by Wilbur Smith
‘All babies?’ Paddy teased her. ‘Or just one baby in particular?’
‘Don’t be silly. I know only one baby. She is wonderful. I fed her with a bottle today and I even changed her nappy. I never thought I would be able to do that, but her nurse showed me how. I thought it would make me want to throw up. But you know something? It hardly smells at all.’
‘Do you mind, my love! We are just about to enjoy one of Heck’s legendary dinners. Can we not find a more appropriate subject to discuss than baby droppings?’ Paddy protested and moved the conversation on hurriedly. ‘I spoke to Prince Mohammed this afternoon about the lease of the Seascape Mansion apartment. Of course Princey felt it necessary to tell me that he had another tenant interested and that there was a better price on the table. We did a bit of toing and froing but in the end I nudged him down ten per cent on his asking price, and we did a deal. The apartment is yours, Heck. The other good news is that there are only twelve other tenants in the entire building and they are all either members of the royal family or senior ministers of the Abu Zara government, or both. He claims that the security is airtight and waterproof.’
‘Can we take his word for that?’
‘No, Heck. We take nobody’s word for that. Immediately after I hung up on Princey, I called Dave Imbiss.’ Dave was Paddy’s right-hand man and the electronics expert at Cross Bow Security.
‘Dave has promised to go in with his team at first light tomorrow. They are going to sweep every last centimetre of the apartment for electronic bugs and any other nasty surprises that might have been left behind by somebody with evil in mind. Dave will install movement and pressure sensors with silent alarms, closed-circuit cameras, iris scanners and all the other state-of-the-art stuff. No living thing will be able to move on the top floor of Seascape Mansions, or anywhere in the rest of the building for that matter, without Dave being aware of it. By the time we arrive in Abu Zara the apartment will be a virtual electronic fortress.’ He accepted the glass of Jamesons whiskey that Hector offered him and took a swallow. He exhaled the fumes before he asked, ‘So what did you find up at Regent’s Park today to gladden our hearts?’
‘Very little for your comfort or mine, I am afraid. It seems that our target is a religious demagogue who has the power to whip up the emotions of his listeners with his impassioned oratory. Some, or most, of them think he is the Mhadi.’
They stared at Hector, their expressions concerned and alarmed. Paddy spoke for both of them: ‘In the name of all that’s holy, Heck! You don’t believe that bullshit, do you?’
‘It matters not at all what I believe, my dear Padraig. What is crucial is that there is a vast multitude who do believe. The coming of the Messiah is a common belief that runs through Judaism, Islam and Christianity. The only divergence is about who he will be and when he will come, or if has already come and gone. In this particular case Aazim Muktar has sequestered himself in the holiest religious site in Islam. The birthplace of the Prophet Muhammad himself, no less. The city is guarded by a great multitude of the faithful and devout. Only true believers in Islam are allowed to enter the city, under pain of death. It seems now that many of these also believe with fanatic intensity that Aazim Muktar is the Mahdi. They will protect him with their own lives. With their bare hands they will tear the arms and legs off whoever raises a finger to him.’
He paused and sipped at his own glass as he composed his thoughts.
‘What I originally had in mind was to go into Mecca disguised as a pilgrim and, concealed in the throng of worshippers, listen and watch Aazim. Then from what I saw and heard, I would evaluate the likelihood of him being the Beast who is perpetuating the blood feud. If he were patently innocent I would leave him there and seek out the true enemy. On the other hand, if there was any doubt at all in my mind as to his innocence we would snatch him and bring him out to stand trial before his accusers. Now we do not have the option of bringing him out. It would be just too chancy. That city is a death trap for the infidel. I must weigh up the odds against him being innocent, and if the balance swings against him then I must execute him on the spot and leave his corpse to rot in Mecca.’
‘If I were you, Hector, I would go straight in and cancel him out without all this fussing and soul searching, which I’d just like to say is not your usual style,’ Nastiya opined. ‘But I ask you with tears in my eyes, why take a chance? If you kill him and later it turns out he was the wrong man and he was innocent then it will be a great pity and we can all shed a tear for him or burn a candle, but at least it means that there are no more Tippoo Tips left in this world. That is not truly such a great loss, is it?’
‘Of course I agree with you, Flower of my Heart.’ Paddy smiled at her fondly. ‘But you know that sometimes Hector can be very silly and stubborn.’
‘He is a man.’ Nastiya shrugged and gave a sigh of resignation. ‘And all men can be very silly and stubborn.’
‘Nazzy, you know of the deep affection, nay, the deep veneration in which I hold you, but—’ Hector started, but she cut him off with a groan.
‘Spare me the bullshit, Hector Cross. Okay, so you want to play pussy foot? Good! Paddy and I go along with your decision, like always. But don’t blame us if this Great Redeemer turns round and bites you in the balls.’
*
It was another forty-eight hours before Hector was satisfied that they were ready to make the transfer from London to Abu Zara. After dark the baggage train comprising two large hired trucks was sent from the Belgravia house to Farnborough airport, where Bannock Oil’s Boeing jet was waiting to receive their cargo.
Hector and his guests dined in the comfort of home, and only after they had eaten did they change into comfortable travel attire. Hector returned to the secret room behind the bookshelf in his study. Firstly he took down the 9mm automatic pistol with two spare magazines and an additional hundred rounds of ammunition. He slipped the pistol into its quick-draw shoulder holster. He patted it and smiled. It felt good and comforting. Next he took down the box marked ‘Passports’ and from it chose three booklets of Saudi, Iraqi and Abu Zarian denomination. He closed and locked the secret room and went down to where the chauffeur had the Rolls waiting with engine running.
There was a bit of power play between Nastiya and Hector as to who would hold Catherine for the short run out to the airport. Nastiya played her trump with a snide remark regarding the fact that real English men never dandled infants. She sat up in front next to the chauffeur with the child on her lap and sang her soft Russian lullabies. Catherine emitted not a squeak for the entire duration of the journey. Bonnie and the other nursemaids followed the Rolls in a separate vehicle.
The convoy drove out onto the tarmac and parked under the wing of the Boeing Business Jet. There was a young Anglo-Indian woman from the UK Border Agency waiting on board who completed the immigration formalities with rapid efficiency and within minutes they were taxiing out onto the main runway. As soon as they were airborne Catherine was laid down to sleep in her cot by Nastiya with every other female on board in attendance.
When Nastiya returned to the lounge to join the men in a nightcap she curled catlike into the seat beside Paddy and vamped him extravagantly. ‘You know how I detest standing in airport queues, husband who I worship?’ she whispered in his ear. ‘So if you really love me you will buy one of these things.’
‘A Boeing Business Jet, right? They probably cost around two hundred million dollars. Do you still want one?’
‘I’ve changed my mind. You can take me to our cabin and prove your love for me some other way.’
*
A little over seven hours later they touched down in Abu Zara, where an airport tender met them on the runway and with flashing beacons led them to the Royal aircraft hangar. They parked alongside the Emir’s new 747–8. The lesser Boeings belonging to his wives were lined up behind the aircraft. Bannock Oil and anybody associated with the company enjoyed highly favoured status in Abu Zara.
There was a
small reception committee from Cross Bow Security waiting to welcome them at the bottom of the boarding ladder. It was headed by Dave Imbiss and Tariq Hakam in the smart new tan uniforms that Nastiya had designed. Tariq was barely able to conceal his delight as he watched Hector coming lithely down the steps.
A long time ago, when Hector was still a major in the British Special Air Services, Tariq Hakam had been attached to Hector’s unit in Iraq as his interpreter and local guide. He and Hector had taken to each other from the first day when they ran into an ambush and had to fight their way out. Later he had been at Hector’s side on the dreadful day of the roadside bomb. When Hector opened up on the three Arab insurgents who had laid the bomb, and who seemed to be about to deploy a suicide device, Tariq had backed Hector’s fire and taken down one of the enemy. When Hector resigned his commission in the SAS, Tariq had come to him, and told him, ‘You are my father. Where you go I will go also.’ Now he stood at attention in front of Hector and bowed deeply, with his hands clasped over his heart. ‘May Allah love and protect you from all danger, My Father,’ he said softly in Arabic.
Against all protocol, Hector took him in a bear hug, and his voice choked a little as he replied in English. ‘Tariq, you old rogue you! God, how I have missed you.’
Having heard the salutation ‘You old rogue’ from Hector’s lips on so many occasions over the years, Tariq understood that it was one of the highest words of praise in the English language. He beamed with pleasure and returned Hector’s embrace, then he stepped back to let the other members of Cross Bow Security come forward to greet Hector. Hector knew all of them well. He had led some of them deep into Puntland to rescue Hazel’s elder daughter and, in the furnace of combat, strong links had been forged.
Now Dave Imbiss was second in command of Cross Bow under Paddy O’Quinn. Dave gave the illusion of youth and innocence, but he had served two tours of duty in the US Marines and had a row of medal ribbons on his chest to show for it. Back in the early days of Cross Bow, Hector, with his eye for a winner, had picked him out of the pack. Dave was shrewd and tough. What appeared to be puppy fat was in fact hard muscle. Dave had seen men die and had personally sent a number of them off on the long one-way trip. He and Hector owed each other a number of their nine lives. As they shook hands Hector demanded, ‘So is this safe house of yours really safe, Dave?’
‘Iron clad, boss.’
‘Don’t tell me, show me.’
All of them found seats in Dave’s sand-camouflaged Hummer and he drove them out of the airport complex into the open desert with the two trucks carrying the baggage following close behind. The road was four lanes wide, straight and glassy smooth. Like the ethereal city which loomed in the milky haze of distance far ahead, it had been built with the oil that lay far beneath the desert sands; the oil on which Hazel Bannock had staked her fortune and reputation when she stood at the helm of Bannock Oil.
Dave drove fast along the shore of the Gulf. The beach was white as sun-bleached bone and the waters beyond were a startling blend of blues and greens, changing as the seabed dropped away under them. The sky over it all was cloudless and a shade of blue so lustrous that it pained the eye.
The closer they came to Abu Zara City the higher the buildings seemed to climb into the sky; towers of creamy-coloured concrete and glass. Dave Imbiss pointed out one that stood well isolated from the others.
‘There it is! Seascape Mansions, little Catherine’s new fairy castle,’ he told Hector. He turned off the main highway at the next junction.
‘Pull over and park for a minute please, Dave,’ Hector instructed him. There was a pair of binoculars in the tray below the windscreen. ‘May I borrow these?’
‘Help yourself, Heck.’ As soon as the Hummer stopped, Hector stepped out and stretched over the engine compartment, focussing the binoculars on the towering building. He studied the external layout of the structure, and then swept the surroundings. The main building itself was encircled with extensive landscaped gardens; manicured lawns and fountains; stands of date palms and other exotic plants. The perimeter was guarded by a double palisade of razor wire. Beyond these gardens there was a separate complex of utility buildings and servants’ quarters discreetly tucked away in their own gated and guarded compound.
‘It looks okay from here,’ Hector admitted. He climbed back on board the Hummer and they drove down to the main gates of Seascape Mansions. The guards at the checkpoint were courteous but thorough. They even studied Catherine’s baby passport carefully. After they were admitted to the grounds Dave stopped again in the middle of the gardens and they all craned their necks to look up at the building. Dave pointed out to Hector the discreet steel baffles that his workmen had already placed over the windows of the topmost floor. These were designed to deflect any RPG or other explosive device fired from the grounds or the beach below. Hector had warned Dave about the incendiary grenades that the Beast had deployed at Brandon Hall, and he was taking no chances of a repeat performance.
There was another guard posted at the entrance to the underground car park. He checked the registration plates on the Hummer that had been phoned to him from the main gates. They rode up from the basement in the elevator dedicated exclusively to the top floor. When Hector stepped out of the elevator into the lobby of the apartment he saw at once why Prince Mohammed had come up with such an extravagant rental demand, and he realized that it had not been grossly inflated by wishful thinking.
There were a dozen house servants in white robes and scarlet fezzes with dangling black tassels drawn up in a file facing the doors to the elevator. They greeted Hector with respectful obeisance and then disappeared silently into the nether regions of the vast apartment.
‘I know what you are going to ask, boss,’ Dave Imbiss told him. ‘They have all been thoroughly checked and vetted. I personally vouch for every man jack of them.’
The interior décor of the apartment had been designed by a celebrated Italian studio. There were twelve bedroom suites, two dining rooms with their own kitchens, three lounges, a lavishly equipped gymnasium, two playrooms and a cinema. In addition, Dave Imbiss explained, there was accommodation for up to twenty-five servants provided in the separate gated compound.
Catherine had her own large nursery with an attendant nursemaid as her neighbour on either side, poised to rush to do her bidding at the first wail. On the roof there was a helipad, a swimming pool and a sun garden and entertainment area with bar and barbecue. There was a view across the bay to the centre of Abu Zara City. In the other direction lay the open waters of the Gulf with the white triangles of dhow sails scattered like daisy blossoms on the blue expanse.
‘If we must pig it, then I suppose this sty will just about do.’ Hector gave his opinion and called an immediate council of war in the cinema.
*
Hector set out his plan of action for Paddy and Nastiya, Dave Imbiss and Tariq. This was on a need-to-know basis; only those directly involved were briefed, not even the other senior and trusted Cross Bow operatives were involved.
The first stage of the operation was for Hector and Tariq in the guise of pilgrims to fly into Mecca on one of the many commercial flights. Tariq had already made the reservations, posing as an individual with no connection to Bannock Oil. He paid with Saudi riyals so he had left no credit-card traces. The two of them would fly directly from Dubai to Jeddah and from there take a public bus up to the sacred city itself. They were approaching the Islamic month of Dhu al-Hijjah, the high season of pilgrimage. During that period Mecca would be packed with hundreds of thousands of worshippers. Hector and Tariq would be swallowed up by the multitudes; hidden in plain sight.
Tariq had also taken the precaution of booking accommodation in one of the cheapest caravanserai in the city, where for under $20 a night they would be sharing a common dormitory with other pilgrims. The Beast would never suspect that Hector Cross would be holed up in a flea circus of that order.
These plans left Hector a little under three mont
hs to prepare himself before they left Abu Zara for the journey to Mecca. He knew his Arabic had become slightly stilted and rusty and would not convince a shrewd interrogator. The tanned skin of his face and arms had faded and the use of make-up would not withstand close scrutiny.
More importantly, his physical condition had deteriorated a little and he knew he was no longer battle fit. It was essential that he toughened himself up. Dave Imbiss and Tariq had planned to help him correct all these deficiencies.
Hector spent one night in the heady and rarefied luxury of Seascape Mansions. The next morning he kissed Catherine goodbye and he and Tariq went to join the labour force of a Saudi Arabian building contractor whose company was erecting yet another skyscraper on the Abu Zara beachfront.
The Abu Zara government had frowned upon the formation of trade unions in the emirate. The Emir in particular wished to dictate his own terms, and not to be beholden to his employees. With this example from on high, the foremen of Khidash Construction were not overly concerned with the rights of their labourers, human or otherwise.
The accommodation was primitive, the work brutal: sixteen to eighteen hours a day for seven days a week in the broiling sun, lugging sacks of concrete or crushed stone aggregate hundreds of feet up steep scaffolding, or working with pick and shovel in the deep foundations until their muscles burned and Hector’s face and arms turned a dark bronze from the sun. Their fellow workers were the dregs of humanity. Their social graces were totally devoid of couth. Their turn of phrase was colourful and colloquial. Hector soon regained his lost fluency. Stoically he endured three weeks on the Khidash site before he and Tariq moved a hundred miles south into the desert to the main Bannock Oil installation. Here they spent three or four hours a day on the firing range, honing their marksmanship with pistol and rifle.
With his contacts in the US military and his genius for weapons procurement, Dave Imbiss had located an M110 Semi-Automatic Sniper System. Hector had pulled rank as a director to send the Bannock Oil jet to pick it up from the main US Marine base in Afghanistan. After only a few hours’ practice Hector was able to set up a line of half a dozen yellow tennis balls atop a sand dune. Hector reckoned that a tennis ball was a little smaller than a human brain, a fair target. From a measured range of three hundred and fifty metres he could explode every single one of the balls with six successive rapid-fire shots.