The Killing Ground Part 16

"Because she gave me her word," Hussein said bleakly.

"They could not have done this thing, those who did it, unless she was willing. Her father, right under our noses, and the man who accompanied him."

"The men from Baghdad, this Dillon and Salter. It must be."

"But her father, the apostate, the cursed one who turns his back on Allah. May every devil in h.e.l.l wait for you, Caspar Rashid." He shook his head. "That he bears the name of our family shames me beyond belief." He began to weep.

Aziz had retreated to the door to speak on the phone. Now he beckoned to Hussein. "I've sent for an ambulance."

"You think it's that bad?"

"Let me put it this way. It's a good thing Rashid Shipping invested in the development of the hospital the past few years. We've got the equipment to at least give him a fighting chance." He put an arm around Hussein's shoulders. "It's also good that your doctor is Indian and so are his nurses. There will be no Muslim stupidities to make things difficult."

"I think we've seen enough Muslim stupidities for one day," Hussein said. "Two friends to bury, lads I soldiered with." He shook his head. "Why did she betray me?"

"So that's how you see it?"

"She was in shackles-I freed her. When a dog named Ali ben Levi laid a hand on her, I killed him. But more than that. I swore, a hand on the Koran, that I would prove a true husband to her in thought and deed when she came of age. More than this, no more than a couple of hours before his death, her grandfather put her welfare in my hands when he placed her in my care for the journey to Hazar. On my honor, I swore to him to protect her always."

"Can you be certain, my friend, it is not just your pride which has been hurt?"

"Pride?" Hussein shrugged. "What has this miserable affair to do with such a shallow emotion?"

An approaching siren outside heralded the ambulance. Aziz went out to meet four porters in green hospital overalls carrying a stretcher, followed by two nurses in saris. Within a few moments, the old man was maneuvered onto a stretcher, drips were inserted, bottles held high as he was lifted.

"I'll come with you," Hussein said.

"I'd rather you left it till later."

The little column descended the stairs, accompanied by weeping women of the household, the servants visibly upset below. Hussein went down, moved amongst them.

"Pray for him, pray hard. Now attend to your work." Khazid stood by the open window, his AK hanging from his left shoulder He looked somber and they went outside on the terrace.

Hussein took out a pack of American cigarettes, gave him one and a light. Khazid said, "The look on Hamid's face. I think it was surprise."

"Well, it would be. Come on, little brother, you've seen enough of death to recognize it any way it comes. No shock there."

"Not anymore."

"Well, then. You've been in touch with Said at the terminal since I last called him. What did he have to say?"

"The Gulfstream, as you know, was UN. It turned up the other day, two pilots, this Professor Hal Stone, the archaeologist who has worked on this wreck in the harbor, and three men with him. One was your cousin Caspar Rashid, two were logged in as divers. Interestingly, the pilots had been here before-the other year."

"And Hal Stone?"

"It would appear so. He came several times. They talked about it, the pilots, and the aircraft's insignia was definitely UN."

"Which I don't believe for a moment. I'll tell you what I think. Dillon and Salter went to Baghdad, and we know what happened there. They then went back to London, probably having found out we were on our way to Hazar."

"So?"

"You've been involved in enough of my exploits in the past to know that the one essential ingredient is surprise. What greater surprise for them than attempting to s.n.a.t.c.h Sara from us virtually the moment we arrived? Who in the h.e.l.l would have expected it?"

"Yes-but there are still mysteries here. There must have been some sort of communication between them and Sara?"

"Possibly, but we'll never know without being told. Be a good soldier now. Go to the hospital and stand vigil for me."

"And you?"

"You think it ends here, this business?" Hussein shook his head. "Not if I can help it. Off you go and leave me to speak to the one man in the world who can truly help me."

THE BROKER FOUND little to comfort him at the news. Volkov had already called him with word about Max Chekov's unfortunate fate, some of the best doctors in London struggling to save his leg.

"What the h.e.l.l is going on?" Volkov wanted to know. "This could have a huge effect on our future plans."

"You hardly need to make the point," the Broker said. "But it confirms what I suspected. Salter and his a.s.sociates are totally ruthless men. Together with Dillon and Billy Salter, they pose a real threat."

"Then I suggest you do something about it," Volkov said. "It's hardly the kind of news that will please President Putin," and he ended the conversation.

The Broker sat there, brooding. An important kill was what was needed. Obviously, to see Harry Salter stone-cold dead in the market would be good, but Ferguson-that really would be something. But for that, he needed Hussein more than ever. Even Putin would be impressed with Ferguson out of the way. He reached for his phone and called Hussein, only to receive the shocking news about Sara.

As Hussein spoke, he sat there, trying to take it all in, part of him unwilling to believe what had happened. When the account was finished, the Broker said, "What do you want to do?"

"You wanted me to come to England anyway and deal with Ferguson. This would suit me very much. And not just for personal revenge. I refuse to leave Sara, wherever she is. I made a promise, a sacred oath to her grandfather. I intend to carry it out."

"And so you shall. I will arrange things. General support in the UK will be from the Army of G.o.d network of spies and informers. I had meant to send Professor Dreq Khan to Hazar. I'll call him back at once to London and put him to work. He will be useful to you."

"How do I come?"

"Plane to Paris, then the Channel Tunnel. You brought your special flight bag from Baghdad. The black one?"

"Of course."

"Use the British pa.s.sport. Hugh Darcy. I like that one. Get yourself a blazer. You'll look like an English gentleman who's been on holiday. The pa.s.sport will support that. I'll arrange what happens to you when you reach London with Khan. When will you come?"

"Tomorrow if I can, but it depends on my uncle's health at the moment. This business has. .h.i.t him hard."

"I look forward to hearing from you."

They disconnected, and the Broker called Professor Khan in Brussels, catching him at his hotel on his way out to dinner. He quickly filled him in on the situation in Hazar.

"My G.o.d," Khan said. "I can't believe that Caspar has managed to regain his daughter."

"Helped by thoroughly ruthless men, which you would do well to remember. There is no point in your going to Hazar now. You are ordered back to London."

"But Ferguson would move heaven and earth to get his hands on me."

"Ferguson's got nothing to hold you on, you know that. He can't touch you. You'll book out of your hotel in the morning and catch the first flight to London. Is that clear? Osama himself has an interest in this affair."

Which was enough. "Of course. I'll do as you say."

"And await further instructions."

IN THE GULFSTREAM, everything had gone smoothly. After sleeping for five or six hours, Sara had awakened, had something to eat and talked a great deal with her father and Hal Stone and later, responded to some gentle probing from Dillon and even Billy.

She seemed very calm. Partly it was her nature, but Dillon considered it likely that to a certain extent, it was also a kind of denial of what had gone before.

When you thought about it, the original circ.u.mstances had been extraordinary. The kidnap itself, the transfer to the war zone, the constant daily violence of Baghdad itself. Every impossible bad thing had been visited on her, the apparent genuine affection of her grandfather and yet leg irons, and then the final act in Hazar. The killing of Ali ben Levi when he laid hands on her, the sudden realization that Hussein was the Hammer of G.o.d, this Arab fantasy figure from newspapers and television. The events that had developed with the Sultan Sultan and the shocking deaths of Hamid and Ha.s.sim, so close that there were bloodstains on her clothing. and the shocking deaths of Hamid and Ha.s.sim, so close that there were bloodstains on her clothing.

For an adult to cope with what had happened to her in the few months since the kidnapping would have been a near impossibility; for a young girl, little more than a child to most people, what hope? She dropped off to sleep again and Dillon, turning in his seat to pour a Bushmills, found Hal Stone observing him.

"What do you think?" the professor asked. "How in the h.e.l.l is she ever going to get over what's happened?"

Her father was also dozing, an arm around her, and Dillon looked at them again. "There's the mother, a pretty remarkable lady, but I don't know." He shook his head. "She's got a lot to cut free from."

"Hussein Rashid, for one thing."

"Oh, him most of all," Dillon said.

Hal Stone nodded. "At least there's a few thousand miles between them, and little likelihood of her ever having to see him again."

"Let's hope so," Dillon said, and Lacey's voice over the intercom announced, "Farley Field in fifteen minutes. It's midnight right now, so that means we're moving into a new day, and if you're listening, Sara, G.o.d bless and welcome home."

She sat up next to her father, slightly dazed as the plane coasted down. What happened next was all a strange confusion in which everything happened in slow motion: the Gulfstream landing, Parry opening the door, people outside, rain falling quite fast, then going down the steps ahead of her father and her mother crying out her name and throwing her arms about her fiercely.

THEY WERE ALL TAKEN to the Holland Park safe house. Sitting across from Charles Ferguson, her arms around Sara, Molly Rashid said, "What now?"

"You try to put some sanity into your lives again. At least you've nothing to fear from this man anymore. We've seen to that. Here's the early edition of the Times Times."

There was the photo of Hussein without his sungla.s.ses on the extreme bottom of the front page in the left-hand corner. The few lines of text said, "Known a.s.sociate of Osama bin Laden."

Sara said, "But that's Hussein." There was panic on her face.

Ferguson said, "You've nothing to worry about. With this photo in all the papers he'd never dare come to England."

"Hussein Rashid, Hammer of G.o.d." Sara's voice was suddenly very small and she buried her face against her mother.

The electronic gate swung open at Holland Park and they turned in, and several thousand miles away in the hospital at Hazar, Hussein and Khazid stood smoking on a balcony, the gla.s.s door open behind them to a corridor. Two nurses sat at a small table opposite, sipping tea, ready for backup if necessary. A door opened, Aziz came out, and there was a glimpse behind him of Jemal festooned with cables and tubes, two more nurses at his bedside.

"How is he?" Hussein asked.

"We are in G.o.d's hands," Aziz told him. "That's all I can say."

At that moment, an alarm sounded, jarring, ugly, frightening. Aziz ran back into the room, followed by the two nurses in the corridor. The entire crash team was at work in seconds, Hussein and Khazid watching at the door. Not that any of it did the slightest good.

"Time of death . . ."

"Immaterial." Hussein stood looking down at his uncle, then leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.

"See, my friend," he said to Dr. Aziz. "They killed Hamid and Ha.s.sim to get Sara, now they kill my uncle. We can't have that, can we, Khazid?" He covered his uncle's face with the nearest sheet, turned and went out.

Chapter 8.

IT WAS IN HUSSEIN'S FAVOR THAT HIS RELIGION DEMANDED so brief a period for the disposal of the body, no matter how important the individual. He needed action now, needed to get on with it, needed to channel the rage inside him. The body was brought to the house and displayed in the entrance hall. The people who arranged such things worked through the night. The Imam himself came to supervise, giving Hussein his blessing, of course, and not just because of his prowess in the war. He was, after all, not only the head of Rashid Shipping now, but of the clan itself, the possessor of great wealth, and his importance was shown by a new deference to him.

"So what will you do now about Sara?" the Imam asked.

"As Allah wills."

"You do not think her beyond hope?"

"Of course not. There were cruel influences at work."

"What do you intend? A return to the war zone?"

"We'll see." Hussein was keeping his own counsel. "Let's bury my uncle first." The Imam departed and Hussein went out onto the terrace and lit a cigarette. Khazid, who had been listening, followed him. "You wish to follow them to England, don't you?" Hussein smiled. "Now why would I do that?"

"Because it would be the most reckless thing to do. Can I come with you?"

"Why would you want to do such a thing?"

"Because we're friends who have been through h.e.l.l together. Because I appreciate it could be a one-on-one mission but that you also need one person you can really rely on."

"And you think that should be you?"

"It has been before. How do you plan to go?"

"Paris. Train to London."

"I have both French and British pa.s.sports, both excellent forgeries. And I speak French. Your alias?"

"Hugh Darcy, what the English call a toff. I used the pa.s.sport last time I was in London and found the regimental tie of an English Guards officer tucked in my briefing case. It was the Broker's joke. The English still can't help touching their forelocks to a gentleman."

"The Queen's son himself has served in such a regiment in Afghanistan," Khazid said.

"There you are, then. Okay, my friend, you can come as far as Paris. I'm not promising anything more. Now go and lie down. It'll be dawn soon, and we have three men to bury."