A Devil Is Waiting - Jack Higgins [93]
“How are you doing?”
“Wonderfully well. This latest Falcon is a fantastic plane with phenomenal speed, so we’re catching up enough to say we could be landing at Hazar around an hour after they’ve landed at Rubat.”
Holley had come in, wearing desert fatigues, moved into the copilot’s seat and put on the headphones. “How are things, Giles?”
“Not as good as they are for you. Dillon tells me that you’re eating up the miles.”
“That’s what we need, but our greatest strength will be the total surprise when we come knocking on the door. It will be close to midnight,” Holley told him.
Dillon cut in, “Any word from Ferguson?”
“Not a one. They’ll be too busy putting the world to rights and having a good dinner. I’ve checked at Rosedene on Harry. His fever is improving, so the penicillin is doing its work.”
“And Jean Talbot?”
“She’s post-operative, but Bellamy’s pleased with her and says the operation was a success.”
“Give her my best,” Dillon said.
“You can do that yourself, Sean, when you two get back with Sara.”
“You think that’s a given, do you?”
“It always has been. I can’t see you coming back without her. I’ll do my best to keep Ferguson off your back. I gave him a call, reported on Harry, and said he was best left alone.”
“Take care,” Holley called and turned to Dillon. “Have yourself a break, and I’ll take over again. Have a cup of tea and a sandwich or something. Have a look at the weaponry the armorer selected for us and check them out. There’s enough for Greg Slay if he wants to come to the party, too.”
“Not much doubt of that, as he’s flying us into Rubat. He’ll play his part in the rest of it, I’m sure.”
Holley said, “It’s like going back into the past, to what happened to Rosaleen in Belfast when I killed the four men who’d raped her.” His face was bleak and hard. “If anything bad has happened to Sara, I’ll have Ali Selim’s life if it’s the last thing I do on earth.”
“We’re getting close now and you’re feeling stressed.” Dillon patted him on the shoulder. “Just take it easy, Daniel, relax. Put the plane on autopilot, let it fly itself for a while, and watch the stars come out. We’re going to pull this off, I promise you.”
The Learjet was passing through considerable turbulence, Owen Rashid at the controls. He eased the column forward and went down three thousand feet, finding things calmer, and Henri Legrande joined him on the flight deck.
“How is Sara Gideon?” Owen asked.
Henri sat down in the copilot’s seat. “Sleeping very peacefully. I’ve looked Seconal up on the laptop in the cabin. What I read confirms that the effect lasts eight hours. It seems that when the subjects come back to life, as it were, they’re in good shape and able to operate physically and so on, but they’ve no memory of what’s happened. They need to be told it’s eight hours on.”
“That must be hard to grasp,” Owen said.
“I would think so,” Henri said. “No news from our lord and master? I wonder what he’s up to?”
Owen’s mobile sounded. He put the plane on autopilot, turned his mobile to speaker, and answered.
“How are things?” Ali Selim said. “I left you alone so long because I thought you had enough to think of with such a difficult flight.”
“We’ll be with you quite soon now,” Owen said.
“And the woman?”
“Out cold.”
“Excellent. We’ve had extremely bad weather here. The most ferocious sandstorm in years, with a fury seldom witnessed. It has seriously interfered with mobile phone signals, but I think things will improve.”
“Yes, I know all about that from the weather reports,” Owen said. “Have you been in touch with anyone in London about the woman?”
“Of course not. Today is Sunday, a day of rest to any true Englishman, and my information is that Ferguson is spending the weekend at Chequers, the Prime Minister’s country retreat, with the French foreign minister.” He laughed harshly. “Ah, if only we had the opportunity. A bomb would wreak havoc. We could change history.”
“Ferguson must feel he’s finally arrived, so close to the Prime Minister and the seat of power, his advice sought by international politicians. Just think