A Devil Is Waiting - Jack Higgins [63]
The van swung into the hangar and braked to a halt. Colonel Hamza got out of the front, Ferguson leading Miller and Dillon out of the back, followed by Holley and Sara.
They all stood staring at the helicopter, the muzzle of the machine gun poking out of the side door, which had been rolled back, Slay and Hamid standing beside it.
Dillon said, “I thought it was supposed to be some kind of wreck.”
“Well, it looks pretty damn good to me,” Sara said.
“And to me.” Ferguson held out his hand. “Captain Slay? I can only congratulate you on a job well done. If it flies as well as it looks, our problems are over.”
“Oh, I think she might surprise you, General,” Slay told him. “She’s surprised me already.”
“That’s good to hear, so let’s all sit down, talk things over, and discuss our next move.”
The rear of the hangar was still the departure hall from the old days of the airport, with chairs and tables in profusion, toilets that still worked, and kitchen facilities. They put some tables together, and Sergeant Hamid went to make coffee and tea while the plan of action was considered.
“It could all be very simple,” Ferguson said. “Ali Selim is in Amira and waiting, probably contacting his people in London to try and find out what’s gone wrong. No news from his niece or Jemal, no big bang at Westminster.”
“The important thing is who’s waiting with him in Amira,” Slay said.
He went and got into the Raptor, and Hamza, who had noticed Wali Hussein hanging around on the fringe of things, said, “Here’s a man who must have a point of view. He owns three of these Raptors and does a brisk business running guns and drugs to the Taliban.”
Slay leaned out the door of the Raptor, one hand on the machine gun. “You’re wasting your time. He’s half American and can’t even speak Pashtu.”
“It’s true,” Wali Hussein said. “Just leave me out of it,” and he turned, moved away to the back, and disappeared into the kitchen area.
Ferguson and Miller had their heads together with Dillon and Hamza, and Holley approached Sara. “Are you all right?”
“I was impressed with what Slay had to say. I could do with another cup of coffee. Let’s see what Hamid’s got going in the kitchen.”
There was no sign of him, only a pot bubbling on the electric stove. She switched it off and was suddenly aware of a low voice coming from the next room. Holley started to speak, and she held up her hand and shook her head.
“Someone’s speaking in Pashtu,” she said, and eased the waist-high screen door gently open to reveal Wali Hussein talking softly into a mobile phone. She turned to Holley. “He said he couldn’t speak Pashtu.”
“We’ll see about that.” Holley darted out the door, appeared in seconds on the other side, a Colt in his hand, and rammed the barrel into Hussein’s neck. “Now then, you little bastard, let’s have some truth.”
Everybody watched as Colonel Hamza questioned Hussein, who stood before him handcuffed, Sergeant Hamid at his side.
“I have no time to waste in this matter,” the colonel said. “You will answer my questions or it will be the worse for you.”
“They will cut me to pieces,” Hussein told him.
“Who, the Taliban or Al Qaeda?”
“I dare not say.”
Hamza turned to Sergeant Hamid. “Take him down to the military prison. Don’t book him, turn him loose in the general cell, lose him. We’ll see how he likes that. Twenty-four hours and he won’t be able to walk.”
Sara, horrified, said to Hussein in Pashtu, “Don’t be stupid. He means it. Tell him what he wants to know.”
He raged at her in fluent Pashtu. “All right! The Taliban rule in Amira, but on behalf of Al Qaeda. Ali Selim arrived from London in a gold Hawker jet, with two prominent businessmen with him as cover. I flew him to Amira myself in the Raptor that you didn’t think was safe. He’s waiting for you, whoever comes, but not to return to England. You are meat for the dogs, all of you, and a Jewish whore like you knows what to expect.”
She punched him in the mouth, knocking him back into Hamid, and Ferguson said, “Tell