by Jack Higgins
"You little Irish bastard. What brings you here?"
Billy turned in his chair and his face lit up. "Hey, Dillon, great to see you," and then he stopped smiling. "Trouble?"
"How did you guess?"
"'Cos you and me have been to hell and back more times than I can count. By this time, I can tell the signs. What's up?"
There was an eagerness in his voice and Dillon said, "I've been the ruin of you, Billy. You never used to be so willing to put yourself in danger. Remember when I quoted your favorite philosopher: 'The unexamined life is not worth living'?"
"And I said that to me it meant the life not put to the test is not worth living. So what's up?"
"Kate Rashid."
Billy stopped smiling. They all did. Harry said, "I'd say that calls for a drink. Bushmills, Dora."
Dillon lit a cigarette and Billy said, "Let's hear it."
"Remember Paul Rashid's funeral, Billy?"
"Don't I just. No mourners, she said, but you had to go anyway."
"And you said, 'Is that it then?' and I said, 'I don't think so.' And then when we ran into her at The Dorchester, she sentenced us all to death."
"Well, she can try," Harry said. "As I told her then, people have been trying to knock me off for forty years and I'm still here."
Billy said, "Look, what's happened, Dillon? Let's be having it."
Dillon swallowed his Bushmills and told them everything. They'd worked with him and Blake Johnson in the past, knew all about the Basement, so there was no reason to hide anything. He finished by telling them what had happened at Loch Dhu and what he intended.
"So you think she'll be there tonight?" Harry Salter asked.
"I'm certain of it."
"Then Billy and I will be there, too. We'll have another drink on it," and he called to Dora.
A little while later, Dillon punched the doorbell at Roper's place. The Major said over the voice box, "Who is it?"
"It's Sean, you daft sod."
The electronic lock buzzed, and Dillon pushed open the door. Roper was seated at his computer bank in his wheelchair.
"I've had Ferguson on the line. He told me about Loch Dhu, but I'd like to hear it from you."
Dillon lit a cigarette and told him. "So there you are. Pretty much as we thought."
"So it would appear."
"What have you got? Anything new?"
"Well, I thought I'd see if I could trace Kate Rashid's travel patterns. She uses a company Gulfstream, so I can access times easily enough--air traffic slots have to be booked--and I can ascertain when she's been on board through Passport Control and Special Branch."
"Any significant pattern?"
"Not much. She's only been up to Loch Dhu once recently. Used the same old airstrip you did. Here's something that might be interesting, though: She went to last month."
"Now that is interesting. Any thoughts on where she went?"
"Yes. She landed late afternoon and had a slot booked back to Heathrow the following afternoon, so that seemed to indicate a hotel for the night. So I started with the Europa, accessed their booking records, and there she was."
"And why was she there?"
Roper shook his head. "That I don't know. But if she does it again, I'll let you know. You could follow her. Of course, it could be perfectly legitimate. Rashid Investments has taken a big stake in Ulster since peace broke out."
"Peace?" Dillon laughed harshly. "Believe that, you'll believe anything."
"I agree with you. After all, I was the one who defused a hundred and two bombs. Too bad it wasn't a hundred and three." He patted the arm of the wheelchair.
"I know," Dillon said. "You know, considering I was on the other side, I sometimes wonder why you put up with me."
"You were never a bomb man, Sean. Anyway, I like you." He shrugged. "By the way, if you want a drink, there's a bottle of white wine in the fridge over there. It's all I'm allowed."
Dillon groaned. "God help me, but it will do to take along." He got the bottle from the fridge. "Jesus, Roper, it's so cheap it's got a screw top."
"Don't moan about it, pour it. I'm a reserve officer on pension."
Dillon obeyed, and put a glass at Roper's right hand while Roper played with the keys. Dillon took a swallow and made a face. "I think someone made this in the backyard. What are you looking at now?"
"Rupert Dauncey. Quite a character, but nothing we don't know about him yet. There's something about him, though, a ruthlessness, always on the edge. There's a dark side to that one."
"Ah, well there's a dark side to all of us. Can you tell if he was with Kate on the Irish trip?"
"There are Special Branch regulations regarding passengers on executive jets. He wasn't on board. He's a comparatively new arrival to her entourage, remember."
"I suppose so."
Roper drank some wine. "However, he is on board tomorrow morning at ten o'clock, with the Countess. Would you like to know where they're going?"
"Where?"
"Hazar."
"Hazar, hmm? That means Hamam airport. You know, the RAF built it in the old days. There's only one runway, but it can take anything, even a Hercules. Check on something for me. Last time I was there, we used an outfit called Carver Air Transport. See if they're still there."
Roper tapped his keys. "Yes, they are. Ben Carver? Ex-Squadron Leader in the RAF?"
"The old sod," Dillon said. "So what's Kate up to?"
"That's what Ferguson asked when I told him. Of course, there are a dozen different reasons why she could be going down there, but Ferguson said he would contact Tony Villiers, ask him to keep an eye on her." Colonel Tony Villiers was the Commander of the Hazar Scouts.
"That should help. Villiers is good, and he isn't particularly keen on the Rashids since they skinned his second-in-command, Bronsby."
"Yes, they do have their little ways. Now go away, Dillon. I've got work to do."
A t that moment, on the border between Hazar and the Empty Quarter, Tony Villiers was encamped with a dozen of his Hazar Scouts and three Land Rovers. A small fire of dried camel dung burned, a pannier of water on top.
His men were all Rashid Bedu and all accepted Kate Rashid as leader of the tribe, but the clan spilled across the border as well. There were good men over there in the Empty Quarter and there were bad men, bandits who crossed into Hazar at their own risk, for the Scouts had sworn a blood oath to Villiers. Honor was of supreme importance to them--each one would kill his own brother, if necessary, rather than violate his oath.
They sat around the fire, AK assault rifles close at hand, wearing soiled white robes and crossed bandoliers. Some smoked and drank coffee, others ate dates and dried meat.
Tony Villiers wore a head cloth and crumpled khaki uniform, a Browning pistol in his holster. He'd never gotten used to dates and had just eaten the contents of a large can of baked beans cold. One of the men came across with a tin cup.
"Tea, Sahb?"
"Thanks," Villiers replied in Arabic.
He sat down and leaned against a rock, drank the bitter black tea, smoked a cigarette, and looked out to the Empty Quarter. It was disputed territory there, and utterly lawless. As someone had once said, you could kill the Pope there and no one would be able to do a thing. That's why he kept to his side of the border whenever possible.
Villiers, approaching fifty now, had served in the Falklands and every little war in between up to the Gulf and Saddam, then had ended up on secondment here in Hazar. It was just like in the old days, a British officer commanding native levies, and it was beginning to pall.
"Time to go, old son," he said softly, lit another cigarette, and the mobile in his left breast pocket rang.
The Codex Four was not available on the open market. It had been developed for intelligence use in places where strict security was necessary, and Villiers had his courtesy of Ferguson.
"That you, Tony? Ferguson here."
"Charles, how's every little thing at the Ministry of Defence?"
"Put your scrambler on."
Villiers pressed a red button. "Done."
Ferguson said, "Where are you?"
"Wouldn't mean a thing to you, Charles. Marama Rocks, just on the border with the Empty Quarter. I'm on patrol here with a few of my men."
"You've got a new second-in-command, I hear."
"Yes, another Cornet, from the Lifeguards this time, named Bobby Hawk. He's off in the other direction with his patrol. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I've just heard that Kate Rashid's flying in tomorrow."
"Well, that's not unusual. She comes here all the time."
"I know, but there've been some funny things going on here. I just have a gut feeling, that's all. Where does she go?"
"Lands at Hamam, then goes to Shabwa Oasis by helicopter in the Empty Quarter. But you know that, you've been there yourself."
"Is anything going on there, Tony?"
"I wouldn't know. I'm forbidden by the Sultan's decree these days to go over the border into the Empty Quarter."
"Don't you find that strange?"
"Not really. All right, I know Kate Rashid has the Sultan by the throat, so I assume that it's her order, not his. But she's the leader of the Rashid Bedu and that's Rashid territory. End of story."
"Could there be something going on out there?"
"Preparing for a revolution, you mean? Come on, Charles, what does she need a revolution for? She's got everything she wants."
"All right, all right, but be a good chap. Scout around, put the word out."
"If I do, Kate Rashid will know in five minutes, but all right, I'll do what I can. I'm due down at the port tomorrow anyway."
"Good man, Tony, keep in touch."
Villiers sat there thinking about it, then called, "Selim." His Sergeant came over. "A big place, the Empty Quarter."
"Awesome, Sahb."
"A man could hide out there forever."
"This is true, Sahb."
"In fact, many men?"
Selim looked a little hunted. "This is possible, Sahb."
"Shabwa is not the only oasis your people use, there are others."
"All Rashid, Sahb."
"So, if others came, from another tribe for instance, you would know."
"We would kill them, Sahb. Any oasis is ours, the wells are ours."
"But if such people had permission, say, from the Countess?"
Selim was caught and terribly upset. "Yes, Sahb, that would be different." His face was pale.
"Yes, I thought so." Villiers patted his shoulder. "We move out in ten minutes."
Villiers turned and looked to the Empty Quarter. There was something out there. Ferguson's wild shot had been right. Poor old Selim, so transparent. But what could it be? No way of knowing. If he strayed over the border, he wouldn't last half a day. The Bedu would know--knew where he was now, come to that. He sighed, took out the Codex Four, and dialed Charles Ferguson back, rather sooner than he had intended.
D illon was at The Dorchester just before seven, dressed in a black Brioni suit, white shirt, and black tie. He called it his undertaker look, which was appropriate, since he carried a Walther in a special pocket under his left arm. He was greeted by Giuliano, the manager.
"Bushmills," Dillon said. "General Ferguson will be joining me, and we'll want a bottle of Cristal then."
"I'll see to it personally."
There weren't that many people in. It was too early for the evening rush, and a Monday evening anyway. Dillon accepted the Bushmills from Giuliano and waited. A moment later, Ferguson joined him.
"So--no sign of the opposition?"
"Not as yet. Champagne?"
"I suppose so."
Dillon nodded to Giuliano, who smiled and spoke to a waiter who brought the Cristal in a bucket. Giuliano opened the bottle, Ferguson did the tasting.
"Fine." He turned to Dillon. "I've had two phone calls with Tony Villiers. Let me tell you about them."
Afterwards, Dillon said, "Still nothing concrete. But Tony smells something, too. That's good enough for me."
Ferguson looked around. "Still no sign of her. You could be wrong, Sean."
"It's been known to happen. But not tonight, I think." He smiled. "I know what'll bring her."
He walked over to the pride of the bar, the extraordinary mirrored grand piano that had once belonged to Liberace, sat down, and lifted the lid. Giuliano came over with his glass of Cristal.
"All right with you?" Dillon asked.
"Of course. It's always a pleasure to hear you play. The pianist isn't in until eight."
Dillon started with a Gershwin melody, just as Harry and Billy Salter appeared at the bar entrance. Harry, who was into Savile Row suits that season, wore a navy blue chalk stripe, the kind of thing beloved of bank presidents. Billy wore an expensive-looking black bomber jacket and black slacks. They crossed to the bar and Ferguson said, "Good God, what are you rogues doing here?"
"My idea," Dillon called.
"And mine, General." Harry sat down. "Dillon's filled us in on everything."
"Damn you, Sean, that's totally out of order," Ferguson said.
"Come off it, General, as far as the Countess of Loch Dhu is concerned, we're in this together, the four of us, all tarred with the same brush."
"Dead right," Harry said. "So I'll have a glass of champagne with you and await events."
Dillon called. "Tell them about Tony Villiers."
"Oh, all right." And Ferguson did.
More people had come in, scattered around the room at various tables. Billy walked to the piano and leaned on it. Dillon was playing "A Foggy Day in London Town."
"I like that," Billy said. "'I was a stranger in the city.'"
"'Out of town were the people I knew.'" Dillon smiled. "You're looking good, Billy."
"Never mind the soft soap. What do you think she's playing at?"
"I've no idea. Why don't you ask her? She's just come in."
Billy turned and found Kate Rashid standing at the top of the steps, Rupert Dauncey beside her. She wore a black trouser suit, her hair tied back, a pair of very large diamond studs, and no other jewelry. Rupert wore a single-breasted navy blue blazer and gray slacks, a scarf at his neck.
Billy turned back. "Seeing her reminds me: There's something I always wanted to ask you, Dillon. You never married. Are you bent or something?"
Dillon spluttered and then started to laugh. When he was in control, he said, "It's simple, Billy. I'm always drawn to the wrong women."
"You mean the bad ones."
"And the Hannah Bernsteins of this world wouldn't touch me with a bargepole, not with my wicked past. Now if we could postpone this discussion of my sexual proclivity for a while, here she comes."
Kate Rashid approached and Billy went and stood behind his uncle. She passed the group at the table and moved to the piano. Rupert lit a cigarette.
"Very nice, Dillon," she said.
"I told you once before, Kate: Good barroom piano is all. I take it this is the famous Rupert Dauncey?"
"Of course. Rupert, the famous Sean Dillon."
They nodded, then Dillon shook a cigarette from a pack of Marlboros and put it in his mouth one-handed. Dauncey offered him a light and Dillon moved into another number. "You recognize this one, Kate?"
"Of course. 'Our Love Is Here to Stay.'"
"I wanted you to feel at home. Why don't you say hello to the boys?"
"Why not, indeed." She turned to the table. "Why, General Ferguson, what a pleasant surprise. I don't think you've met my cousin, Rupert Dauncey."
Ferguson said, "No, but I feel I know him well." He shook Dauncey's hand.
"A pleasure, General."
"Join us for a glass of champagne."
"Thank you," Kate Rashid said, and Dauncey pulled a chair forward and seated her. "You'll be fascinated by the General's friends, Rupert. Mr. Salter here is a gangster, but no ordinary gangster. For years, he was one of the most important guvnors, as t
hey call it, in the East End of London. Isn't that so, Mr. Salter? Billy here is his nephew, another gangster."
Billy didn't say a word but simply looked at her, his face pale, and left it to his uncle.
"If you say so, Countess," Harry said, and turned to Rupert. "We know all about you, son, you do a good act."
"I'll take that as a compliment, coming from you, Mr. Salter."
Rupert drank some champagne and Dillon came back and joined them. "So what do you want, Kate?"
"Why, Dillon, nothing--nothing at all. I thought it was you who wanted to see me. You left your calling card, after all, and I wouldn't want to disappoint you, of all people." She picked up her glass of Cristal and emptied it in a single swallow. "But I'm hungry, and I don't want to eat here. Where should we go, Rupert?"
"Don't ask me, sweetie. London's your town."
"Somewhere fresh would be nice, somewhere new." She turned to Salter. "Come to think of it, didn't I read in one of the gossip columns that you've opened a new restaurant, Mr. Salter? Harry's Place? Hangman's Wharf, isn't it?"
"Going a bomb," he said. "Booked up for weeks."
"What a shame, Rupert, and I so wanted to try Mr. Salter's cooking."
"We can make room," Harry said. "Call the restaurant, Billy."
Billy's face was almost bone white now. He glanced at Dillon, who nodded slightly. Billy took out a mobile and dialed. After a few moments, he said, "All right, it's done."
Kate Rashid said, "How kind. So, we'll be on our way, Rupert." He pulled out her chair and she got up. "We'll see you gentlemen there."
"You can count on it," Dillon told her.
She reached up and kissed his cheek. "Later, then, Dillon."
She turned and went. Rupert said, "Gentlemen," and followed her.
"There's something about that bastard," Billy said. "And I just don't like it."
"That's because you have good taste, Billy," Dillon said. He drained his glass. "Let's go."
A s the Bentley drove away from The Dorchester, Kate Rashid pulled the partition glass panel shut.
"Make the call."
Rupert dialed a number on his mobile and said, "It's on." He frowned. "How the hell do I know what time? You wait, okay?" He switched off and shook his head. "I've said it before. Good help is so hard to find these days."
