The Death Trade (20 page)

“The kneecap? That's a ritual IRA punishment,” she said.

“For God's sake, woman,” Dillon told her, “his mother was Irish. Now, enough of this. What's our next move?”

“I've already been through that when we were at Simon's,” Sara said. “Don Renard plots a course for Qatar. On the way, we put down in the desert on the emergency landing strip at al-Shaba and visit St. Anthony's.”

“And then what?” Dillon asked. “I mean, what next for Simon Husseini? Does he decide to be a novice and end his days in the desert?” He turned to Husseini. “I hope you don't mind me raising the point.”

“And don't think I'm unaware of it,” Husseini told him. “To be honest, I've just taken this odyssey step by step. As you know, the beginning just happened, and I'm not sure about the ending now.”

“And none of us will be until we experience it,” Declan put in. He turned to Sara. “Am I right that you discussed the flight plan for the trip to St. Anthony's while you were at Husseini's?”

“That's right,” Sara said. “Why do you ask?”

“Was Bibi present?”

Husseini said, “Yes, she met Sara and Dillon, served us drinks, then left to go to the market.”

“Then we've got trouble. When I was walking back to meet you at the Tropicana,
I saw her sitting at a table outside Café Marco, deep in conversation with two men. One of them was definitely Omar. The other had steel glasses and an Arab head cloth.”

“Jemal Nadim,” Husseini said.

“So it's looking as if al-Qaeda has their hooks in her,” Declan told him.

Sara said, “But let's accept that's the way it is and leave it alone. Don't let Bibi know we're on to her. You can tell her we're not leaving until eleven o'clock in the morning, while I check with Don at the airport and arrange a six a.m. start, or something like that.”

“That sounds good to me,” Dillon said. “So Emza Khan and his crew find out we're not around for kidnapping or murder, but as they'll know our destination, thanks to Bibi, they'll simply follow us.”

“We'll sort that out when it happens,” Declan said. “For the moment, am I the only one who realizes we haven't eaten? Can we go in now?”

There was laughter, they went up the stairs into the dining room, and Sara half turned to him. “It seems it was right what you said to Vahidi. That if you caught up with Husseini, maybe you'd tell him to keep on running.”

“Yes, it must be confusing for you.”

“More so for you, I think. It must be very difficult.” She took his right hand and squeezed it. “We're on your side, Declan.”

“Yes, I know that.”

“Well, you guys get started. I don't want a first course anyway, but I want to call Don at his airport hotel. I'll join you later.”

—

S
he found Renard with no difficulty, he and Jane Green comfortable enough at the airport where they could keep an eye on preparations for the onward flight. Sara had been frank in warning Don that they could expect hazardous duty. She'd left open what that entailed, but what was developing—that was something else again.

“Is Jane there?”

“She sure is.”

“Well, put this on speaker and listen well. Both of you are still serving officers on the reserve?”

“That's correct,” they chorused.

“Then as an operative of the Secret Intelligence Service, I can invoke the Official Secrets Act. Do you agree to be bound by that?”

“Of course,” Don said as Jane joined in with, “Absolutely.”

“All right. As you've known for some time, Don, I work with Sean Dillon under the command of General Charles Ferguson directly for the Prime Minister. Anything we touch is of prime importance.”

“That's what I've always understood.”

“We've joined up with Colonel Declan Rashid of the Iranian Army. Our task is to get Simon Husseini in one piece to this St. Anthony's Hospice I've mentioned. The problem is, I've just heard there's a Falcon coming in from the UK carrying Emza Khan, chairman of Cyrus Holdings.”

“We know him well,” Don said. “Often flies out of Northolt. Just let me check, there's a screen in the room. Yes, it's due in an hour, and a couple of right bastards in the cockpit.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because they are,” Jane called. “They're ex–Russian Air Force. Ivan Kerimov and Dimitri Lisin. Good pilots, but they're all hands, if you follow me, and drink like fish. It's said they're something to do with Russian intelligence, but that could be gossip.”

“So, in a way, they're like you two, up for hazardous duty.”

“I suppose there could be something in that,” Jane agreed.

“To cut to the chase,” Sara said. “What would an old Afghanistan hand say if I told her that we have positive proof that Emza Khan is seriously involved with al-Qaeda?”

“That would sound absurd coming from anyone else,” Don said. “But from you, I've got to believe it. Does that hold for you, Jane?”

“Of course it does,” Jane said. “Where is this going?”

“He could make a lot of trouble for us. We're making sure that people think we're flying out at eleven tomorrow. How early could we make it if we wanted to catch them napping?”

“Six o'clock is good,” Don said. “We could just hang in there, with everyone on board, then suddenly decide to go.”

Jane cut in. “Once they know we've gone, though, I'm sure they'll get their act together fast. Those Russians are good, I've got to admit that.”

“Point taken. We'll see you round dawn, then.”

Next she contacted Holland Park.

“Damn you, Sara Gideon, I've never been so worried. You drive a man mad,” Roper told her.

Sara cut in, “Shut up, Giles, time is limited. Have you spoken to Ferguson yet? If so, I expect he's frothing at the mouth.”

“Actually, he was strangely calm. I told him about Husseini's call, your wild decision to go, and Dillon's hot pursuit. His actual words were ‘Thank God Dillon is there to watch her back. I suppose she'll be in touch when she's got something to say. Is it all right if I go back to work now?'”

“See if he's more impressed with this. Declan Rashid turned up from Tehran with orders from the minister of war to get his hands on Husseini and bring him back.”

“Well, he managed that pretty damn quick.”

“Declan got information from Husseini's security man that led him straight to Beirut.”

“So it's Declan, is it? You seem to be terribly chummy with what I know Dillon describes as the enemy.”

“He's no more the enemy than I am. He's an Iranian citizen whose mother was Irish.”

Roper said, “Sara, my love, it's obvious to me that you're so much on Rashid's side that the only conclusion must be that you fancy him. He's had an outstanding record with the Iranian Army, he's likely to make general one of these days. Why would he throw all that away?”

“Because he's on our
side
, Giles. And what I'm going to tell you now will have General Charles Ferguson gasping to hear more.”

“So what would that be?” Roper sounded weary. “Get on with it, Sara.”

“We've uncovered a plot, thanks to Declan, an al-Qaeda plot to murder him and then kidnap Simon Husseini. I'm sure you realized for what purpose: They want the bomb.”

Roper stayed surprisingly calm. “And when is all this due to happen?”

“There's a Falcon out of London, flying here with a top man appointed by the council. His aircraft will transport Husseini to wherever his masters order. He's arriving here in an hour, flown in, I'm told, by a couple of very questionable Russian pilots named Ivan Kerimov and Dimitri Lisin. I'd note the names in your files for future reference. I'd have thought Cyrus Holdings could have found a better class of pilot, but then, I suppose they suit their boss's purpose.”

Roper said, “Hang on, where are we going with this?”

“Let me be the first to break the good news,” Sara said. “Thanks to Declan, we now know that Emza Khan is up to his neck in al-Qaeda. But Emza Khan doesn't realize that Declan is here, and knows what he is.”

“And presumably, he isn't aware of you and Dillon being around, either.”

“I'm afraid not. Poor him.”

“So what happens when the big confrontation takes place?”

“Not much, I hope. We're going to get the hell out of here tomorrow, fly down to Saudi, and drop in at a place called St. Anthony's Hospice.” She explained why, and finished with, “I hope you've been recording all this, Giles.”

“Of course I have. I'll knock it all into shape and get it to Ferguson as quickly as possible. It's going to make the old devil's day. It explains so much.”

“Everybody else is having dinner right now, but I wanted to get it all to you to keep Ferguson happy, if such a thing were possible.”

“Take care. You never know where you are with Russians.”

“I know what you mean. Now I'm going to go eat. Bye, Giles.”

She went. Roper punched a button on one of his computers and watched as it transcribed his recording of the exchange with Sara into print. It was certainly going to make Ferguson sit up and take notice.

—

T
he dinner had reached the brandy and coffee stage when Sara arrived. Dillon said, “What kept you?”

“I was talking to the hotel doctor on the phone. I told him about Father Mikali, and he's having a load of special drugs sent round at once.”

The maître d' approached, concerned. “Madame has missed dinner. What may I do?”

“Scrambled eggs and a tossed salad,” Sara told him. “If there's any champagne left, pour me a glass; if not, find a fresh bottle.”

“You haven't answered,” Dillon told her. “The doctor couldn't have taken that long.”

“I was also reporting in to Roper and bringing him up to date on where we are in this rather convoluted affair.”

“An apt description,” Declan said.

“He's spoken to Ferguson, who took the brief account of my rebellion and Dillon's pursuit with extraordinary calm. I've given Roper a full and frank account, including your situations as I see them, Declan and Simon.”

Husseini said, “I would imagine the information about Emza Khan will disturb Ferguson greatly.”

“Oh, not at all,” Sara said. “He'll be pleased to have been proved right. He's been convinced for a long time that there was something dodgy about Khan.”

At that moment the maître d' appeared in person bearing the tossed salad and scrambled eggs, followed by the wine waiter with another bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. They served them with a flourish.

“Thank you, it looks marvelous,” Sara said. “Am I right, aren't you expecting Mr. Emza Khan tonight?”

“Indeed we are,” the maître d' told her. “In fact, I've just had notice from the airport that they landed forty-five minutes ago. Is Madame familiar with this gentleman?”

“Yes, I think you could say that,” Sara said. “But I'd better eat my eggs before they get cold,” and she proceeded to do so.

“Are they good?” Dillon asked.

“Excellent.”

“Well, enjoy them while you can. When you have a moment, turn around. You'll find Khan in the flesh.”

The maître d' was in the act of bowing to Emza Khan, who looked transfixed as both Husseini and Declan stood up. His face was a mixture of shock and horror. The two Russians stood behind him, tough, cynical-looking individuals, sporting an unshaven look but handsome in uniform, each of them with four gold rings on his sleeve.

The maître d' moved, leading the way toward a booth at the back of the room. Sara remained seated as they approached, with Dillon, Husseini, and Declan standing behind her.

Dillon smiled cheerfully. “The top of the morning to you, Emza.”

Emza paused, his voice low, as he ignored Dillon and spoke to Husseini and Declan.

“You've disgraced your family and your regiment,” he hissed at Declan. “And you, Husseini, have betrayed your country. May you rot in hell for your perfidy.” He glared at Sara. “You murdered my son, you whore. I'll see you burn in hell for that.”

He continued to follow the maître d', and Kerimov glanced admiringly at Sara and said in Russian to his friend, “Now, there's a real woman for you. I wonder if anything is on offer?”

“Careful, you stupid idiot,” she said in Russian. “Continue to keep company with a dog like Emza Khan, you're likely to catch fleas.”

Both of them were startled by her fluency, and Kerimov clapped and replied in Russian, “Thank you for such excellent advice. We'll take it.”

He and his partner moved to join Khan at the end of the room, and Dillon, Husseini, and Declan sat down as the wine waiter hurried over to freshen the drinks. Husseini said, “What on earth is Khan up to? He's acting as if he's in the clear. It doesn't make sense.”

Sara said, “It does if you consider the spot the Iranian government is in. It's only been a little more than a week since that accident in Tehran, but the word's getting out. They've got to find a way to contain it, and the last thing they need is a scandal.”

“So what are they waiting for, these people in Tehran?” Husseini demanded.

“They're desperately hoping that Declan will manage to get his hands on you,” Sara said. “And the ironic thing is that he has, just not the way they expected.”

“Which raises the question, what are you going to do?” Dillon said to Declan. “Where would you go?”

“As has been said, I have an Irish passport,” Declan told him. “What hasn't, is that my mother inherited a country estate near Galway from an uncle on her mother's side. It came to me on her death and is managed by lawyers, who are family cousins.”