by Jack Higgins
Omar said, “Never mind that. There’s a Makarov each for you, and you can take one of the AKs. You’re still not coming with us?”
“Absolutely not. I’ve given you my reasons, and they’re sound.”
“Enough of this,” Emza Khan said. “I’m perfectly content for you and Omar to take care of this,” he told Jemal. “A few Greek monks can’t possibly give us a problem.” He peered outside. “And here they are.”
Brother Andrew was standing at the bottom of the steps with the Brothers Mark and Luke. Emza Khan appeared and stared down at them, frowning.
He said, “Allah aid me, they probably don’t even speak English.”
“I do,” Andrew said. “But you are right. We are a Greek order and most of my brothers speak only Greek. Abbot Joseph has sent me to inquire as to your purpose in visiting us.”
“You have a priest here, a Father John Mikali. I want to see him. He is here, I presume?”
“Oh yes, a patient in the infirmary.”
“Let’s go.”
“Of course.”
Andrew and his brothers started off and Emza Khan followed, Jemal and Omar walking together, each with an AK-47 at the ready.
They found Mikali in his wheelchair, a blanket over his knees, another around his shoulders. The abbot stood to one side, Father Peter the other. Jemal and Omar stood on either side of the door, rifles ready.
Andrew said, “This is Abbot Joseph, and the other, Father Peter, our doctor.” Stretching the truth, he added, “I need to translate if you wish to talk to them. You wished to meet Father John Mikali. This is he, and he does speak English.”
“Who are you people?” Mikali demanded. “What do you want with me?”
“My name is Emza Khan and I don’t want you, I want a man named Simon Husseini, who is on his way here to see you. You and he are old friends, and don’t try to deny it.”
“Why should I, but what do you want him for?”
“That’s nothing to do with you. He should be here in about an hour and a half.”
“What do you intend to do with him?”
“Fly away to another country. Behave yourselves for the next few hours and nothing will happen to you. Don’t, and I’ll have the abbot shot.”
“That’s hard to argue with,” Mikali said.
* * *
On the Gideon, they were holding a council of war, and Husseini was speaking.
“I’m worried about everyone in the hospice, and not just John Mikali. It’s my fault that they are all greatly at risk from these people, so what do I do about it? It’s me that Emza Khan and al-Qaeda want.”
“Yes, to make the bomb for them,” Declan said. “Say no, and I don’t think you’d last long once they got to work on you.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“They will be armed to the teeth, and we’ll be, too,” Declan said. “There are three spare bulletproof vests on this plane available to anyone who doesn’t have one. We challenge them, very close up, weapons ready. Few people can stand that, even soldiers.”
Dillon said, “Lots of shouting. What do you say, Sara?”
“In Afghanistan, we called it a face-off,” she told him. “I’ve seen it work a time or two, and I’ve seen it a total disaster.”
Jane Green had been watching and listening by the open cockpit door. She said now, “What about our Russian chums? Are you sure they’ll stick with the aircraft and not go on the prowl?”
“Absolutely, and for the same reason as you. You can’t take a risk that someone might have a go at the plane, and that’s the last thing we want in such a remote area.”
“So how do you think the Russians will play?”
“They’ll stay on their plane and wait,” Dillon put in. “As long as their wages are safe, they’re happy.”
Jane said, “I’ll discuss it with Don, we should be there in forty minutes.” She returned to the cockpit.
Husseini was the only one not wearing a bulletproof vest, so Sara found one and threw it over to him. “Get it on, and that’s an order.”
“If you say so, but I’m leaving the gunplay to you,” he said and went alone to the restroom to change.
He locked the door, sat on a stool, and considered the state of play. Possible carnage in a face-to-face gun battle, the likelihood of many deaths, and all because of him and who he was. There was something he could do about that, of course. He’d been thinking about it for some time. So he called Emza Khan on his mobile and found him in the courtyard of the hospice, inspecting the jeep.
“Who is this?” Khan asked warily.
“In your circumstances, your best friend,” Husseini told him.
In a kind of reflex, Khan said, “How did you get this number?”
“This is Simon Husseini. You gave it to me in Paris.”
“Where are you?”
“In the toilet on the Gideon. We’re quite close to you. We’ll land soon.”
“So why are you calling me, what are you up to?” Khan demanded.
“Gunplay is not for me. This whole business has gone sour. What I’d like to do is get the hell out of here on your plane, but forget all this al-Qaeda nonsense. If you turn up with me in Tehran, you’ll be a hero to the government. All follies wiped clean.”
Emza Khan felt a flow of energy released, a kind of joy, because Husseini was so obviously right. “But what would happen to you?”
“They’ll be so happy to get me back, they’ll give me anything I desire, dancing girls, the works. Where are you, anyway?”
“I’m just looking over an old jeep the Saudis left here, but never mind that, how do we handle things?”
“When we land, Sara Gideon, Dillon, and the colonel will be armed to the teeth. I won’t take part. Once they’ve gone, I’ll cross to your Falcon. You must phone Kerimov and tell him to expect me.”
“But what about the two pilots on your plane?”
“I’ll find a way to slip out, but if not, I’ll shoot them. You won’t have any problem at all at the hospice. Wait for the Gideon woman and her two friends to get about two-thirds of the way on their walk from the plane to the hospice, then you and your people can jump in that jeep and drive like hell to your Falcon. I’ll be ready and waiting on board, and we can get out of this damn place.”
“This is brilliant,” Khan said. “I think it could work.”
“It will,” Husseini told him. “I’ll leave you to pass the good word to your two henchmen, and I’ll see you later.”
* * *
Dillon had found a bottle of Bushmills whiskey in the kitchen area, poured two large ones, and went and sat opposite Declan.
“Your Muslim half may say no, Colonel, but your Irish half says yes, and in the circumstances, the Irish half wins. So here’s to you.”
“And to you, my friend,” Declan Rashid said.
Sara was across from them, a holstered Glock on her hip. She was writing in her daybook. Husseini came down the aisle, dropped the bulletproof vest on the seat opposite her, and sat next to it.
“I can’t use this, so I’m returning it,” he said. “As I said, I’m leaving the gunplay to you, and I’m not going to join you on your first venture into the hospice. You’ve got enough to do without having to protect an unarmed man.”
“I understand,” she said and smiled. “You’re too valuable to lose, Simon.”
He turned to the other two. “I’m also a terrible coward who is frightened to death of firearms.”
At the same moment, Jane Green’s voice echoed throughout the cabin. “Fasten your seat belts, we’re going to descend.”
* * *
From the hospice end of the runway, Kerimov and Lisin watched the landing, Lisin with approval. “Very nice, just what you’d expect from their military experience.”
Kerimov had received a call on his mobile the moment the Gideon had started its descent, and he was listening intently. Lisin watched, puzzled. Finally, Kerimov said, “Of course, Mr. Khan, we’ll be ready
and waiting.”
He switched off and turned to Lisin. “Khan says to get ready now for a flight to Tehran.”
Lisin was astounded. “When for?”
“Sometime during the next half hour.”
“That’s crazy,” Lisin said. “What in hell is going on?”
Kerimov told him, and when he’d finished, Lisin shook his head. “Nineteen years I’ve been flying planes, but I’ve never known the likes of this. Is Emza Khan all right in the head?”
“I wouldn’t know about that,” Kerimov said. “But he pays top dollar, so whatever he wants, he gets. That means you better go and open the airstair door to receive Simon Husseini when he decides to join us.”
* * *
The Gideon slowed down and took a position parallel to Khan’s plane. Kerimov, looking across to the cockpit, recognized Jane Green, and raised a hand in salute. She returned it, and at the same time Lisin slid into the left-hand seat.
“Our door’s open, but Husseini’s going to find it difficult not to be seen from their cockpit when he makes his move.”
At that moment, the door opened in the other plane, the steps came down, and Sara Gideon descended, dressed for war, holding an AK-47 at port, followed by Dillon and Declan Rashid, similarly attired. They glanced across, had a brief conversation, and started to walk toward the hospice.
Jane Green and Renard were watching the progress of Sara and her companions through binoculars, so Kerimov produced his own from a locker and examined the other pilots, who were concentrating so closely on following the progress of Sara and company that they failed to notice Husseini slip out. He ducked under the Falcon and disappeared. A few moments later, he opened the door of the cockpit, smiled at the Russians, and said, “Permission to board, Captain.”
* * *
In the courtyard of the hospice, standing outside the open door, Emza Khan looked out through the arched gate toward the two planes, side by side, watching the progress of Sara, Dillon, and Declan Rashid. Brother Andrew was behind Mikali in his wheelchair, Abbot Joseph and Father Peter next to him, and most of the brothers close together in the yard.
The jeep stood ready near at hand, Jemal behind the wheel and Omar sitting next to him, gripping an AK-47. Emza Khan’s lips were moving, as if counting, as he stared out at the approaching figures.
Suddenly, he shook everyone around him by shouting, “Let’s go,” running to the jeep, and heaving himself into the rear.
Jemal gunned the motor and roared out of the entrance with plenty of wheelspin, raising a cloud of choking sand. As they neared his enemies, Khan was unable to resist a shot at Sara, gripped a rail, and stood up, trying to take aim. Dillon, immediately aware of what he was trying to do, hurled himself at Sara, knocking her out of the way. Khan fired twice, creasing the side of Dillon’s left shoulder.
The jeep swerved away and rushed at full speed toward the Falcon, which already had its engines turning over. Jemal braked and leapt out, turned to help Khan mount the steps, and it was Simon Husseini who leaned out to pull him in. Jemal and Omar followed, and Lisin closed the door. Kerimov increased speed, turning in a wide circle, and started down the runway for takeoff.
Inside, Husseini led the way to a corner table close to the kitchen area. He had an ice bucket on the floor with a bottle of prime Russian vodka, and there were two tumblers in the table rack. He filled them and pushed one across to Khan, who drank it greedily. He looked terrible, sweat trickling down — his face coated with sand.
“So you were right,” he gasped, clutching the arm of his seat as the Falcon started to climb. “The whole thing worked like a charm. Tehran next stop.”
“Yes, they’ll be delighted to get their hands on me, especially as they’ll have found nothing on my computers.”
Khan said, “You mean you wiped them clean?”
“No, there was nothing there in the first place. It’s all in my head.”
Khan was astonished. “I can’t believe that.”
“However, all my discoveries, the mathematics, the equations, the calculations, the key that opened everything up to a new level — all the things that I didn’t want anyone to have, even the good guys — have been recorded.”
“But you’ve got it somewhere?” Khan said. “You must have.”
“Of course.” Husseini produced the small black-and-silver notebook with the green light throbbing in it that he’d shown Sean Dillon. “An electronic notebook. It can only be opened by a code word. Like this, for example.”
He tapped some buttons, and the green turned to red. “There we go. Do you want to know what my code word is? A six-letter word — Semtex. Czechoslovakia’s gift to the world, a present from Osama, whose name be praised. It’s the explosive no terrorist should be without.”
The slight smile on Emza Khan’s face vanished, his mouth opened to cry out, but it was too late. There was a massive explosion and the Falcon disintegrated, a ball of fire that blossomed into an enormous scarlet-and-yellow flower as it descended over the desert.
* * *
Sara, Dillon, and Declan had continued toward the hospice and were in when the explosion took place, the sight of the fire descending unforgettable.
Dillon stood there, clutching his shoulder, blood passing between his fingers. Sara turned to him, her face bleak. “What’s happened? I don’t understand.”
Dillon said, “I’ve an idea we’ll soon find out.” He faltered, and Declan grabbed him. “I could do with a doctor. It’s a good thing this Father Peter used to be in the army.”
Father Peter attended him in a side room at the infirmary, aided by Brother Andrew. Declan and Sara, the abbot and Father Mikali, in his wheelchair, were drinking strong black tea when Andrew appeared.
“Seventeen stitches and he refused chloroform. Insisted that a local anesthetic would be enough. He was unlucky. Bulletproof vests seldom cover the arms.”
“We have a private hospital facility for our people called Rosedene,” Sara said. “Professor Charles Bellamy runs it. Many people think him the finest general surgeon in London.”
Andrew said, “Believe me, I think he will approve of Father Peter’s work,” and Dillon walked in behind him, leaning on a walking stick, his left arm in a sling.
“Sean, you shouldn’t be up,” Sara scolded him. “Sit down at once.”
Which he did, and at that moment, there was the sound of the jeep arriving in the courtyard, and a moment later, Jane Green entered, her face grave.
“Don’s guarding the plane.” She nodded at Sean. “I can see you’ve suffered.”
“I’ll survive,” Dillon told her. “It could have been worse.”
“No, it couldn’t, so brace yourselves,” she said. “Don and I were so busy watching you advance on the hospice that we didn’t notice Husseini was gone. When they roared back in the jeep, we witnessed them all scrambling into the Falcon. It was a hell of a shock when Husseini appeared from inside and pulled in Emza Khan.”
“What? Simon was on their plane? But why?” Sara demanded. “It makes no sense.”
“Or all the sense in the world,” Dillon said. “He was always very conscious that it was his very existence that was center of all the troubles, that and the bomb. He talked to us about it. And then he wrote a note, sealed it in an envelope, and gave it to me. He said the contents were self-explanatory and that I would know when to open it.” He shrugged. “As I’ve only got one good hand, in the circumstances, I’ll hand it to you, Father,” he said to Mikali.
The old priest read it, then handed it to Sara, his face sorrowful. “He says he couldn’t bear the thought of more good people dying over him. So he tricked Emza Khan into believing he wanted to return to Tehran.”
“He must have been planning this for some time,” said Rashid. “Got hold of an explosive somehow.”
“That poor, poor man,” said Sara.
“He’s certainly set back Iran’s nuclear program,” said Rashid.
“But for how long?” Dillon
said. “Anyway, I think it’s time we got out of here.”
Jane Green said to Andrew, “That’s what Don wants me to raise with you. There was mention of a large stock of aviation fuel here somewhere?”
“Yes, that’s true. It hasn’t been used for a long time, but it should be fine.”
“Great,” she said. “I’d appreciate getting started. We’ll follow you up to the hangar if you’d get your people up there. I’ll take the others in the jeep. Dillon’s not fit for that walk.”
As they went out, Sara turned and said to Mikali, “He was a good man, Father, did we do right by him?”
“Let’s just say he did what he thought was right by us, and leave it at that.”
She shook her head, took a deep breath, and walked out.
LONDON
14
The Gideon lifted off from al-Shaba very fast and climbed up to forty thousand feet, with Don Renard at the controls while Jane Green plotted the three-thousand-mile trip northwest that would eventually end in London. Dillon had been made as comfortable as possible, lying back in a half-reclined corner seat, a blanket over his legs. Filled with morphine thanks to Saudi medical supplies, he still had his hand around a tumbler of whiskey and dozed.
Declan appear to be asleep, but as for Sara, she made a pot of black coffee, drank two cups of it, waiting for the plane to settle in flight, then she opened her laptop and tried Roper on Skype. It was the middle of the afternoon in London, and her appearance took him by surprise.
“It’s good to see you, Sara, though I must say you look as if you’ve been through the wringer,” he told her.
“It would. It got rather nasty.”
“Go on, tell me the worst.”
Which she did, and Roper was astounded. “It’s one of the most remarkable stories I’ve ever heard. And in the end, nobody gets the Husseini bomb, including our side. And the blow to al-Qaeda is beyond price.”
“Let’s hope Ferguson’s as pleased as you are,” Sara said.
Roper nodded. “No doubt about that. How are you feeling? It must have been a shock to the system, Emza Khan trying to knock you off.”