by Jack Higgins
“And what about you?”
“I’ve got to call Tad to try and explain what’s happened to his lovely Chieftain. The Master strikes again. You were kind enough to praise my airmanship, so that only leaves him. I can’t allow that to happen anymore. To finish me in the way he intended meant killing you, and I don’t accept that. You’re my cousin, but also the daughter I never had, and I refuse to allow such a threat to hang over your head. So call Giles.”
Which she did, and Dillon sat in a corner, called Tad on his Codex, who answered at once. “I didn’t want to call you with so much going on, Sean, and we knew you were alive. That was some of the most fantastic flying I’ve ever seen.”
“So that’s been on the screen already? How can that be?” Dillon said.
“It seems there was a TV camera at work on some documentary up there, and whoever was in charge was smart enough to film the whole thing. They’ll sell it round the world. It’s left the Master with egg on his face.”
“And I’m going to have him one way or another. He can get me if he can, but not Hannah, that’s a bridge too far. No publicity at the moment, please.”
“Of course not. I presume you had an engine problem, which the experts will discover. The rest is up to the insurers, although I’m not bothered about that. Any help you need where the Master is concerned, you only have to ask.”
“You’ll be the first I come to.” Dillon glanced across the room, and Hannah was holding up her thumb. “I’ve just had the good word from Hannah that the Gulfstream is on its way from Farley.”
“That’s good. They should bring you a DFC with it. I’ll be in touch.”
—
SQUADRON LEADER LACEY and Flight Lieutenant Parry were wearing their uniforms when they brought the Gulfstream in. There was quite a crowd now and cameras on the go and sudden cheering as Dillon and Hannah were delivered to the flight.
Lacey stood at one side of the steps and Parry on the other, and they saluted as Dillon followed Hannah up the steps into the plane. “A bit over the top,” he said, as they followed him in.
“Well, everyone loves a hero, and that’s what you are today,” Lacey said, as Dillon and Hannah sat down.
“I’ve already heard from Lieutenant Colonel Roper that a preliminary report indicates that there was interference with the Chieftain’s engines. It is a miracle that you achieved that landing. We’re all proud of you.”
“I appreciate that, coming from someone with your experience and medals, Squadron Leader,” Dillon said. “But all I want to do at the moment is get back home to Holland Park.”
“I understand. Farley Field next stop,” and Lacey followed Parry into the cockpit.
A moment later, the plane started to move, and Dillon, sitting beside Hannah, fastened his seat belt as his Codex buzzed.
He turned it on to speaker as Hannah looked at him inquiringly. He nodded, and said to the Master, “What do you want?”
“Just to say hail the conquering hero.”
“You went too far today. That was the second time you’ve threatened Hannah’s life, and that I will not forgive. You are a dead man walking.”
Dillon switched off, looked at Hannah inquiringly, and she nodded. “And that’s telling the bastard, Seaneen, but lie back now and try to sleep. You look tired.”
15
AT HOLLAND PARK, Roper sat in his usual wheelchair in the computer room watching Dillon’s desperate flight again when he heard the sound of the Mini arriving outside and Sara walked in wearing her uniform. She looked tired and tossed her cap to one side.
“I’m late. I was due at the Cabinet Office an hour ago, and I’ve checked in with Frankel, who says he can cover for me, but not for long. Is that tea hot?”
“Of course, help yourself.”
Which she did, and said, “How many times have you watched that flight?”
“A lot. One of the most fantastic things I’ve ever seen. MI5 happened to have a man named Morgan visiting the airport checking on security, and he’s made sure there’s no hint of Dillon’s other activities. A brave private citizen is all. Hannah, by the way, is in excellent condition, and they are on their way back on the Gulfstream as we speak, and shouldn’t you be getting down to Number Ten about now?”
“Please, Giles, just give me five minutes. It may be important.”
“Okay, love, let’s have it. What’s the trouble?”
“I had a bad dream last night, which took me back to being on Holley’s Falcon en route to Timbuktu. I was awakened in the cabin by the Master calling me on my mobile.”
Roper reached for the master switch that turned off all the screens. “Go on.”
“The Master said, ‘There you are. I hope the trip proves agreeable.’ I said, ‘How did you know we are making it?’”
“And what did he say?”
“‘Weber is concerned that you may be entering the circle of danger. Timbuktu is a highly dangerous place.’”
Roper was astonished. “That’s a clear indication that Weber must have a mobile number for him, and he was at Charnley, remember, when you left with Hunter and he knew your destination.”
“So what are you going to do?” Sara asked.
“We’ll obviously have to arrest Weber sooner rather than later. This could be a real breakthrough. I’ll let you know, but you can’t leave the Prime Minister waiting, Sara. No Ferguson to smooth things over for him, but you’re proving damn good at that and he likes you. They’re already talking about making you an ADC to the Queen.”
“Okay, I’m going. Give my love to the heroes when they get in, and tell Hannah that enough is enough.”
She went out in the rain, and Roper sat there thinking about what Sara had said. It had to be right, and if so, this could be an answer to many things, and then a phone call told him the Gulfstream was due to land at Farley in five minutes. Holley walked in from the gym in a tracksuit, drying his hair on a towel.
“What’s happening?” he demanded.
“Not much. Sara’s on the run to the Cabinet Office after giving me a possible lead to the Master, and Hannah and Dillon are just about to land at Farley.”
“Well, as I notice Dillon has left his Mini in the courtyard, I’ll go and pick them up for you.”
—
WHICH HOLLEY DID and found them at a corner table in the café at Farley. “The pride of the RAF expressed their regrets at missing you,” Dillon told him. “It seems they have to step in and help out the Cabinet Office when they’re short of a plane these days.”
“You mean like running some Cabinet minister and his staff up to somewhere really exciting like Glasgow for a speech and luncheon,” Holley said. “That isn’t exciting; neither is what you two did in that plane this morning because it was more than that. It was magnificent. Never seen anything like it.”
“It was Sean who was the pilot, Daniel, not me,” Hannah pointed out.
“I told her to go back as far as she could and she refused, sat beside me in the cockpit for the whole thing,” Dillon said.
“Well, you know what the Muslims say—it wasn’t your time. By the way, Sara was on the run to the Cabinet Office. It seems she is the Prime Minister’s new best friend. What may interest you rather more is that she’s apparently been able to give Roper a possible lead to the Master.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“That’s what he told me, but he didn’t go into details. I think that comes when we get back to Holland Park. Something to look forward to.”
—
ROPER TOLD HANNAH what Sara had said. “Enough is enough.”
“What does she think I am, a child? It’s my birthday in two weeks and I’ll be twenty years of age. I’m an unusual case, Giles, you can’t deny it, and you need me. Who have you got? Dillon and Holley, Tony Doyle. I would also remind you that the Master gave th
e job of raping and murdering Kate Munro and me to a particularly foul assassin. I’ll never be content until he is where he deserves to be. In a coffin.”
“As that is definitely how I feel about him, I’ve no quarrel. Of course, that makes you the only female in our small group as Sara isn’t available,” Roper pointed out.
“Well, now that’s been sorted, could we discuss what’s going on here?” Dillon said. “Holley and I shared the flying of his Falcon from Charnley to Timbuktu with Sara and Colonel Hunter as passengers. The Master’s first call came as a shock to Sara when he made it clear to her that he knew the plane we were in and the destination. The suggestion is that all this information was supplied by Hans Weber, owner of Charnley Aero Club, the airfield we had started on.”
“I believe his working record with al-Qaeda in Timbuktu speaks for itself,” Roper said. “So it’s in the balance whether he should go to prison.”
“I couldn’t care less,” Hannah said. “All that’s important is getting the Master’s phone number and, through that, the man himself. So let’s keep it simple and allow me to handle Weber.”
—
HANNAH HAD BRIEFLY MET Weber only once, and he didn’t recognize her as she approached his front door at Hatherley Court and rang the bell. In horn-rimmed glasses, a scrunched cap, an anorak, and a shoulder bag, she appeared to be a typical student, and he opened the door on a chain and peered out.
“Mr. Clark, sorry I’m late. The Dublin plane was delayed.”
“No Clark here; you must have the wrong address.”
She fumbled in her pocket and took out a letter. “London School of Economics. I started Tuesday and they gave me this address for accommodation.”
He slipped the chain, opened the door to look, and she took out her Colt and rammed it under his chin. “It’s the Master I’m after, but I’ll kill you if you don’t do as you’re told.”
He was horrified and backed away, and she followed, slamming the door behind her. “My gun is silenced, so if you make me use it, we won’t bother the neighbors. What I want from you is the secret phone number you have that allows you to call him. Oh, and don’t say you don’t know what I’m talking about, or I’ll start by putting a bullet in your left knee.”
“For God’s sake, no, I’ll tell you.” He held out his right arm, the shirt cuff riding up, and Hannah examined it briefly. “It’s a tattoo.”
“I never wanted to forget it. I don’t know what your problem was with him, but he was good to me.”
He sat down on the couch, his head in his hands, and Hannah phoned Dillon and company waiting in the car outside. “I’ve got him,” she said, then went into the kitchen, poured whiskey in a glass, and took it to him. “Listen to me. You can stay out of prison by making yourself useful. That’s the way intelligence people do things.”
There was a tap on the door, and she opened it to Dillon, Holley, and Tony Doyle. Hannah was copying Weber’s tattoo as he held his arm out patiently.
“As the Master’s phone number is a tattoo on Weber’s right arm, I think Colonel Roper should keep him for interrogation at Holland Park, otherwise MI5 will try to jump in first. Check him out for mobiles, but I don’t think you’ll find anything. He’s being sensible.”
“I’ll take him off with Doyle,” Holley said. “Leave you to follow.”
Which they did, Dillon driving. “A good result,” he told Hannah. “Now that Roper has that number, he’ll run down an address in no time. It is going to be fascinating to find out where the Master lives.”
“I suppose so, but I’m so tired because I used up so much of myself breaking down Weber. I was straight out of a concentration camp.”
“But it worked.”
“Oh, yes, he told me through tears that the Master had been kind to him and that was in spite of my mentioning some of the bad things he’d done to us.”
“Never mind. I think it has all been too much for you. Finbar’s jump to his death, that nerve-racking flight in the Chieftain, your confrontation with Weber, and now the endgame with the Master.”
“It doesn’t seem possible in such a brief time,” she said.
“Do you prefer to go back to Highfield Court?”
“I can’t do that; Giles will have an answer to where the Master is tomorrow. I want to be there for that. It is truly important to me. You do understand?”
“Of course I do. So the guest wing at Holland Park for tonight, I think.”
—
WHEN HANNAH WENT TO BED, sleep was instant, no troubled dreams, nothing at all. When she opened her eyes, there was a light tap on the door and Maggie Hall edged in with a tray.
“There you are, with us again. I’ve got you some nice hot Irish tea just the way you like it, honey. Everyone’s been concerned with your sleeping so long.”
“What on earth do you mean?” Hannah reached for the tea and drank some gratefully.
“Well, let’s put it this way, it isn’t Thursday anymore, it’s six o’clock Friday evening, so I reckon you’ve slept around twenty hours.”
“I can’t have.” Hannah was shocked. “That would be virtually a full day of my life I’ve lost.”
“Well, you have, but maybe you could find it again in the steam room and swimming pool.”
“An excellent idea.” Hannah tossed the sheets to one side. “Everybody’s around, I suppose?”
“Except for Major Gideon. She doesn’t seem able to shake off the demands of Downing Street at the moment. Will you be looking for breakfast when you’re ready?”
“Hardly the right time of day, Maggie, but, yes, I would. Just give me forty minutes,” and she pulled on a robe and rushed out.
—
ROPER, DILLON, AND HOLLEY had their heads together when she entered the computer room. Roper glanced up and said, “She who was dead hath arisen again.”
“A biblical way of putting it, but my priest would approve,” Hannah said. “What have I missed?”
“Nothing, it’s all waiting for you on the end screen. The Master.”
She sat down and the Master gazed at her from the screen, old, bearded, wise, and, most interesting of all, pleasant and kind looking.
“He looks like somebody’s grandfather.”
“He certainly isn’t that, because I know all about him,” Roper said. “He’s a retired professor of the history of religion at the Sorbonne named Simon Hussein. He has written books on Christianity and Islam, even Buddhism. Looked on as being an authority on Osama bin Laden. A hugely respected scholar. French mother and Algerian father, who was killed in that country’s war with France.”
“Are you absolutely sure about this?”
“That secret mobile number told our experts all they needed to know about how it operated. Advanced technology has taken steps to make sure it can never be used again as he did. Giving Weber his secret number was a mistake for him, but not for us.”
“Which has now betrayed him.”
“If you call it that. Don’t forget the many deaths he and al-Qaeda have been responsible for all over the world, and just think of his order that you and Kate be raped and murdered. There can be no forgiveness for that, surely?”
“He certainly won’t get any from me when we meet,” she said. “So where do we go to finish this? Where do we find him?”
“I’m the expert there,” Holley told her. “My firm owns a barge moored on the Quai de Montebello on the River Seine in Paris. A special place to live—I stay nowhere else when I’m in town.”
“So?” she said.
“There are scores of such barges, and Hussein lives in one chained to the Quai des Brumes not far from me. Heart of Paris and on the Seine. Wonderful place to live, and thanks to the mobile phone, he can roam the world without having to go anywhere himself.”
“Well, obviously there’s no time to waste,” Hannah s
aid. “When are we going to lift him?”
“I wish I were able to go myself,” Roper said. “But I’m not, so Dillon and Holley will fly over to Charles de Gaulle in the Falcon, ostensibly on Algerian government business, and deal with him tonight.”
“Finish him off for good, you mean?”
“We can’t afford to take prisoners. If they knew he was alive, they’d move heaven and earth to get him back, and to be frank, we would be better off without all that fuss.”
“I can see that,” Hannah said. “So when are we leaving?”
“Just a minute now,” Dillon said. “You’ve done enough. You stay out of this one.”
“Then I’ll go myself. I’ve got money, a passport, and an address. Professor Simon Hussein, Quai des Brumes. I’ll find him.”
“You’d never get through an airport with a pistol on you.”
She turned, helpless and angry; Roper stared at her for a moment, and smiled. “If it means that much to you, Hannah, then you can go.” He turned to Dillon. “She’s earned her spurs. It’s my decision, so just get on with it.”
—
AT CHARLES DE GAULLE AIRPORT, Holley landed, and diplomatic privilege allowed him to taxi his Falcon around to the VIP section, where he was permitted to leave with his briefcase not searched, which was a good thing, as it contained three pistols.
“We’ll take a cab to my barge and walk the rest of the way,” Holley said. Outside the airport, they hailed a taxi that deposited them on the Quai de Montebello twenty minutes later. It was starting to rain, darkness falling, and Holley said, “Hang on, I’ll get a couple of umbrellas.”
The barge was larger than Hannah had expected, lights on in the prow and stern. “Nobody at home, these lights are automatic,” he said, as he passed an umbrella to her and another to Dillon.
“Isn’t the security a little lax on those?” Hannah said, as they started walking.
“Well, that one is the property of the largest shipping company operating out of Algiers, of which I am joint owner, and its security is second to none.”
“Well, that’s fine,” she said, as they walked together. “I’m just wondering how we handle Hussein.”
