The Death Trade (23 page)

Dillon said, “Lots of shouting. What do you say, Sara?”

“In Afghanistan, we called it a face-off,” she told him. “I've seen it work a time or two, and I've seen it a total disaster.”

Jane Green had been watching and listening by the open cockpit door. She said now, “What about our Russian chums? Are you sure they'll stick with the aircraft and not go on the prowl?”

“Absolutely, and for the same reason as you. You can't take a risk that someone might have a go at the plane, and that's the last thing we want in such a remote area.”

“So how do you think the Russians will play?”

“They'll stay on their plane and wait,” Dillon put in. “As long as their wages are safe, they're happy.”

Jane said, “I'll discuss it with Don, we should be there in forty minutes.” She returned to the cockpit.

Husseini was the only one not wearing a bulletproof vest, so Sara found one and threw it over to him. “Get it on, and that's an order.”

“If you say so, but I'm leaving the gunplay to you,” he said and went alone to the restroom to change.

He locked the door, sat on a stool, and considered the state of play. Possible carnage in a face-to-face gun battle, the likelihood of many deaths, and all because of him and who he was. There was something he could do about that, of course. He'd been thinking about it for some time. So he called Emza Khan on his mobile and found him in the courtyard of the hospice, inspecting the jeep.

“Who is this?” Khan asked warily.

“In your circumstances, your best friend,” Husseini told him.

In a kind of reflex, Khan said, “How did you get this number?”

“This is Simon Husseini. You gave it to me in Paris.”

“Where are you?”

“In the toilet on the Gideon. We're quite close to you. We'll land soon.”

“So why are you calling me, what are you up to?” Khan demanded.

“Gunplay is not for me. This whole business has gone sour. What I'd like to do is get the hell out of here on your plane, but forget all this al-Qaeda nonsense. If you turn up with me in Tehran, you'll be a hero to the government. All follies wiped clean.”

Emza Khan felt a flow of energy released, a kind of joy, because Husseini was so obviously right. “But what would happen to you?”

“They'll be so happy to get me back, they'll give me anything I desire, dancing girls, the works. Where are you, anyway?”

“I'm just looking over an old jeep the Saudis left here, but never mind that, how do we handle things?”

“When we land, Sara Gideon, Dillon, and the colonel will be armed to the teeth. I won't take part. Once they've gone, I'll cross to your Falcon. You must phone Kerimov and tell him to expect me.”

“But what about the two pilots on your plane?”

“I'll find a way to slip out, but if not, I'll shoot them. You won't have any problem at all at the hospice. Wait for the Gideon woman and her two friends to get about two-thirds of the way on their walk from the plane to the hospice, then you and your people can jump in that jeep and drive like hell to your Falcon. I'll be ready and waiting on board, and we can get out of this damn place.”

“This is brilliant,” Khan said. “I think it could work.”

“It will,” Husseini told him. “I'll leave you to pass the good word to your two henchmen, and I'll see you later.”

—

D
illon had found a bottle of Bushmills whiskey in the kitchen area, poured two large ones, and went and sat opposite Declan.

“Your Muslim half may say no, Colonel, but your Irish half says yes, and in the circumstances, the Irish half wins. So here's to you.”

“And to you, my friend,” Declan Rashid said.

Sara was across from them, a holstered Glock on her hip. She was writing in her daybook. Husseini came down the aisle, dropped the bulletproof vest on the seat opposite her, and sat next to it.

“I can't use this, so I'm returning it,” he said. “As I said, I'm leaving the gunplay to you, and I'm not going to join you on your first venture into the hospice. You've got enough to do without having to protect an unarmed man.”

“I understand,” she said and smiled. “You're too valuable to lose, Simon.”

He turned to the other two. “I'm also a terrible coward who is frightened to death of firearms.”

At the same moment, Jane Green's voice echoed throughout the cabin. “Fasten your seat belts, we're going to descend.”

—

F
rom the hospice end of the runway, Kerimov and Lisin watched the landing, Lisin with approval. “Very nice, just what you'd expect from their military experience.”

Kerimov had received a call on his mobile the moment the Gideon had started its descent, and he was listening intently. Lisin watched, puzzled. Finally, Kerimov said, “Of course, Mr. Khan, we'll be ready and waiting.”

He switched off and turned to Lisin. “Khan says to get ready now for a flight to Tehran.”

Lisin was astounded. “When for?”

“Sometime during the next half hour.”

“That's crazy,” Lisin said. “What in hell is going on?”

Kerimov told him, and when he'd finished, Lisin shook his head. “Nineteen years I've been flying planes, but I've never known the likes of this. Is Emza Khan all right in the head?”

“I wouldn't know about that,” Kerimov said. “But he pays top dollar, so whatever he wants, he gets. That means you better go and open the airstair door to receive Simon Husseini when he decides to join us.”

—

T
he Gideon slowed down and took a position parallel to Khan's plane. Kerimov, looking across to the cockpit, recognized Jane Green, and raised a hand in salute. She returned it, and at the same time Lisin slid into the left-hand seat.

“Our door's open, but Husseini's going to find it difficult not to be seen from their cockpit when he makes his move.”

At that moment, the door opened in the other plane, the steps came down, and Sara Gideon descended, dressed for war, holding an AK-47 at port, followed by Dillon and Declan Rashid, similarly attired. They glanced across, had a brief conversation, and started to walk toward the hospice.

Jane Green and Renard were watching the progress of Sara and her companions through binoculars, so Kerimov produced his own from a locker and examined the other pilots, who were concentrating so closely on following the progress of Sara and company that they failed to notice Husseini slip out. He ducked under the Falcon and disappeared. A few moments later, he opened the door of the cockpit, smiled at the Russians, and said, “Permission to board, Captain.”

—

I
n the courtyard of the hospice, standing outside the open door, Emza Khan looked out through the arched gate toward the two planes, side by side, watching the progress of Sara, Dillon, and Declan Rashid. Brother Andrew was behind Mikali in his wheelchair, Abbot Joseph and Father Peter next to him, and most of the brothers close together in the yard.

The jeep stood ready near at hand, Jemal behind the wheel and Omar sitting next to him, gripping an AK-47. Emza Khan's lips were moving, as if counting, as he stared out at the approaching figures.

Suddenly, he shook everyone around him by shouting, “Let's go,” running to the jeep, and heaving himself into the rear.

Jemal gunned the motor and roared out of the entrance with plenty of wheelspin, raising a cloud of choking sand. As they neared his enemies, Khan was unable to resist a shot at Sara, gripped a rail, and stood up, trying to take aim. Dillon, immediately aware of what he was trying to do, hurled himself at Sara, knocking her out of the way. Khan fired twice, creasing the side of Dillon's left shoulder.

The jeep swerved away and rushed at full speed toward the Falcon, which already had its engines turning over. Jemal braked and leapt out, turned to help Khan mount the steps, and it was Simon Husseini who leaned out to pull him in. Jemal and Omar followed, and Lisin closed the door. Kerimov increased speed, turning in a wide circle, and started down the runway for takeoff.

Inside, Husseini led the way to a corner table close to the kitchen area. He had an ice bucket on the floor with a bottle of prime Russian vodka, and there were two tumblers in the table rack. He filled them and pushed one across to Khan, who drank it greedily. He looked terrible, sweat trickling down—his face coated with sand.

“So you were right,” he gasped, clutching the arm of his seat as the Falcon started to climb. “The whole thing worked like a charm. Tehran next stop.”

“Yes, they'll be delighted to get their hands on me, especially as they'll have found nothing on my computers.”

Khan said, “You mean you wiped them clean?”

“No, there was nothing there in the first place. It's all in my head.”

Khan was astonished. “I can't believe that.”

“However, all my discoveries, the mathematics, the equations, the calculations, the key that opened everything up to a new level—all the things that I didn't want anyone to have, even the good guys—have been recorded.”

“But you've got it somewhere?” Khan said. “You must have.”

“Of course.” Husseini produced the small black-and-silver notebook with the green light throbbing in it that he'd shown Sean Dillon. “An electronic notebook. It can only be opened by a code word. Like this, for example.”

He tapped some buttons, and the green turned to red. “There we go. Do you want to know what my code word is? A six-letter word—Semtex. Czechoslovakia's gift to the world, a present from Osama, whose name be praised. It's the explosive no terrorist should be without.”

The slight smile on Emza Khan's face vanished, his mouth opened to cry out, but it was too late. There was a massive explosion and the Falcon disintegrated, a ball of fire that blossomed into an enormous scarlet-and-yellow flower as it descended over the desert.

—

S
ara, Dillon, and Declan had continued toward the hospice and were in when the explosion took place, the sight of the fire descending unforgettable.

Dillon stood there, clutching his shoulder, blood passing between his fingers. Sara turned to him, her face bleak. “What's happened? I don't understand.”

Dillon said, “I've an idea we'll soon find out.” He faltered, and Declan grabbed him. “I could do with a doctor. It's a good thing this Father Peter used to be in the army.”

Father Peter attended him in a side room at the infirmary, aided by Brother Andrew. Declan and Sara, the abbot and Father Mikali, in his wheelchair, were drinking strong black tea when Andrew appeared.

“Seventeen stitches and he refused chloroform. Insisted that a local anesthetic would be enough. He was unlucky. Bulletproof vests seldom cover the arms.”

“We have a private hospital facility for our people called Rosedene,” Sara said. “Professor Charles Bellamy runs it. Many people think him the finest general surgeon in London.”

Andrew said, “Believe me, I think he will approve of Father Peter's work,” and Dillon walked in behind him, leaning on a walking stick, his left arm in a sling.

“Sean, you shouldn't be up,” Sara scolded him. “Sit down at once.”

Which he did, and at that moment, there was the sound of the jeep arriving in the courtyard, and a moment later, Jane Green entered, her face grave.

“Don's guarding the plane.” She nodded at Sean. “I can see you've suffered.”

“I'll survive,” Dillon told her. “It could have been worse.”

“No, it couldn't, so brace yourselves,” she said. “Don and I were so busy watching you advance on the hospice that we didn't notice Husseini was gone. When they roared back in the jeep, we witnessed them all scrambling into the Falcon. It was a hell of a shock when Husseini appeared from inside and pulled in Emza Khan.”

“What? Simon was on their plane? But why?” Sara demanded. “It makes no sense.”

“Or all the sense in the world,” Dillon said. “He was always very conscious that it was his very existence that was center of all the troubles, that and the bomb. He talked to us about it. And then he wrote a note, sealed it in an envelope, and gave it to me. He said the contents were self-explanatory and that I would know when to open it.” He shrugged. “As I've only got one good hand, in the circumstances, I'll hand it to you, Father,” he said to Mikali.

The old priest read it, then handed it to Sara, his face sorrowful. “He says he couldn't bear the thought of more good people dying over him. So he tricked Emza Khan into believing he wanted to return to Tehran.”

“He must have been planning this for some time,” said Rashid. “Got hold of an explosive somehow.”

“That poor, poor man,” said Sara.

“He's certainly set back Iran's nuclear program,” said Rashid.

“But for how long?” Dillon said. “Anyway, I think it's time we got out of here.”

Jane Green said to Andrew, “That's what Don wants me to raise with you. There was mention of a large stock of aviation fuel here somewhere?”

“Yes, that's true. It hasn't been used for a long time, but it should be fine.”

“Great,” she said. “I'd appreciate getting started. We'll follow you up to the hangar if you'd get your people up there. I'll take the others in the jeep. Dillon's not fit for that walk.”

As they went out, Sara turned and said to Mikali, “He was a good man, Father, did we do right by him?”

“Let's just say he did what he thought was right by us, and leave it at that.”

She shook her head, took a deep breath, and walked out.