A Devil Is Waiting - Jack Higgins [95]
From behind them, there was a clattering noise of something falling over and then Sara Gideon’s voice was heard. “What is this? Where in the hell am I?”
“Get us landed, and quickly,” Henri said and returned to the cabin.
She had tossed away the cover and was trying to unbuckle the seat belt. She paused and looked up at him angrily. Her voice was normal, yet she was furiously angry.
“Who are you and where am I?” She managed to free herself and swing her legs to the floor.
“Calm yourself,” he told her. “You are about to land in Rubat, which is next door to Yemen. You’ve just enjoyed an eight-hour sleep from England on this Learjet.”
She didn’t even seem bewildered, although that could have been the drug. She simply frowned and said, “Do I know you?”
“You would have liked to get your hands on me, yes. I tried to blow up your friend, Holley’s, Alfa and almost got shot.”
“So you were responsible for that?”
“And a couple of other things.”
“But not for you, for someone else? Am I right?”
“Completely. In a way, you may consider yourself to be a prisoner of war.”
“And who might be my captor?”
“Mullah Ali Selim.”
Throughout their conversation, the Lear had been descending, and now it landed, so that both of them went staggering, grabbing at seats as the plane braked, turning from the runway toward Fatima, Ibrahim, Khazid and several policemen who were waiting.
On the Lear, the engines were switched off, and as Sara pulled herself up, Owen Rashid moved in to the cabin from the flight deck. He didn’t know what to say, a kind of desperation on his face.
“What on earth are you playing at?” she demanded. “Does Jean Talbot know about this?”
“Of course not.”
“Ali Selim?” she said. “What’s that all about? You’re a friend of the Prime Minister, for God’s sake.”
“And not only half Arab but nephew of the Sultan of Rubat, who could die any day now.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Al Qaeda has got me by the throat, it’s that simple. They want me to inherit.”
She turned to Henri. “What’s your excuse?”
“We don’t make excuses in the Foreign Legion. If I didn’t do what Ali Selim wanted, I’d be a marked man. Alas, I was looking out for a friend who had enough sense to run away from this party.”
She nodded as Owen opened the airstair door. “So what comes now?”
“Ali Selim is waiting to meet you on a dhow called Monsoon, moored in the harbor,” Owen said. “Meet the welcoming committee. The fat man in uniform is Colonel Khazid, the chief of police, and it would be useless to seek his help. He’s Al Qaeda to the hilt—they all are in this town. The woman is Fatima Karim, who handles administration for Selim. The big man in black is Ali Selim’s bodyguard, Ibrahim.”
“We’ve met before,” Sara said. “But at a distance, I’m happy to say.”
She went down the steps, as they moved toward her, and it was Fatima who took charge. “Captain Gideon, you will come with me. Mullah Ali Selim is most anxious to meet you.”
“A great honor, I’m sure, which I could do without, but I don’t appear to have much choice in the matter.” She followed Fatima, Ibrahim leading the way. When he opened the rear door of the car and turned to face her, she said, “Why, Ibrahim, it’s you. Last time I saw you was in Amira, with fifteen or sixteen dead men in the street.” His stare was frightening, but Sara smiled. “Oh, dear, were they friends of yours?”
She got in the car, and Fatima joined her. “Be careful, Captain, Ibrahim is a dangerous man.”
He got in the front beside a police driver, and Sara said, “Not to me, because his boss wouldn’t like it. In any case, if this thing is going the way I suspect, then I’m far too valuable.”
“I’d take care, Captain, I really would.”
“I’m a serving soldier in the British Army, shot in combat in Afghanistan, a permanent limp in the right leg. I’ve killed many Taliban, which means many Muslims. What can Ibrahim do to me that has not been done? Ravish me? But what kind of dog does that? Not a real man, certainly.”
All this was delivered