A Devil Is Waiting (26 page)

“The baby is doing well, but my niece isn’t so good. I need to give her another week to see how things work out.” A smile crept into her voice. “Have you been seeing any more of that Mr. Holley?”

Sara rolled her eyes. “Yes, Sadie, I have.”

“Oh, well, at least you’re getting looked after.”

They talked for a minute more, then hung up.

“Sadie,” Sara said to Holley. “Her niece needs her for longer than she thought.”

“I’m surprised she hasn’t got in touch with you before this,”
Holley said. “If only she knew what you’ve been up to, she’d have a fit. What about your granddad?”

“I haven’t exactly had time on my hands,” she said. “But you’re right to remind me. It’s a little early. I’ll have some coffee and call him in an hour.”

“I’ll get it for you,” Holley said, and left her there for a few moments, thinking about what had happened in an astonishingly short period of time and wondering how she would manage to appear normal and collected when she spoke to her grandfather. In fact, he took care of the situation for her.

He sounded very cheerful. “You must have wondered what happened to me. I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. I’ve never been so busy. Where are you, by the way, not at home? I called you there.”

“In an airplane,” Sara told him. “London-bound. I’ve been away on a training trip for a couple of days. How are things going?”

“That’s what I’m calling you about. Such good news! St. Andrews University wants me to hold a seminar on comparative religion for doctoral students. It’s a great honor.”

“When do you start?”

“I’m already there! Two weeks, my love, I hope you don’t mind. I know Sadie is away.”

“Nonsense. Why should I mind?” She’d put her Codex on speaker.

He said, “Is Daniel with you?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Excellent. I’m not a fool, and I’m sure you’re up to all sorts of devious things which occasion danger now and then. I’m glad he’s around to keep an eye on you.”

“I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear that,” she said, deciding not to tell him he was on speaker.

“He’s almost biblical in a way, just like his name. A man who will always do the right thing, in spite of himself. That’s very rare. I must go now—I’ve got an early meeting. Stay in touch.”

Holley couldn’t think of a thing to say. She took his hand and held it tight. “There we are, then, a good girl I am. I always believe everything my granddad tells me.”

E
very aspect of Rubat society was so touched by Al Qaeda that Colonel Abdul Khazid, the chief of police, had long since learned to go with the flow like everyone else and do as he was told. When the Hawker put down to refuel, he knew who was on board and exactly what was expected of him. He drove out personally in an airport security van to make an apparent courtesy call on the pilots, but returned with Ali Selim and Ibrahim concealed in the back.

The Hawker was already taking off as the security van left the airport, and Khazid said, “It’s good to see you again. They’ve been giving you problems in London, it seems.”

“They always are,” Ali Selim said. “Which is why I try to give
them
problems.”

Khazid, ever the diplomat, said, “That was a great speech in Hyde Park. Al Jazeera had it on television.”

“Unfortunately, such popularity also brings some inconvenience, which is why I’ve dropped in here incognito. I stopped
off in northern Afghanistan with British agents on my tail, intent on killing me. I’m lucky to be here, out of sight while I consider the future.”

“Naturally, I will do everything in my power to assist in this unwelcome situation,” Khazid said. “My police force is small but well trained.”

“And capable of recognizing strangers when they see them, or those asking the wrong sort of questions?”

“Are you suggesting that the British know you are here?”

“They’ll just look everywhere, and the CIA will help them. Tell me, is anything different from the last time I was here? Does Captain Ahmed still command the ship?”

“He likes to think he does, but only when it suits, which is seldom.”

“And Fatima Karim?”

“Is still administrator, which means she runs everything, including Ahmed, who lusts after her helplessly.”

He had breached the hill with the view of the port below, a jumble of white terraces and flat roofs tumbling down to the harbor crowded with boats. Anchored in the center was the
Monsoon
, a three-masted traditional Arab dhow, lovingly restored by the same Gulf sheikh who owned the Hawker.

“Why have we stopped?” Ali Selim demanded.

“You usually like the view.”

“Damn the view. And as far as Ahmed is concerned, that big oaf may be able to handle a ship in a storm, but it beats me how he can let a woman like Fatima walk all over him.” He sighed. “Just drive.”

A
t the main jetty, Ali Selim and Ibrahim parted from Khazid and boarded a motorboat crewed by two sailors from the
Monsoon
. They reached the boat in fifteen minutes and found Captain Ahmed waiting at the rail to greet them. A gaunt and anxious-looking man with an iron-gray beard, he wore traditional robes plus a dark blue naval blazer with brass buttons and a cap with gold braid.

He spoke in Arabic. “Welcome, master, it is good to see you.”

“You look ridiculous,” Ali Selim told him. “Where is Fatima?”

“She waits for you in the owner’s quarters.”

“Then go about your business. When I need you, I’ll send for you. Go with him, Ibrahim. Get something to eat.”

T
he owner’s quarters were in the stern of the ship and very fine indeed, with polished and restored wooden floors, Persian and Indian carpets everywhere. Shuttered doors stood open in the stateroom, revealing the study behind, beautifully paneled in finest walnut and oak. Fatima Karim stood at the side of a wide Victorian desk.

She wore a black jumpsuit of raw silk and a chador in the same material. She was handsome rather than beautiful, with olive skin and violet eyes that made her extremely attractive. Her degree from the London School of Economics also made her attractive, but for different reasons.

Ali Selim spoke first and used English, reaching for her hands. “It is good to see you.”

She responded warmly, her English faultless. “So good to have you here safely. Things haven’t gone well, from what I heard. Can I serve you coffee? It’s all ready.”

“That would be wonderful.”

A section of paneling opened into a thoroughly modern kitchen, the coffee smell heavy on the air. He sat at a small table, and she served coffee for both of them, sitting opposite. The coffee was Yemeni and excellent.

“I needed that.” He pushed his cup over and she refilled it.

“It was bad, then?”

She was totally dedicated to Al Qaeda and completely trustworthy, so he told her everything, and she listened intently, taking it all in.

He was rather somber when he finished. “So death for death was my aim with Ferguson and his people, and we’ve failed miserably.”

“You must not talk so. It’s not you who has failed, but those who were supposed to serve you.”

“How is the Sultan?”

“Dr. Hassan does his best. He has an excellent setup at the palace, top staff and equipment.” She shrugged. “But what do you do with strokes, heart attacks, and age?”

“Aptly put. Do you think the Council of Elders would favor Owen for Sultan?”

“I wouldn’t bank on that. A majority of them are traditionalists who don’t care for him at all. They also don’t like that he’s
not even married, and a known womanizer.” She poured him more coffee. “What do you think?”

“I’ve only met him once,” Ali Selim told her. “The first time I visited the
Monsoon
when the sheikh brought it down to Rubat and gave a party. You hadn’t joined then. Owen was a guest, and so was I.”

“So you’ve never met again.”

“Well, to be honest, I’ve haunted his life in a way.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been a ghost in his machine.” He took off his glasses and polished them with his handkerchief. “A ghost called Abu.”

W
hat an amazing story,” Fatima said when he was finished.

Ali Selim said, “Owen Rashid is not the only one who made the mistake of responding to Al Qaeda advances for corrupt reasons. He believed it would give him an advantage in the oil business, some extra muscle when wheeler-dealing in the marketplace. But like others, he discovered there was a price to pay. He had to obey orders. Osama bin Laden made that clear. There can be no difference between rich and poor in this matter.”

“And so it should be,” she said. “But where does that leave Rashid? I suppose if the Elders do choose him as Sultan, that would at least be good from Al Qaeda’s point of view.”

“But Al Qaeda is already powerful in Rubat,” Ali Selim told her. “Powerful in its effect on ordinary people, most of whom
work in the oil industry. You know this is true, I’ve seen the reports you’ve collated. However, as you say, such people are not the majority of the Council of Elders. They may well say no to Owen.”

There was silence for a moment between them, and she frowned uncertainly. “Are you suggesting something else? If so, what is it?”

So he told her.

She was unable to speak for a few moments when he had finished, staring at him in awe. “Oh, my God,” she whispered.

Ali Selim said, “In a newsroom, this is what a reporter would describe as a hell of a story.”

“In
any
newsroom,” Fatima said. “It could run for weeks.”

“Thanks for the input,” Ali Selim told her. “Now go and find Ibrahim for me and bring him here. I know he looks frightening, but he has a highly developed sense of low cunning—and that’s just what we need.”

O
wen Rashid was running in Hyde Park when his mobile sounded. Ali Selim said, “Good morning, Owen. Starting the day as usual with a run?”

“God help me, what do you want now?” Owen demanded. “It’s breakfast time, Abu, though since I’ve no idea where you are, I don’t know what you’re up to.”

“Looking out the stern window of the
Monsoon
in Rubat Harbor.”

“What bloody nonsense are you giving me now?”

“No nonsense, Owen, I’m calling you from the
Monsoon
. I’m here on Al Qaeda business. By the way, it isn’t Abu. You must excuse my little subterfuge.”

Owen said, “So who the hell are you?”

“Mullah Ali Selim.”

Owen laughed wildly. “I’ve never heard such rubbish in my life.”

“What a shame. I never pegged you for a stupid man. I’m just calling you to tell you I’m going to phone Henri Legrande in twenty minutes. He’s utterly failed me, and I thought I’d let him know his shop could burn down one night this week—unless he does what I say. I’ve got a job for you all. If you leave now, you should be able to get there in time for me to talk to the three of you.”

He switched off his mobile and turned as Fatima and Ibrahim entered. “We’ll have to wait for approximately twenty minutes or so.” He smiled at Fatima. “I’ve stirred things up. If I’m right, Owen’s running across Park Lane through heavy morning traffic to get to his Foreign Legion friend. In the meantime, I’d love another cup of that Yemeni mocha coffee.”

O
wen, behaving exactly as Ali Selim had predicted, had crossed Park Lane and was running so fast down Curzon Street that he missed Jean Talbot emerge on the other side of the road, bound for the park. Intrigued, she crossed the road and ran after Owen, noting him turn into Shepherd Market. A final burst of speed brought her there in time to see him hammering
at the door of Mary’s Bower. She stepped into a doorway, waited, saw Henri Legrande open the door, Kelly at his shoulder. The alley was quiet at that time in the morning, and she heard what they said.

Henri Legrande: “What the hell is it?”

Owen: “I’ve just had a call from Abu. Only it appears he’s really Ali Selim.”

Kelly: “Come off it, Owen.”

Owen pushed past them, went inside, and the door closed.
Mystery piled on mystery here.
Jean conquered an insane impulse to go knock on the door herself, turned, and jogged away.

I
n the sitting room, Kelly said, “It can’t be for real.”

“Oh yes it is, and he wants to speak to us.” His mobile sounded. “I think this is him now,” and he put it on speaker. “So what do you want?” he demanded.

“Listen to me carefully,” said Selim. “After the riot in Hyde Park, friends spirited me away, but Ferguson’s gang tried to assassinate me and nearly succeeded. So now they are going to pay, and you’re going to help me. Or else you’re all going to see the inside of a British prison.”

Henri laughed out loud. “Why should we? You can’t get us into trouble. We haven’t done anything.”