A Devil Is Waiting - Jack Higgins [87]
“Almost eight hours.” The Lear was still on autopilot, but he suddenly felt tired, his brain refusing to function. He could have told Ali Selim about the policeman in the Toyota, but he didn’t. It could come later.
“You’ve done well, Owen—I’m pleased with you. Al Qaeda will be right behind you when the Council of Elders decides on the succession. I regret to tell you that the Sultan seems close to the end.”
“Well, I hope he goes to a better place,” Owen told him. “But as far as I’m concerned, Al Qaeda can go to hell. I’m signing off now.”
Henri clapped his hands. “Excellent, my friend, there’s hope for you yet. I’ll go and see to that coffee now.”
On the Monsoon, there was unholy joy on Ali Selim’s face as he turned to Fatima, who had been listening on speaker. “So they have her. I am thrice blessed that I should see such a day.”
Holley and Dillon were enjoying a Turkish bath at Holland Park when Roper called through on the internal phone.
“I’ve got something very interesting for you lot on my screen.”
They put on terry-cloth robes and went to see him and found exactly what he was talking about when they went into the computer room. There were photos of Henri Legrande at various stages of his career, medals and all.
“Just in from Claude Duval. He was called to Paris on another matter, and DGSE records had these for him. Serious business, this man.”
“And living right here in Mayfair in this antiques shop in Shepherd Market,” Dillon said.
“Not for the first time, I dare say, that the French know more about someone in London than we do. Have a look at the text on Legrande.”
There was his military history, not only in the Foreign Legion but of the time he had spent training terrorists at the camp in Algeria. There were even lists of his pupils, including members of the Provisional IRA, particularly one Jack Kelly.
“This is particularly interesting, because when Legrande inherited the antiques shop in Shepherd Market he also started taking classes at London University, where he met student Mary Barry, a PIRA activist whose father was a friend of Kelly’s, who put her in touch with Henri, who became her lover. You’ll note the details of her unfortunate death at what would appear to be British hands.”
“All good stuff, but what’s the connection with what happened to me and Sara, and where’s this leading?” Holley asked.
“Well, the peace process wiped the slate clean for men like Kelly, who was released from prison. As no one knows better than you and Dillon, he’s been at it again. We keep an eye on him. He came over from County Down the other day in a Talbot International plane.”
“So?” Holley said.
“We monitor Jean Talbot’s comings and goings. Just look at this film of people visiting her home,” Roper said. “There’s Kelly more than once with Legrande outside the house. There are shots of her with Owen Rashid going into the house together.”
“What are you suggesting?” Dillon said.
“That they see a lot of each other,” Roper told him. “But that isn’t the point. Besides surveillance cameras, we have an asset who now and then observes her, sees where she goes, who she speaks to. She was being watched this morning when she emerged from Marley Court in a tracksuit, obviously bound for the park, when Owen Rashid appeared, running along the pavement, on the other side of Curzon Street.”
“So she followed him?” Dillon asked.
“So did our asset right to the antiques shop in Shepherd Market, where Rashid hammered on the door and was admitted by not only Henri Legrande but Jack Kelly. She watched from a doorway and then left, not looking very happy.”
“So what’s it all add up to?” Dillon asked. “These incidents involving Holley and Sara?”
“The way I see it, I would guess that Jean Talbot was shocked to see Owen Rashid and the other two together,” Holley said.
“So anything not kosher that they’ve been up to has nothing to do with her,” Dillon added. “Does Ferguson know about this?”
“He isn’t in London. The Prime Minister invited Henry Frankel and him to join him at Chequers for the weekend.