by Jack Higgins
Weber was stunned. “Who is this?”
“Most people call me the Master.”
“I’ve never heard of you. Master of what?”
“Never mind that for the moment. Let’s deal with you. You own a small aircraft company operating out of an old RAF base at Charnley in Essex called Havoc International. A rather grand title.”
Weber said, “You need something like that to impress the sort of people I have to deal with.”
“Of course, the African trade, Ghana and Nigeria.”
“That’s right.”
“Yes, those old Dakotas are perfect for that kind of thing,” the Master said. “A remarkable aircraft. Many have been flying since the Second World War, perfect for the desert trade.”
Weber said, “That’s right, but where is this going?”
“To Timbuktu and Mali and rebels under the black flag claiming to be the followers of al-Qaeda. In fact, they’re a murderous rabble who shame the ideals of Osama bin Laden whose name be praised.”
Weber said carefully, “Look, who are you?”
“I serve the holy cause of al-Qaeda. There are others like me who serve the movement all over the world.”
“But what do you want with me?”
“To save you from yourself, Herr Weber,” and here the Master broke into German. “You have behaved dishonorably in trading on false documents supplied by dishonest government officials in Mali. You have been guilty of removing precious Muslim relics and selling them to unscrupulous dealers in London. Most Arab countries would execute you for such offenses.”
Weber was sweating now, and replied in English, “Many of these things were being burned, destroyed by the mobs.”
“A poor excuse, but let me move on to the arrival of Colonel Samuel Hunter on the scene, and the man Dolan, his servant. Villains of the first order under the guise of representing the President, although I’m sure he would be as disgusted as the rest of us at such behavior.”
Weber said, “He damn well would be if he knew what they were up to. Okay, I’ve been a complete fool, I admit it, but Hunter is something else again and it’s driving me crazy. He’s insisting we run things as a major operation, and I don’t know where to turn.”
“But I do,” the Master told him. “Al-Qaeda will not allow this wretched man to succeed, but for the moment, it’s essential that he believes he has the upper hand and we must fool him completely. Does this appeal to you?”
“Absolutely.” Weber’s spirits lifted at once.
“Excellent. If you have a pen available, I’m going to give you a very special number. Write it down and destroy it later when you’ve memorized it. Hunter will keep getting up to no good, I’m certain, and it would be useful to know what.”
Weber produced a pen, listening as the Master said the number, writing it on his left wrist. “And you trust me with this?” he asked.
“You may have been a fool, but you’re not a bad man, which Hunter is, beyond question. You became a victim, hiding there in Bayswater not knowing which way to turn. Now you have power, a belief in yourself that Hunter is not aware of.”
“You’ve saved my life,” Weber told him. “He could be here at any time, and I expect he’ll want to get moving at once.”
“Tell him it’s proving difficult to procure the right trading documents from those dishonest government officials in Mali and that he’ll have to wait.”
“Thanks for the advice. You know, I was in despair. You’re a great man.”
“There are many people who would take exception to that description,” the Master told him.
“All I can say is that I was in despair and now feel as if I’ve been resurrected.”
“Rather biblical, that.” The Master laughed. “My son, who was dead, is alive again, but for the present, I must go.”
Weber replaced the phone, his hand shaking slightly, smiling now as he thought about Hunter. “Right, you bastard, just bring it on and we’ll see where it gets you,” he murmured, and went to have a shower.
—
THE CHIEFTAIN LANDED at Barking after a perfect flight, and a little more than an hour later, the Mini dropped Tad at the Curzon Street house, then carried on to Holland Park.
As Dillon and Hannah entered the safe house, the sound of laughter took them into the computer room, where they found Roper, Tony Doyle, and Daniel Holley sharing a bottle of champagne together.
“Sean, me boy,” Roper roared. “Daniel only got here half an hour ago and brought us a bottle of Krug. You haven’t met Sean’s cousin, Hannah Flynn, Daniel.”
“No, but I’ve heard only good things about her.”
Holley leaned down and kissed her gallantly on both cheeks, and Roper said morosely, “Another bloody Provo for you, Hannah, a rare bird this one. A damn Protestant.”
“Whose mother was a decent Catholic woman from Crossmaglen and don’t you forget it,” Dillon told him.
“Oh, shut up and help us finish this champagne. We’ll need help because this is the second bottle, but you can amuse us with an account of what happened in the Emerald Isle.”
“Well, Tad Magee really put the boot into Finbar,” Dillon said, as Tony Doyle filled glasses.
“And how did he do that?” Holley asked.
Dillon had just raised a glass to his lips, and said to Hannah, “You tell them.”
So she did, not leaving out a thing, and when she reached the matter of the estate ending up in Eli’s hands, Roper roared his approval and raised his glass. “Finbar Magee has been a bastard of a man all his life. His drunken driving killed his wife, and due to the vagary of the law, he walked free. Tad Magee could have had him put down for good.”
“He didn’t need to,” Dillon said. “He’s turned him into a dead man walking. Killing him would be easy. Is Ferguson in the house?”
“Yes, but he’s resting,” Roper said. “The Prime Minister was speaking in the House of Commons last night. Didn’t finish until midnight, then there was a meeting of the Action Committee at Downing Street. It was three o’clock in the morning when he got back here and announced he was going to bed. Before he could, I had to put a call from the White House to him. Another hour there. He’s been sleeping ever since because he’s got Cazalet speaking at the London School of Economics at three-thirty, which they’ve estimated could take three hours if we include questions. I have to check on him in an hour.”
“What’s he trying to do, kill himself?” Holley demanded.
“No, he isn’t,” Dillon said. “All this upheaval is meat and drink to him. He’s a tough old bird, and he’ll die in harness when he’s ready and not before.” He turned to Roper. “Are we all expected to join in to hear what Jake Cazalet has to say?”
“No. All the seats have gone, and we’ll be surrounded by security—some of Scotland Yard’s finest, plus MI5 and a sprinkling of SAS. They should be able to handle even the worst that ISIS could offer.”
“Well, I imagine they would,” Dillon said.
“On the other hand, the American ambassador, Philip Hardy, is to hold a reception this evening at the embassy in Cazalet’s honor. We are all invited, except you, Tony. General Ferguson will expect you, as a good chauffeur should, to sit in the driver’s seat of his beloved Daimler, guarding it with your life while watching a movie on your tablet.”
“Well, thank you very much, Major,” Tony Doyle said. “For some reason I thought that’s how it would be. I wonder why?”
It was Hannah who replied. “Well, at least you can eat with us, Tony. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m starving. I’m sure Maggie Hall can provide us with a late lunch if we ask her nicely, so let’s give it a try,” and she got up and led the way out.
—
MAGGIE, AS USUAL, managed to rise to the occasion: turtle soup and shepherd’s pie backed up by a mixed salad. Fat st
rawberries to follow, doused in cream, and the inevitable coffee.
As they sat there talking, Ferguson walked in, smartly dressed in a dark blue suit that shouted Savile Row, a gleaming white shirt, and a Guards tie. He looked remarkably well.
“So there you are, Major,” he said to Roper. “You all seem to be having a jolly time, I must say.”
“Well, you look amazing, sir,” Sara said. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“It’s what I keep the sauna, the swimming pool, and gymnasium for, Captain. I trust the rest of you use them with similar success. At the moment, I’m in search of my chauffeur. Make sure the Daimler is fit to play, Staff Sergeant, and wait for me.” Doyle was on his feet at once and disappeared outside. “So you and Hannah are back in one piece?” Ferguson said to Dillon. “You must tell me about it, but later.”
“You need to know, General. The Master had apparently been manipulating Finbar. He also spoke to me, Hannah, and Tad Magee.”
“My goodness, he has been active,” Ferguson said. “We’ll discuss it later. I’ve arranged a videoconferencing chat with the Algerian foreign minister that should be coming through in the next ten minutes or so. Sorry to inconvenience you, Major Roper.”
“No problem, sir,” Roper said, and went out at once.
“It seems you left the minister a rather hurried note that you intended to visit us, Daniel,” Ferguson said to Holley.
“Yes, because he was away on a trip up-country.”
“He was interested in your mention of Mali and would like to know more, which is why he’s asked for an opportunity to speak to you directly here.”
Holley was joint owner of the biggest shipping firm operating out of Algeria and had dual nationality. He was also a special envoy for the foreign minister, with a diplomatic passport.
“Then we’d better get in,” said Holley. “I see no reason why the rest of you shouldn’t observe.”
They were only just in time, for in minutes the foreign minister came into view, middle-aged handsome in a good suit and military tie.
“That’s a Sandhurst tie,” Sara whispered.
“It would be,” Holley whispered. “He was a cadet and afterward served in the Algerian Army.”
The foreign minister said cheerfully, “So you got there safely, Daniel. Good flight?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It would be; those Falcons are wonderful planes. But to get down to business, General Ferguson has spoken to me about this firm, Havoc, that uses Dakotas for rough trade in Ghana and Nigeria, and tries to get away with anything it can in Mali. Those foolish rebels there, operating under the black flag, have been plundering the mosques and ancient centers of learning of wonderful art, books, and treasured histories of Islam, destroying much through ignorance. I will not have what has survived fall into the wrong hands. Can I trust you to deal with everyone connected with this Havoc firm? I’m sure you will find a solution.”
“Absolutely, sir. I’m happy to be of service, and I know I’ll get some help from my friends here.”
“Excellent, that was all I wanted to check. I leave it in your hands, then. Take care, Daniel, and all of you. Hard times, but we’ll survive.”
The screen faded.
“He seems a pretty decent sort of chap,” Sara said.
“You mean for a Muslim?” Holley commented.
Sara was immediately angry. “The Muslims I killed in Afghanistan—and there were many—were angry men determined to kill me and my comrades any way they could. The fact that they were Muslim was no more important a factor than a British soldier being Roman Catholic or Protestant or, like me, a Jew.”
“Calm down, both of you,” Ferguson said. “These are hard and difficult times, but if we can’t pull together, we’ll go under. Now, I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you tonight at the American Embassy. No weapons allowed on the premises, and I expect nothing but goodwill from all of you. That’s an order.”
He went out, and Dillon said to Sara, “Too much champagne, my love, but having said that, I take his point.”
“I’m tired of the whole bloody business,” she said. “We got rid of Saddam and Gaddafi, then Osama bin Laden, and it hasn’t made any difference because we’ve now got ISIS. In Afghanistan, when our convoy was ambushed, I was wounded and crippled for life, but I managed to kill around forty men with a heavy machine gun, so they gave me the Military Cross. These days there are British insurance lawyers who’d offer to sue me for damages if asked.”
“You’re absolutely bloody right,” Holley said.
“Take Ferguson’s advice,” Dillon told her. “Take advantage of the swimming pool, sauna, and gymnasium.”
“Do you mind if I join you?” Holley asked her.
“Why not,” she said, and he followed her out.
Roper put the kettle on. “I’m going to make a pot of real tea just for you if you’ll join me, Hannah?”
“Of course I will.” She held the lighter for him when he produced a cigarette. “Why was she so upset?”
“Two reasons, my child,” Dillon put in. “First, it’s been a long, long war.”
“And second?”
“She and Daniel were a serious item.”
“Oh dear,” Hannah said.
“Indeed. Things got in the way. This is the first time they’ve met in more than a year.”
“Well, all I can say is he seems to be absolutely lovely to me.”
“He’s one of my best friends,” Roper said. “A Yorkshire and half-Irish Protestant with a Catholic mother and a first-class honors degree from Leeds University. In Belfast, studying for an MBA at Queen’s, he was walking his sweet young cousin to her lodgings one night when they were kidnapped by entirely the wrong sort of people from the other side in the conflict. He was beaten and tied up, and she was raped and murdered by four men.”
Hannah was truly horrified. “I can’t believe it.”
“I haven’t finished. He managed to free himself, grab a pistol one guy had left lying around, and shot all four dead.”
“And after that?”
“She was from a Catholic family in Crossmaglen, her brother very important to the Provisional IRA. Daniel needed a refuge from the other side and the law. He took the oath and was sent to one of the Gaddafi training camps in Algeria. He’s served the Cause ever since, a Provo to the hilt and a brilliant mind, which has made him millions over the years.”
Hot angry tears flowed, and Hannah wiped them away with her sleeve like a child. “That’s the most dreadful thing I have ever heard of.”
“It shaped his life, but it’s history now, so as the tea’s gotten cold, would you be offended if I asked you to obtain some more, nice and hot, from the kitchen?”
“What an idiot you are,” she said, and went out.
—
AT THE SAME TIME, Colonel Samuel Hunter and his bully boy Dolan were in a cab, having just arrived at Heathrow. Hunter told the driver to take them to the Park Lane Hilton and sat back, relaxing for a moment.
“You’ve got to admit it. London’s the place to be these days.”
“Can I ask you, Colonel, why you picked the Hilton?”
“I like a run every morning, first thing; it’s been part of my makeup since I was a cadet at West Point. It’s why I’m in the shape I am. Hyde Park, on the other side of Park Lane, is a particularly pleasant place to exercise in. In fact, the Queen’s bodyguard, the Household Cavalry, indulge their mounts there, enjoying a gallop each day.”
“I suppose it’s nice for the tourists,” Dolan said.
“Which we definitely are not. That’s another reason to stay at the Hilton. It’s only five minutes’ walk away from the Dorchester, where Cazalet and Johnson are staying.”
“Are you looking to follow Cazalet around?”
“Nothing too obvious. I was reading t
he New York Times on the plane and there was a write-up saying he’s making some sort of speech at the London School of Economics this afternoon. It also said that the American ambassador is having a reception in Cazalet’s honor tonight. The President told me to let the ambassador know I was in town, and I imagine it’ll be easy enough to get an invitation.” Hunter took out his mobile and made the call to the embassy as they came to Marble Arch.
It felt strange, but he breathed deeply as he spoke. “This is Presidential Aide Colonel Samuel Hunter. I’ve just arrived at Heathrow on official business for the President, and I’m calling on the ambassador as a courtesy. Please notify him that I’m staying at the Park Lane Hilton.”
Dolan said, “We’ll see what that produces.”
“A result, I’d say. I’ve booked us a Mercedes through the hotel, Dolan, so you’ll have to play chauffeur again.”
“And what about Weber?”
“No problem. He’ll have to do as he’s told or else. I’ll give him a call now. That’ll be a nice surprise for him.”
Weber was still at the Bayswater flat and was shocked to hear Hunter’s voice on his mobile so soon and even more dismayed to be told that the colonel was already in London.
“A nice surprise for you, Hans, but I managed to get away a couple of days earlier than I thought. We’re booking in at the Hilton now, and we’ll come down to Charnley to visit you later.”
“I’m in London at the moment, had to come up on business,” Weber said, his heart sinking.
“Well, you’d better get back down again so we can talk,” Hunter said, and switched off, only for his phone to ring again, the American ambassador himself. “Philip Hardy, Colonel, welcome to London.”
“Why, that’s very kind of you, Mr. Ambassador,” Hunter told him.
“I trust the President was well when you left him?”
“In excellent form, I assure you, sir.”
“A special day for us,” Hardy said. “We have President Jake Cazalet delivering a most important speech about the ISIS threat, all seats taken, I’m afraid, but perhaps you might join us at seven this evening for a reception in his honor being held at the embassy.”