Edge of Danger sd-9

by Jack Higgins

  He opened a cupboard and found another kettle.

  Not too far along the road, Dillon pulled into a lay-by and called Ferguson on his mobile.

  'Where in the hell are you?' Ferguson demanded.

  'Well, if you'll shut up, you old bowser, I'll explain.'

  When he was finished, Ferguson said, 'All right, so she went to see Bell and the pilot heard her say Hazar. What does that mean?'

  'I have a suggestion,' Dillon said. 'The Rashid house in Mayfair. Did you put in the phone taps yet?'

  'Yes. Of course, they haven't said anything. They're too smart for that.'

  'Well, it will make him feel confident if we appear to be doing the expected thing. So why don't you get your communications department chaps into the street outside, have them pretend to be working on the telephones, the usual rubbish. In reality, why not instal a directional microphone instead? Who knows? It could pick up some useful stuff.'

  'All right, leave it with me. Only, get back here. I need you.'

  Dillon went home to Stable Mews and changed. Then he called at the hospital to check on Hannah. The matron gave him five minutes only. She lay there, propped up, festooned with tubes. Dillon sat for a while, then left, angry and bitter. He met Professor Bellamy in the corridor.

  'What's the verdict?' Dillon asked.

  'Not good, Sean. I think she'll survive, but I can't promise exactly what shape she'll be in.'

  'We will travel hopefully,' Dillon said and left.

  At Cavendish Place, he found Ferguson going over papers at his desk. 'I've got some interesting news. That directional mike of yours caught a conversation between Rashid and his sister. Rashid said: "You be there to meet Bell and his three cronies when they arrive in Hazar."'

  'Did he? Now that is interesting. So what do we do?'

  'What do you do is more like it, Dillon. I'd say Hazar is your next port of call.'

  'General, the minute I turn up in Hazar, I'll be in deep trouble.'

  'We'll have to take that chance. I can't keep an eye on them without your being down there, being your usual bloody nuisance. I've even found a legitimate excuse for your presence. My cousin, Professor Hal Stone of Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, is, by one of life's coincidences, in Hazar right now, conducting a diving operation on a World War II freighter. With typical university nonsense, he has no real money, so he can afford only a small operation of local Arab divers.'

  'Sounds exciting.'

  'Actually, it is. What's really interesting is that he's discovered what's left of a Phoenician trading ship partly underneath the freighter. You're a master diver, Dillon. Hal would love someone like you to help out, especially as you won't cost anything. You'd be able to monitor Lady Kate and Bell and company. I'll arrange for your flight, then come down myself once you're settled in. Do you agree?'

  'Let's give it a try. There's just one thing. I know these Arab divers. They jump with a stone in both hands. I need another master diver to back me up.'

  Ferguson sighed. 'Oh, dear, do you mean who I think you mean?'

  'Billy Salter is a first-class master diver.'

  'And you think he'll go?'

  'Do I think he'll go?' Dillon started to laugh.

  At the Dark Man, they found Harry Salter, Billy, Joe Baxter and Sam Hall sitting in a corner booth.

  'Jesus, Brigadier, what brings you here?' Harry Salter demanded.

  'First of all, it's not Brigadier anymore, Harry. They've made him a Major General,' Dillon said.

  'Well, damn my eyes.' Salter waved to Dora behind the bar. 'Get champagne over here, girl. It's a special occasion.'

  She found the bottle and came round the bar, but it was young Billy who said, 'What gives, Dillon? You aren't here playing patty fingers.'

  'I'm going out to Hazar in the Gulf of Oman, Billy. The General's cousin is trying to work a World War II wreck with bits of a Phoenician ship under it.'

  'He's what?' Billy's face was pale with excitement.

  'The thing is, he's got no money, Billy, just Arab divers, so I'm going to work for bed and board.'

  Billy got up. 'If he needs you, he needs me. When do we go?'

  'Tomorrow morning.'

  Billy turned to go, but Ferguson said, 'Tell the lad the truth, for God's sake. Last time out he killed four times for us. We owe him.'

  Billy turned slowly. 'Is there going to be trouble?'

  'Bad trouble, Billy. We're up against rough trade this time.'

  'Then you'd better bloody well tell me,' Billy said and sat down again.

  Afterwards, he said, 'What a bunch of bastards. I mean, if you're British, you're British. I don't mind this Rashid being half Arab, but you behave yourself. I don't know, Dillon, ever since I've met you, I end up trying to save the world. What time do we leave in the morning?'

  'Ten o'clock from Northolt.'

  'Who's flying us? Lacey and Parry as usual?'

  'Who else could you trust to drop you in from six hundred feet?'

  Billy smiled wolfishly. 'Too bloody right. They got an Air Force Cross each last time, didn't they?'

  'That's right.'

  'Any chance of me getting one?'

  'Not in a million years, Billy.'

  'And they wouldn't give you one?'

  'All they'd give me is twenty years if they could.'

  Harry Salter got up. 'Right, we'd better go and get on with the packing.'

  'We?' Ferguson said.

  'I can't bloody well dive, but I can use a shooter and sit in the boat,' Salter said. 'It's called family.'

  At the Mayfair house, Paul Rashid said to Kate, 'Take George. He can act as a link with the tribesmen. He knows the dialect, and they respect him, because he's my brother. They respect you, too, because you're my sister, but they're Arabs. They still feel uncomfortable with a strong woman.'

  'Then they must learn.'

  He embraced her. 'Bell is what matters. He's good, but he has to obey you. Any trouble, and I'll have him and his three friends wiped off the face of the map. Those are my people there.'

  'I know, brother, I know. I won't let you down. I'll astound you.'

  Dillon went back to check on Hannah Bernstein. She was slightly more alert and responded to him.

  'What are you up to, Sean?' she murmured.

  'It's what Rashid is up to. He's recruited Bell to go down to Hazar with his cronies. We don't know what for yet.'

  'And you're going?'

  'Yes.'

  'Tell me about it.'

  Which he did.

  Afterwards, she said, 'So it's you and Billy and dear old Harry into the war zone again?'

  'So it would appear.'

  'You'll never stop, will you, Sean?'

  'It's what I am, Hannah. I lack a good woman, that's my trouble.'

  'Oh, get on with it and stop making excuses.'

  'I love you, too.' He kissed her on the forehead. 'God bless, Hannah.'

  And for once, she gave him a smile, a real smile, 'God bless, Sean.'

  Strange, but there he was: Sean Dillon, the ultimate hard man, and when he went out, there were tears in his eyes.

  When he got home, he spoke to Blake Johnson on the phone and brought him up to date.

  Blake said, 'Jesus, Sean. Hazar is Rashid territory, and you and Billy and Harry are going to go play deep-sea divers with Ferguson's cousin? Come on, you won't be able to go into a waterfront bar for a drink without someone trying to stick a knife in you.'

  'True. All life will be there, Blake. You should come and join in the fun.'

  'Frankly, my fine Irish friend, I'm tempted. What are the Rashids up to, Sean? Why import an IRA hit squad into Hazar?'

  'Well, that's what I'm going to find out.'

  'Then watch your back.'

  Dillon laughed out loud. 'That I will, Blake. Who would have thought it – an IRA enforcer and two of London's finest gangsters in the middle of the desert. Why does it always have to be us?'

  'Sean, I'm not into moral philosophy.
I just have a sneaking suspicion that you and Billy are going to have much too good a time… I dive, too, you know. Do you really think the President…?'

  'There's only one way for you to find out.'

  At Northolt the following morning, they found Lacey and Parry waiting and, in something of a surprise, Ferguson.

  'I thought I'd see you off. Lacey's had the roundels removed, since we needn't advertise the RAF. What are we calling it, Lacey?'

  'A United Nations charter, General.' 'Ah, well, no one will quarrel with that.' The Quartermaster appeared, a rather tall and forbidding retired Guards Sergeant Major. 'There's a question of weapons, Mr Dillon. May we talk?' 'Of course,' Dillon said.

  The Quartermaster led the way into an anteroom. On a wide table were several AK-47S, Brownings, Carswell silencers, and three small machine pistols.

  'Parker-Hales, Mr Dillon.'

  'Excellent, Sergeant Major.'

  'I've had diving equipment loaded on board. You'll need air bottles down there. I'd take care if I were you. Never know what these Arab buggers might try to put in them.'

  'I take the point,' Dillon told him.

  'Good, because I would like to meet you again, Mr Dillon.'

  'We'll see what we can do.'

  The Sergeant Major said, 'I'll load up, sir.'

  While the plane was loading, they drank coffee and tea in the lounge. Ferguson said, 'We have little outright influence in Hazar any longer. All these small countries like their independence these days. They don't have an army, just the Hazar Scouts, a small regiment of Arab Bedu traditionally commanded by British officers. At the moment Villiers is the commander – you know about him.'

  'Do I liaise with him?' Dillon asked.

  'He could be useful. He has his ear to the ground, knows what's going on. At the moment, as I understand it, the Scouts are patrolling the Empty Quarter. They have problems with Adoo bandits up there, men on the run from Yemen: Lawrence of Arabia stuff. It's just like the old days – any game is better than no game. Just like Northern Ireland, really.'

  Billy said, 'The old sod's getting at you, Dillon.'

  'Yes, I know he is, Billy, but it's okay.' Dillon smiled amiably. 'What do you want me to do, tell him to get stuffed?'

  'Oh, you've been doing that one way or another for some years now, Dillon.' Ferguson got up. 'I don't know what's going on out there, but it's certain to be dodgy. Take care.'

  'Ah, but I always do.' Dillon shook hands. 'Don't worry, Charles, you've got me, Billy, and Harry. We're an unbeatable combination.'

  A few minutes later, the Gulfstream roared along the runway at Northolt. Ferguson waited, then turned and got into his Daimler and was driven away. It was all up to Dillon now, but then there was nothing new in that.

  Hazar The airport at Hazar was five miles out of town. It was a single runway but had been built by the RAF in the old days for military use, so it was capable of handling anything, even a Hercules. When the Gulfstream landed and they disembarked, two Land Rovers drove up. The man who got out of the first one was in his sixties, deeply tanned, white-bearded, wearing a crumpled bush hat, khaki shirt and slacks.

  'Hal Stone.' He held out his hand. 'I understand you're a hell of a diver, Dillon.'

  'How did you know it was me?'

  'The wonders of modern science. Computers, the Internet, the downloading of pretty colour pictures.' He turned to the others. 'Billy and Harry Salter. What a combination. Even the Kray brothers would have been impressed.'

  He called in Arabic and two men got out of the other Land Rover. 'Load everything. Take it to the Sultan.'

  Lacey and Parry found them, and Dillon made the introductions. Stone said, 'Are you staying over?'

  'Not this time, sir,' Lacey told him.

  'Good, then you won't need my rather dubious expertise on Hazar. What to avoid, which on the whole is everything.' He turned to the others. 'Come on. I could do with a cold beer before I show you the Sultan.'

  In the Land Rover, Dillon lit a cigarette. 'You're actually a Cambridge don?'

  'A Fellow of Corpus Christi and Hoxley Professor of Marine Archaeology. There's another thing you should know about me: I used to work for the Secret Security Services when I was a lot younger and rather more foolish. Cousin Charles has filled me in on you and your friends, so I know what you're up to, but frankly I don't care as long as you do some diving for me.'

  'Well, that sounds okay,' Billy told him.

  'Billy is a master diver,' Dillon said. 'He's good.'

  'And you?'

  'Okay I'm just modest, and I do have another agenda.'

  'A Rashid agenda?' Stone smiled. 'Kate Rashid turned up yesterday with four Irishmen, Northern variety. Should make you feel at home, Dillon.'

  'And where would they be staying?'

  'The Excelsior Hotel down on the waterfront. It's like a set from an old Warner Brothers movie. All you need is Humphrey Bogart. I said I wanted a cold beer and we'll have it there.' Dillon lit another cigarette and Stone added, 'Give me one.'

  'Sure.'

  Stone took it and inhaled with conscious pleasure. 'Let me just tell you one thing. What you're up to is your business, but I would like to point out that this is the sort of place where they'll cut your balls off for a packet of Marlboros.'

  'The dogs,' Harry Salter said. 'We can't have that, can we?'

  There were cottages in the grounds of the Excelsior Hotel. Kate had booked Bell and his three friends into a triple complex around a small courtyard. She herself was staying at the Rashid villa, which also housed the company headquarters and a small computer and communications setup.

  A young Arab came into her office and placed a couple of sheets on her desk. 'A UN plane landed a short while ago. These are the passengers downloaded from the computer.'

  Kate had a look and smiled. 'Well, now.'

  'Picked up by Professor Stone.'

  'Get my jeep. I'll take a run down to the harbour.'

  The port of Hazar was small, with narrow alleys and white buildings stepped back up the hillside. The Excelsior, as Stone had indicated, was very old-fashioned, with electric fans turning in the ceiling, a huge marble-topped bar, french windows open to the harbour. There was an assortment of vessels there, a few small coastal freighters, many dhows. Stone pointed to a spot a mile out.

  'There's the Sultan, the big old dhow. The ship we're looking at, an American ammunition ship sunk by a U-boat on its way to Japan, is about ninety feet down.' They were sitting on the hotel terrace, the awning flapping above them in the wind.

  'What's this Phoenician thing?' Billy asked.

  'Oh, some of the boys brought up shards of pottery and various other items. It's down there, all right. What's left of it. I've carbon-dated them. They're possibly from a couple of hundred bc, but you can't be sure.'

  'I can't wait to go down.'

  'Billy's an enthusiast,' Dillon said.

  Behind him, Bell, Brosnan, O'Hara and Costello came into the bar and sat on the high stools. In the moment Dillon saw them in the mirror, Bell saw him. He was totally astonished.

  Dillon got up. 'With me, Billy.' He walked over. 'Why, Aidan. You're a long way from Drumcree and all that soft Irish rain.'

  'Jesus,' Bell said. 'What are you doing here?'

  'Being your worst nightmare.'

  Costello, who had just sampled his beer, raised the glass suddenly, but Billy kicked him hard on the right ankle, hooked his arm and removed it from his hand.

  'That's very stupid. Do that again and I'll put it in your face.'

  A quiet voice said, 'No need for that.'

  Dillon turned and found Kate Rashid standing there.

  'Why, Kate,' he said. 'And aren't you the wonder of the world? You turn up everywhere.'

  They walked back to the terrace, while Stone and the Salters maintained an uneasy truce with Bell and company.

  'Bizarre, isn't it?' Dillon said. 'Do you know Stone?'

  'Of him. So what are you doing here?' 'I'm di
ving for him. If you know anything about Hazar, you'll know about the Sultan.'

  'Oh, I know everything about it, just as I know everything about you and your friends the Salters. You mix in interesting company, Dillon.'

  'Very true, Kate. Harry Salter is legitimate now – mostly – but still one of the most influential villains in London. Billy's killed four times. They're not Chesterfields,' Dillon said.

  'Yes, and you're not here to spend your time diving for Hal Stone.'

  'Oh, yes, I'll dive for the Professor, and so will Billy.'

  'And nothing else?' 'Kate, my love, what could there be?' 'You're on my case, Dillon.' 'Beware the heat of the sun, Kate. It can lead to paranoia.' He finished his beer and got up. 'I'll have to love you and leave you. I can't wait to check out that wreck.'

  She went back to the bar. Bell said, 'What's that little shite up to?'

  'There's nothing he can do here,' she said. 'Not a damn thing. This is Hazar. The Council of Elders think they control it, but not for much longer. Soon it will be all Rashid. Now let's go to your bungalow and look at the plans.'

  In the living room of Bell's cottage, many papers were stacked on a desk, including a large Ordnance Survey map. Bell said, 'There's only one main road up there.'

  'To the Holy Wells, yes.' She nodded. 'And next Tuesday, all twelve of the Council of Elders will be there.'

  'You still haven't said how you want it done. Ambush or Semtex bomb? We can do either.'

  T think the bomb would be more persuasive. I'll arrange to have some of my people take you up there, so you can see for yourself.'

  'Excellent. But what about Dillon?'

  'Oh, I'll take care of that. You know what they say? Diving is a hazardous occupation.'

  The wind blowing in from the sea was warm and somehow perfumed with spices as they left the harbour in an old motorboat crewed by two Arabs.

  'Christ, Dillon, you don't half bring us to some strange places,' Harry Salter said.

  'Come off it, Harry, you love it. It's the edge of danger, this place. You'll need a shooter in your pocket. As the Professor said, you're up,against the kind of people who'll cut your balls off for a packet of fags.'

  'I'd like them to try,' Salter said. 'I haven't had a bit of action for a while. That Sultan looks like something out of an old Sinbad movie.'