Death In Oslo

IV

Abdallah al-Rahman was full. He stroked his firm stomach. For a short while he considered waiting to do his training. He had really eaten a bit too much. On the other hand, he had a lot to do for the rest of the day. If he didn’t train now, the danger was that there wouldn’t be time later. He opened the door to the big gym. The cool air was like a soothing breath on his face. He carefully closed the door before getting undressed. Then he stood there, barefoot as usual, and pulled on a large pair of white shorts. He started the treadmill. Slow to begin with, a forty-five-minute interval programme. That would leave him half an hour for weights. Not what he would normally do, or a prospect that he relished, but it was better than nothing.

He had of course received nothing. No confirmation, no coded message, telephone call or cryptic email. Modern communication was a double-edged sword, effective, but still far too dangerous. He had instead had a breakfast meeting with a French businessman and done his morning prayers. He had then made a brief visit to the stud farm to inspect the new foal, which had been born during the night and was already a fabulous sight. Abdallah al-Rahman had not been interrupted by anything external to his day-to-day life here and now. And it wasn’t necessary either.

It was a while now since CNN had given him the confirmation he needed.

Things had obviously gone according to plan.