Edge of Danger (16 page)

‘Of course, sir.’

‘Good. Take this. We’re going into harm’s way. I’d like to think you can defend yourself if needs be.’

She was so cool, he could feel the ice. ‘That’s very good of you, General. I’ve got prawn salad,

Lancashire hotpot, smoked salmon and game soup.’

‘Sounds fine,’ Blake said.

Ferguson smiled. ‘Mr Johnson works for the President of the United States, but do be prepared to use the Browning. The people on the other side aren’t nice.’

‘No problem, sir. I’ve a bottle of Tattinger in my fridge if you’d care for a glass of champagne.’

She left. Blake said, ‘I wonder how it’s going for Dillon?’

‘The question should be, how is it going for the other lot,’ Ferguson said.

On the ground, Dillon divested himself of his ‘chute, covered it with soft sand and went looking for Billy. He clambered up the nearest sand dune and found him below on his knees, burying his parachute. Dillon ploughed down to join him.

‘You’re okay?’

‘Fine,’ Billy told him. ‘We should do this more often.’

Dillon took out his mobile and called Villiers. The Colonel replied almost instantly. Dillon said, ‘Billy and I are on the ground in one piece.’

‘Any sign of the opposition?’

‘Not when we flew over. We’ll make for Rama, see what the situation is on the road. Where are you?’

‘Twenty miles.’

‘And Bronsby?’

‘About thirty miles, maybe forty, to the east.’

‘Good. Billy and I will push hard and cut the road. The minute I get a smell of them, I’ll call you.’

He stuffed his phone into a pocket of his bush shirt, turned to Billy, took out a compass and checked it.

‘Right, let’s move it. Once we find the road, we’ll climb one of the dunes and see what we can see.’ He took a headcloth from his backpack and pulled it on. ‘Do the same, Billy, it’s going to get hot.’

They cut the road an hour later and moved along it at a half run. There was a fine covering of sand, but no sign of tyre tracks, no sign of anything. Finally, Dillon stopped. The defile was before them.

‘This has got to be it. Let’s go up there.’ He pointed to a sand dune that was at least five hundred feet high. ‘We’ll see anything that’s coming.’

It was hard going, the heat increasing as they toiled up the steep side of the dune, and then they were on top and sat down. Billy produced a bottle

of water, drank some and passed it to Dillon, who drank deeply, then took out his Zeiss glasses and scanned the horizon.

‘That’s it.’ He pointed and passed the glasses to Billy. ‘They’re to the east, the farthest part of the road.’

Billy looked, adjusted the glasses and the lead Land Rover sprang into view, the column behind.

‘Jesus,’ Billy said. ‘The Rashids are coming up fast.’

‘I’d say you’re right, Billy.’

‘And two of us.’

‘Let them get closer, then I’ll call in and let Villiers know where we are.’

Down in the defile at Rama, Bell, O’Hara and Brosnan worked on their bomb. George Rashid sat waiting with some of his men. Up above on the edge of the defile, a handful watched. Suddenly, one of them fired a shot into the air, stood up and waved. A moment later, two more Land Rovers appeared and braked to a halt. Paul and Kate Rashid got out.

Rashid went forward and spoke to Bell. ‘So, it goes forward?’

‘It will if we can get on with it instead of having a lot of idiots in bed sheets interfering.’

Beside him stood a plastic bottle of water. Suddenly, there was a single shot and the bottle jumped into the air. Two of Paul Rashid’s guards ran forward and pulled him and Kate to one side, turned them, and ran them to the Land Rover column. There was another shot and one of them, a bullet in his back, fell on his face.

On the top of the sand dune, Dillon looked through the glasses. ‘It’s Paul Rashid down there and Lady Kate. Who wrote this script?’

‘I don’t know, Dillon. What I do know is there’s forty down there and two up here.’

‘So live dangerously, Billy. I’ll take the one on the left doing the wiring. You do the one on the right.’

He took careful aim and shot O’Hara, who had stood up, in the back. Brosnan was running, weaving, toward the column, and Billy got him in the lower spine, driving him forwards onto his face.

Paul Rashid looked up to the top of the sand dune, calm, controlled, adjusting his glasses, and caught a glimpse of the two men.

‘Dear God, it’s Dillon.’

He turned and called to his men as Bell arrived. ‘Surround the dune,’ he said in Arabic. ‘And I want them alive.’

Dillon got his mobile out, called Villiers and brought him up to date.

Villiers said, ‘Won’t be long now, but can you hold?’

‘There’s two of us, Colonel, that’s all.’

‘Just hang on there, Dillon, I’ll push like hell.’

‘And Bronsby?’

‘Trying just as hard from the other direction.’

‘Well, I hope you all make it. They’re coming up to get us right now.’ He put the phone back in his breast pocket. ‘Here we go, Billy.’ He took careful aim and started to shoot at the Arabs climbing the dune.

Billy joined him. ‘Listen, Dillon, if the Council of Elders lot turn up, all this shooting’s going to put them right off.’

‘Exactly, Billy. Let’s pray Colonel Villiers gets here soon.’

But Villiers had done better than that. He cut the road ahead of the Council of Elders convoy, stopped them and spoke to their escort commander. The convoy turned and went back. Villiers carried on to Rama with his men.

Dillon and Billy burrowed in, confident of only one thing: they had the high ground. They shot several of the Rashid Bedu as they came up the sand dune, but they were still only two … and then in the far distance on the road, Villiers appeared.

One of Paul Rashid’s men ran to his side and pointed. Rashid turned, focused his glasses and saw Tony Villiers in the lead Land Rover.

‘Damn,’ he said to Kate. ‘It’s the Hazar Scouts.’

‘So, all we have down there is a totally useless bomb,’ Kate said.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ Paul Rashid said. ‘And live to fight another day.’

His men retreated to the column, some firing up

at the top of the sand dune. Billy and Dillon fired back, and then the column moved away and turned out into the desert.

Dillon lit a cigarette and checked the approach of Villiers and his men. ‘Just in time, isn’t that the phrase?’

They went down and found Villiers, as the Land Rovers rolled to a halt. Dillon said, ‘We’ve got a bomb here. If you’ve got a pair of wire cutters, I’ll take care of it for you.’

‘So kind.’ Villiers spoke to one of his men in Arabic. After a while, Dillon was supplied with what he needed.

Later, they sat beside the lead Land Rover, drank bitter black tea and smoked cigarettes.

‘So, the Elders are safe,’ Villiers said.

Dillon produced a pack of Marlboros and lit another one, Tony Villiers reached over and helped himself. ‘I’ll tell you, I may have commanded that man in the Gulf, but I’d still like to know what goes on inside his head.’

‘Rashid?’ Dillon said. ‘Tell me, Colonel. You did Irish time. Remember Frank Barry?’

‘Who could forget?’

‘He also had a title. An Irish Peer, the Lord of Spanish Head up there on the Down coast, pots of

money. But all that was important was what went on in his head. The game.’

‘And you think that’s true of Paul Rashid?’

‘He’s done everything else. He’s got everything else. Yes, I’d say the one thing he’s seriously left with is the game.’

‘So, Bosworth Field is Rama today.’

It was Billy, the London gangster, who said, ‘Dauncey, that was the family name?’

‘That’s right,’ Dillon said.

‘Well, they lost with Richard III and they lost with us.’

Dillon sat there thinking about it, then smiled. ‘True, Billy, very true. Are you trying to make a profound point?’ He turned to Villiers. ‘Billy and I share a love of moral philosophy. So does Paul Rashid.’

‘What I find really interesting is Sean Dillon, pride of the IRA, loving moral philosophy.’

‘You didn’t approve of my cause, Colonel, but I was just as much a soldier as you, and you know damn well that soldiers go beyond position, beyond money, beyond normal success. They stand up and take the sword.’

‘To hell with you, Dillon,’ Tony Villiers said. ‘You’re too damn good.’

They started west now, following the tracks of Rashid’s column, and gradually the light changed, things got darker. Some miles away, Cornet Bronsby of the Blues and Royals approached with his men toward an improbable rendezvous and was suddenly under fire.

They responded at once. There was an exchange. The column they had reached head-on was Paul Rashid and his group on the retreat from Rama.

There was a brief return of fire, but Rashid’s men held them off. Then Bronsby decided enough was enough and ordered his men to retreat. At some time in the confusion, men rushed in from the shadows and overwhelmed him.

Paul Rashid, his sister and Bell pushed south and finally made contact with George Rashid, and discovered Bronsby. Paul Rashid was not happy. He sat their with Kate and George and Bell, and

Bronsby was brought forward.

In a way. it was like being back at Sandhurst.

This young decent Englishman was a soldier

just doing his job. In many ways, so like

Rashid. It was a kind of turning point he couldn’t

really explain to himself. All he knew was that

this wasn’t the way it was supposed to have happened…

‘I know where they are,’ Villiers said to Dillon. ‘My spies out ahead are earning their money. One of their wounded has confirmed that they’ve caught Bronsby.’

Dillon said, ‘That isn’t good, is it?’

‘No. They’re a very cruel people by nature. What you and I think of as horrific, they think of as normal in a strange kind of way.’

Dillon said, ‘So they’re going to give him a hard time.’

‘I’m afraid so.’

Dillon sat there, smoking a cigarette and thinking about it.

‘I don’t like that.’ He said to Billy, ‘Bronsby is what you’d call a posh git, but he was just doing his job.’

‘Yeah, well, I don’t like it either.’

He turned to Villiers. ‘So where do we go?’

‘I’d say Shabwa.’

‘And what do we do? Take Rashid and the good Kate on face-to-face?’

‘To a certain degree.’ There was a pause and Villiers said, ‘You like her, Dillon.’

‘Who the hell wouldn’t?’ Dillon laughed and lit another Marlboro. ‘Go and stuff yourself, Colonel, and let’s press on, just in case we can help Bronsby.’

Outside Shabwa Oasis, cooking fires glowed and the Rashid Bedu held the high ground. Villiers and his men were exhausted, but they had enough energy to make something to eat. And then the screaming started. It was just after midnight and continued at intervals.

Up there on the hill, Paul Rashid, George and Kate approached to where Cornet Bronsby was tied down.

Kate said, ‘Is this what you want, brother? He was one of your own, a Guardsman.’

‘Yes, but that isn’t the point.’

‘It doesn’t bother you?’

‘It bothers me a great deal,’ he said bitterly, ‘but other things are more important.’

A full moon bathed the mountainside in a harsh white light. The men of the Hazar Scouts waited impassively behind what cover there was. They smoked cigarettes and drank the English version of coffee provided in self-heating cans.

Tony Villiers sat behind a boulder with Dillon and Billy, drank tea and topped it up with Bushmills whiskey from a bottle provided by his servant Ali.

‘This suit you, Dillon?’

‘Perfectly.’

‘Not me. I don’t drink,’ Billy told him.

Villiers said to Ali in good Arabic, ‘I’d offer you one, but I know the Prophet forbids it.’

‘But the Prophet, whose name be praised, is always understanding,’ Ali told him. ‘And the night is cold.’

‘Then two whiskey sups,’ Villiers said. ‘One for you and the other for the radio operator.’ He nodded to Aziz.

Ali passed the bottle to Aziz, who restricted himself to one swallow, then passed it to Ali, who wiped the neck and had a drink.

Above them there was another scream. It faded away. Billy said, ‘What are they doing?’

Ali said, ‘The skin - they slice the skin, Sahb. His masculinity they take later.’

The screaming started again.

‘I could do with another,’ Dillon said. Villiers splashed Bushmills into the Irishman’s cup. Billy said, ‘It’s enough to make me ask for one, but I won’t. What I’d like to do is put a bullet in Paul Rashid.’

Villiers said to Ali, ‘You know the Sahb up there is twenty-two years?’ ‘A baby, Colonel.’

The radio crackled. Aziz listened, then turned. ‘Visitors, Sahb, a British General named Ferguson and two others.’

‘Excellent. Make sure your people are alerted.’ Coming up the hill in a Jeep, Ferguson, Blake and Harry Salter wore combat gear and Arab headcloths. The Jeep paused in the shadows and the three men got out. Billy went forward and his uncle put an arm around him.

‘So you made it, you young bastard? I hear it was a load of shit. You must be rivalling Billy the Kid.’ ‘You look interesting.’ Billy smiled. ‘You didn’t get that lot in Savile Row.’

‘Billy, I feel like I’m an extra in a Christmas pantomime at the Palladium.’

‘Blake Johnson, Colonel Tony Villiers,’ Ferguson said, and there was a cry of agony from above. Ferguson was horrified. ‘Who’s up there?’

‘Cornet Richard Bronsby, of the Blues and Royals, Second Lieutenant in the Household Cavalry. He could have been riding around London in a breastplate and helmet. Instead, he’s out here being tortured to death by Rashid Bedu.’

The scream that followed was prolonged and appalling. Villiers added, ‘I wish we could interfere, but there are too many of them and they have the high ground.’

And up there, Paul Rashid, Kate, George and his men waited beside their own fires, and beyond, in the shadows, Cornet Richard Bronsby lay stretched out and endured torment.

Aidan Bell sat beside the fire, shivering, drank whiskey and smoked a cigarette. Paul Rashid crouched beside him.

‘I want you out of here. The staff will expect you at South Audley Street. The Russian Premier arrives in London next week. I’ll be hard on your heels. Work something out.’