by Jack Higgins
"Poor Rupert." She took out a cigarette, he lit it for her, and she leaned back.
H arry's Place was another of Salter's warehouse conversions on Hangman's Wharf. The old yard had been converted into a car park. There were new window frames in mahogany and the exterior brickwork had been cleaned and a few steps had been added to make the front entrance more imposing. Next to it flowed the Thames, with plenty of traffic on the river, the lights sparkling on the other side as darkness fell.
There was a line at the door, mainly young people hoping for a cancellation for the restaurant or admittance to the lounge bar. Joe Baxter and Sam Hall stood at the top of the steps wearing tuxedos and black ties.
The Bentley drew up and Rupert got out and opened the door for Kate.
Baxter said to Hall, "That's her," and went to meet them. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Countess."
"These are Mr. Baxter and Mr. Hall, Rupert. I have very nice pictures of them on my computer."
There were two young men at the front of the line sporting black silk bomber jackets with a scarlet dragon on the back and Chinese characters underneath. They both wore gold earrings, and their hair was long and black. The one who spoke up had a Cockney accent.
"Here, how are they getting in and we can't even make the bar?"
"I'll tell you what you'll make," Joe Baxter said. "The back of the line if you don't shut up."
The man subsided, muttering under his breath, and Hall held the door wide to pass them through, then followed. He escorted them up the stairs, where the headwaiter stood at the booking desk, a dark, energetic Portuguese in a white tuxedo.
"Fernando, these are Mr. Salter's guests."
Fernando smiled. "A pleasure," and led the way into the restaurant, which was beautifully designed in Art Deco style, tables dotted around a small dance floor, booths behind. There was a cocktail bar straight out of the thirties, and a trio played dance music. All the waiters wore white monkey jackets.
Fernando led the way to a large booth, and two of the boys pulled the table out so they could sit.
"What may I offer you to drink?"
"Jack Daniel's for me, with branch water," Rupert told him. "A champagne cocktail for the lady. When are you expecting Mr. Salter?"
"He's on his way."
"Then we won't order yet," Kate said. "Just the drinks."
Rupert took out a pack of Marlboros and shook out two. He lit them both and offered her one. "Just like in the movies."
She laughed. "Whatever else you are, darling, Paul Henreid you're not."
"Though Bette Davis played a number of ladies who remind me of you."
"What a compliment, Rupert."
The drinks came. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"Absolutely." She toasted him. "Cheers, darling."
Shortly afterwards, Harry Salter and the others came in. "Are you being looked after okay?"
"Perfectly," Kate Rashid said.
"Good. We'll join you then."
Joe Baxter had followed and stood against the wall, his arms folded, Billy beside him looking grim. Dillon sat at the end of the booth, a cigarette smoldering from the right-hand corner of his mouth. Ferguson and Harry sat opposite.
"As it's my shout, I'll order for all of us," Harry said, and turned to Fernando. "Cristal all round, still water, none of that sparkling stuff, scrambled eggs, smoked salmon, chopped onions, tossed salad all round."
Fernando retreated hurriedly and Kate said, "A man who knows his own mind."
"That's why I'm here and a lot of others are long gone."
Ferguson said, "So, what's it all about, my dear?"
"Here we go, Rupert, the General playing the bluff and honest English gentleman. What it's all about, General, is that I want you off my case. I know you've been checking up on me. So has Daniel Quinn. And I know you wouldn't be sitting here with me if you'd found anything good. We had an interesting meeting in Washington the other night, you know. Strong words were spoken, views exchanged. I'm sure Blake's passed all that on to you."
"Of course," Dillon said. "It was just after a couple of guys tried to mug Quinn on his way to the White House."
"Really? How unfortunate. I assume he handled himself well. But speaking of mugging, what about you and your little foray to Loch Dhu?"
"Ah, well, just a little recreation. We stayed at Ardmurchan Lodge a few years ago, and thought we'd try it again. Very pleasant. Ferguson and I went shooting."
"I just bet you did," Kate said.
"Deer," Dillon told her, and smiled. "Just deer."
"Brown had to have nine stitches in his face. I seriously disapprove of thugs pistol-whipping my employees. Try it again and you'll regret it, Dillon." Her face was a mask of restrained anger. "And what was the purpose of going all the way up there just to let me know you'd been there? You could have phoned me."
"To get the official line on your Act of Class Warfare kiddies?" Ferguson asked. "All that bunkum about country pursuits for school parties? You're not teaching them to play patty fingers up there."
"We have nothing to hide, General, and you know damn well you can't prove otherwise."
"What about all those organizations of yours in the Mideast?" Ferguson asked.
"I'm a very wealthy Arab. I feel privileged to be able to help my people. Some organizations there have political aims, but we're interested in social and educational programs. We pay for teachers and build schools and small hospitals all over Arabia, from Iraq to Hazar."
"And Beirut?" Dillon put in.
"Of course Beirut."
"The Children's Trust, which is a front for Hezbollah," Ferguson told her.
She sighed. "Prove it, General. Again, prove it. Everything my Trust does is aboveboard."
"What about your trip to Hazar tomorrow? Is that aboveboard, too?"
She shook her head. "Enough. General, as you well know, Rashid Investments derives most of its billions from oil in Southern Arabia, the Empty Quarter, and Hazar. I go there all the time. I'm weary of this, Rupert, and suddenly I seem to have lost my appetite. Let's go." She stood up. "Thanks for the hospitality, gentlemen. But I warn you, stay out of my affairs, or you'll regret it."
"Come on," Billy said, his eyes burning. "Come on and try, any time you want."
"Cool it, Billy," his uncle told him.
"Goodnight." She nodded to Rupert and he followed her out.
At that moment, Fernando and a posse of waiters arrived with the scrambled eggs and smoked salmon.
"Well, it looks good to me," Harry said. "So let's eat. I've had enough of that bloody woman for the moment."
O utside, the line had disappeared. Rupert and Kate Rashid drove off, but as they approached the end of the wharf, Rupert said, "Pull in."
Kate said, "What are you up to?"
"I think I'll hang on to watch the fun. I'll catch up with you later." He got out.
"Take care, darling," he said as he closed the door and walked away.
W hen they'd finished eating, Harry Salter ordered brandies all round and told Billy to cheer up. "You've got a face on you like death itself. Don't worry, Billy, we've got her number."
"She's a nutter." Billy tapped his head. "Who knows what she'll do next? I bet even she doesn't bleeding well know."
"I take your point," Dillon told him. "But she does have an agenda and we're part of it."
"I said we'll sort her," his uncle told him. "Trust me."
"I'd listen to him, Billy," Dillon said. "He said the same thing before the two of you sorted the Franconi twins the other year. Rumor has it they're in cement on the North Circular Road."
"Yes, well, that was business," Salter said. "You know what happened there, don't you? They got some IRA explosives expert to stick a bomb under my Jaguar. Lucky for me and Billy, he got the timer wrong and the bleeding car blew up just before we got there." The brandies arrived and he shook his head. "Terrible times we live in, General. Anyway, here's to all of us 'cos we're still here." He swallo
wed his Hennessy in a single gulp. "Come on, Billy, let's walk them out."
They stepped out the front door and Rupert Dauncey watched from the darkness as they reached Ferguson's car, his chauffeur at the wheel. Suddenly, there was a shrill cry, and five men erupted from between the cars, carrying baseball bats. They were all Chinese, all wearing black silk bomber jackets with the Red Dragon insignia, and the two in front were the two from the queue.
One of then rushed in and swung at Billy, but Billy raised his right foot into the man's crotch. Dillon avoided a similar blow, grabbed for a wrist, and rammed his assailant headfirst into a Volvo. The others pulled back and circled.
The one with the Cockney voice said, "We've got you now, mate. You're going to get yours."
Harry Salter showed not the slightest fear. "Red Dragons? What is this, carnival night in Hong Kong?"
The one Billy had kicked had dropped his baseball bat and Billy picked it up. "Come on, let's be having you."
The leader said, "He's mine," moved in close and swung. Billy fended off the blow, let him get close, tripped him, and put a foot on his chest. The others started forward and Dillon took out his Walther and fired in the air.
"This is getting boring. Get your arses out of here, and leave the bats behind." There was dismay on their faces, and yet hesitation, so he fired at the second man who'd been in the queue, shooting off the lobe of his left ear. The man screamed and dropped his bat and the others followed suit.
"Now get out of here," Salter said, and they ran. He said to Billy, "Not him"--he nodded at the one on the ground--"I want words with him." He turned to Ferguson. "This might not be something you should see, General."
Dillon said, "I'll report in later."
"I'll look forward to it," Ferguson replied.
He got into the Daimler and drove away as Joe Baxter and Sam Hall arrived on the run. Billy still had a foot on the Chinese man, and Joe said, "Did we hear shots?"
"You certainly did, my old son," Harry told him. "Bruce Lee here and his merry men tried to give us a going-over." He stirred the Chinese with his foot. "Have him up, boys."
Billy removed his foot, and Baxter and Hall raised the man by an arm each. He didn't seem afraid but simply glared as Harry moved close.
"Big man," growled the attacker. "How good are you on your own?" And he spat in Salter's face.
"No manners." Harry took out a handkerchief and cleaned himself. "He needs a lesson in etiquette. Billy?"
Billy punched the man in the stomach until he doubled over, then kneed him in his face. Salter took a handful of hair and raised his head.
"Now be a good boy and tell me who put you on to me."
The man shook his head, though he seemed less tough now. "No, I can't."
"Oh dear. All right, Billy, on his back and stamp on his shin. Put him on sticks for six months."
The man gave a grunt. "No!...All right...It was a man called Dauncey. That's all I know. Gave me a grand to see to you."
"Where is it?"
"Inside pocket."
Billy found it, a bundle of ten-pound notes with an elastic band around them. He passed it to Salter, who slipped it in a pocket.
"Now, that wasn't too hard, was it? Of course, you've seriously upset me, and that won't do." He picked up a baseball bat. "Right arm, Billy."
The man tried to struggle, but Baxter and Hall held him fast and Billy pulled the arm straight. The baseball bat rose and fell. There was a crack, and the man cried out and slumped to his knees.
Salter crouched. "There's a hospital a mile up the road. You need the Casualty department, my old son, but you should be able to make it. Just don't come back here again. If you do, I'll kill you." He stood up. "I think I could do with another brandy."
He walked away. The rest followed, but Dillon paused to call Ferguson on his mobile. The General was still in the Daimler.
"What a surprise--they were hired by Rupert Dauncey."
"Well, at least we know where we are now. What happened to the Chinese gentleman? Not in the river, I trust?"
"One of the walking wounded. I'll see you tomorrow." Dillon clicked off his phone and went inside.
It was quiet outside, the only sound that of the injured man hauling himself off his knees. Rupert Dauncey slipped out of the shadows. "Are you all right, old man?"
"He's broken my arm."
"I'd say you're lucky he didn't break your neck." He took out a cigarette and lit it with his AK lighter. "In fact, you're lucky I don't break your neck, you idiot." He blew a stream of smoke at him. "Let me just leave you with this thought. Step out of line, open your mouth just once--and I'll kill you myself. You understand?"
"Yes," the man moaned.
"Excellent."
Rupert Dauncey walked away, and after a while the other man began to stumble up the street.
HAZAR
7
N ORTHOLT, ON THE OUTER EDGE OF LONDON, WAS AN RAF base much used by the Royal Family, the Prime Minister, and major politicians. Because of this, it had become increasingly popular with users of executive aircraft and proved a lucrative sideline for the Royal Air Force.
It was ten o'clock the following morning when Kate Rashid and Rupert Dauncey passed through security and drove round to the apron where the Gulfstream was standing. The engines were already turning over as they arrived, and a few minutes later they had started their climb to fifty thousand feet.
When they leveled out, a young woman in a navy blue uniform, slacks, and tunic approached them. "Tea as usual, Countess?"
"Thank you, Molly."
"Coffee for Mr. Dauncey? We have an American in the family now!" Molly went to the kitchen. Kate said, "Give me a cigarette and go over it again, Rupert."
He did as ordered and described the events of the night before. He shook his head. "I can't understand it. The Red Dragons came highly recommended."
"Those incompetents in Washington came highly recommended, too."
"Yes, I'm obviously going to have to get better sources. Now, what's the agenda for today?"
"We land at Hamam airport, then we'll take a helicopter to Shabwa Oasis in the Empty Quarter, then further into the Empty Quarter, to the oasis at Fuad. I have a camp there. I'd like you to see it."
"What goes on there?"
"You'll see."
"Mystery on mystery, hmm? Do we go to Hazar Town?"
"Oh, yes, I'd like to see Tony Villiers."
"Are you going to have him bumped off?"
"I'd rather not. I like Tony. He's a superb commanding officer, and since the Sultan forbids him to go into the Empty Quarter, he's really not much threat." She shrugged. "We'll see. I've taken certain steps which should give him pause for thought."
"Such as?"
"Oh, let that be another little mystery for now, Rupert. Pass me the Times." She opened it to the financial pages.
V illiers had left most of the Scouts in Cornet Bobby Hawk's hands and was proceeding down the desert road to Hazar Town. This was hill country, filled with rocky defiles and great cliffs the color of ocher. There was no traffic, not a sign of another human being, not even a goatherd.
He had two Land Rovers with eight men, including himself, a light machine gun mounted in each vehicle. It was incredibly hot and dusty, and Villiers was looking forward with pleasure to his room at the Excelsior Hotel, a bath, and a fresh uniform.
They stopped by a pool at a spot called Hama at the foot of some cliffs. The water was deep and cool, and one of the men stood on watch with a machine gun, while the others took off their bandoliers and sandals, walked into the pool in their robes, and splashed each other like children. Villiers lit a cigarette and watched, amused, but the smile quickly vanished as a spattering of stones came down the cliff in a shower. He glanced up, and his men started to plunge through the water to their weapons. A shot rang out and the leading man went down, a bullet in his head.
The machine gunner raked the cliffs up above for a full minute, as the men reached their rif
les and fired up, too, but there was no reply. Villiers brought it to a stop. There was silence now.
Selim crawled to him beside one of the Land Rovers, and Villiers waited for a while, then stood up.
"No, Sahb," the Sergeant said.
The silence was eerie. "It's all right. Whoever it was has gone already. I don't know why, but it was hit-and-run."
"Maybe Adoo bandits from the Yemen, Sahb. Or maybe Omar there offended someone?" They gazed at the floating body.
"No, it could have been any one of you." He turned to his men. "Go on, get him out of the water."
Three of them waded in and pulled the body out. They had a couple of body bags in one of the Land Rovers amongst the general supplies and got Omar into one.
"Put him on the hood of number two Land Rover," Villiers ordered. "And tie him on tight. The next few miles are rough."
Someone produced a coil of rope and they placed the body as instructed, running the rope across and beneath the vehicle. The other Scouts watched in silence, subdued.
"Right, we'll move out now," Villiers said.
Selim sat beside him, looking troubled. "Sahb, one thing puzzles me. If the man who did this thing simply wanted to kill only one of us, why not the Sahb, why not the most important of us?"
"Because they didn't want me dead," Villiers told him. "They just wanted to send a signal, Selim."
Selim looked even more troubled. "Can this be so, Sahb? Who would want this?"
"Someone from the Empty Quarter. One of those people who shouldn't be here and perhaps shouldn't be there, Selim. We'll find out soon enough." He smiled. "As Allah wills."
Selim, deeply disturbed, looked away, and Villiers lit a cigarette and leaned back.
T he Port of Hazar was small, with white houses, narrow alleys, and two bazaars, but the port area was busy, filled with shabby coastal ships, Arab dhows, and fishing boats. The two Land Rovers stopped at the largest mosque, where Villiers delivered Omar's body to the Iman.
Afterwards, they drove down to the Excelsior Hotel, where he told Selim and the other five Scouts to take a couple of days off and gave them twenty dollars, each in fives. They were American dollars, an old custom that delighted them, for U.S. dollars were greatly appreciated in Hazar. He told them he knew where to find them if necessary and dismissed them.
