Vicious Circle (16 page)

He left the main precinct and wandered down the adjoining cloisters. He passed a few of the cubicles in which the temple mullahs waited to meet any members of the congregation who were seeking spiritual guidance and counsel. He found the man he was looking for near the end of the second colonnade, one whose eyes in a setting of fine wrinkles were sharp and intelligent and whose beard was white under the ginger dye. He had the look of permanence about him, as though he had been in place for a long time. Hector entered the cubicle and bowed.

‘As-salamu alaykum!’

‘And on you be peace!’

They exchanged greetings, then the mullah indicated the rug spread in front of his low table on which lay a well-thumbed copy of the Koran and other religious texts and commentaries. Hector sat cross-legged in front of him and they chatted informally for a while. The mullah recognized his accent almost at once.

‘You are from the East Africa, from Somalia, I suspect?’ Hector spread his hands in acquiescence. His Arabic had been honed by Tariq Hakam, who was from Puntland, and Hector had picked up the accent from him.

‘Is it so obvious, Sheikh?’ He used the term of respect. ‘I have lived in this country many years.’

The mullah smiled knowingly. ‘So how can I help you, my son?’

‘Father, I am planning to make the pilgrimage to Mecca soon.
Inshallah!
’

‘
Mashallah!
Let it be so,’ the old man intoned.

‘I have heard men speak of a mullah in that country who once preached in this very mosque where we now sit. People who have heard him have told me that, despite his youth, this mullah is a man of great holiness and wisdom. I want you to tell me if you knew this man when he was here, and if you believe the time and expense of extending my sojourn in Mecca to listen to him would be justified. I want to know also if what he preaches accords with the teachings of the Prophet Muhammad.’

‘My son, who is this mullah? Please tell me his name.’

‘His name is Aazim Muktar—’

Before Hector could complete the sentence the old man’s face lit with delight. He clapped his hands and exclaimed, ‘In the name of Allah and his blessed Prophet, may they be praised for ever. You speak of none other than Aazim Muktar Tippoo Tip.’

Hector was surprised by the fervour of his reaction. ‘You know him?’ he asked.

‘I know him as I know one of my own sons, and verily I wish he were my own son.’

‘You admire him then, Old Father?’

‘It is as though Aazim Muktar has been touched by the hand of Gabriel, the chief of all the angels of Allah.’ The mullah lowered his voice reverently. ‘He has been given the sight to see far beyond where other men can see. He has the wisdom to understand clearly what is hidden from others. His heart is filled with the love of Allah and with the love of his fellow man.’

‘Then you think I should take pains to hear him speak?’

‘If you miss that opportunity you will regret it to the end of your days. His voice is like the sounding of the finest musical instrument, like the sighing of the wind in the branches of the cedar trees on Mount Horeb, the one mountain of the one God.’

‘Describe his appearance to me, Old Father, that I might recognize him when first I see him.’

The mullah placed his fingertips together and pursed his lips as he considered the question, and then he began to speak. ‘He is tall but not overly tall. He is lean and he moves with the grace of a leopard. His brow is wide and deep. His beard is not yet touched with the frosting of age. He has a good nose, strong as the beak of an eagle. His gaze is keen but gentle and without guile. In short he is handsome but not pretty.’

Suddenly, and to Hector’s surprise, the mullah looked about in a conspiratorial manner, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘There are many who believe this man is the Mhadi; the Messiah who is prophesied to appear at the world’s end; the Redeemer who will establish a reign of peace and righteousness. Perhaps once you have listened to him you might agree with them. If so, when you return to London you must come to speak with me again.’

Hector stared at him. Slowly his vision of the way forward changed dramatically.

Nothing about this was as straightforward as he had at first imagined. It contained many layers and hidden depths.

*

That evening Hector, Paddy and Nastiya gathered in the sitting room before dinner. As usual the men were in mess kit with decorations while Nastiya had her diamond necklace nestling in the cleavage of her high tight bosoms, a sparkle in her eyes and colour in her cheeks. While Hector was pouring Dom Pérignon into a tall flute glass for her she announced, ‘Babies are wonderful. I truly never understood that before.’

‘All babies?’ Paddy teased her. ‘Or just one baby in particular?’

‘Don’t be silly. I know only one baby. She is wonderful. I fed her with a bottle today and I even changed her nappy. I never thought I would be able to do that, but her nurse showed me how. I thought it would make me want to throw up. But you know something? It hardly smells at all.’

‘Do you mind, my love! We are just about to enjoy one of Heck’s legendary dinners. Can we not find a more appropriate subject to discuss than baby droppings?’ Paddy protested and moved the conversation on hurriedly. ‘I spoke to Prince Mohammed this afternoon about the lease of the Seascape Mansion apartment. Of course Princey felt it necessary to tell me that he had another tenant interested and that there was a better price on the table. We did a bit of toing and froing but in the end I nudged him down ten per cent on his asking price, and we did a deal. The apartment is yours, Heck. The other good news is that there are only twelve other tenants in the entire building and they are all either members of the royal family or senior ministers of the Abu Zara government, or both. He claims that the security is airtight and waterproof.’

‘Can we take his word for that?’

‘No, Heck. We take nobody’s word for that. Immediately after I hung up on Princey, I called Dave Imbiss.’ Dave was Paddy’s right-hand man and the electronics expert at Cross Bow Security.

‘Dave has promised to go in with his team at first light tomorrow. They are going to sweep every last centimetre of the apartment for electronic bugs and any other nasty surprises that might have been left behind by somebody with evil in mind. Dave will install movement and pressure sensors with silent alarms, closed-circuit cameras, iris scanners and all the other state-of-the-art stuff. No living thing will be able to move on the top floor of Seascape Mansions, or anywhere in the rest of the building for that matter, without Dave being aware of it. By the time we arrive in Abu Zara the apartment will be a virtual electronic fortress.’ He accepted the glass of Jamesons whiskey that Hector offered him and took a swallow. He exhaled the fumes before he asked, ‘So what did you find up at Regent’s Park today to gladden our hearts?’

‘Very little for your comfort or mine, I am afraid. It seems that our target is a religious demagogue who has the power to whip up the emotions of his listeners with his impassioned oratory. Some, or most, of them think he is the Mhadi.’

They stared at Hector, their expressions concerned and alarmed. Paddy spoke for both of them: ‘In the name of all that’s holy, Heck! You don’t believe that bullshit, do you?’

‘It matters not at all what I believe, my dear Padraig. What is crucial is that there is a vast multitude who do believe. The coming of the Messiah is a common belief that runs through Judaism, Islam and Christianity. The only divergence is about who he will be and when he will come, or if has already come and gone. In this particular case Aazim Muktar has sequestered himself in the holiest religious site in Islam. The birthplace of the Prophet Muhammad himself, no less. The city is guarded by a great multitude of the faithful and devout. Only true believers in Islam are allowed to enter the city, under pain of death. It seems now that many of these also believe with fanatic intensity that Aazim Muktar is the Mahdi. They will protect him with their own lives. With their bare hands they will tear the arms and legs off whoever raises a finger to him.’

He paused and sipped at his own glass as he composed his thoughts.

‘What I originally had in mind was to go into Mecca disguised as a pilgrim and, concealed in the throng of worshippers, listen and watch Aazim. Then from what I saw and heard, I would evaluate the likelihood of him being the Beast who is perpetuating the blood feud. If he were patently innocent I would leave him there and seek out the true enemy. On the other hand, if there was any doubt at all in my mind as to his innocence we would snatch him and bring him out to stand trial before his accusers. Now we do not have the option of bringing him out. It would be just too chancy. That city is a death trap for the infidel. I must weigh up the odds against him being innocent, and if the balance swings against him then I must execute him on the spot and leave his corpse to rot in Mecca.’

‘If I were you, Hector, I would go straight in and cancel him out without all this fussing and soul searching, which I’d just like to say is not your usual style,’ Nastiya opined. ‘But I ask you with tears in my eyes, why take a chance? If you kill him and later it turns out he was the wrong man and he was innocent then it will be a great pity and we can all shed a tear for him or burn a candle, but at least it means that there are no more Tippoo Tips left in this world. That is not truly such a great loss, is it?’

‘Of course I agree with you, Flower of my Heart.’ Paddy smiled at her fondly. ‘But you know that sometimes Hector can be very silly and stubborn.’

‘He is a man.’ Nastiya shrugged and gave a sigh of resignation. ‘And all men can be very silly and stubborn.’

‘Nazzy, you know of the deep affection, nay, the deep veneration in which I hold you, but—’ Hector started, but she cut him off with a groan.

‘Spare me the bullshit, Hector Cross. Okay, so you want to play pussy foot? Good! Paddy and I go along with your decision, like always. But don’t blame us if this Great Redeemer turns round and bites you in the balls.’

*

It was another forty-eight hours before Hector was satisfied that they were ready to make the transfer from London to Abu Zara. After dark the baggage train comprising two large hired trucks was sent from the Belgravia house to Farnborough airport, where Bannock Oil’s Boeing jet was waiting to receive their cargo.

Hector and his guests dined in the comfort of home, and only after they had eaten did they change into comfortable travel attire. Hector returned to the secret room behind the bookshelf in his study. Firstly he took down the 9mm automatic pistol with two spare magazines and an additional hundred rounds of ammunition. He slipped the pistol into its quick-draw shoulder holster. He patted it and smiled. It felt good and comforting. Next he took down the box marked ‘Passports’ and from it chose three booklets of Saudi, Iraqi and Abu Zarian denomination. He closed and locked the secret room and went down to where the chauffeur had the Rolls waiting with engine running.

There was a bit of power play between Nastiya and Hector as to who would hold Catherine for the short run out to the airport. Nastiya played her trump with a snide remark regarding the fact that real English men never dandled infants. She sat up in front next to the chauffeur with the child on her lap and sang her soft Russian lullabies. Catherine emitted not a squeak for the entire duration of the journey. Bonnie and the other nursemaids followed the Rolls in a separate vehicle.

The convoy drove out onto the tarmac and parked under the wing of the Boeing Business Jet. There was a young Anglo-Indian woman from the UK Border Agency waiting on board who completed the immigration formalities with rapid efficiency and within minutes they were taxiing out onto the main runway. As soon as they were airborne Catherine was laid down to sleep in her cot by Nastiya with every other female on board in attendance.

When Nastiya returned to the lounge to join the men in a nightcap she curled catlike into the seat beside Paddy and vamped him extravagantly. ‘You know how I detest standing in airport queues, husband who I worship?’ she whispered in his ear. ‘So if you really love me you will buy one of these things.’

‘A Boeing Business Jet, right? They probably cost around two hundred million dollars. Do you still want one?’

‘I’ve changed my mind. You can take me to our cabin and prove your love for me some other way.’

*

A little over seven hours later they touched down in Abu Zara, where an airport tender met them on the runway and with flashing beacons led them to the Royal aircraft hangar. They parked alongside the Emir’s new 747–8. The lesser Boeings belonging to his wives were lined up behind the aircraft. Bannock Oil and anybody associated with the company enjoyed highly favoured status in Abu Zara.

There was a small reception committee from Cross Bow Security waiting to welcome them at the bottom of the boarding ladder. It was headed by Dave Imbiss and Tariq Hakam in the smart new tan uniforms that Nastiya had designed. Tariq was barely able to conceal his delight as he watched Hector coming lithely down the steps.

A long time ago, when Hector was still a major in the British Special Air Services, Tariq Hakam had been attached to Hector’s unit in Iraq as his interpreter and local guide. He and Hector had taken to each other from the first day when they ran into an ambush and had to fight their way out. Later he had been at Hector’s side on the dreadful day of the roadside bomb. When Hector opened up on the three Arab insurgents who had laid the bomb, and who seemed to be about to deploy a suicide device, Tariq had backed Hector’s fire and taken down one of the enemy. When Hector resigned his commission in the SAS, Tariq had come to him, and told him, ‘You are my father. Where you go I will go also.’ Now he stood at attention in front of Hector and bowed deeply, with his hands clasped over his heart. ‘May Allah love and protect you from all danger, My Father,’ he said softly in Arabic.

Against all protocol, Hector took him in a bear hug, and his voice choked a little as he replied in English. ‘Tariq, you old rogue you! God, how I have missed you.’