The Judas Gate

by Jack Higgins

  ‘So what are you going to do?’ Hamza asked.

  ‘Go hunting, give them a nice surprise. What about you?’

  ‘I’ve got an old Browning machine gun. I’ll set it up on the jetty and await events.’

  ‘Fort Zinderneuf?’

  ‘Ah, you’ve read Beau Geste?’ Hamza smiled. ‘An Englishman named Wren wrote that book. He actually served in the Legion.’

  ‘Very interesting, but that was then, this is now. These men who are coming are killers of the first water.’

  ‘I know this, my friend, if only because I trained Daniel Holley myself. I can only wish you luck.’ He turned to Fatima. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I think I’ll go with him. You know what you’re doing, he doesn’t. He thinks he knows everything, this one, but he doesn’t know the marsh and he could get lost. We’ll take Stingray.’

  ‘You’re worse than your mother was.’ Hamza shrugged. ‘As Allah wills.’

  Talbot followed her outside and looked down at the Stingray. ‘Is the sport fisherman the sensible boat to use? I’d have thought an inflatable with an outboard.’

  ‘The reeds are fifteen and sometimes twenty feet high, so they’ll conceal the upper deck, but at the same time, standing at that wheel, I can peer over occasionally and see where we are and what’s going on.’

  ‘That makes perfect sense.’ He dropped down to the deck and she followed. ‘I’ll be guided by you, so let’s get moving.’

  She cast off and went up the ladder to the wheel, and Talbot followed and stood beside her, the AK cradled in his arms. It started to rain; as they drifted out, she switched on the engine and kept it down to a low rumble. There was the grey light of dawn now, and a curtain of mist floated in.

  ‘When we have the heat of high summer and unexpected heavy rain, it produces the mist,’ she told him.

  ‘At least it makes it easier to play hide and seek,’ he said.

  They nosed into the reeds. Suddenly, wildfowl lifted in a cloud some little distance away, the birds angrily calling, and Fatima cut the engine.

  ‘Something caused that. Keep your head low, but we can look with caution.’ She produced a pair of Zeiss glasses from the map compartment and focused them. ‘Ah, a flash of orange.’ She nodded and turned to him, handing the glasses over. ‘And another. Two of them. Inflatables with outboards.’

  ‘Can we get closer?’

  ‘Not without making a noise. I’ll try using the pole. You stay here watching.’

  She went down to the stern and commenced, and Talbot watched cautiously as the reeds parted and Stingray floated through; some distance away to the left he could hear the sound of an engine.

  ‘What do you think?’ he called down to Fatima.

  ‘It sounds like two engines. I think Nadim has probably brought both boats.’

  ‘How many men?’

  ‘Sixteen or so. Each boat has a machine gun mounted. There’s nothing those bastards like better than sweeping the marshes with those things, shooting everything in sight like schoolboys playing with toys.’

  ‘The next thing you’ll be saying is: that’s men for you. Just a little closer, if you will.’ She did as he asked, and everything happened in a hurry.

  ‘There they are, two small orange inflatables in a waterway. Two men to each boat. I can’t see who it is because they’re wearing jungle kit and their faces are black, but here goes.’

  He took deliberate aim and fired twice, saw his target fall into the water. ‘Did you get him?’ Fatima called up.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Talbot smiled in triumph and, for a moment, forgot to keep low. Sean Dillon, with an uncertain glimpse of the Tuareg who was Shamrock, took a snap shot. It drilled Talbot’s left side, and he staggered back awkwardly, dropping the AK and sliding down the ladder.

  Fatima was on her knees. ‘Merciful Allah, how bad is it?’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t know, would I?’ He managed a smile. ‘You’ll have to take a look. I’ve got a medical kit in my rucksack. You must find the morphine. When you’re first shot, the shock kills the pain, but not for long.’

  The engines of the approaching launches sounded louder now. ‘They’re coming fast,’ Fatima said.

  ‘Yes, well, let’s keep our heads down and stay out of it. Just let them get on with it. If you look in my rucksack, you’ll find half a bottle of Cognac, too. Get me that first.’

  Holley had dragged Hakim out of the water, and the Colonel lay there groaning, soaked to the skin, blood oozing through. He was obviously in a very bad way. Holley had been aware of the return shot and called out. ‘Dillon, Miller, where are you?’

  There was no reply, so he took out a spring knife and cut open Hakim’s tunic. He knew just how bad it was straight away, and Hakim moaned, ‘I’m going to die, Daniel.’

  ‘Shut up and lie still,’ Holley said. ‘This isn’t exactly the best place for medical treatment.’ He took two morphine ampoules from his bag because he figured one wouldn’t be enough, jabbed them in, tore open a pack containing a wound dressing, and applied it.

  Hakim shook his head. ‘A waste of time. This is Allah’s punishment on me for my betrayal of you and Malik, the most shameful thing I have ever done in my life.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ Holley told him. ‘I understand. Osama, Al Qaeda and the Preacher really had you in their clutches.’

  Hakim clutched at Holley. ‘But at least I can make amends before I go.’

  ‘And how would you do that?’

  ‘To others, the Preacher is just a voice on the phone, but not to me. I gave the special mobile he supplied to an electronic genius. He managed to break into the system.’

  ‘And who is the Preacher?’ Holley said, suppressing his excitement.

  ‘He’s a British-born Muslim named Hassan Shah. He lives in Bell Street, West Hampstead, I’ve checked. He’s investigated war crimes for the British Government and is a Professor in International Law at the London School of Economics.’

  ‘Good God almighty,’ Holley said. ‘We’ve got the bastard.’

  ‘Yes, I believe you have.’ Hakim’s hand tightened on Holley’s jacket, he convulsed, and his head fell to one side.

  Holley sat there looking at him for a moment, wondering about his next move, but he was not given a choice. Small waves rippled though the reeds as the speed of whichever boat was approaching increased, and then the boat’s heavy machine gun sprayed recklessly through the reeds and there was coarse laughter.

  The inflatable rocked violently as the launch passed, and Holley took a fragmentation grenade from his bag and lobbed it over blindly. There were cries of dismay, followed by a violent explosion. He eased out into the channel and saw the Evening Star well alight. Two men with their uniforms on fire jumped into the water. Holley took another grenade out and lobbed it after the others, which seemed to finish the boat and the entire crew.

  But there was still the Fortuna somewhere out there; Holley could hear the engines and the sound of its heavy machine gun firing into the reeds at random. He called Dillon on his Codex.

  ‘What’s your situation?’ Dillon demanded.

  ‘Hakim was hit by a sniper. Never saw who, but he’s dead.’

  ‘The sniper was Shamrock in his Tuareg get-up. I fired back and he definitely went down.’

  ‘I got the Evening Star with two grenades and watched them die. Where are you?’

  ‘Not far away at all. We’ll move closer to the boat and find you.’

  ‘Well, one other thing I must tell you, in case I get knocked off myself. It turns out that Hakim knew the name and address of the Preacher.’

  ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph,’ Dillon said. ‘Tell me.’ Which Holley did, and Dillon said angrily: ‘The bastard. I can just see him now, standing in the dock at the Old Bailey claiming his human rights.’

  There was another burst of obviously haphazard machine gun fire not too far away. ‘So what are we going to do?’ Holley asked.

  ‘Do you still have Hakim’s body
?’

  ‘Sure I do. I didn’t know what to do.’

  ‘We’re only yards away from the Evening Star and it’s burning nicely. Start calling out and we’ll call out, too, and see if we can get together before the Fortuna turns up. If Nadim’s still on it, he won’t be pleased.’

  A hundred yards or so away, the machine gun fired again, so Holley started up, shouting, and could immediately hear Dillon and Miller calling. In a few minutes, they connected.

  ‘Now what?’ Holley asked.

  ‘Hakim did us nothing but harm in life,’ Dillon said, ‘but I’ve got a use for him in death. Don’t waste time, because the Fortuna’s coming up fast. We’ll dump your inflatable next to what’s left of the Evening Star with Hakim sitting up in it, the perfect ambush.’

  Nadim was at the wheelhouse of the Fortuna as it broke out into the channel and saw the smoke and what was left of the Evening Star still burning. His men cried out angrily as bodies floated by, and then Nadim saw the inflatable and Hakim propped up in it. There were cries of rage from the men.

  Nadim cut the engine and came out. ‘Get the pole and hook him in.’

  Three men started to do that. There were only the marsh sounds in the rain, smoke drifting, the fire crackling as they lifted Hakim up on to the deck.

  Nadim had never known such rage. ‘Dillon,’ he roared out in Arabic, ‘I will cut you to pieces, and feed you to the fishes when I find you.’

  ‘Over here,’ a voice responded in Arabic.

  The grenades bounced on deck, two at the same time, then a third that rolled against Hakim. It was the last thing Nadim saw on this earth.

  Somewhere nearby in the rain, there was the sound of a plane taking off, but in the mist there was little to see.

  ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ Holley asked Miller and Dillon.

  ‘I definitely shot the Tuareg,’ Dillon said.

  ‘Well, let’s do the sensible thing and go see your friend Omar Hamza,’ Miller said to Holley.

  As they emerged at the side of the lagoon, they saw the sport fisherman, with Fatima at the wheel, moving towards the trading post. Holley checked through his binoculars. ‘Hamza’s sitting beside a Browning machine gun,’ he said, and called loudly across the water. ‘It’s Daniel, let’s talk.’

  Fatima got out of the sport fisherman and tied up and turned to look at them all. Hamza shouted, ‘Okay, come over.’

  He was drinking beer and sitting there beside his machine gun when they arrived. Fatima leaned in the doorway, arms folded, watching them closely.

  Hamza said, ‘So you’ve been killing again, Holley? How many?’

  ‘All of them except for Ali Hakim. Shamrock shot him twice.’

  ‘So he’s dead?’

  ‘He lived long enough to tell me a few interesting things. Was that Shamrock flying away?’ ‘So it would appear,’ Hamza said.

  ‘I thought I’d shot him,’ Dillon said. ‘He shot Hakim.’

  Fatima nodded. ‘So you did. You hit him in the left side and the bullet came out through his back.’

  ‘And you patched him up?’ Dillon asked.

  ‘He had a military kit. He told me what to do. I gave him morphine.’

  ‘And then took him to his plane?’

  ‘Yes, his friend was waiting.’

  ‘What kind of plane was it?’ Miller asked.

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘He was English, I believe, not an Arab.’

  It was her father who said, ‘That’s enough. Go, Daniel, and don’t come back.’

  ‘Just one more thing. He was in reasonable health when you left him. You gave him the penicillin in the kit, and soon?’ said Dillon.

  ‘Oh yes, I did everything he told me – not that it will do him the slightest good. He’s obviously going to die and I think he knows it.’

  She went inside, leaving a stunned silence, and Hamza said, ‘That’s it, on your way.’ He patted the machine gun. ‘Unless you want to argue with this.’

  ‘Whatever you say, old friend,’ Holley told him. ‘I think you can take it that we won’t be back.’

  ‘You weren’t even here, as far as we’re concerned,’ Hamza said. ‘I imagine that’s the way the authorities in Algiers will look at it. After all, an Al Qaeda operation is the last thing they’d want to have anything to do with.’

  The heavy rain kept what little life there was in Dafur indoors. They dumped the inflatable in the creek, walked down to the runway where the Falcon stood, silent and waiting. Holley took the controls and, within five minutes, they were taking off. Dillon found himself a drink and Miller called Roper on his Codex.

  ‘That was quick. Did you finally come face to face with Shamrock?’

  ‘In a way, I suppose. The whole thing was a sting.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Ali Hakim turned out to be Al Qaeda’s man in Algiers.’

  ‘God in heaven,’ Roper said.

  ‘You can imagine what a shock it was for Holley. The story about Shamrock having dealings with Hamza was just bait for us to go and get knocked off. They’d hoped Ferguson would be there, too.’

  ‘So no Shamrock?’

  ‘No, he turned up. Apparently, he wanted to enjoy dealing with us personally.’

  ‘Just start at the beginning, so I can make some sense of it,’ Roper said.

  Which Miller did, and when he was finished, said, ‘So there it is. Shamrock winging his way back to wherever he came from, with the pilot who flew him in and waited for him.’

  ‘Badly wounded and dying, according to this Fatima girl.’

  ‘She’s a strange one, but that’s what she said.’ Miller was repeating himself now. ‘Dillon shot him in the side and the bullet went straight through.’

  ‘And he’s making a flight to we don’t know where, which could take hours. He’s committing suicide.’

  ‘Well, that’s the story and it’s obviously not finished yet.’

  ‘It’s incredible. You’ve certainly had an extraordinary outing this time. God knows what Ferguson will make of it.’

  ‘He’ll be over the moon about one thing. We now know who the Preacher is. Imagine, a Professor of International Law at the London School of Economics, and he’s moonlighting for Al Qaeda in London.’

  ‘If you wrote it up, nobody would believe it,’ Roper said.

  ‘I would: my father knew Kim Philby at Cambridge,’ Miller told him. ‘Anything been happening while we’ve been away?’

  ‘There hasn’t been time, Harry. You’ve hardly been away. Take it easy. I’ll see you soon.’

  LONDON

  NORTHERN IRELAND

  13

  By the time the Citation X was winging its way across Spain to the Bay of Biscay, Chuck Alan was beginning to worry. When Justin Talbot had returned to the plane at Fasa, he had seemed very hyper and full of nervous energy. He’d insisted on taking the controls on take-off and only handed over during the second hour when Chuck had suggested the autopilot.

  ‘Excellent idea,’ Justin said. ‘I don’t think I had a wink of sleep while I was away. I’ll get my head down.’

  Two hours later, when Alan checked him, he was still asleep, his forehead damp, so Alan returned to the cockpit, consider ably concerned.

  At the same time, the Preacher, having heard nothing from Hakim and no response when he tried to call him, contacted Hamza.

  ‘What’s happened to Hakim? I don’t seem to be able to contact him.’

  ‘Well, you wouldn’t,’ Hamza said. ‘He’s dead. In fact, his people are all dead. Dillon and his friends don’t take prisoners.’

  ‘Merciful Allah! And Shamrock?’

  ‘Where did you find that guy, the Arabian Nights? He was really something in his Tuareg robes. God knows what he was here for. He only managed to shoot one person, and that was Hakim by mistake. Dillon shot him in return.’

  ‘Are you saying he’s dead?’

  ‘No, badly wounded, but fit enough to have flown back ou
t of this cesspool. My daughter did her best for him with his medical kit.’

  ‘So he’s going to be all right?’

  ‘Not according to her. She thinks he’s a goner and she’s usually right about things like that. Where did you get my mobile number from?’

  ‘Hakim.’

  ‘Well, don’t call again. I’m not afraid of Al Qaeda, and neither is anyone else that I know around here. After this cock-up, your new motto should be: Stay out of the Khufra.’

  He cut off and Shah sat there thinking about it, and then called Talbot, who came awake with a start, the phone ringing in his breast pocket.

  ‘Hamza’s told me everything. What a debacle, and not helped by you indulging in your usual theatricals. So you’ve managed to get yourself shot?’

  ‘Yes, and I don’t exactly feel at my best. When I hit Belfast, I should book in at the Seaton – when it comes to gunshot wounds, Belfast hospitals are the best in the world; the Troubles gave them forty years’ practice – but I don’t know. They’ll report me. What’s the point in that?’

  And Shah, angry and immensely irritated, said, ‘You bloody fool, you’re dying. Hamza’s daughter said so.’

  ‘Did she? Well, there you are then. She was a nice girl. You know your trouble, Preacher? You don’t listen. I told you Dillon and his friends were hell on wheels, but you wouldn’t have it. Your stupidity has ruined everything.’

  ‘My stupidity?’ Shah said. ‘Damn you to hell, Talbot. I’ll destroy you.’

  ‘If I’m dying, it won’t make any difference, so why don’t you go fuck yourself?’ Justin told him and cut off.

  In his study at Bell Street, sitting behind the desk, Hassan Shah quite suddenly felt utterly helpless for the first time in years. Everything was slipping away from him. The consequences of the fiasco in the Khufra would undoubtedly affect his position in Al Qaeda when word reached Osama bin Laden. Once, he’d had the power to ruin Justin Talbot by just reaching for a telephone and making an anonymous call to any major newspaper, but that was no threat to a dying man. He frowned suddenly as a thought struck him: As long as he did die, of course.