No Remorse Part 27

Rosco wouldn't play that sort of prank. It wasn't funny.

But he was confused. Ziad had been killed in the explosion-or so they'd a.s.sumed. Could he have escaped? Was Khalid alive too? And how would they have gotten Tally's phone? His throat felt tight as the questions kept firing in his head. Cold surged through his veins as the pulse pounded in his neck. If they had Tally it would be his worst nightmare.

He took a deep breath. It was vital he stay calm. He must not concede anything.

Covering the handset, he told Scotty to call the Hyatt and the Riston and check whether Tally or Rosco were in their rooms.

"Ziad is a common name in some parts. Where is she?"

"Tally and her friend are resting. But don't worry. When your wife wakes, I personally will make sure that she is taken care of. She is not so ugly, for a Jew."

A Jew? Tally wasn't Jewish, was she? He thought back. Her mother was French-Canadian. She hadn't mentioned her father's heritage. What was Ziad thinking? He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "She's not Jewish, and neither is her friend. And Ziad died recently in an explosion. So who are you? And what do you want?"

"Ah. Of course you would not admit to being a Zionist spy. And as you can tell, I am very much alive. So is His Highness Sheik Khalid. And your man Cohen has already admitted to the attack at the house, so do not bother denying it. It is clear now that you killed Prince Abu-Bakr, too. What Sheik Khalid wants is five hundred million US dollars."

Mac choked back the frisson of fear in his throat. He was confused, but more than anything his gut was churning at the thought that Tally might be Ziad's captive. He took another deep breath and tried to regain control. "For what? I'm not Austin Powers, you know."

A long pause. For a moment, he thought he'd lost the connection.

"It appears that you need a lesson in respect. You will call me Mr. Ziad. And you will speak more courteously in future. I just had one of my men cut a finger off the left hand of your colleague. Fortunately for him, he is still unconscious. That will not last. He will be in considerable pain when he wakes, and we will not give him any medications until you have given me the pa.s.swords."

Mac looked at Scotty, who shook his head. They were not at either hotel. f.u.c.k. He took a deep breath. "The man's name is Rosco. And how do you think I'm going to get that sort of money?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Mr. Ziad... I don't know how I can-"

"Let me see. There is the eighty million in gold you stole, and all of the money Israel has stolen from Palestinians over the years. Perhaps if you run short, you can call the American president. The Americans are always happy to pay your bills. I am sure your government will consider this a bargain for the nuclear canisters."

Nuclear canisters? Mac blinked. What the f.u.c.k? "What nuclear canisters? What are you talking about? Let me make it clear-we are not Israelis!"

There was a long pause.

"I mean...Mr. Ziad."

"Tsk, tsk. Sadly, your poor manners have resulted in Rosco losing another finger. You have forty-eight hours to call back on this number with your government's answer."

The connection was terminated. Less than a minute later, an image arrived on his phone. It was the close-up of a left hand. The thumb and forefinger had been severed.

74.

Mac felt his face redden as the anger erupted inside him. "Jesus, Derek, why are you worried about a couple of f.u.c.king computers? What about Tally and Rosco, for Chrissake?"

"Oh, grow up, McCloud. There's more of value on those computers than Tally, Rosco, you and me combined. Man-years of complex programming expertise, worth many millions. This, my friend, is why you should have stayed in Paris to protect them instead of jaunting off to Fanning's funeral."

"f.u.c.k you. I wasn't employed as their security guard."

"Yeah? Well, f.u.c.k you too. Feel better now? That doesn't help Tally, bud."

Mac didn't bother responding. Wisebaum was always on the offensive, so it was difficult to gauge his true feelings. He glanced over at Scotty, who was talking to one of the cops. They were sheltering under the covered entrance to the ER at Surrey County Hospital, where Mai was receiving treatment.

Wisebaum continued. "You there, McCloud? Let's get practical. Did Mai give you the plans?"

"What?" How did Wisebaum know about that? He hadn't told Tally. Was he guessing? "What plans?"

"Come on, McCloud, don't f.u.c.k with me. You told me when you rescued Mai in Dubai that you suspected she had copies of plans of the construction down in Andaran. Now, did you get them or not?"

Now he'd backed himself into a comer. He couldn't admit to having them now, after denying it. "She got shot before she could tell me about them. The ambulance guys said it could be several days before she's well enough to talk. Meantime, I'll start organizing a rescue mission. I can brief my old boss Colonel Matheson, but you'll need to get the authorization for a Delta team to be involved."

"You will do no such thing and neither will I. Look, McCloud, you say this Ziad character mentioned nuclear material. That takes this matter to a whole new level. I've got no authority that high. I'll speak with the Director and we'll figure who is appropriate to handle negotiations with Khalid. What you need to do is get on a plane and come back to Montreal. Now! This is not the time for one of your Rambo performances."

Jesus, this guy knew just how to p.i.s.s him off.

"But what about Tal? Khalid's got her. We've got forty-eight hours."

"Don't you get it, McCloud? This is beyond our scope. There is no way the President is going to authorise a mission against Khalid based on some alleged phone conversation with a guy claiming to be his security chief. Not to mention handing over five hundred million dollars of taxpayers' money. And we can't launch a raid on Andaran without Presidential approval."

"But-"

"Don't interrupt. You're not thinking, bud. We don't have a clue about where Khalid is hiding this nuclear material you claim he wants to sell, or whether he even has it. We've been conned into action before without supporting evidence. The media would have a f.u.c.king field day! And rightly so. Not to mention that if we botched a raid, any nuclear devices Khalid has, if they exist, would disappear up Al Qaeda's a.r.s.e."

"So, Tally and Rosco are dispensable?"

There was a long pause at the other end. He could hear Wisebaum take a breath. "We're all dispensable, McCloud. If you'd done your job, Tally and Rosco would still be at the Riston."

The truth hit him like a bullet in the chest. He blinked as he realised that Wisebaum was right. They were all dispensable. Wasn't that the point of ASTA's existence? It hit a nerve already raw. But this was not the time to be indulging in guilt. It was a time for action.

Wisebaum spoke again, his tone a little more conciliatory. "Look, of course we're not going to abandon Tal or Rosco. We'll get them back, don't worry about that. I'm going right now to speak with the Director."

"What about Mai, Derek? She's still at risk."

"You're at Surrey County Hospital. I'll arrange protection through my contacts at MI5. And I'll sort out the police. Get on a plane."

"But Tally-"

"Get on a plane."

Mac ran his fingers through his hair and breathed in hard. "Sure, okay." He would get on a plane all right. He pressed the disconnect b.u.t.ton and turned to Scotty. "What is it about that guy?"

Scotty took him over to the cop. "Senior Constable York here has a cousin up at Hereford. He's going to make a call. We won't be delayed too long."

"That's good. We need to get to Heathrow p.r.o.nto. I'll call Jog. This time we're going to be better prepared when we get to Andaran."

75.

In the oppressive midday heat and chaos of Mogadishu port, day hires were loading by hand the last few cartons of fresh fruit and vegetables aboard the Princess Aliya. The provisions were being guarded by ten well-armed Pakistan Army soldiers to prevent looting by the locals, many of whom appeared to be on the verge of starvation.

Watching from the main deck, Khalid was impatient to be at sea, where the breeze would signal freedom and they could leave behind the anarchy that was Somalia. Ziad was strolling along the deck with Captain Sandeep Khan, a hard-faced former SSG commando, discussing the deployment of weaponry and personnel on the vessel. They had recruited Khan to head up security at the Yubani Resort, now that it was fully operational and the Saddam treasure was safely inside the fortress.

Khalid spotted his computer technician sitting in a deck chair chewing gum, a laptop on his knees. "Any success with the Israelis' computers, Sergei?"

"I'll need more time, boss. Unless Ziad can persuade the woman to give you the correct pa.s.sword. The answer the woman gave last night destroyed one of the hard drives."

"So I've been told." Khalid tolerated Sergei calling him boss because he was a computer nerd and his talent was extraordinary, and he also found it a little amusing. "I think you should be able to devise a technical solution."

They had punished both of the Israelis for the foolish lie, and Ziad would continue her interrogation as soon as the boat was at sea, where Jamila and Sheriti would not be able to hear her screams above the engine and the ocean.

"Where's the phone I asked for?" he asked, as Sheriti appeared on deck with Jamila, both dressed in colourful abayas. He told them to go to his quarters and prepare for him.

Jamila grinned with antic.i.p.ation. "We will be ready. Can I see your new phone? I need a new one too."

Khalid frowned at her teenage selfishness, but restrained himself. The bruising around her eye had almost disappeared, but the eyeball was still bloodshot. "Go, Jamila! This is business. We have three nights before we reach Andaran, and Captain Jergah has said there are likely to be rough seas. Take some tablets now."

"But husband, Dr. Gammal told me not to take any medicines."

Khalid waved her away. "We need to leave port soon. When are our Al Qaeda friends due to arrive for the transplant, Ziad?"

"In four days, Highness. We should be there in time to welcome them."

"We must. I do not want them arriving without our full security team there. Make sure of that."

"Yes, Highness."

"The phone, Sergei."

Sergei had a cell phone and was punching in a long string of numbers. He pa.s.sed it to Khalid. "There you are, Highness. This phone will now dial whatever number you type from a random exchange somewhere in the world. Even we won't know from where. It will be impossible for anyone to trace. You will need to dial the number while we are here in port, within range of the Mogadishu cell phone network."

"Very good. Listen to this," he said as Ziad and Captain Khan came level with them. He turned on the loudspeaker and punched in the number Ibrahim had sent him. The ring tone sounded twice. Then there was a long beep. Khalid turned to the others and grinned. "Ha! That was a hoot, as the English would say!" He handed the phone back to Sergei. "Destroy it. I will need another four."

"Sure, boss." Sergei took the phone apart and threw the pieces overboard.

"What was that, Highness?" Ziad said.

Khalid laughed. "I just exploded a bomb, brother! The beginning of the downfall of the House of Saud! I wonder how long we will have to wait for it to be on the news."

76.

Sophia lay strapped on a gurney in her room, unable to move her arms and legs. Two male attendants in blue scrubs waited on either side of her for instructions. They'd been waiting for about ten minutes, jabbering away in Chinese as though nothing was wrong.

"What's going on?" Sophia said, straining her head to look over at the others. She was more frightened because of the waiting. Not knowing was about to happen.

One of the attendants leaned over her and said: "Rehearsal. Uh... practice."

Moments later, a whoop whoop, whoop whoop sounded. Like a fire alarm.

"Okay, I get it. Fire drill." Sophia screwed up her face at the painful noise reverberating in her ears. "This is crazy! Can't you just let me walk?"

It had been eight days since they'd taken her to the Kimba markets, and nothing had come of the note she'd left. And n.o.body had said anything about it or punished her for writing it, either. So maybe there was still hope it was still out there, sitting between the two compact disks just waiting to be found. But she couldn't rely on that. She had to try and find another way to escape. The only opportunities she had were when they took her out for her daily exercise along the beach. They'd never had a fire drill before while she'd been held, and she wondered whether she'd be able to take advantage of it.

They wheeled her out of her locked room and along the corridor. Lifting her head as far as she could, she noticed the other two kids ahead of her-a brown-haired girl about her age, head slumped forward in a wheelchair like she was drugged or something, and a short-haired boy, maybe about twelve, lying asleep or unconscious on a gurney. They both had fair skin. This puzzled her. Why hadn't Dr. Xi mentioned these two? Who were these kids, and why were they both out of it?

Outside the resort building, Sophia recognised some of the employees who had evacuated the building and were strolling along the path staff leading towards the resort's small jetty. Some of the people she did not recognise. Were they staff, or guests? There were two adults lying on gurneys on the path, and several well-dressed types with Indian features were talking with Dr. Xi and two other medical personnel in blue theatre scrubs.

A westerner couple appeared, and she could hear them speaking. English! They were Americans! They walked over to the girl in the wheelchair. Her parents, perhaps. The woman held her hand. The girl lifted her head, and it lolled to the side like she was drunk.

"You'll be much better tomorrow, honey," the man said. A southern drawl. Texan?

The mother leaned down and spoke loudly, over the noise of the alarm. "They're going to start the operation as soon as the fire drill is over."

The girl nodded groggily and her head flopped back down.

Sophia felt giddy. Americans here! They would help her. They were only about twenty metres away. Perhaps this was the opportunity she needed.

The alarm stopped blaring. A short announcement was made over a loudspeaker, and people started walking back inside.

"Help me!" Sophia cried out, and tried to sit up, although the straps only allowed a small movement. "Please help me! I'm American! My name is Sophia Bennett! They're holding me hostage here! Please... tell the police they've kidnapped me!"

The couple turned and glanced at her, as one of the attendants shoved an injection into her neck. Her eyes locked with those of the woman, who looked terrified. No-not terrified. Ashamed. Like she knew, and felt guilty about it. The woman glanced at her husband, who shook his head. They both turned away as Dr. Xi hurried over to usher them back inside with the girl in the wheelchair. Sophia could hear him apologizing in English, telling them some story as the world became suddenly a watery blur.

"Please..." she yelled, even though the drug they had injected had reduced her voice to a whisper.

The couple knew. They knew she was a captive. And had refused to help. Now she knew her position was hopeless. There could be no escape. She let her head flop back down on the gurney, released a long sigh, and closed her eyes against the blinding daggers of the sun.