Guy Fawkes Day

by KJ Griffin

  Chapter 50: Al Irqah, coast of Yemen, two years later

  The strong southerly blowing off the Indian Ocean added a further refreshing refinement to the late-October heat. Wisps of spray raced off the surf, coating Al-Ajnabi's sunglasses and dampening the pages of his book.

  The wind was so strong that he could only just hear the usual two-shot warning above its steady roar. He closed the book and crawled out from the shade of his favourite rock, jogging twenty yards across the sand to his canvas bag. He pulled out the binoculars first, leaving the Walther PPK inside while he focused in on the ramshackle villa etched into the rocky mountainside some two hundred yards behind, on top of whose outer wall Waleed stood waving, pointing towards the dust track.

  Al-Ajnabi followed Waleed's finger and saw a white Land Cruiser approaching, kicking up walls of dust into the clear late afternoon sky. He recognised the car and relaxed, giving Waleed the thumbs up and shouldering the bag as he walked back towards the villa.

  Saeed was waiting in the air-conditioned Land Cruiser outside the gates, but jumped out with his three passengers as soon as they caught sight of him, beaming smiles etched onto every face.

  ‘Omar, keef al Haal?’ Saeed grinned.

  The greetings were long and complicated and continued into the shade of the villa while they sat down on a rug on the terrace and set about the sweet tea.

  ‘How is Ramliyya? How is Prince Faysal?’ Al-Ajnabi asked.

  Saeed grimaced.

  ‘Not bad. But it's still better for you to stay here this side of the border. Let's wait for things to settle down in Saudi Arabia first.’

  They fell to discussing the recent Saudi revolution; as usual conversation was heated, even when one speaker was effectively agreeing with the last. Al-Ajnabi felt uncomfortable once again; he didn't have to look too hard at Saeed's friends' faces to see how much they still idolized him, how the siege at Westminster was still assumed by all to be the catalyst behind the Saudi revolution and the on-going crescendo of attacks against the West. But every pat on the shoulder, every kind word and smile only strengthened the bitterness inside at the way the fundamentalists and extremists all over the world, especially in Islamic quarters, had hijacked his lead for their own cause.

  Al-Ajnabi began to gaze away from the circle towards the breeze and the open sea. Saeed noticed his withdrawal from the conversation and rummaged inside the pocket of his ghutra.

  ‘Shuf, Omar! I have brought a letter for you. It was left on the reception desk at the London Embassy. I'm afraid I opened it first to check. It's OK.’

  Al-Ajnabi took the creased letter and recognized Max's handwriting on the torn envelope.

  Robbie,

  I've left this anonymously at the Ramli Embassy as there's no point being too up-front; they'll only declare like the rest of the world that you died in the Lords bomb. By the way, I hardly need warn you that nobody in any of the intelligence agencies here or in the States subscribes to that view, and that the hunt for you still goes on, however low key and unofficial. Hopefully, at least one of the Ramli Embassy staff will know what to do with this and it will eventually filter back to you.

  I am really writing to talk to you about Sophie. I think it would have been easier for Sophie if she had been left to swallow the official explanation of what happened to you at Westminster. At least that way with you dead and out of the way she would have been able to get on with her personal life. The double blow of effectively losing both you and Marcus Easterby in one fell swoop has been tough on her, and though her journalistic career with the Economist is flourishing, both Alison and I are concerned about her totally joyless social life. She has become very introverted, a complete workaholic.

  For everyone's safety I felt unable to tell her the real story of how you escaped. And now, because of my reticence, Sophie seems to think that I am just trying to be reassuring when I tell her that you are not dead and are probably on the run somewhere. In her mind you are in an impenetrable limbo and I am sure that it is this uncertainty which is preventing her from forming any new friendships or relationships.

  I am well aware of the enormous risks for all in asking you to contact her, but I am confident that if you want to you can, and that this would benefit Sophie enormously. Naturally, I am assuming that if you do so it will be with the intention of putting a closure to whatever went on between you two rather than exploiting the vulnerability of a young woman that all of us have punished unfairly and unnecessarily.

  I know I can count on you,

  Your good friend,

  Max

  PS: Alison sends her love and is fully supportive of what I am saying. Yes, we have become good friends, but don't worry: that's all! As you can see, some good has come out of all this fiasco.

  Al-Ajnabi folded the letter slowly and rose to his feet, licking the sea salt on his lips.

  ‘Saeed?’

  ‘Na'am?’

  ‘Can I see you in private? I have some favours to ask.’