A Devil Is Waiting (34 page)

It was at that moment that Abdul, the pilot, angry and dissatisfied with the turn of events in the launch, grabbed for the very light signaling pistol that hung by the open starboard window. He reached out, raised the pistol and fired, the flare soaring into the night sky, illuminating everything in harsh white light.

He shouted at the top of his voice, “They come for the English woman! Slay and his friends!”

Captain Ahmed ran away along the deck, and Holley clubbed Abdul across the side of his head, and, as he went down, Slay grabbed the wheel. There was still some way to go, and shots rang out, and a bullet punched through the windshield.

“Keep down,” he said to the others. “I’ll go in fast, then swerve up close. A couple of grenades might give them something to think about.”

“You’re on,” Dillon said.

They all crouched, Dillon pulling Khazid down, and Slay pushed the launch as hard as it would go, aiming for the landing platform, turning at the last moment so Dillon and Holley could lob over two pineapple grenades. There were cries of dismay, men running to get away from the carnage. Slay brought the launch in again, bouncing against the landing platform. Dillon and Holley jumped to the deck, guns blazing, cutting some of the police and crew down, while others, shocked by the ferocity of the attack, turned and fled. Slay leapt on to the platform, the painter in one hand, and looped it over a hook to hold the launch ready against their departure.

He turned to see Khazid cowering back in the boat and shouted to him, “Get up here—now!”

Suddenly Khazid was knocked out of the way by Abdul, the pilot, blood on his face and the signaling pistol in his right hand. As he raised it, Dillon, above him at the rail, fired a long burst with his Uzi that knocked him back over the side of the launch, the pistol discharging so that the flare glowed white hot under dark water for a moment before being extinguished.

Slay grabbed Khazid by the front of his tunic and said again, “Get up here.”

Khazid was half sobbing, and Dillon reached down and pulled him up. Someone was firing from along the deck, AK-47 shots that you
could
hear. “Together,” he said, as he scrambled up with Holley and Slay, and they loosed off long bursts, sweeping the decks clear toward the prow.

There was only silence up there now and Holley pushed Khazid in the direction of the stern. “You know where we want to be, so just take us there, if you want to live, that is.”

T
he sound of shooting had everyone at the dining table jumping to their feet, and Ahmed burst in through the door from the deck.

“Captain Slay is here—Slay from Hazar—with others. They say they have come for the English woman.”

A burst from Dillon’s Uzi drove him headlong to his knees at the end of the table, and the police there fired back with their AK-47s. One of them fell sideways to the floor close to Henri Legrande, who drew his Beretta.

He said to Owen, “I shouldn’t imagine we’d get anywhere shouting, ‘I surrender to these people.’ Are you armed?”

“I’ve never had to be.”

Henri leaned down and pulled a Makarov from the dead policeman’s holster. He passed it across. “Nine shots, make them count.”

At that moment, Slay, on the deck outside, fired through a
porthole window, a sustained burst that hurled both men back across the table, killing them instantly.

Ibrahim was at the deck entrance with his AK-47, Ali Selim firing a pistol he had produced from under his robe. Seeing what had happened to Owen and Henri, he turned to Ibrahim, taking another magazine from his pocket and reloading.

“The women, Ibrahim, into the owner’s quarters. I’ll follow you. We can get away from this mess in the stern launch.”

Fatima hurried ahead, pulling Sara behind her, and when she tried to struggle, Ibrahim gave her a heavy slap across the side of her head. Fatima got the wide mahogany door open to the bedrooms and pulled Sara in, Ibrahim at their heels.

The police and crew at the far end of the dining table had taken heavy casualties, and now Greg Slay, Dillon, and Holley rushed in low, sweeping the room, the men who were still standing dropping their weapons and raising their hands. Only one man was still on his feet with a weapon in his hand, and it was Ali Selim.

He leveled his pistol at Dillon and shot him twice in the chest, which because of the nylon-and-titanium vest Dillon was wearing only succeeded in knocking him down. Holley, in turn, emptied the magazine of his Uzi into him, throwing Selim backward and close to the open door to the owner’s quarters, where Ibrahim, Sara, and Fatima could see him as he fell.

“He’s dead,” Ibrahim said, kicking the door shut, as Holley and Slay pulled Dillon to his feet.

Fatima cried out as Ibrahim locked the door. “No, you can’t leave him like that,” she cried in Arabic.

He knocked her down with a punch to the face. She rolled over, then got to her feet, a small pistol in her hand. Without the slightest hesitation, he pulled a Makarov out of his sash and shot her dead.

He turned to face Sara, a figure of total menace, and spoke in English. “The small door in the corner opens to steps leading down to the stern. A launch is moored there, which is how we shall depart.” He went and opened it. “Lead the way.”

There was a kick on the other door. She said, “Like hell I will.”

Ibrahim slapped her face, his fingers tightened on the hair, and he pulled her close. “You will obey me by the time I finish with you.” He laughed, his head back, as a thunderous knocking sounded.

“I don’t think so.” Her right hand found the knife that Henri Legrande had given her. She pressed the button, springing the razor-sharp blade, and stabbed Ibrahim under the chin, the blade shearing up through the roof of the mouth into the brain. His eyes burned into her, he started to fold, his hands clutching at her, the door crashed open, and Holley and Slay rushed in. Sara pushed, and he went down.

She stood there, looking at her hands, which were covered in blood, and Holley and Slay pulled off their ski masks. She gazed at them wildly. “God knows how you managed it. I really
was
facing the prospect of a fate worse than death with this animal.”

She stirred Ibrahim with her foot, and Holley pulled his camouflage scarf off and wiped the blood from her hands. “You don’t need to worry about anything now.”

“Neither does she.” She looked down at Fatima. “Poor girl, she really believed in it all, and in the end this is where it got her.” Holley led her out to where Dillon was taking photos of Ali Selim. “What’s the point of that?” she asked.

“Proof that it’s him and that he’s dead,” Dillon said. “Otherwise, no one will believe it.”

“Are you okay, Sean?” Holley asked, and said to Sara, “Ali Selim shot him twice.”

“Which I’ve survived, thanks to my titanium vest, and not for the first time. But I think we’d better get moving. Wouldn’t you agree, Greg?”

“Absolutely,” Slay said. “Back to Hazar as fast as possible.”

There were bodies aplenty, but those who had surrendered had disappeared. They closed around Sara and proceeded cautiously, and just before they reached the launch someone fired a rifle from up ahead. Dillon and Holley immediately sprayed the area, while Slay escorted Sara down to the boat and turned on the engine.

Holley still fired short bursts into the darkness, and Dillon heaved open a hatch cover, revealing steps down into some sort of hold. He produced a Semtex block from his tunic pocket, stuck in a five-minute pencil timer, primed it, and dropped the block into darkness.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, and as Holley went down, hurried after him, unhooking the painter, the launch surging ahead as it picked up speed and made for the pier.

As they turned alongside and disembarked, there was a low, deep rumble as the Semtex exploded in the depths of the dhow. They hurried to the Scorpion, embarked quickly and were taking off in minutes, Slay making a close pass over the
Monsoon
as flames started to eat through the wooden decks. There were men down there, leaping into the sea in life jackets.

“Not that they deserve it, but they’ll be fine,” Slay said. “The sea is nice and warm and not renowned for sharks. The sheikh who owns
Monsoon
is a billionaire. All that oil, you see. He probably didn’t even bother to insure it.”

He took the Scorpion round on a curve, climbing to a thousand feet and heading fast across the desert to Hazar.

T
hey landed outside Slay’s hangar thirty minutes later and found Feisal waiting. He was excited and greeted Slay, smiling. “A big success, I think, when I see the lady.” He nodded to Sara. “But my friend in the tower speaks of a big disturbance in Rubat, a dhow sinking in the harbor. As there is no traffic at the moment, he suggests you get out of here in the Falcon while you still can. After all, Hazar and Rubat have no air force to go after you.”

“I’d say that’s sound advice,” Holley said.

“There is one more suggestion he has to make,” Feisal said. “The presence of a Scorpion helicopter has been noted. Some individuals who have met violent ends are policemen. Better for you, Captain Slay, to be on the Falcon when it leaves.”

“Wonderful,” Slay said. “When you think how much I’ve plowed into this business. But I must admit it would be sensible to vacate the premises while I still can.”

Sara slipped a hand in his arm. “When you think that Ali
Selim was expecting to get at least a hundred million sterling for me, Greg, I would imagine the board of the Gideon Bank would consider financial compensation to you for your loss to be cheap at the price.”

“Well, that’s a comfort,” Greg said.

So it was that the Falcon jet took off twenty minutes later, climbing very quickly. Feisal Rashid, a Bedu from deep in the Empty Quarter and, for a time, an aircraft mechanic, watched it go with some sadness, then packed anything he thought was worth taking, including some interesting weaponry, in the remaining jeep and left to join his beloved wife at Shaba Oasis.

W
ith Greg Slay on the flight deck, Holley sat with Sara, having coffee and considering what had happened. The pieces all fitted for her like a jigsaw. Owen Rashid’s Al Qaeda connection, the Henri Legrande and Jack Kelly affair so important. Without it, Sara Gideon would have been a prisoner of Al Qaeda now. And then there was Jean Talbot who had done the right, if dangerous, thing and taken a bullet doing it.

It was all rather moving, and she turned to Holley. “Can I borrow your Codex? I think I’ll make my usual false report to Sadie and Granddad.”

“Of course.” He gave it to her. “How are you feeling?”

“It still hasn’t sunk in properly that I wakened from a deep sleep and found myself living a nightmare. Then you lot just appearing from nowhere like you did.”

“Thank God we were able to.”

She smiled. “I’ll make the call from the restroom. I’ll see you soon.”

Holley sat there in the dim light, half dozing. It was half an hour before she returned. “Everything okay?” he asked.

“Sadie was in bed, having an early night. The baby is good; the mother still under the weather, and Granddad was marking papers. He seems to be really enjoying the academic life. I have not been honest with them, Daniel, but on the other hand, the life I’ve been living would be totally incomprehensible to them, and I wouldn’t want them to know anyway. The continual stress would be too much of a problem.”

“But not for you, I think,” Holley said. “Just look at you. Fully in control, in spite of what you’ve been through. Heavy-duty stuff, Sara.”

“Do you find that hard to take?”

“I’d have killed Ibrahim myself without a moment’s hesitation. It’s interesting that you can do the same, that’s all, and leave it behind.”

“Well, I can,” she said. “Although it helps when the opposition are bad people.”

Holley said, “I remember that Dillon told me once that there are two kinds of actor. The majority take the role home with them, and a minority can switch it on, then off again, no problem.”

“So what are we?” she demanded.

He smiled. “Probably people who think that life is just like a movie.”

“What a good idea,” she said, and Dillon raised his voice.
“I’m going to call Roper and report in. I’ll put my Codex on speaker so if anyone wants to listen, feel free.”

H
e went through everything that had happened. When he finished, Roper said, “A triumph from our point of view, not least that we got Sara back in one piece. It’s also good to know that the Gideon Bank will do right by Gregory Slay, whose sterling service, by the way, has earned him a recall to the Army Air Corps in the rank of Major. We’ve dealt Al Qaeda’s London operations a crushing blow. Ali Selim dead. His unwilling accomplice, Owen Rashid, also dead. Henri Legrande, Jack Kelly. Our thanks to Professor Jean Talbot. I think we may have made a friend there—”

Holley cut in, “What’s the story that’s being given out on Ali Selim’s death?”

“Al Qaeda is huge in Yemen, as the world knows, and there is constant feuding between dissident groups, especially since the death of Osama bin Laden. The fighting on this occasion has obviously spilled over into Rubat, and Ali Selim seems to have been a victim.”