A Devil Is Waiting (19 page)

“On the other hand, the Sultan does like to see me every so often. I mean, it’s protocol even if he is my uncle. Just a few days, a week at the most.” He took her hand again. “Is there any
chance you’d consider coming with me? You’ve often talked about it. I could show you the Bacu Railway.”

“When would this be?” she asked.

“I’m pretty flexible where that’s concerned.”

“Well, as it happens, we have a half-term vacation coming up at the university on Friday.”

“How long for?”

“Two weeks.”

“So you’ll come?”

“Only if you take me to dinner tonight. Do you think we could go to that little Italian place again?”

He smiled. “Only if you ask me in for coffee afterward.”

“Oh, I think that could be arranged. Let’s go, shall we?”

A
t the antiques shop, Kelly was in the kitchen, checking on an Irish stew he was preparing for the evening meal. Henri was dozing in a wingback chair beside the fire when he came awake with a start, because he’d suddenly realized why that Frenchman’s face at Hyde Park had been familiar to him.

Kelly appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve just realized that I can put a name to the face of that Frenchman I was following. Colonel Claude Duval. He’s with the DGSE, the Secret Service. His face was in newspapers a lot six months ago, having to do with a Muslim terrorism trial.”

“What would he be doing over here?” Kelly asked.

“How do I know? It explains why he was in Roper’s company, though.” Kelly returned to the kitchen, and Henri followed 
him, found a bottle of red wine, and poured two glasses. “I’ve been thinking. If Rashid phones, which he probably will, I’ll tell him our impression is that the Gideon woman is staying at the hotel with Holley, so we’re looking at a new target.”

“And what would that be?”

“The Salters’ place, the Dark Man, down by the river.”

“It’s a thought,” Kelly said. “Okay, that’s what we’ll say. Mind you, I think Rashid’s occupied with other things at the moment.”

“Like your boss?”

“I think so. She doesn’t answer her mobile, and I walked round again today and knocked on her door in Marley Court, but no answer.”

“Wasn’t I with you twice yesterday and no response? Perhaps they were in bed. She’s no chicken, but she’s a fine-looking woman for all that.”

“Maybe so,” Kelly said. “Anyway, go and sit down, and I’ll serve the meal.”

So Henri took the two glasses and the bottle of wine and went off to the dining room.

A
t Holland Park, Dillon had decided to keep Roper company by staying over in staff quarters, something he often did. Holley and Sara, having long since departed for the Dorchester, had dined in The Grill and ended up, as before, enjoying a nightcap on the terrace of his suite.

Holley checked his watch. “Eleven o’clock, so the President is well on his way by now, and things can get back to normal.”

“Whatever normal means to you people,” Sara said.

His Codex sounded, Roper on the line, and Holley switched to speaker. Roper’s voice boomed. “All hell’s broken out at Downing Street.”

“Why?”

“The Prime Minister feels humiliated about what happened while he was entertaining the world’s most important head of state—”

“But we prevented it from happening,” Sara cut in.

“That’s not good enough, it seems. Young Jemal—the boy you shot, Sara—has told us exactly what Ali Selim’s plans are, and where he’s going. The Prime Minister has ordered Ferguson to take us in hot pursuit. Ferguson will bring you up to speed on everything. He’s on his way now. You’d better get here fast.”

He switched off, and Holley said, “So much for the quiet life. You heard the man, Sara. Get dressed, and I’ll call the doorman to have the Alfa ready.”

W
hen they got to Holland Park, Ferguson was sitting with Dillon and Roper, Doyle serving tea and coffee.

“There you are.” Ferguson was remarkably cheerful. “Let’s get started. It could be a long night, thanks to Ali Selim. The Prime Minister is furious, thinks the whole business makes us look very bad in Washington, so Ali Selim must be dealt with once and for all.”

“Which is where hot pursuit comes in,” Sara said. “But what does that mean, sir?”

“Exactly what I was going to ask,” Dillon said. “Do we try and capture the man or just put a bullet between his eyes?”

“That would obviously depend on the situation,” Ferguson told him.

“But the bullet would make more sense,” Holley said. “In any case, do we know if he’s actually reached Peshawar?”

“Not to our knowledge,” Roper said. “His plane had a flight plan to Bahrain. Since then it’s dropped out of view. It’s an Arab
plane owned by a wealthy sheikh, flying in Gulf airspace.” He shrugged. “It might as well be invisible. On the other hand, if it has landed at Peshawar, it hasn’t done anything wrong. We all know how corrupt the situation is in Pakistan. It’s easy for Ali Selim to be passed through, and after all, he isn’t going to stay there. According to Jemal, he intends to cross the border into Afghanistan to this village called Amira.”

“One thing in our favor,” Ferguson said. “Our old friend Seleman Hamza has been promoted to colonel in charge of the military police headquarters in Peshawar. He’s not only on our side, he hates Al Qaeda.”

“So you are completely in charge, General, not the Cabinet Office,” Roper said.

A statement, not a query, and Ferguson smiled. “Just the way I like it. Tell me about this Amira place.”

“About forty miles inside Afghanistan, west of the Khyber Pass.”

“So an illegal crossing is necessary.” Ferguson nodded, thinking about it.

“Definitely,” Roper said. “A dangerous trip by road in the backcountry, which I believe they call the Wilderness. A helicopter would be better.”

“Which would mean the Pakistani Army having to look the other way. That’s where Colonel Hamza would be useful. I believe there are private firms flying cargo in old Soviet Raptor helicopters and vehicles like that. Money talks, so something could be arranged. He’s bound to have the right contacts.”

It was Dillon who said, “Remember Ben Carver, who we used to use in Hazar? He sold his air taxi firm to a guy named
Greg Slay, a captain in the Army Air Corps. Helicopters and fixed-wing. Got a DFC in Iraq. The old military airfield where he’s based is used regularly for refueling by RAF traffic on the way to the war zone in Pakistan.”

“Good thinking,” Ferguson said. “Get in touch with him, Giles. Make him an offer he can’t refuse, and tell him I want him at Peshawar International Airport within twelve hours. He’ll arrange a lift, I’ve no doubt, from some RAF transport plane passing through.”

“I’ll get right on it.”

“I suggest we all stay over in staff quarters, but I’ll be in my office for a while discussing things with the Cabinet Office. So contact this chap Slay, Giles, then Colonel Hamza in Peshawar, and notify Parry and Lacey to be on standby with the Gulfstream at Farley Field. Have I missed anything?”

“With respect, sir, it’s important to know every aspect of the situation, and I don’t think we have that,” Sara said.

Ferguson frowned. “In what way are we lacking?”

“
The Art of War
says: Allowing your enemy to choose the field of battle will only serve
his
purpose, not yours.”

“And what exactly is that pearl of wisdom supposed to tell us?”

“The village of Amira. Why has he chosen it and what goes on there?”

Roper cut in. “I looked it up, Sara. The population is no more than seventeen or so. It’s too barren for poppy cultivation, and the climate isn’t right—there’s rain and a certain amount of snow at this time of year. It’s goats, sheep, subsistence farming. They’re mountain people, and Pashtu speaking.”

“A fair description of Poverty Row,” Dillon put in.

“So what’s his agenda and what’s he doing there? We fought a battle in the garage with silenced weapons, foiled his bomb attack on Parliament, his niece is dead, Jemal is in our hands. There’s been nothing in the newspapers or on television, so he can only conclude that it all ended in failure,” Sara said.

“So what are you saying?” Ferguson demanded.

“When you’re on the run, having done bad things, you expect to be hounded. It’s the law of nature. For every action, there’s a reaction.”

Ferguson said patiently, “And what would that be, my dear?”

She took a deep breath, glanced at the others, then back to Ferguson and smiled sweetly. “I haven’t the slightest idea, General, dear, except that you’ll be in a village at the backside of nowhere with a bunch of tough mountain Pashtu-speaking boys who won’t even go to the lavatory without an AK-47 dangling from one shoulder, and maybe, just maybe, Ali Selim is
waiting
for you to turn up.”

Ferguson burst into laughter. “Sara Gideon, I suspected you were a woman of parts, and I’ve just been proved right. Anything to add?”

“Well, I would point out that you all speak Arabic to some degree or other, but as Pashtu was one of the main reasons you recruited me, I do think I should be included on this one. I’m good, sir, my Pashtu is fluent, and I can pass myself off as an Afghan woman.”

Holley couldn’t help himself. “Not with that scarlet mop of hair, you can’t.”

“I’ve done it before in the right clothing, Daniel—you’ll see.”

He wasn’t pleased, but he gave up. Ferguson said, “My
decision. You’ll go as interpreter, Sara, I’ll supervise things in Peshawar. Harry will be representing the Prime Minister, and Dillon and Daniel can handle any rough stuff. Now I really must go to my office.”

F
erguson reappeared almost an hour later to find Sara, Holley, and Dillon deep in conversation while Roper worked at his screens. “They want me back at Downing Street. Sergeant Doyle can drive me. What’s been happening?”

Roper said, “I contacted Greg Slay in Hazar, and he snapped my hand off before I even got a chance to discuss money. He’ll definitely be there when we reach Peshawar. I contacted Colonel Hamza. The Hawker landed three hours ago and is still there. They can’t touch it because the owner is too important politically. No sign of Ali Selim, who is obviously on the other side of the border making for Amira. Colonel Hamza will give us all the support he can, but it will have to be unofficial.”

“Fair enough,” Ferguson said.

“He’s suggested an air taxi firm run by a man named Wali Hussein as our best bet if we want to hire a helicopter. Hussein apparently operates three old Russian Raptors and has the right dodgy reputation—smuggling, illegal pickups over the border, that kind of thing. Colonel Hamza is going to suggest to him that it would be in his best interests to help us. It will be a comfort to have an exceptional pilot like Slay along.”

“You seem to have covered just about everything,” Ferguson said.

“We aim to please,” Roper told him. “We’re going to be in and out on this one, so no point in staying at one of the downtown hotels. Colonel Hamza suggests a place called Rangoon close to the airport. He’s having a word with them.”

“Excellent,” Ferguson said. “I’ve got a good feeling about this, but I’d better get moving and see what they want at Downing Street.”

He went out, followed by Doyle, and Sara said to Holley, “Is he always so cheerful?”

“A rare occurrence. Enjoy it while you can.”

Dillon said, “The smell of power, the possibility of action, is what brings an old soldier to life again, Sara, so you’ve got something to look forward to. I’d grab a little shut-eye while you can, if I were you. You’ve got a long flight ahead of you tomorrow morning.”

“A sensible thought. I’ll see you here later.” She gave Holley that special smile and walked out.

A
t the same moment, Ferguson had arrived outside the Prime Minister’s study at Downing Street to find Henry Frankel, sitting alone and working his way through a file.

He glanced up. “You look agitated, Charles.”

“I am, Henry. We’ve got a lot on, and that’s putting it mildly.”

“Miller’s already here, Charles. The PM wanted a private word.”

Ferguson frowned. “Without me? Why is that?”

“To be frank, I think the PM believes this enterprise to be rather more hazardous than he at first thought.”

Ferguson was immensely irritated. “I’m damned if I can see why.”

Frankel smiled pleasantly. “Well, you can go and find out, Charles, they’re ready for you now.” He went and opened the study door and ushered Ferguson in.

Harry Miller got up from his seat opposite the PM, who said, “There you are, Charles, do come in. I wanted to have a word with Harry to make sure that he fully appreciates the personal risk he is taking in this matter.”