by Jack Higgins
She stirred Ibrahim with her foot, and Holley pulled his camouflage scarf off and wiped the blood from her hands. “You don’t need to worry about anything now.”
“Neither does she.” She looked down at Fatima. “Poor girl, she really believed in it all, and in the end this is where it got her.” Holley led her out to where Dillon was taking photos of Ali Selim. “What’s the point of that?” she asked.
“Proof that it’s him and that he’s dead,” Dillon said. “Otherwise, no one will believe it.”
“Are you okay, Sean?” Holley asked, and said to Sara, “Ali Selim shot him twice.”
“Which I’ve survived, thanks to my titanium vest, and not for the first time. But I think we’d better get moving. Wouldn’t you agree, Greg?”
“Absolutely,” Slay said. “Back to Hazar as fast as possible.”
There were bodies aplenty, but those who had surrendered had disappeared. They closed around Sara and proceeded cautiously, and just before they reached the launch someone fired a rifle from up ahead. Dillon and Holley immediately sprayed the area, while Slay escorted Sara down to the boat and turned on the engine.
Holley still fired short bursts into the darkness, and Dillon heaved open a hatch cover, revealing steps down into some sort of hold. He produced a Semtex block from his tunic pocket, stuck in a five-minute pencil timer, primed it, and dropped the block into darkness.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said, and as Holley went down, hurried after him, unhooking the painter, the launch surging ahead as it picked up speed and made for the pier.
As they turned alongside and disembarked, there was a low, deep rumble as the Semtex exploded in the depths of the dhow. They hurried to the Scorpion, embarked quickly and were taking off in minutes, Slay making a close pass over the Monsoon as flames started to eat through the wooden decks. There were men down there, leaping into the sea in life jackets.
“Not that they deserve it, but they’ll be fine,” Slay said. “The sea is nice and warm and not renowned for sharks. The sheikh who owns Monsoon is a billionaire. All that oil, you see. He probably didn’t even bother to insure it.”
He took the Scorpion round on a curve, climbing to a thousand feet and heading fast across the desert to Hazar.
EPILOGUE
They landed outside Slay’s hangar thirty minutes later and found Feisal waiting. He was excited and greeted Slay, smiling. “A big success, I think, when I see the lady.” He nodded to Sara. “But my friend in the tower speaks of a big disturbance in Rubat, a dhow sinking in the harbor. As there is no traffic at the moment, he suggests you get out of here in the Falcon while you still can. After all, Hazar and Rubat have no air force to go after you.”
“I’d say that’s sound advice,” Holley said.
“There is one more suggestion he has to make,” Feisal said. “The presence of a Scorpion helicopter has been noted. Some individuals who have met violent ends are policemen. Better for you, Captain Slay, to be on the Falcon when it leaves.”
“Wonderful,” Slay said. “When you think how much I’ve plowed into this business. But I must admit it would be sensible to vacate the premises while I still can.”
Sara slipped a hand in his arm. “When you think that Ali Selim was expecting to get at least a hundred million sterling for me, Greg, I would imagine the board of the Gideon Bank would consider financial compensation to you for your loss to be cheap at the price.”
“Well, that’s a comfort,” Greg said.
So it was that the Falcon jet took off twenty minutes later, climbing very quickly. Feisal Rashid, a Bedu from deep in the Empty Quarter and, for a time, an aircraft mechanic, watched it go with some sadness, then packed anything he thought was worth taking, including some interesting weaponry, in the remaining jeep and left to join his beloved wife at Shaba Oasis.
With Greg Slay on the flight deck, Holley sat with Sara, having coffee and considering what had happened. The pieces all fitted for her like a jigsaw. Owen Rashid’s Al Qaeda connection, the Henri Legrande and Jack Kelly affair so important. Without it, Sara Gideon would have been a prisoner of Al Qaeda now. And then there was Jean Talbot who had done the right, if dangerous, thing and taken a bullet doing it.
It was all rather moving, and she turned to Holley. “Can I borrow your Codex? I think I’ll make my usual false report to Sadie and Granddad.”
“Of course.” He gave it to her. “How are you feeling?”
“It still hasn’t sunk in properly that I wakened from a deep sleep and found myself living a nightmare. Then you lot just appearing from nowhere like you did.”
“Thank God we were able to.”
She smiled. “I’ll make the call from the restroom. I’ll see you soon.”
Holley sat there in the dim light, half dozing. It was half an hour before she returned. “Everything okay?” he asked.
“Sadie was in bed, having an early night. The baby is good; the mother still under the weather, and Granddad was marking papers. He seems to be really enjoying the academic life. I have not been honest with them, Daniel, but on the other hand, the life I’ve been living would be totally incomprehensible to them, and I wouldn’t want them to know anyway. The continual stress would be too much of a problem.”
“But not for you, I think,” Holley said. “Just look at you. Fully in control, in spite of what you’ve been through. Heavy-duty stuff, Sara.”
“Do you find that hard to take?”
“I’d have killed Ibrahim myself without a moment’s hesitation. It’s interesting that you can do the same, that’s all, and leave it behind.”
“Well, I can,” she said. “Although it helps when the opposition are bad people.”
Holley said, “I remember that Dillon told me once that there are two kinds of actor. The majority take the role home with them, and a minority can switch it on, then off again, no problem.”
“So what are we?” she demanded.
He smiled. “Probably people who think that life is just like a movie.”
“What a good idea,” she said, and Dillon raised his voice. “I’m going to call Roper and report in. I’ll put my Codex on speaker so if anyone wants to listen, feel free.”
He went through everything that had happened. When he finished, Roper said, “A triumph from our point of view, not least that we got Sara back in one piece. It’s also good to know that the Gideon Bank will do right by Gregory Slay, whose sterling service, by the way, has earned him a recall to the Army Air Corps in the rank of Major. We’ve dealt Al Qaeda’s London operations a crushing blow. Ali Selim dead. His unwilling accomplice, Owen Rashid, also dead. Henri Legrande, Jack Kelly. Our thanks to Professor Jean Talbot. I think we may have made a friend there—”
Holley cut in, “What’s the story that’s being given out on Ali Selim’s death?”
“Al Qaeda is huge in Yemen, as the world knows, and there is constant feuding between dissident groups, especially since the death of Osama bin Laden. The fighting on this occasion has obviously spilled over into Rubat, and Ali Selim seems to have been a victim.”
“I like it,” Dillon said. “A convincing explanation. That’s all the newspapers want, to say nothing of television.”
“Which leaves us with just one other matter. In view of the exceptional stress experienced by Captain Sara Gideon recently, the Prime Minister raised the question with General Ferguson if she was fit for purpose militarily.”
“Fit for purpose?” Sara frowned. “Of course I am.”
“I’m sure the Prime Minister will be glad to hear that. General Ferguson even more so, since he wishes you to continue your posting to his unit for the full two years.”
“I thought that was the idea!” She was beginning to get angry.
Roper said, “We are, in effect, the Prime Minister’s private army, which makes working at Holland Park a security issue, that’s all. But now that’s settled. Just one more thing. The safety of you and your colleagues would be compromised by any kind of me
dia coverage of your activities, so I’m afraid your Military Cross won’t be listed. They’ll send it to you, of course.”
“So I don’t get it at Buckingham Palace?”
“Definitely not. This is Britain. Women aren’t supposed to be war heroes,” Roper told her, with a certain irony.
“Tell that to those girls driving trucks in night convoys in Afghanistan at eighteen or nineteen. They all deserve a medal. General Charles Ferguson and the PM can go to hell. But I’ll be at my desk in the morning.”
“I will, Sara,” Roper told her, and went.
Holley said, “At least another six hours to London, if not more.”
“Then let’s try and sleep through it. Dim the lights, Daniel. Do you mind?”
“Of course not.”
He did as she had asked; she snuggled against him, closing her eyes and yawning. “I like having an older guy as a boyfriend.”
“And I like you liking it,” he replied, closing his eyes also, as the Falcon droned on into the night.
Roper sat in front of his screens drinking whiskey and thinking of what had happened. Everything fitted and it all made sense, except for the ending. His main screen rippled for a moment, then produced Ferguson sitting at a desk. When he spoke, his voice boomed out.
“How did she take it?”
“Badly, but she’ll be at her desk tomorrow. You really can be a sod, Charles.”
“I just wanted to be sure that her heart was in the job, which it obviously is. So we can put my contingency plan into operation. At Clarence House on Tuesday morning, she’ll receive her Military Cross in strictest secrecy from His Royal Highness, Prince Charles.”
Roper was astounded. “Are you sure about this?”
“Of course I am. I spoke to him about Sara the moment we got back from New York. He told me it would give him enormous pleasure.”
“And you can do that?” Roper asked.
Charles Ferguson smiled wolfishly. “My dear Giles, I would have thought you would have realized by now that I can do anything.”