I dumped petrol on the van while they tried to pry open the briefcase. “What do you think is in there?”
Ahmed rested the crowbar on his shoulder, but glanced significantly at the handcuff — and the still-bleeding hand — attached to it. “Nothing good, my friend. I do not like this.”
“Weak stomach for a snatch-and-grab man,” I said, worried he was right.
Ahmed grimaced. “We should leave it. Take other jobs. No need to deal with such unsavory sorts as your buyer.”
“The prince said one word when we took the case, brother: ‘ruhani.’ It means ‘black magic’.”