A Devil Is Waiting - Jack Higgins [54]
“How long for?”
“Two weeks.”
“So you’ll come?”
“Only if you take me to dinner tonight. Do you think we could go to that little Italian place again?”
He smiled. “Only if you ask me in for coffee afterward.”
“Oh, I think that could be arranged. Let’s go, shall we?”
At the antiques shop, Kelly was in the kitchen, checking on an Irish stew he was preparing for the evening meal. Henri was dozing in a wingback chair beside the fire when he came awake with a start, because he’d suddenly realized why that Frenchman’s face at Hyde Park had been familiar to him.
Kelly appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Are you okay?”
“I’ve just realized that I can put a name to the face of that Frenchman I was following. Colonel Claude Duval. He’s with the DGSE, the Secret Service. His face was in newspapers a lot six months ago, having to do with a Muslim terrorism trial.”
“What would he be doing over here?” Kelly asked.
“How do I know? It explains why he was in Roper’s company, though.” Kelly returned to the kitchen, and Henri followed him, found a bottle of red wine, and poured two glasses. “I’ve been thinking. If Rashid phones, which he probably will, I’ll tell him our impression is that the Gideon woman is staying at the hotel with Holley, so we’re looking at a new target.”
“And what would that be?”
“The Salters’ place, the Dark Man, down by the river.”
“It’s a thought,” Kelly said. “Okay, that’s what we’ll say. Mind you, I think Rashid’s occupied with other things at the moment.”
“Like your boss?”
“I think so. She doesn’t answer her mobile, and I walked round again today and knocked on her door in Marley Court, but no answer.”
“Wasn’t I with you twice yesterday and no response? Perhaps they were in bed. She’s no chicken, but she’s a fine-looking woman for all that.”
“Maybe so,” Kelly said. “Anyway, go and sit down, and I’ll serve the meal.”
So Henri took the two glasses and the bottle of wine and went off to the dining room.
At Holland Park, Dillon had decided to keep Roper company by staying over in staff quarters, something he often did. Holley and Sara, having long since departed for the Dorchester, had dined in The Grill and ended up, as before, enjoying a nightcap on the terrace of his suite.
Holley checked his watch. “Eleven o’clock, so the President is well on his way by now, and things can get back to normal.”
“Whatever normal means to you people,” Sara said.
His Codex sounded, Roper on the line, and Holley switched to speaker. Roper’s voice boomed. “All hell’s broken out at Downing Street.”
“Why?”
“The Prime Minister feels humiliated about what happened while he was entertaining the world’s most important head of state—”
“But we prevented it from happening,” Sara cut in.
“That’s not good enough, it seems. Young Jemal—the boy you shot, Sara—has told us exactly what Ali Selim’s plans are, and where he’s going. The Prime Minister has ordered Ferguson to take us in hot pursuit. Ferguson will bring you up to speed on everything. He’s on his way now. You’d better get here fast.”
He switched off, and Holley said, “So much for the quiet life. You heard the man, Sara. Get dressed, and I’ll call the doorman to have the Alfa ready.”
NINE
When they got to Holland Park, Ferguson was sitting with Dillon and Roper, Doyle serving tea and coffee.
“There you are.” Ferguson was remarkably cheerful. “Let’s get started. It could be a long night, thanks to Ali Selim. The Prime Minister is furious, thinks the whole business makes us look very bad in Washington, so Ali Selim must be dealt with once and for all.”
“Which is where hot pursuit comes in,” Sara said. “But what does that mean, sir?”
“Exactly what I was going to ask,” Dillon said. “Do we try and capture the man or just put a bullet between his eyes?”
“That would obviously depend on the situation,” Ferguson told him.
“But the bullet would make more sense,” Holley said. “In any case, do we know if he’s actually reached Peshawar?”
“Not to our knowledge,” Roper said. “His plane had a flight plan to Bahrain. Since then