A Devil Is Waiting - Jack Higgins [98]
“Good man, yourself,” Dillon told him, and turned to the others. “Here we go, then.”
They went out through the Judas gate, it slammed shut, and the wind rattled the roof, making a strange moaning sound. Then there was the unmistakable clatter of a helicopter starting to move, the sound very powerful, but then fading into the distance as the Scorpion moved away into the night.
Ali Selim sat at the end of the table, Fatima on one side, Sara the other. Owen Rashid and Henri faced each other, and Captain Ahmed and Colonel Khazid were at the far end, Khazid stuffing himself. Five of his men were at a table in the far corner, a waiter ladling some sort of stew to them, and three other waiters stood ready to handle any of the main table’s requirements.
So long had it been since she had eaten at all that Sara had accepted what was offered to her, baked fish with rice. Ali Selim said, “I can’t ask if you enjoyed your flight, since you weren’t aware that it was happening. It must have been an alarming experience. Tell me about it?”
“Do you really want to know?” she said.
“I do indeed. It’s certainly to be preferred to watching two fat swine gorging themselves like pigs at the far end of the table.”
“I’ll tell you, then. I believe that what I experienced was very much how death is going to be. I was alive one second when Legrande gave me the needle and then I didn’t exist until I came back to life as the plane descended.”
Owen looked uncomfortable, and Henri sat there, face set, as Ali Selim said, “So you experienced resurrection, which ordinary people don’t after they die.”
Fatima’s mobile phone sounded. She answered, her look immediately grave, and leaned over and whispered to him. He listened, face expressionless, then raised his hand and called for silence.
He turned to Owen. “Do you believe in the resurrection, my friend?”
There was total silence. “I’ve never given the matter much thought,” Owen said.
“Not even your Christian half, where the Gospels tell us that Christ died and rose again after three days?”
Ibrahim, who had been standing against the wall, eased forward, as if at a signal, and stood behind Owen. Ali Selim said, “What if I told you the Sultan is dead? Would you be pleased or sad at the prospect of replacing him?”
Owen looked pale and desperate. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Ali Selim nodded. Ibrahim pulled the leather whip from his belt, flung it around Owen’s neck, and proceeded to throttle him, jerking his head over the back of the chair.
Sara shouted, “Stop it, damn you. I don’t know what your game is, but it’s gone far enough.”
“Quite simple, really,” Ali Selim said, watching Owen coughing and choking as he fought his way back to normality as Ibrahim released him. “I have provided your resurrection, Owen, so that you may occupy your uncle’s place. I’ll make your decision, of course, on behalf of Al Qaeda. You’ll need to marry, people will expect it. Fatima will make a perfect bride—no problem there, Fatima?”
She was obviously troubled, glanced at Owen for only a moment, then said, “As you command, master.”
Before he could reply, there was a disturbance down at the far door, as a sailor came in, leaned down, and spoke to Ahmed and Khazid.
Ali Selim called, “What is it?”
Khazid said, “There seems to be a helicopter landing somewhere in the town.”
Selim glanced at Fatima. “Hakim turning up at last, perhaps?” He nodded to Khazid. “Well, do something useful for once, Colonel, go and investigate.”
“Of course, master,” Khazid gestured to his men, who followed him out, followed by Ahmed. They stood at the rail, listening, but the only sound was the moaning of the wind.
“Maybe it was a mistake,” Ahmed said.
“Perhaps, but the last time I saw him in this kind of mood, Ibrahim strangled