A Devil Is Waiting - Jack Higgins [81]
“I can’t,” he said. “It wouldn’t be true. Would ‘I absolutely adore you’ do instead?”
She reached up and rumpled his hair, a contented and tired smile on her face. “Well, I suppose it will have to. I’ll see you later.”
She had the door open, reached up to kiss him again, giving Henri and Kelly a perfect view, then closed the door as Holley went down the steps, got into the Alfa, and drove away.
“What do we do?” Kelly demanded.
“Wait, of course. Holley might come back, and Owen made it clear we don’t try anything until he gets here. You go to that convenience store round the corner and get us some coffee, sandwiches, and newspapers. We may be in for a long wait.”
Which Kelly did, also purchasing a half bottle of whiskey and having a good pull at it on the way back, while upstairs in her bedroom Sara Gideon kicked off her suede desert boots, fell on the bed, still in her clothes, and was instantly asleep.
Greg Slay had arrived back in good time, thanks to a lift in an RAF Hercules from Peshawar that was due to refuel at Hazar. He walked across the runway, whistling cheerfully, to the flat-roofed office and the two hangars that housed Slay Flying. There was a new Scorpion helicopter, a Beech Baron, and an old Cessna 310, and Feisal, the mechanic, was working on the port engine. He was a handsome thirtysomething Bedu of the Rashid tribe with one wife, whom he told Slay he truly loved, and a five-year-old son. When he’d arrived from the Empty Quarter to try town life, it had become immediately apparent that he had a genius for anything mechanical. From cars and trucks, he had moved up to aircraft.
There was significant history between him and Slay. Earlier that year, Slay had taken Feisal with him on a contract job to fly an old Dakota from Bahrain to Hazar. Five miles out, the starboard engine had caught fire, and the undercarriage had collapsed during the emergency landing on the edge of the airfield.
Feisal, his seat buckled, his safety belt so twisted that he couldn’t break free, had thought that his time had come, as the fire started and Slay left him. And then Slay had returned with the fire ax, hacked him free, and they’d escaped together—and just in time. It was a debt of honor to be paid when the opportunity arose, the Bedu way.
“Happy to see you, sahib. We’ve missed you, with the oil well coming in nicely at Gila. Hakim’s been flying back and forth, sometimes at night, only stopping to refuel, and the other Scorpion’s been standing there doing nothing.”
“Is Hakim up at Gila now?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, here I am, back in the saddle and raring to get started. Where’s the schedule list? What have you got for me?”
Feisal consulted the notice board. “Machine tool parts, grade-
A priority and needed at Gila urgently.”
“I’ll take care of that.”
“But they aren’t here. They were off-loaded in Rubat yesterday.”
“So I drop in at Rubat. It’s only another half hour on the journey. Give me the consignment bill and I’m on my way.”
The Scorpion was an excellent helicopter, good to fly, a fine performer, and it would be even better when it was fully paid for. He told himself this as he drifted across the outer fringes of the Empty Quarter, the greatest desert in the world, then swung toward the sea and the white buildings that were Rubat. The old military airfield was on the edge of town, and he swung in toward the cargo hangars and settled gently.
A police sergeant in khaki was sitting in a canvas chair, smoking a cigarette, a man Slay had met many times, so he simply waved and went to the foreman on duty, gave him the consignment bill, and stood watching as his goods were loaded.
He had reasonable Arabic, and used it when offering the man a cigarette, which was accepted.