A Devil Is Waiting - Jack Higgins [82]
In spite of the fact that Khazid had issued an order that any mention of the Hawker would be a serious breach of airport security, the foreman, who had dealt with Slay many times, answered instinctively.
“Oh, one never knows what the day will bring us. For example, earlier we had a very beautiful jet plane land, gold in color. One of the mechanics, Achmed, told me it was called a Hawker.”
“So where is this marvel of the skies?” Slay asked.
“It did not stay. The chief of police drove out to meet it in a security van to speak to the pilots, but came back alone. It refueled and took off again.”
“To have seen such a thing must have been a wonder,” Greg Slay told him. “I must go now. The cargo you loaded is needed urgently at Gila.”
“Take care,” the foreman said. “I sense a wind coming, a sandstorm perhaps. May Allah guard you.”
“He always does,” Greg said, and took off.
Fifteen minutes out into the desert, he called Giles Roper, who answered at once. “Slay, my man, good to hear from you. Where are you?”
“Straight back to work. There’s a lot of pressure due to a big oil strike. I’ve just done a cargo pickup at Rubat airfield and heard something strange.”
“I’m all ears.”
“A golden Hawker dropped in at Rubat earlier. The police chief drove out to greet it in a security van on his own, spoke to the pilots, then returned on his own, and the Hawker flew away after refueling.”
“Are you sure no one was in the back of the van?”
“No idea. I’m just telling you what I’ve heard.”
“Well, I’ve got something strange for you.” He told Slay about the Canadian patrol finding the burned-out Raptor at Herat with a corpse in it.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” Slay said. “I haven’t the slightest idea what it all means, but if I find out, you’ll be the first to know. I must press on. I could be flying into a sandstorm.”
The police sergeant at Rubat airfield noticed the lengthy conversation between the cargo foreman and Slay, after the gift of a cigarette, and questioned the man.
“You seemed to be getting friendly with the Englishman from Hazar. Enjoying a smoke and a chat? What were you talking about?”
“Oh, the usual things. The comings and goings,” the foreman said uneasily, wondering where this was headed. “He’s flying up to Gila to the new strike with urgent equipment. I warned him I thought a sandstorm was coming.”
“So the comings and goings did not include a mention of a certain golden jet plane landing here?”
The foreman could have said no and left it at that, but such was his fear of Khazid, he went into denial at once and, in a garbled panic, put all the blame on Slay.
“It was no doing of mine, but he did raise the matter. He said he’d heard a mention of some such plane making a brief visit and asked me if anyone had got off.”
“And what did you say?”
“The truth, Sergeant, that nobody did. What else should I have said?”
The sergeant nodded. “Good man. Get back to work.”
Ali Selim had been working on a speech at one end of the desk, Fatima at the other end working on accounts and taking phone calls on speaker so that he could listen if he wanted to.
Khazid finished his account of the incident involving Greg Slay at the airfield, and Fatima said to Ali Selim, “I’m sure this is nothing. We know about this man. He retired from the British Army Air Corps last year, bought the air taxi firm Ben Carver had been running in Hazar for years. His partner is one of our own people in Hazar, Hakim Asan.”
“Would you be surprised to know that he attacked me in Amira flying a Raptor helicopter, acting under Charles Ferguson’s orders?”
She looked bewildered. “Are you certain it was the same man?”
“Get in touch with this partner of his and ask him where Slay has been for the past few days. I’m going out for a cigarette.”
He was standing at the rail when she joined him ten minutes later with two cups and a pot of coffee on a serving tray. She hung the tray up, poured and handed him a cup, and raised hers in a kind of salute.
“He got a lift from a plane refueling