A Devil Is Waiting (16 page)

“I thought I’d made that clear. Ferguson and his people have not only caused constant trouble for Ali Selim, they have murdered some of our most important people over the last few years. Death for death, Owen, that’s what they deserve and it’s a result I intend to have.”

“And this includes the woman?”

“I’m surprised you need to ask. Her service record speaks for itself, and not only in Afghanistan. Owen, these people call us terrorists and speak of being at war with us. Well, we are at war with them, and to the knife. So what about some action from the Frenchman? He was supposed to be serious business, but I’ve seen little evidence of it. A bullet in the back when your target walks home in the rain is serious business; so is a bomb under someone’s car. What I’m getting here is nothing.”

“He’s only been on the case for a couple of days,” Owen protested.

“I’m not interested in excuses. If he lets me down, my retribution will be not only swift but final. I want results and I want them now. Fire from heaven, Owen. That would be appropriate while the President is in town, don’t you think?”

Owen sat there thinking about it, thoroughly angry at the position he was in, but there was no way out, so he phoned Kelly.

“Where are you?”

“The shop.”

“And Legrande is with you?”

“Yes. Is there a problem?”

“Not for me, for you. I’ve had Abu on my back, and he isn’t pleased at the lack of action from you two. I’ll be round in fifteen minutes.”

Henri Legrande was in the workshop repairing an antique chair when Kelly hurried in to warn him of Owen Rashid’s imminent arrival. He was worried, and it showed.

“What the hell are we going to do?”

“Well, for one thing, we still keep quiet about the Dark Man affair and the business with the woman last night,” Henri told him. “Failure is the last thing Abu wants to hear about, so not
a hint to Rashid. So we tell him we’ve been making a general reconnaissance, checked out the Salters’ pub, followed Holley from the Dorchester to Highfield Court, where the woman lives, sussed out the situation at her house.”

“And you followed them to Hyde Park,” Kelly said.

“Exactly. Not bad for two days.”

There was no time for more, because the bell sounded as the shop door opened and Owen Rashid called, “I’m here. Where are you?”

H
enri produced a bottle of Beaujolais and three glasses. They sat around the workbench, and Owen told them exactly what Abu had said. Henri offered the defense he and Kelly had prepared, pointing out that he had followed Sara and Holley to Hyde Park and witnessed Ali Selim’s speech and the riot that had followed.

“We’ve been on the case—surely you can see that?”

“I can, but that isn’t the point. I’ve told you what Abu said. The bullet in the back, the car bomb.”

“I heard you,” Henri told him. “Fire from heaven.”

“And can you handle that?”

Henri got up and went to a door in one corner. He reached up to a lintel, found a key and opened it, and switched on a light. “Have a look, why don’t you?”

Owen was amazed. There were three shotguns, two Lee Enfield rifles and an AK-47, ranged neatly against one wall on racks. A shelf on the other side displayed a number of handguns.
There were boxes of assorted ammunition and several large tin boxes painted khaki green.

“What’s that?” Owen asked.

“Semtex in one, pencil timers in the other. I’ve had this stuff for years. The guns came from house sales. It’s astonishing what turns up in the antiques business.”

Kelly was examining a Beretta. “This is in lovely condition.” He replaced it on the shelf and took another. “Walther PPK with a Carswell silencer. Real stopping power.”

Owen said, “When did you last use any of these?”

“This particular weaponry? Never. It just came into my possession through the house sales, as I told you. The Semtex is a different matter, but I’ve kept it carefully preserved. I’m sure Jack has told you my story. It was last used many years ago when I sought retribution for a great wrong.”

They went out, and he locked the door, then poured them each another glass of wine. Owen said, “Fire from heaven, a spectacular to ruin the President’s visit and demonstrate the power of Al Qaeda. Would you be up for that—a car bomb?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“It would be like old times to Jack here, he was involved in so many similar affairs during his IRA past. But why are you sure of yourself?”

So Legrande told him. “As Jack knows, I have a cancer. Six months is all I’ve got.”

Owen pretended shock. “My God, that’s terrible.”

“No it isn’t, it’s a fact, so I don’t give a damn about anything anymore. That’s why I took on the job.”

“And if the woman were involved?”

“To me, my friend, she is no longer a woman as you mean it. She is a soldier, and a damn good one, so she is just another member of Ferguson’s team.”

Owen nodded. “So what do you intend to do?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what Holley plans for this evening. With a man like him as my quarry, I’ll certainly wear a bulletproof vest. I may be on borrowed time, but there’s no need to hurry things. All I can say is that if a suitable opportunity presents itself, I’ll take advantage of it, but Abu must understand that I can’t promise anything.”

“Which is perfectly reasonable,” Owen said. “The only problem there is that he’s the most unreasonable sod I know.” He stood up. “I’d better go and leave you to get on with it. I’ll be in touch,” and he went out.

L
unch at a Lebanese restaurant in Shepherd Market had been so convivial that it lasted until three.

“Nine-thirty tomorrow morning at Holland Park,” Roper said as Tony Doyle loaded him into the van, Dillon already on board.

“Well, that was nice.” Sara slipped her hand inside Holley’s arm as they started the short walk to the Dorchester. “What shall we do tonight?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

They arrived at the small art-house cinema on the corner,
the Curzon. She paused to look at the posters and said, “Hey, they’re showing
Manhattan
.”

“Woody Allen. A great movie,” Holley said.

She was checking the performance times and turned, delight on her face. “It’s starting in fifteen minutes. I truly adore this film, Daniel, all that glorious Gershwin music.”

“Then let’s go and see it.” He put an arm around her, pushed open the door, and they went in.

It was a quarter to six when they came out, happy, into the early-evening darkness and walked back toward the Dorchester.

“What are you going to do?” Holley asked. “Come up to my suite?”

“Love to, but it might be a good idea to check the house out, since Sadie is away—get the mail and so on.”

“Fine by me,” he said. “I’ll tell them to bring the Alfa round.”

Standing on the steps a few moments later, handing his car keys to the doorman, Sara at his side, he was immediately spotted by Jack Kelly, who had taken turns with Henri to stand on the corner of the side street where they’d parked the Citroën. He watched them for a moment, then hurried back to the Frenchman, who sat behind the wheel with a magazine, the silenced Walther in his pocket.

“They’re here,” he said, and got in the Citroën.

“About time. What are they doing?” Henri asked.

“It looks like they’re waiting for the Alfa to be brought round.”

“Then let’s be ready,” Henri said. “You drive. Take me round to South Audley Street to wait for them. My bet is they’re going to her home. I’ll get ready in the rear.”

There was a magnet on the lid of the cake tin box that he held
on his knees. He removed the lid, revealing the block of Semtex, three scarlet-rimmed pencil timers in a small box beside it. He sat back.

A few moments later, the Alfa passed him, and Kelly went after it. “Don’t follow them into Highfield Court,” Henri said. “Drop me at the entrance of the street, then continue into Grosvenor Square and wait for me. It will all happen very fast, so be ready for a quick departure.”

T
he Alfa swung into the drive of the house and the security lights came on. Holley switched off the engine. Sara got out, taking the key from her shoulder bag, and as she went up the steps, a lean brown Burmese cat meowed and brushed her feet.

“On your way, Samson,” she said, and glanced at Holley as she turned the key. “From next door. An absolute rascal.”

She went into the hall, switched on the light, and Holley followed her, closing the door behind him. The security lights died as she started to take off her coat.

Henri had been waiting for the dark. He gave each pencil timer a half-turn, inserted them into the Semtex, replaced the lid, and left the Citroën quickly, crouching as low as possible to avoid activating the lights, dropped on his knees, and reached under the Alfa with the cake box, the magnet clicking firmly into place. At the same moment, Samson, who had been crouching underneath, let out a loud wailing cry and fled, bounding up the steps and leaping onto the balustrade of the side terrace, the security lights turning the darkness into day.

Holley had just helped Sara off with her coat. “Samson again. What’s wrong with him?” She glanced out through the window beside the door and saw Henri as he rose up. “Daniel, there’s a man outside,” she said, and reached for her Colt, which she was carrying in a spring holster against the small of her back.

Holley moved on the instant, reaching to open the door with one hand, drawing his Colt with the other. Henri, dazzled by the sudden lights, pulled out the Walther, fired blindly in the general direction of the door, and ran for it, Holley’s shot chasing him into the street, missing by inches and striking the gate post.

He got there in time to see Henri vanish round the corner, hesitated, then turned. Seeing no sign of Sara, he ran in panic up the steps and through the open door. He found her on one knee, pulling herself up with the aid of a large chair, the cheval mirror on the wall starred with a bullet hole.

“I’m all right,” she said as he reached her. “A dull thud was all I heard. I dropped down instinctively.”

“He was probably using a Carswell.” He pulled her close, for a moment holding her tight, and she smiled. “At least we now know for certain that we
are
being targeted.”

“What was he doing when you saw him?”

“He just rose up as if he’d been crouching beside the car. Could he have been messing about with the brakes again?”

“I’ll take a look. Do you have a light?”

“There’s a spotlight in the cloakroom.”

She gave it to him, and followed as he went down the steps to the Alfa, got on his knees, and found the cake tin.

“Oh, dear,” he said, and straightened. “I’ve got a strong feeling that if I ask you to go away, you’ll refuse.”

“Yes, I damn well will, if it’s what I think it is. What are you going to do?”

“Well, I’m trying to be logical. If whatever is in the cake tin that’s attached to this car was remote-controlled, we’d have been blown to bits by now. He’d have already activated it while he was running away.”

She said calmly, “Which would leave pencil timers. Fifteen-minute, thirty, one-hour?”

“I’d say thirty to give him ample time to be elsewhere.”

“That would seem reasonable.”

“Let’s hope so. I’d just like to say I love you.”

“I know you do.” She smiled gravely. “You’d better get on with it, then.”

He handed her the spotlight, got on his back, reached up, gripped the box in both hands, and pulled so hard that it came away from the lid. He eased back, got up, staring down at the red-ringed pencil timers, pulled them out quickly, and tossed them into the birdbath beside the steps.

“You must live right, Sara Gideon. They were fifteens—fifteen bloody minutes. We should have been dead by now, and, somewhere, the bastard who concocted this very special cake is kicking himself because he’s been waiting for the sound of an explosion that hasn’t come.”

“I suppose you’ll have to report in? Ferguson will go ballistic.”

“I’ll call Roper now,” he said as they went up the steps.

There was a meow, and Samson slipped out of the darkness, wound himself around her right ankle. She reached for him, and he faded into the night again.

“He saved our lives,” Sara said. “It’s as simple as that.” She
turned and smiled at him as they went into the hall. “Thank you for your dying declaration. Naturally, I’ll hold you to it.”

“Somehow I thought you would.”

H
enri had found Kelly in Grosvenor Square with no problem, then scrambled into the Citroën, breathless from his running.

“Is it done?” Kelly demanded as he switched on and drove round the square past the Eisenhower statue.