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Lachlan gave a dismissive nod, looking anywhere but at the laptop screen and Ryder. “I did what I needed to do. Like you said to me before, it’s time to let go.”
Nathan broke up the silence that followed. “I think it’s safe to assume if Jared Landry is behind this, he will regret hiring you.”
A deadly calm filled Lachlan and iced his words. “If he is, he’ll regret far more by the time I’m finished.”
He directed his next words at Ryder. “Make sure you’re there when that shipment is released to see who picks it up. Take Caleb with you. My money is on Burkette. Once you have proof, put a bug in Gilly’s ear and see if our SAS mates and their Afghan counterparts can’t intercept the shipment before it reaches Jalalabad. I don’t want those guns and tactical gear ending up in Khan’s hands.”
He looked at Nathan. “As long as Landry believes I’m dead, I don’t think he’ll see Sophia as a threat.” A slow burn started in his chest. “He’s attracted to her, and he knows Sophia believes the best of everyone. He’ll use that to his advantage, the bastard.”
But if Landry found out Sophia was snooping in his business?
A cold sweat broke out on Lachlan’s forehead.
Roshan’s shoulders hunched as he glanced around him and quickened his steps. This section of East London was rough and the last place he wanted to be. Although he could fit in because of his ethnic background, his high-end clothing and expensive watch marked him as posh and not a resident of the area.
He located the pub, once frequented by the likes of Jack the Ripper. The Victorian-era establishment had its share of tourists during the day from all the tour companies capitalizing on its notoriety. This time of night, the pub was frequented mainly by East Enders or intrepid hipsters from West London.
Opening the double doors, he stepped in, glancing briefly at the blue and white Victorian-era tiling covering the walls floor to ceiling. The bloody Yank with his morbid sense of humor. His business partner’s lackey made him nervous. The former soldier had dead eyes that Roshan didn’t trust.
After his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, he located the man he was supposed to meet in the far corner, seated at one of the small round tables.
Drawing a breath to steady himself, he approached and sat opposite the American. “What was so important we needed to meet tonight?”
The man regarded him lazily over the rim of his beer glass, his soulless black gaze eliciting a shiver that skittered across Roshan’s neck. “Our operation has been compromised. My boss is shutting it down. We won’t be needing your services any longer.”
Tension knotted Roshan’s shoulders. “Who knows?” His agreement with this man’s employer had been lucrative but risky. If the UK or US governments had gotten wind of his involvement, he would lose his business, even if he had built in plausible deniability as to the contents of the shipments he’d facilitated from the US to Afghanistan.
“Relax. Everything will point to Mackay.”
Blood rushed to Roshan’s head. He forgot his fear of the American, stabbing with his finger to make his point. “And I told your...employer that putting Mackay in prison was no longer sufficient to avenge my sister. I thought he agreed.”
The other man’s lips lifted beneath his full brown beard in an expression that was more sneer than smile. “Didn’t you hear? Mackay died the other day when his car exploded.” He made a tutting sound. “Such a shame.”
Shock had Roshan’s hand dropping to the table. On its heels, a surge of primal satisfaction. “So it is done. My sister has been avenged.”
The American’s shoulders lifted. “Whatever. Mackay’s dead, and our business arrangement is over. My boss is tying up loose ends as we speak. He wishes to extend his appreciation for your services. Did you bring the phone?”
“Yes.” Roshan dug out the mobile he’d used exclusively with his contact in the States and with this man on occasion. He slid it across the table.
The man palmed it and stuffed it into an interior pocket in his jacket. He drained the last of his beer and stood. “It was a pleasure doing business with you.” He brushed past Roshan and strolled through the bar.
Roshan watched him exit onto the street and disappear around the corner.
His shoulders drooped from the release of tension. As lucrative as this arrangement had been, he was glad it was over. The American business partner was ambitious and had taken risks he’d found surprising, given the man’s desire to acquire power through the US political system.
He closed his eyes and absorbed the indistinct babble of other conversations around him, the smell of spilled ale, and the loud music. He couldn’t wait to tell his father that the man who murdered Nadia was dead. The final step in restoring his family’s honor would be to find someone in the British media willing to research Mackay’s background and expose him as Nadia’s killer. The tabloids wouldn’t hesitate to investigate a former SAS soldier once news broke about his role in trafficking weapons to the Taliban.
Maybe he should have a celebratory drink as long as he was here. His parents, as observant Muslims, disapproved of alcohol consumption, but he occasionally allowed himself the indulgence. Perhaps a glass of champagne. After reviewing the menu, he dismissed the idea. Champagne here was only bottle service, and he had no interest in drinking an entire bottle alone in a part of town he’d rather not be in.
Besides, he had to be in the office early tomorrow.
Exiting the pub, he started in the direction of Liverpool Street Station before coming to a stop at the corner. Something crunched beneath his feet. Shattered glass covered the pavement. He tipped his head to examine the streetlight overhead. No wonder it was out, no doubt the casualty of neighborhood hooligans. He’d done as the American had asked and took the tube to get here, but he could bloody well take a cab back.
“Haider.” The voice came from the side of the building to Roshan’s left, making him jump. He could just make out the American’s tall form.
Roshan licked his lips, his pulse skyrocketing. He should have called the cab at the bar and had it pick him up there. “I thought you left.”
“My boss wanted me to give you one more thing. You know, tying up all those loose ends.” The American’s arm lifted.