Creatures of the Chase
Book Three - Mikail
by
L. M. Ollie
Published in eBook format by Taheke Press
Converted by http://www.eBookIt.com
Author’s Note:
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
eBook published in 2011
ISBN: 978-0-473-18462-9
Copyright © 1996-2011 by L. M. Ollie
Email : [email protected]
L.M. Ollie has asserted her right under the Copyright Designs and
Patents Act to be identified as the author of this work.
Also by the same Author
Thirteen at Dinner
A play about King Richard the Third of England 1452-1485
ISBN: 978-0-473-18356-1
On the Trail of King Richard III
ISBN: 978-0-473-18310-3
Reputed to be the most concise and historically accurate rendering of the life and times of King Richard III set within the confines of an intelligently written, exciting and frequently amusing storyline.
Creatures of the Chase
Book One – Richard
ISBN 978-0-473-18463-6
Creatures of the Chase
Book Two - Yusuf
ISBN: 978-0-473-18464-3
*****
Creatures of the Chase
Book Four - Sarah
Dedication
To my daughter Alicia Magdalene, who helped me to navigate through the Human Psyche.
It was not altogether a pleasant journey.
According to Hare, the consensus among researchers in this area is that psychopathy stems from a specific neurological disorder which is biological in origin and presents from birth.
- Psychopaths are born, not made -
Prologue
Man is the hunter; woman is his game:
The sleek and shining Creatures of the Chase,
We hunt them for the beauty of their skins;
They love us for it, and we ride them down.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson – The Princess
The Brownstone
Boston, Massachusetts
‘Did you hear?’ Justine’s black eyes blazed with excitement. ‘She is to bring all of her four children to Morocco. Mikail you must deliver Richard’s sons to me.’
Mikail Roshan Housani’s eyes narrowed. ‘I must Justine? You speak to me of musts when some short time since I have rescued you from this Sahara tribe and those forced upon you. It seems to me that your musts to me are not yet fully satisfied.’
Careful not to anger him, she knelt down in front of him. They were alone in the private parlour in the Brownstone Boston, so no one but Mikail would see her beg with such passion, or such hate. At fifty years of age Justine Benghazi was still an attractive woman with a wealth of jet black hair, pale skin and fine features. He was quite taken by her but there were others, much younger; closer to him in age.
‘And what would you do with these children should I capture them for you?’
‘I could not have him so I shall have his babes instead as my playthings. I shall take them to my house in Cairo and they shall grow to love me where he did not. In this house there is a great walled courtyard where they shall play and, when you are finished with her, I shall bury her beneath the stones there and the children, unknowing will tread daily upon their mother’s grave.’
‘Mention was made of servants and secretaries, bodyguards and companions but this husband, this Alan Rose, where is he? Reza speaks of a laboratory and work to be done.’
‘This Alan Rose, he is Richard Develin’s godson and this laboratory which Reza heard spoken of, it is here in Boston.’
‘You would recognise him if you saw him again?’
‘Yes.’
‘This is most excellent news for his death will bring her close to mourn his passing.’
‘Mikail, it must be done soon, before she is returned to Maroc for once there, she will be walled within until a new husband is found for her, then ...’
‘Take care Justine for this I understand. I do not need you to remind me of what must be done and when.’ He took another sip of his wine. ‘The one with red hair, send her to me.’
‘She may not come for you hurt her the last time and now she is fearful of you.’
‘Tell her I have a gift for her. She will come.’
Part One
Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To fly – and Lo! the bird is on the wing.
The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám
1
Boston, Massachusetts
September 15th, 1983
Agent Stan Munroe stood at his office window and watched the wall of water as it advanced. If he was out at sea it would be called a squall; a brief turbulent storm full of fury. A storm that arrives without warning then passes on, leaving in its wake bewildered pedestrians soaked to the skin, puddles and debris. ‘Autumn will come early this year,’ he thought.
But not for Victor Yakinchuk; he’s been dead now just over two years, isn’t that right Stan so it’s his second, no third missed autumn; his favourite time of year.
Robbed and stabbed to death in an alleyway in Casablanca.
‘What the hell were you doing there, Vic?’
His whole body seemed to slump at that moment as he grieved once more for the lost of a college buddy and good friend. He tried not to think about the funeral but the memories pushed through nevertheless and with them, tears.
Victor’s brother Tony should not have been chosen to go to Morocco to identify the body and bring it home. Tony was an accountant for crying out loud. The sight and smell of his beloved brother’s body would leave him traumatized for the rest of his life.
Everyone blamed the authorities in Casablanca