A Devil Is Waiting - Jack Higgins [38]
“I would suggest you leave now,” Roper said.
“Well, make sure Tony takes the lady home.” He smiled at Sara. “Noon tomorrow, I’ll pick you up.”
Tony followed him out, and Sara found a swivel chair and sat beside Roper, looking up at the screens. “It must make you feel like sort of lord of the universe.”
“That’s true, particularly when I’m watching people, their comings and goings. And the really spooky thing is they have no idea that it’s happening.”
Tony came in at that moment. “Sorry to break this up, but it’s shower time, Major, the full works. Can’t have you sitting there smelling like an ashtray all day.”
“I hear and obey.” Roper turned to Sara. “Here’s an exercise for you. Look up Professor Jean Talbot and a man named Jack Kelly.”
At that precise moment, Mullah Ali Selim was enjoying a cup of coffee in the library of a country house called Stukely Towers. There was a knock at the door, it opened, and the young woman Sara Gideon had noticed running beside the palanquin entered, followed by a darkly handsome young man in jeans and a black bomber jacket. He was her fiancé, Jemal Fateh, and she was Asan Selim, the mullah’s niece. They were both dedicated jihadists.
“So there you are,” he said. “Do you approve of the house, Asan?”
“Quite wonderful, Uncle.”
“Owned by a wealthy sheikh from the Gulf, one of many dedicated friends that we can always rely on. He also keeps a jet just ten miles from here.”
“I am glad to hear it. Now that Osama has been so brutally torn from our lives, your safety from our enemies is of crucial importance. You must leave England as soon as possible,” she said.
“Not yet. For the moment, I am safe here. Eventually, I shall leave for Pakistan, for Peshawar, and from there cross the border to a village called Amira, west of the Khyber Pass. I’ll be safe amongst friends there, and I can plan our future campaign in peace. America, the Great Satan, shall pay for what they did to Osama. This I promise you.”
“In what way can we serve, master?” Jemal asked.
“Come with me and I’ll show you,” Ali Selim said, and led the way out.
It took a sizable staff to take care of such a house, and yet there was no sign of anyone, as if they were keeping out of sight. Selim led the way to a rear conservatory, through a tunnel, and they emerged in a vast garage containing many vehicles, the most interesting of which was an imposing yellow Central Accident & Emergency ambulance.
“This is exactly the same as the old and battered one you both spent two days being taught at the proving ground last week,” Ali Selim said. “The only difference is that this one is brand new and provided by the Brotherhood. Inside you will find uniforms and identity cards, plus a worksheet authorizing you to deliver emergency oxygen cylinders to level three of the underground garage at the House of Commons.”
“May we try driving it, master?” Jemal asked.
“Of course, but only in the courtyard. I’ll see you in an hour—and wear your uniforms.”
He was going over papers at the library desk when the knock came, and they entered and stood together in the yellow uniforms, waiting for his approval.
“Excellent.” He nodded. “It should work, particularly because there’ll be so many vehicles that day. An obvious workhorse has a better chance than anything else of being accepted. Now, sit down and let me explain what we’re attempting here.”
“Yes, Uncle,” Asan said, and she and Jemal pulled chairs forward and sat.
“Both of you can pass as Europeans—particularly you, Asan, with your hair cut and dyed. You proved that by going on that guided tour of Parliament last week, when they showed you and the other tourists the terrace.”
“Which was interesting,” Jemal said. “But I don’t see how we could possibly get that far on Friday.”
“Of course not,” Ali Selim said. “Certainly not in uniform, and not with this.”
He picked up a large and very yellow paramedic’s bag and dumped it on the desk.
“You’re not going to the terrace. There’s no way you