• Complain

Christopher Jones - The Jackal's Share

Here you can read online Christopher Jones - The Jackal's Share full text of the book (entire story) in english for free. Download pdf and epub, get meaning, cover and reviews about this ebook. City: New York, year: 2013, publisher: The Penguin Press, genre: Detective and thriller. Description of the work, (preface) as well as reviews are available. Best literature library LitArk.com created for fans of good reading and offers a wide selection of genres:

Romance novel Science fiction Adventure Detective Science History Home and family Prose Art Politics Computer Non-fiction Religion Business Children Humor

Choose a favorite category and find really read worthwhile books. Enjoy immersion in the world of imagination, feel the emotions of the characters or learn something new for yourself, make an fascinating discovery.

Christopher Jones The Jackal's Share

The Jackal's Share: summary, description and annotation

We offer to read an annotation, description, summary or preface (depends on what the author of the book "The Jackal's Share" wrote himself). If you haven't found the necessary information about the book — write in the comments, we will try to find it.

Terrific news for fans of first-class thrillers. Maureen Corrigan, NPR.org A murder in a Tehran hotel leaves the London art world spinning. The deceased, beloved at home as a proud dealer in antiquities, now stands accused of smuggling artifacts out of Iran for sale in the West. But despite the triumphal announcements of the secret police, there is something perhaps too tidy in the official reportgiven that no artifacts have been recovered, no smuggling history discovered, no suspects found. Half a world away, Darius Qazai delivers a stiring eulogy for his departed friend. A fabulously successful financier, Qazai has directed his life and wealth toward philanthropy, art preservation, and peaceful protest against the regime of his native Iran. His fortune, colossal; his character, immaculate. Pleasantly ensconced in the world of the London expatriate elite, Qazai is the last person anyone would suspect of foul play. Yet something ominous is disrupting Qazais recent business deals, some rumor from his past so frightening to his American partners that they will no longer speak to him. So Qazai hires a respectable corporate intelligence firm to investigate himself and clear his reputation. A veteran of intelligence work in the former Soviet Union, Ben Webster soon discovers that Qazais pristine past is actually a dense net of interlocking half-truths and unanswered questions: Is he a respectable citizen or an art smuggler? Is his fortune built on merit or on arms dealing? Is he, after all, his own man? As he closes in on the truth of Qazais fortuneand those who would wish to destroy itWebster discovers he may pay for that knowledge with the lives of his own family. A vivid and relentless tale of murderous corporate espionage, follows the money through the rotten alleys of Marrakech and the shining spires of Dubai, from the idyllic palaces of Lake Como to the bank houses of Londons City. plunges readers into a Middle East as strange and raw as ever depicted, where recent triumphs rest uneasily atop buried crimes and monumental greed.

Christopher Jones: author's other books


Who wrote The Jackal's Share? Find out the surname, the name of the author of the book and a list of all author's works by series.

The Jackal's Share — read online for free the complete book (whole text) full work

Below is the text of the book, divided by pages. System saving the place of the last page read, allows you to conveniently read the book "The Jackal's Share" online for free, without having to search again every time where you left off. Put a bookmark, and you can go to the page where you finished reading at any time.

Light

Font size:

Reset

Interval:

Bookmark:

Make

Chris Morgan Jones

THE JACKALS SHARE

For David and Carolyn

If you do not understand a man,

you cannot crush him.

And if you do understand him,

very probably you will not.

G. K. Chesterton
PART ONE 1 FOR SOMEBODY SO ELEGANT in such harmony with the world - photo 1

PART ONE

1 FOR SOMEBODY SO ELEGANT in such harmony with the world Darius Qazai - photo 2

1.

FOR SOMEBODY SO ELEGANT, in such harmony with the world, Darius Qazai wasnt difficult to spot. In a slow, stately progress he made his way through the church, shaking hands, stooping to offer his condolences, every word heartfelt, every gesture correct, until one by one the congregation settled and Qazai, his face set between solemnity and quiet grief, took his seat in the first pew. It was an immaculate performance and Webster, watching closely from the back, wondered whether it was sincere or merely smooth, and whether he really welcomed the opportunity to find out. In the still air around them Bach softly rose and fell.

A somber rumble as everyone stood, then a pair of hymns: The King of Love My Shepherd Is, Thine Be the Glory. Webster sang serviceably now, if a little low, but the church was full and his uneven bass lost inside the swell of sound; above the multitude soared the pure, clear chords of the choir, and beside him he could just make out Hammers reedy tenor. He sang, paying little heed to the familiar words, and as he looked about him at the inclined heads, dappled with evening light from the stained glass, wondered who all the disparate mourners were. Near Qazai stood the dead mans clients, glossed with the unmistakable sheen of the truly rich: light tans, pristine shirt collars, distant gazes, discreet black hats on the womens heads; across the aisle, the dead mans family, his widow, his two teenage sons, all in black; and the restan irregular group of English, Americans and Iranians in tweed jackets and patterned shawls and corduroy suits, a little unpressedthese, Webster guessed, were antiques people. There must have been three hundred mourners altogether.

The priest said some words, another hymn was sung, and the time came for the first address. As Qazai crossed to the pulpit and climbed its dozen wooden steps Webster noticed how fluently he moved and how carefully his expression suggested respect, as if to calm any fears that his presence might overwhelm the occasion. Standing ten feet above the nave he paused for a long time, his arms locked on the lectern, drawing his audience in, his hair and beard pure white and cropped short, his eyes sky blue and alight with confidence. Webster had seen that light before, in those who had achieved everything they had set out to achieve, who were satisfied that they had few, if any, peers. In another it might have looked like arrogance but in Qazai it sat easily as fact.

He spoke only when he sensed that he had everyone, and when he did his voice, though deep, carried effortlessly to the last pew, where Webster crossed his hands over his order of service and listened.

In deaths dark vale I fear no ill, with thee, dear Lord, beside me.A moments pause. Stirring words. In deaths dark vale.

He took a long breath, as if to steady himself.

Cyrus Mehr was a great man. A great man and a great Iranian. A man of courage, honor, and fine sensibility. A man who has left behind him a legacy that will outlive us all. I am honored to have known him. Qazai continued in this vein for a little while, full of fine words, before turning down the rhetoric and sketching his relationship with his friend. They had met at a sale of pre-Islamic art over twenty years earlier, at the tail end of that foul war between Iran and Iraq, and had talked about the twin perils of war and ideology that then endangered the most precious artifacts of ancient Persia. A mutually beneficial professional bond had resulted, by which Qazai seemed to mean that Mehr, through his dealership, had sourced antiques for him throughout the Middle East, so that over time the two men had grown closer, dealer and client had become friends, and when Qazai had set up his foundation Mehr had been the natural choice to be its head. For a decade now, under his courageous leadership, the Qazai Foundation for the Preservation of Persian Art had been a source of hope for all those who would see truth and beauty triumph over violence and oppression.

Webster was half impressed, half wary. For all its sentimentality and the odd moment of bombast, this was an elegant speech, as effortless and steady as the mans promenade through the church half an hour earlier. But Qazai had the statesmans assumption of authority, and to Webster looked like his least favorite kind of clientthe kind that wholly believes what he says.

Cyrus Mehr, then, Qazai went on, was a great man. A man of principles in a world that has eroded them. A man who stood for something. He paused. Something important. Looking around the church and up at the vaulted ceiling, as if drawing inspiration from the gods, he took another long breath, and when he spoke again there was a new intensity in his face.

It has been two months since my friend Cyrus was murdered. Since he was brutally taken in the country of his birth, which, despite everything, he continued to love. As many here still love it. As I still love it. And still we do not know who killed him; still we do not know why it was done. The Iranian government will not tell us, though I believe they know only too well, for they have long ago forgotten the value of a human life.

They say that he was smuggling, that he was murdered by his criminal friends. This, everyone here knows, is nonsense. Cyrus was a defender of beauty, and of truth, and in todays Iran, to defend those things will get you killed. A land of ancient poetry has been destroyed, and its rulers become mere peddlers of terror, and hatred, and above all fear.

But I will tell you this, friends of Cyrus, friends of mine. He paused once more, and in that moment the zeal in his eyes seemed to glow through the mask. Cyrus Mehr did not die in vain. Cyrus Mehr stood for something, and his life meant something. Something beautiful, and true, and, yes, worth dying for. For Cyrus, the vale of death will not be dark.

Qazai bowed his head for a second, and when he looked up again Webster thought he could make out a tear glistening in his eye. If this was all performance, he was some performer.

OUTSIDE, London was warm and bright with evening sun and the noise of Trafalgar Square an assault after the peace of the church. Webster and Hammer were among the last to emerge into the crowd gathered on the great broad steps and stood to one side, awaiting their instructions, while Qazai moved smoothly from group to group like the host at a party.

What do you think? said Hammer.

Like I said. You can have him.

Tell me youre not intrigued.

Webster squinted against the low sun. That was quite a speech.

Hammer smiled. If he didnt have an ego he wouldnt be a great man.

I dont trust great men, said Webster as a small, precise-looking figure broke away from a cluster of people and walked toward them. He was slight, and so pale that the sun seemed to shine through him. He shook Websters hand, exchanged nods with him and turned to Hammer.

Mr. Hammer? Yves Senechal. Mr. Qazais personal representative. His accent was softly French, his voice scratchy, insubstantial.

Delighted, Mr. Senechal. Bens told me a lot about you.

Gentlemen, said Senechal, the car is around the corner. Mr. Qazai sends his apologieshe cannot break away. He will join us shortly.

Next page
Light

Font size:

Reset

Interval:

Bookmark:

Make

Similar books «The Jackal's Share»

Look at similar books to The Jackal's Share. We have selected literature similar in name and meaning in the hope of providing readers with more options to find new, interesting, not yet read works.


Reviews about «The Jackal's Share»

Discussion, reviews of the book The Jackal's Share and just readers' own opinions. Leave your comments, write what you think about the work, its meaning or the main characters. Specify what exactly you liked and what you didn't like, and why you think so.