my family, and I have asked my legal team to explore ways in which I can take action against the authorities for their disgraceful actions.’
Spicer paused again, and shot another glance at the reporters.
‘My release today would not have been possible without the tireless work of that legal team, especially Paul Spicer and Emily Souster of Spicer, McGraw and Hill, and my barristers, James Monroe Caville QC and his junior, Charlotte Morgan. I intend to spend the next period of time with my family, especially my young daughter, before considering that legal action, and exploring once again ways in which I can help the people of Libya, whose plight remains my main focus.’
Spicer folded the A4 sheet and slipped it into an inside pocket.
Then he looked up once again. ‘The last year or so has been very trying and stressful for Mr Mahsoud, as I’m sure you can imagine,’ he said. ‘I would request very strongly that you allow him and his family time and space to decompress and recover from this ordeal. He will take no questions today. That is all. Thank you.’
With that, the five turned and walked back into the Royal Courts.
Once they had re-cleared security, they made their way to the consultation room which had been booked for the duration of the appeal hearing.
Three days, they had expected.
‘What the hell happened in there then, James?’ said Spicer, as he closed the door. He shook his head in something that looked like amused wonder. ‘I mean, we had a good shout, anyway, but once they withdrew the sources…’
‘Just give thanks, Paul,’ said the QC, unbuttoning his starched collar. ‘It’s a lot easier when the other side makes your argument for you.’ He chuckled. ‘I’ll have a chat with Bernard later, but I suppose they just saw the writing on the wall. Charlotte should take a lot of the credit for that.’
Charlotte Morgan blushed. ‘I don’t think I did very much,’ she said. ‘I’d say it was Emily, more than me.’
‘I always thought there was a chance they’d fold if we could put them on the spot over their covert sources,’ said Emily Souster, her eyes almost ablaze. ‘But even I didn’t expect it to be as easy as that.’
Coffee was poured, and drunk, and there was the usual small talk which follows the end of a major case.
After twenty minutes or so, James Monroe Caville looked at his watch, stood up, and reached for his collar and wig and black leather box briefcase.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘There’s no rest for the wicked. My clerk has managed to squeeze in a con in Chambers at two, so I must bid you adieu. Best of luck, Mr Mahsoud.’
‘Thank you,’ said Zeff Mahsoud with a nod and a distant smile.
‘I’ll see you to the door,’ said Spicer. ‘While we have you, there’s another little matter that we need to run by you. Emily, do you mind…?’
He indicated that Souster should accompany them.
‘I’ll be back in a few minutes,’ she said, before following the two men.
Once they had left, Zeff Mahsoud turned to Charlotte Morgan.
‘I’d like to thank you for your assistance also, Miss Morgan,’ he said, in an accent that hovered somewhere between Bradford and the tribal badlands of southern Waziristan. ‘I was worried that we might not succeed.’
‘You can never be certain,’ she said. ‘But once they withdrew the evidence from those sources it was really only going to go one way.’
‘It has been a very difficult time for me.’
‘I’m sure it has. But it’s over now.’
‘Yes,’ said Mahsoud. ‘Well, as I say, I am grateful.’
He paused for a moment.
Then he said, ‘I suppose you’re very busy also?’
‘Rushed off my feet,’ she said, with a laugh. ‘But it’s better than the alternative.’
‘I expect you are looking forward to your holiday,’ he said, with a smile. ‘Spain, I think you said?’
‘Oh, goodness, yes,’ she said. ‘I’m shattered. Yes, my boyfriend and I are going with some friends at the beginning of August. Emily, too.’ She nodded at the door through which Souster had left. ‘Can’t wait.’
‘I had the greatest holiday ever in Barcelona,’ said Zeff Mahsoud, sitting forward in his seat. He paused. Then he added, with a twinkle in his eye, ‘And, of course, Spain was a muslim territory from 717.’
‘Bit before my time,’ said Charlotte Morgan, with a laugh.
‘Wonderful galleries and architecture,’ said Mahsoud.
‘In Barcelona?’ said Charlotte. She began gathering up her papers, and stood up. She smiled. ‘So I believe. But too much culture never did a girl any good. It’s Marbella for me, I’m afraid. I’m all about the sun, sea and sand.’
LATE THAT EVENING, after he had travelled north from Euston, and been reunited with his wife and their daughter, Zeff Mahsoud slipped out of the family home.
He had an important call to make, to a keeper of secrets.
It was the first of many.
THREE MONTHS LATER
JOHN CARR LAY on a white towel in the hot sand, propped up on his elbows, staring out at the tranquil Mediterranean Sea.
Gentle waves – no more than ripples – broke, soft and frothy, on the beach.
Close to the shore, the Med was striped in dazzling turquoise shades, decorated with playful flashes from the noonday sun; further out, the waters turned a dark and mysterious blue, flat calm but hiding myriad untold secrets in their timeless depths.
It was very beautiful, Carr had to admit.
But despite that he was as restless as ever.
There were things John Carr liked about beaches, and things he didn’t.
The things he liked were good-looking young women in bikinis – who often liked him right back.
The things he didn’t like were sand, heat, flies, screaming kids, lying around doing nothing, and being caught looking at good-looking young women in bikinis by his teenaged daughter.
There was plenty of eye candy in the vicinity, but Alice was immediately to his left.
Stretched out on her towel, wearing
