LITMIR.BIZ

      ALEXANDRA SELLERS

      is the author of over twenty-five novels and a feline language text published in 1997 and still selling.

      Born and raised in Canada, Alexandra first came to London as a drama student. Now she lives near Hampstead Heath with her husband, Nick. They share housekeeping with Monsieur, who jumped through the window one day and announced, as cats do, that he was moving in.

      What she would miss most on a desert island is shared laughter.

      Readers can write to Alexandra at P.O. Box 9449, London NW3 2WH, England.

      to

      Steve Aylott and Colin Moult

       and to

       Brian, Mark, Steve, Bob and Craig

       who, during the writing of this trilogy,

       redecorated the house around me.

      Ah, Love! Could thou and I with Fate conspire

       To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire

       Would not we shatter it to bits—and then

       Remould it nearer to the Heart’s Desire?

      —Edward FitzGerald

       The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám

      Contents

      Prologue

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Epilogue

      Prologue

      “They have the Rose.”

      The line was silent as Ash absorbed it. “How?” he asked.

      “They got there before me,” Haroun said. “Two men. One said, ‘We’ve come for the Rose.’ She had no reason to challenge them. As she said, they looked the part.”

      “What does that mean?”

      “Swarthy, apparently. He walked in and she said she led him to the coffee table, where Rosalind had told her it was. He glanced at the ornaments and picked it out without much hesitation. So he knew what he was after.”

      Ash muttered a curse. “Did you get a description? Apart from all-purpose Arab?”

      “Not of him. His companion has a scar high on his right cheekbone. Pulls the eyelid down a bit,” Haroun said. “Now, does that sound familiar, Ash?”

      “Half the veterans of the Kaljuk war have some kind of facial scar,” Ash said. “Where does that get you?”

      “Well, it reminds me of someone, and it’ll come to me.”

      “Let me know when it does.”

      “What have your hackers found in Verdun’s computers?”

      Ash grunted. “What they’ve found is the best firewall in three continents. We can’t get in.”

      Haroun paused, thinking it over. “Well, we’ve got to know how he learned about the Rose so fast. I’d better get over to Paris and see what a direct assault will achieve.”

      Ash hesitated. “There’s an air traffic strike brewing in France.”

      “I’d take the train anyway. Faster.”

      “Your predilection for faster is just what worries me. You’re too headstrong for this stuff, Harry. I don’t want you trying to break in to Verdun’s offices. A guy with that kind of firewall on his computers is going to have good protection on the physical plant, too. Go to work on one of his employees.”

      Harry was shaking his head before Ash was halfway through this speech, and maybe it was fortunate Ash couldn’t see him. “That will take too long. We’ve got to risk something more direct.”

      Ash groaned. “We can’t afford to risk something more direct. Michel Verdun is in it with Ghasib up to his neck. I don’t want him cornered.”

      Harry said reasonably, “Ash, you’ve held me off from this for too long. We have to find out how much Verdun knows and how he is getting the information.”

      “Not to the point of risking your life.”

      “Why not? Your life is going to be at much greater risk in a couple of weeks,” Haroun pointed out.

      “All the more reason to keep you safe.”

      “Ash, we’re agreed we need to get the Rose back. At the very least we have to prevent Verdun’s agents

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