by Jack Higgins
Of course. Wait for Fatima on deck, Colonel.
Khazid retreated and Ali Selim said, Take Ibrahim with you. Make sure she s treated with all respect, whatever state she is in.
Of course, master, a great day. She hurried out.
From the state of the rest of the town, I d say they ve had problems with the power supply, Owen said.
I suspect the airport s come on by royal command.
From behind them, there was a clattering noise of something falling over and then Sara Gideon s voice was heard. What is this? Where in the hell am I?
Get us landed, and quickly, Henri said and returned to the cabin.
She had tossed away the cover and was trying to unbuckle the seat belt. She paused and looked up at him angrily. Her voice was normal, yet she was furiously angry.
Who are you and where am I? She managed to free herself and swing her legs to the floor.
Calm yourself, he told her. You are about to land in Rubat, which is next door to Yemen. You ve just enjoyed an eight-hour sleep from England on this Learjet.
She didn t even seem bewildered, although that could have been the drug. She simply frowned and said, Do I know you?
You would have liked to get your hands on me, yes. I tried to blow up your friend, Holley s, Alfa and almost got shot.
So you were responsible for that?
And a couple of other things.
But not for you, for someone else? Am I right?
Completely. In a way, you may consider yourself to be a prisoner of war.
And who might be my captor?
Mullah Ali Selim.
Throughout their conversation, the Lear had been descending, and now it landed, so that both of them went staggering, grabbing at seats as the plane braked, turning from the runway toward Fatima, Ibrahim, Khazid and several policemen who were waiting.
On the Lear, the engines were switched off, and as Sara pulled herself up, Owen Rashid moved in to the cabin from the flight deck. He didn t know what to say, a kind of desperation on his face.
What on earth are you playing at? she demanded.
Does Jean Talbot know about this?
Of course not.
Ali Selim? she said. What s that all about? You re a friend of the Prime Minister, for God s sake.
And not only half Arab but nephew of the Sultan of Rubat, who could die any day now.
What s that got to do with anything?
Al Qaeda has got me by the throat, it s that simple. They want me to inherit.
She turned to Henri. What s your excuse?
We don t make excuses in the Foreign Legion. If I didn t do what Ali Selim wanted, I d be a marked man. Alas, I was looking out for a friend who had enough sense to run away from this party.
She nodded as Owen opened the airstair door. So what comes now?
Ali Selim is waiting to meet you on a dhow called Monsoon , moored in the harbor, Owen said. Meet the welcoming committee. The fat man in uniform is Colonel Khazid, the chief of police, and it would be useless to seek his help. He s Al Qaeda to the hilt they all are in this town. The woman is Fatima Karim, who handles administration for Selim. The big man in black is Ali Selim s bodyguard, Ibrahim.
We ve met before, Sara said. But at a distance, I m happy to say.
She went down the steps, as they moved toward her, and it was Fatima who took charge. Captain Gideon, you will come with me. Mullah Ali Selim is most anxious to meet you.
A great honor, I m sure, which I could do without, but I don t appear to have much choice in the matter. She followed Fatima, Ibrahim leading the way. When he opened the rear door of the car and turned to face her, she said,
Why, Ibrahim, it s you. Last time I saw you was in Amira, with fifteen or sixteen dead men in the street. His stare was frightening, but Sara smiled. Oh, dear, were they friends of yours?
She got in the car, and Fatima joined her. Be careful, Captain, Ibrahim is a dangerous man.
He got in the front beside a police driver, and Sara said,
Not to me, because his boss wouldn t like it. In any case, if this thing is going the way I suspect, then I m far too valuable.
I d take care, Captain, I really would.
I m a serving soldier in the British Army, shot in combat in Afghanistan, a permanent limp in the right leg. I ve killed many Taliban, which means many Muslims. What can Ibrahim do to me that has not been done? Ravish me? But what kind of dog does that? Not a real man, certainly.
All this was delivered in perfect Arabic. Ibrahim reached up to angle the driving mirror, and she looked into eyes filled with hate.
He said, A time will come when you beg me for mercy.
I m frightened to death, Sara said, as the small procession of vehicles drew up on the jetty. Khazid and six of his men led the way to a police launch followed by Ibrahim, Fatima and Sara, Owen Rashid and Henri Legrande behind. They boarded, only the police remaining on deck in their uniforms, the others under cover. Henri s chest had been hurting for some time, probably as the result of flying at a great height for so long. He coughed, reaching for a handkerchief, coughed again. When he examined it, he found fresh blood. So it was finally beginning.
He looked at Sara Gideon in the corner and then to Ibrahim, evil personified, and thought of her in the hands of such a man, thought of Mary, the love of his life, and knew what she would have wanted him to do now that he was close to the end. He carried a Beretta in a shoulder holster. He also carried a folded flick-knife in his left trouser pocket.
When the launch reached the landing platform for them to go up the steps, and there was a momentary crush, he murmured, Excusez-moi, Capitaine, and slipped the knife into her hand. Her fingers closed over it, she gave him not even the briefest of glances, and went after Fatima, who had followed Ibrahim out.
Several sailors had appeared, and Ahmed was talking to them. Ibrahim carried on, leading the way through to where Ali Selim waited, sitting behind the table in his usual place.
As you ordered, master.
Ali Selim examined Sara gravely. You are a remarkable woman, Captain.
Why am I here? Sara asked calmly.
I m sure you can answer that for yourself, Sara Gideon. You are the largest stockholder in the Gideon Bank, where your grandfather keeps the chairman s seat warm for you while you serve Queen and Country. How much would the bank pay to get you back in one piece? A hundred million sterling, to start with?
Oh, a lot more than that. After all, it s mostly my money, isn t it?
You know, you are absolutely right. He smiled.
But what a poor host I am. Sit down, all of you, at the dining table. I gave orders to the chef to provide something, in spite of the lateness of the hour.
He nodded to Ibrahim, who went and opened the double door at the far end, and four waiters pushed in trolleys and started transferring a range of rice dishes, salads, and baked fish, working fast to lay it all out.
On the other side of the world in Britain, three hours behind Rubat, Charles Ferguson, after a first-class dinner at Chequers with the great and the good, was enjoying a cigar on the garden terrace with Henry Frankel, when the French foreign minister came out, elegant in his black velvet dinner jacket.
There you are. The Prime Minister sends his apologies. He ll join us when he can. He s speaking to someone at the UN in New York. I ve just been talking to my chief secretary in Paris. I m glad to hear Claude Duval s been able to help you with the Frenchman you were after, Charles.
Claude Duval? Ferguson asked.
Colonel Duval, DGSE. They ve managed a match on some mysterious Frenchman you had a photo of. It seems he is an ex Foreign Legionnaire, one Henri Legrande, who used to train the IRA, and others of a like persuasion, in a camp in the Algerian desert.
Henry Frankel murmured, You didn t tell me, Charles.
More like, someone didn t tell me. The Prime Minister looked out, called them in for drinks, and Ferguson whispered to Frankel, Make my excuses, I ve got a phone call to make.<
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He said to Roper, So it would appear that the anonymous Frenchman was very real indeed and up to no good?
Absolutely, mea culpa, Roper said. You had other things on your mind, cabinet stuff, keeping the politicians happy. That s what it s all about these days. Mind you, it might get you a knighthood.
That s damn unfair, Giles. What about this Henri Legrande? Who is he?
Has an antiques shop in Shepherd Market. Had Jack Kelly staying with him for a few days. They were responsible for the bomb under Holley s car, amongst other things.
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.
When 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.
The 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.
Ali 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.
As 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.
They 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.