A Devil Is Waiting - Jack Higgins [48]
“This has been around for years,” he said. “Highly volatile. It’s absolutely incredible that you got away with handling it, Daniel. These pencil timers remind me of my Irish time as a bomb-disposal officer—wouldn’t you agree, Tony?”
Doyle was checking one of them now, and he nodded. “Takes me back to Ulster in the bad days, but on the other hand, I can remember stuff like this turning up years ago right here in London when IRA sympathizers were run to earth. Maybe it’s just been sitting around in somebody’s cellar.”
“I agree,” Roper said. “But it’s dangerous stuff. It’s a miracle you two are with us.”
“Which raises the obvious question,” Dillon said. “What’s going on? Who’s behind this?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Roper said. “All I would say is that it makes it highly unlikely that the attack on Sara last night was a mugging. There’s a pattern to all this. If only we’d caught them.”
“I admit I should have done better,” Holley said. “But if I’d given chase to tonight’s villain, Sara would have come out of the front door in search of me and walked straight into the Alfa blowing up.”
“We can all see that,” Roper said, and his Codex signaled. “Yes, General?” He made a gesture to them and went out into the hall, returning ten minutes later.
“So tell us the worst,” Dillon said.
“Well, no surprises here. With the President’s visit, talk of car bombs is the last thing the government wants. In other words, this little incident never happened. No police involvement. It is entirely our baby.”
“And we can do that?” Sara asked.
“Charles Ferguson can do anything, Sara,” Dillon said. “Get used to that now. What happens here, Giles?”
“Best not to stay in the house right now. I doubt they’ll return here now that we’re onto them, but it’s safer if you stay somewhere else for the next few days.”
“She can stay with me,” Holley said. “What about Parliament tomorrow?”
“I’ll join Roper at Holland Park,” Dillon told him. “We’ll pick you up at ten-thirty tomorrow morning.”
“Excellent,” Holley said. “Let’s all get some sleep. To put it mildly, it’s been a memorable evening.”
To Owen Rashid, who was dressing the following morning before picking up Jean Talbot for the reception, Abu’s phone call came as no surprise.
“I’ve been waiting to hear from you about the Saudi delegation that was due to arrive yesterday. You said you would introduce them to Talbot’s nephew.”
“Which I did. They arrived yesterday, two sheikhs and a couple of generals. I took them to the Le Caprice for lunch and persuaded Jean to join the party. They were impressed with her, and the fact that she owns most of the stock in Talbot International impressed them even more.”
“Hmm. You know, it occurs to me that it might suit our plans if you could persuade her to make a trip to Rubat with you. She could see the Bacu Railway for herself, meet Sultan Ibrahim Rashid, your uncle.”
The prospect did not particularly appeal to Owen, but, as usual, it was diplomatic to agree. “It’s certainly an idea worth pursuing.”
“See what she thinks about it. I’ll let you go now. I look forward to a full report on the reception. It should be mem-
orable.”
A slight chuckle, and he was gone. Owen puzzled over it for a moment, then reached for his blazer, pulled it on, walked out into the sitting room, and as he approached the balcony window, a flurry of rain tapped against it. Good old British weather. You could always rely on it to be bad when it was particularly essential that it should be good. There were awnings there, however, so the show could go on. He found himself a light raincoat in the cloakroom, slipped it on, and went to pick up Jean. It was far too early, but it didn’t matter. It would take her ages to dress, but what else was new? After all, she was meeting the President of the United States of America for drinks.
An hour and a half earlier, Ali Selim had said good-bye at Stukely Towers to Asan and Jemal, holding his niece close to him for a moment.
“Allah protect