kasabian was mixed up in something that he didn’t quite understand. Dealing in stolen artwork or historical artefacts was a risky business. Was it possible that one of Kasabian’s rivals was trying to set him up? Kasabian’s mysterious American client seemed a good place to start.
    When Kasabian finally emerged he looked his usual immaculate self, in a silver-grey suit with a powder-blue tie and matching handkerchief in his top pocket.
    ‘We’ll go in my car.’
    The car was a Mercedes in fine shape and with a uniformed chauffeur at the wheel, although it was hardly worth getting into. The ride to the Marriott Hotel, which was around the corner, took about four minutes. The car slid smoothly up the ramp to deliver them to the door. Makana followed hard on the heels of Kasabian, who moved quickly for a man his age. The Marriott seemed to have been built with people like him in mind. The staff snapped to attention everywhere they went, as if royalty were among them. Money commands respect, as some great man might once have said. At the front desk the receptionist nearly fell over himself in his eagerness to be of service. His smile dropped when he had to come back after a lengthy interval to inform them that the man they were here to see was not in. Kasabian did not disguise his annoyance.
    ‘That can’t be. Are you sure? Mr Charles Barkley? Check again, please.’
    ‘Yes, sir, Mr Kasabian. I’ve tried his room several times. I have also sent a bellhop to page him round the pool area and restaurants. I’m sorry, but he doesn’t appear to be in the hotel.’
    ‘Well, this is very strange. We had an appointment.’ Kasabian glanced at his gold watch. ‘Still, if he’s not here, then there’s nothing to be done.’
    ‘Can I take a message?’
    ‘No, I imagine I’ll speak to him myself later. Thank you.’ Kasabian was already heading for the exit. There seemed to be no point in staying longer. ‘Quite ridiculous. A waste of time. I’m sorry about that. There must have been some misunderstanding. Can I give you a lift?’
    ‘No, that’s all right. I have my car coming to pick me up.’ Makana scanned the hotel entrance hoping that Sindbad had parked somewhere discreet and out of sight.
    ‘Very well. Let’s speak when you have something for me.’
    The two men shook hands.
    Makana took a moment to look around the lobby before heading outside. As he did so he noted a man in a beige linen suit, rather crumpled and with stains around the armpits. A visitor unused to the weather, or a man who had come unprepared. For a second he wondered if this might be Barkley, but