A Devil Is Waiting - Jack Higgins [66]
“I would beg a favor,” Wali Hussein said. “My cousin Malik and Zara Khan are to be finally wed. A mullah’s blessing is the most precious gift, but one from you would give them a lifetime’s happiness. Forgive my impertinence.”
“No need to beg,” Ali Selim said. “You have served me well. Bring them with you, by all means. Come as soon as you like.”
Amira was a typical frontier village on the edge of a plain at the foot of soaring mountains that were invisible behind a curtain of gray mist. It was raining here, too, the same mixture of large wet snowflakes. There was an air of poverty and decay to everything—the crumbling flat-roofed houses, the water streaming down the center of the streets. No sign of people, no sign of life, not even a dog, but there was smoke drifting out of the stovepipe poking up from the largest house.
Ali Selim sat at a table by the window to catch the light, and the wood-burning stove produced a certain amount of heat. In spite of that, he wore a large sheepskin against the cold as he sat there, still holding his mobile phone in his right hand.
His bodyguard, Ibrahim, a fearsome creature in black robes and over six feet tall, stood impressively at the door, an AK-47 automatic rifle slung across his chest.
Ali Selim said, “That was Wali Hussein to tell me the English are returning to London. He comes to see me bringing his cousin Malik and his intended bride, Zara Khan. What would you say to that, old friend?”
“That Allah is merciful if he allows the dead to walk, master, for Malik Hussein and Zara Khan were killed in the Raga bombing six months ago.” Ibrahim spoke excellent English. Ali Selim nodded. “Wali is a clever young fox to fool them like that. He is obviously under duress. We must be prepared.”
“I’ll go and see to it, master.” Ibrahim went out.
Ali Selim sat there, thinking about it, then tapped a long number into his phone. In bed at his Park Lane apartment, Owen Rashid groped for his mobile in the dark.
Ali Selim said, “Ah, there you are, Owen. This is Abu.”
“I was asleep. It’s the middle of the night.”
“Ah, pardon me, I’m in a different time zone. I just wondered how the reception went at Parliament.”
“Rather crowded, and it rained. They had to put the canopies out.”
“Did Jean Talbot enjoy herself?”
“She certainly did. The President had a word with her.”
“Was he in good form?”
“He seemed so, though his day was busy. He’s gone now, off to Berlin.”
“So there were no problems, then, no disturbances?”
“No, nothing at all. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, no reason, just curious. Sorry I bothered you, Owen. Go back to sleep.”
Selim nodded to himself and switched off his mobile, thinking about his niece and Jemal, wondering what had gone wrong.
But that would have to wait. He had enough on his plate right now.
At the aircraft hangar, Sara said, “Ali Selim’s voice on the phone was so different from when he delivered that speech in Hyde Park. He sounded so benign.”
“I wouldn’t count on that,” Holley said.
Wali Hussein said, “Did I do well?”
“Yes, I have to admit you did,” Ferguson said. “Now you’d better get changed, all of you, so we can be on our way.”
Sara went off with her bag, and Ferguson, Hamza, and Dillon watched as Holley picked up his clothes and went, followed by Miller. Greg Slay had been leaning out of the Raptor, watching, no need for him to change. Only Wali Hussein was left.
“Can I get my flying gear?” asked Hussein.
Dillon said, “I’ll go with him. Whatever he puts on, I’ll have to do the same, if I’m going to have any chance of looking like him,” and he followed Wali Hussein upstairs.
Ferguson said to Colonel Hamza, “You don’t trust Hussein, do you?”
“Not even a little bit, which is why I’ve decided to go along for the ride,” Hamza told him.
“My dear chap,” Ferguson said. “You’ve been absolutely splendid, but I really don’t think that’s necessary.”
“He’s my responsibility, General, so there’s no argument here. I’ll stay in the helicopter when we get there and keep an eye on him. I’ll leave Hamid here with you, of course.