A Devil Is Waiting (33 page)

“What are you doing about it? Have you pulled him in?”

“I can’t do that. Kelly’s dead and taken care of by the disposal unit, killed by Dillon after he shot Jean Talbot. Henri Legrande is in Rubat. The unfortunate news is that Sara has been kidnapped at the behest of Ali Selim, who we’ve traced to Rubat. Holley and Dillon have flown out to Greg Slay in Hazar. Right about now, they’re going to descend on Rubat in one of Greg’s Scorpion helicopters and try to get her back.”

“Dear God,” Ferguson said. “They’re going in now, you say, and I’ve just been called in for drinks by the Prime Minister?”

“You do lead a rough old life, Charles. However, to cut to the chase, I wouldn’t say a word about this. Just keep your fingers crossed that our gallant lads triumph and bring the girl home safe. That way, you might still have a job.”

“What a comfort you are, Giles. I’ll go back in and try to keep smiling.”

W
hen Ferguson returned, everyone was enjoying their drink and listening to the French foreign minister playing Cole Porter numbers on the grand piano. He was doing it rather well, and people joined in with the chorus of “Night and Day.”

Ferguson pulled Henry Frankel into a corner, who said, “What on earth is this, Charles?”

“Henry, you’ve got the biggest mouth on you in Downing Street, perhaps even the House of Commons.”

“Why, Charles, how unkind.”

“Henry, I beg you. No mention of a Foreign Legionnaire who trained the IRA in the Algerian desert, no mention of what a good job Colonel Claude Duval and the DGSE have done for us.”

“You’re getting quite intense. Wouldn’t it be a good idea to tell me exactly what’s going on?”

“While we’re living it up, Dillon and Daniel Holley are flying into Rubat to try and save Sara Gideon, who’s been kidnapped
by Ali Selim’s people. That’s where the bastard is—Rubat—and guess who’s been working with him all along? Owen Rashid, the Sultan’s nephew.”

Henry said, “Is that so?” His smile had no warmth to it at all. “You know, I never cared for Owen. When you reach my age, it’s comforting to know you’re right occasionally. However, thank you for the confidence. I realize of course that you are hoping I’ll agree not to mention this to the Prime Minister.”

“That was the general idea.”

“Like Sara said, hope for the best and prepare for the worst. Just imagine, we could be both out of a job.”

“Or claiming all the success, as politicians do, if everything succeeds.”

“Exactly.” Henry smiled. “It’s going to be a long night, Charles. Brandy and bridge, is my suggestion.”

T
he Falcon landed, taxied up to Slay’s hangar, and parked. He immediately ordered priority refueling, reminding the tower that it was an Algerian plane on diplomatic business.

In the hangar, they met Feisal, got him to find a blanket, and laid out the weapons. Each of them was wearing a bulletproof vest, and the personal weapons were the same for each: a Walther and a .25 Colt, an Uzi submachine gun—all silent versions—a useful flick-knife for the left boot, a couple of pineapple grenades, Semtex with five-minute pencil timers.

Feisal had gone off to check with the tower, and returned as
the refueling truck finished its work and drove away. The wind was beginning to pick up again, and one could feel the sand.

He came into the comparative warmth of the hangar and found the three men pulling on desert fatigue tunics and loading up the capacious pockets.

“They landed at Rubat just under an hour ago. I have reminded my friend on night dispatch that the Falcon is on an important Algerian diplomatic mission and must be allowed a priority departure when you are ready to leave.”

Greg went out to his office and returned with a small leather purse, which he handed to Feisal. “If something goes wrong, you must flee at once with your wife and child into the Empty Quarter. In the bag are fifty gold sovereigns, worth a couple of thousand pounds sterling in today’s market. You have been a good friend.”

Feisal embraced him. “My wife is already waiting for me fifteen miles out at the Shaba Oasis with her extended family to protect her, all Rashid Bedu warriors who have no fear where Al Qaeda is concerned.” He smiled. “So I can take my chances here and wait for you. I have told my friend on night dispatch that you go to Rubat on a medical emergency with drugs.”

“Good man, yourself,” Dillon told him, and turned to the others. “Here we go, then.”

They went out through the Judas gate, it slammed shut, and the wind rattled the roof, making a strange moaning sound. Then there was the unmistakable clatter of a helicopter starting to move, the sound very powerful, but then fading into the distance as the Scorpion moved away into the night.

A
li Selim sat at the end of the table, Fatima on one side, Sara the other. Owen Rashid and Henri faced each other, and Captain Ahmed and Colonel Khazid were at the far end, Khazid stuffing himself. Five of his men were at a table in the far corner, a waiter ladling some sort of stew to them, and three other waiters stood ready to handle any of the main table’s requirements.

So long had it been since she had eaten at all that Sara had accepted what was offered to her, baked fish with rice. Ali Selim said, “I can’t ask if you enjoyed your flight, since you weren’t aware that it was happening. It must have been an alarming experience. Tell me about it?”

“Do you really want to know?” she said.

“I do indeed. It’s certainly to be preferred to watching two fat swine gorging themselves like pigs at the far end of the table.”

“I’ll tell you, then. I believe that what I experienced was very much how death is going to be. I was alive one second when Legrande gave me the needle and then I didn’t exist until I came back to life as the plane descended.”

Owen looked uncomfortable, and Henri sat there, face set, as Ali Selim said, “So you experienced resurrection, which ordinary people don’t after they die.”

Fatima’s mobile phone sounded. She answered, her look immediately grave, and leaned over and whispered to him. He listened, face expressionless, then raised his hand and called for silence.

He turned to Owen. “Do you believe in the resurrection, my friend?”

There was total silence. “I’ve never given the matter much thought,” Owen said.

“Not even your Christian half, where the Gospels tell us that Christ died and rose again after three days?”

Ibrahim, who had been standing against the wall, eased forward, as if at a signal, and stood behind Owen. Ali Selim said, “What if I told you the Sultan is dead? Would you be pleased or sad at the prospect of replacing him?”

Owen looked pale and desperate. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Ali Selim nodded. Ibrahim pulled the leather whip from his belt, flung it around Owen’s neck, and proceeded to throttle him, jerking his head over the back of the chair.

Sara shouted, “Stop it, damn you. I don’t know what your game is, but it’s gone far enough.”

“Quite simple, really,” Ali Selim said, watching Owen coughing and choking as he fought his way back to normality as Ibrahim released him. “I have provided your resurrection, Owen, so that you may occupy your uncle’s place. I’ll make your decision, of course, on behalf of Al Qaeda. You’ll need to marry, people will expect it. Fatima will make a perfect bride—no problem there, Fatima?”

She was obviously troubled, glanced at Owen for only a moment, then said, “As you command, master.”

Before he could reply, there was a disturbance down at the far door, as a sailor came in, leaned down, and spoke to Ahmed and Khazid.

Ali Selim called, “What is it?”

Khazid said, “There seems to be a helicopter landing somewhere in the town.”

Selim glanced at Fatima. “Hakim turning up at last, perhaps?” He nodded to Khazid. “Well, do something useful for once, Colonel, go and investigate.”

“Of course, master,” Khazid gestured to his men, who followed him out, followed by Ahmed. They stood at the rail, listening, but the only sound was the moaning of the wind.

“Maybe it was a mistake,” Ahmed said.

“Perhaps, but the last time I saw him in this kind of mood, Ibrahim strangled the man concerned, then threw him overboard. I prefer to go and check. I’ll take one man to pilot the launch and leave the others with you. With sailors, that will give you a dozen men. Tell them to stay alert. I’ll be back soon.”

A
s the Scorpion drifted down over the town, the wind started to blow again. Slay said, “I was looking this sandstorm business up on screen. It seems there can sometimes be a resurgence pattern where the second shock can be worse than the first, just like an earthquake.”

“Then let’s get on with it,” Dillon said. “Where are we landing?”

Greg Slay said, “By the cargo hangars at the east end of the pier. I’ve used it often to pick up stuff that’s come in by boat. There’s a small police station near it, and the police launches tie up at the steps.”

“How many police?”

“I’ve never seen more than a handful.”

Dillon pulled a ski mask from his pocket and pulled it on, just the eyes and the gash of the mouth showing. “Put us down, Greg, and let’s get on with it. Maybe we can frighten them to death.”

Holley said, “Very funny, Sean, but remember where you are. The kind of country where leg irons are a permanent fixture. Torture of every kind is on the menu, and the sexual varieties don’t bear thinking about. I’m here to get Sara. I’ll kill anyone who gets in my way.”

“All right,” Dillon said, “we get the point. So let’s do it.”

T
hey skimmed flat roofs, noticing that in most places where there was a light it was quickly turned off, dropped in beside the cargo building, hovered and descended. Slay switched off, pulled on a ski mask, pulled an Uzi out of the capacious pocket of his desert fatigues, turned and followed the other two out.

A uniformed policeman with an AK-47 moved out from behind a container and called out in Arabic, “Stay where you are and identify yourselves.”

Holley turned, pulled out his silenced Walther, and fired on the instant, knocking the policeman over the edge of the pier and into the water.

“Give the man a coconut,” Dillon said softly, and they paused at the sound of the launch approaching from the
Monsoon
.

“What now?” Slay asked, as they crouched, watching the launch come in, the pilot jump to the pier to the step. Khazid joined him, paused to light a cigarette, then walked toward the police post, the pilot following, opened the front door and entered.

“That was Khazid, the chief of police,” Slay said.

“Excellent,” Holley said. “And as he’s just over from the dhow, he’ll be able to tell us exactly what’s going on out there.”

He ran toward the police post, flung open the front door, and rushed inside. Khazid was handing out cigarettes to his pilot and four others, and they all turned in alarm.

“Who are you? What is this?” Khazid demanded in Arabic.

Holley took a step toward him, pulled the Walther from his pocket, and struck him across the face. Khazid cried out and fell back across a desk.

“We’ve come for the English woman,” Holley said. “She only arrived an hour or so ago, so tell me the truth or I’ll kill you.” That his threat was delivered in Arabic made it even more impressive.

Khazid, fear of Ali Selim heavily on his mind, moaned and said, “What are you talking about? This is madness. Captain Slay, why are you mixed up in this?”

One of the policemen at the back of the group made a move to draw his pistol from its holster, and Slay knocked him back against the wall with a blast from the Uzi. It was enough, and those unharmed put their hands on their heads.

“Tell him,” someone called.

So Khazid did. What was happening on the
Monsoon
, who was on board—everything. Someone passed him a towel, which he held to his broken face.

Holley said, “This is how it goes. You and your pilot will take us to the dhow in the launch and we’ll go on board to retrieve the woman. The slightest thing you do wrong, you die. Is this understood?”

“We will do as you say.”

“We’ll have three of those police oilskins so we look right on the launch. You and the pilot will handcuff the others, put them in leg irons and then lock them in a cell. Anyone who causes trouble will be shot instantly.”

The pilot, a wild young man, looked angry, but Khazid put a hand on his arm. “Do as you are told and help me, Abdul, that’s an order.”

The pilot nodded reluctantly. “If you say so, Colonel.”

T
he gunplay so far had been with silenced weapons, so there had been no cause for alarm for Captain Ahmed, the three sailors and four policemen standing at the rail, watching the launch come in.

One of the sailors said, “The colonel appears to be bringing more police with him.”

“I don’t see anyone I know,” Ahmed said. “Who are they?”