The Killing Ground (31 page)

“Is he indeed? He’s been involved in this affair intimately. I’ll bet he possesses all the information we need.”

“You could be right.”

“I think I am. Ali Hassim—tell me about him.” Khan did and when he was finished, Hussein said, “Is he to be trusted?”

“Completely. Few people actually know how important he is.”

“Then I’ll have his address. He may expect me at any time.”

“What is your intention?”

“I’ll visit this Hal Stone at Cambridge University today. Bournemouth is close by to where I am. We’ll go by train.”

“To Cambridge? You’d have to change in London. Is this wise?”

“My dear professor, even I don’t recognize myself. I’ll be in touch.”

He turned and found Khazid watching him, face troubled. “I’ll ex-

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plain it all later when we’re on the train,” he said. “But I must speak to the Broker.”

H E L I T A C I G A R E T T E after pressing the panic button and waited, calm and in charge of himself again, and the Broker called him instantly. Very quickly, Hussein explained the situation and his intentions.

“Do you approve?”

“I must say I do. I can’t access the departures from Farley like I used to be able to. It has a special security system. I can only wish you luck in Cambridge. Are you sure of your safety in traveling? Is Darcus that good?”

“Yes is the short answer to that. Good-bye.”

He brushed past Khazid and found Darcus in the kitchen. “We need to get to Bournemouth. I presume there’s a reasonable train service from there?”

“Yes, excellent. When would you be leaving?”

“As soon as you like.”

“Not me, love, I’ve got prostate problems you wouldn’t want to hear about. Our doctor only looks in twice a week, that’s up in Peel Strand village. It’s only half a mile so I usually walk.” He looked at the time. “Ten o’clock and he doesn’t arrive until after lunch.”

“So what’s the alternative?” Khazid asked.

“You can take my car, leave it in the car park at Bournemouth Station and leave the key in the glove compartment. I can’t say fairer than that. I think you’d have to change in London to get to Cambridge, though. Anyway, it’s been great meeting you. Makes life so much more interesting.”

“And lucrative for you?” Hussein said.

“Of course, love, we all need to earn a crust.”

T H E Y W E R E F U L L Y C L O T H E D , flight bags in hand and on their way within fifteen minutes. An old Mini car awaited in the rain by the garage.

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“The key’s in, good luck,” Darcus shouted and closed the door.

Hussein got behind the wheel and Khazid slipped off his wristwatch, put it in his raincoat pocket and leaned down. “Sorry—I left my watch in the bathroom. I’ll just be a minute.”

Darcus had told them as part of his good-bye chatter that they’d have to change trains in London for Cambridge, but the only mention of Cambridge had been in Hussein’s supposedly private conversations when he and Khazid had been on the porch, which meant Darcus had been listening.

Khazid stepped onto the porch, opened his flight bag, took out a Walther and screwed on the Carswell. He also eased open the door to the hall, aware of the voice whittering on.

“My goodness, Charlie darling, if you knew what I’ve been up to.”

Khazid whistled softly, Darcus turned. “Oh, my God.” He put the phone down.

Khazid said, “Naughty, Darcus, very.” He shot him between the eyes and turned away.

He threw his flight bag in the back of the Mini and got in, putting on his watch.

“Okay?” Hussein asked.

“Never better,” and they drove away.

T H E F L I G H T F R O M F A R L E Y had been placed in the hands of Lacey and Parry by Ferguson’s direct order for the obvious reasons, that they knew everybody. Levin and Chomsky needed introducing to the Rashids, and Greta took care of that. Sara responded well to Levin and Chomsky, but the one person who wasn’t happy at all was Molly Rashid.

Molly and Caspar were sitting together in the two rear seats and had a conversation, at first just a murmur but increasingly fraught.

“Where on earth is it getting us all?” Molly asked.

“It’s for our own good. Just a week until we see how things develop,”

replied Caspar.

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“I’ve my work to consider, some of the most important of my life.”

“But the colleagues who’ve stepped in for you are first-class people.”

“That isn’t the point. The Bedford child, for example. Absolutely groundbreaking stuff. I should be hovering over her every day of the week, and where am I? It won’t do, Caspar.”

“The Bedford child has got good people hovering over her, seeing to her every need like we’re doing with our child.”

Sara smiled solemnly at Levin and raised her eyes, then she turned, kneeling on her seat, and said, “Is there any way you could treat this like a holiday in the country, so that we can all get along together, because that’s what I intend to do.” She didn’t wait for an answer, just swiveled round and said, “Tell me some more about the Kremlin, Igor, I think it sounds fascinating.”

Her parents, embarrassed, were reduced to silence, and a moment later Lacey said, “Our short flight is coming to an end, folks. That’s the Sussex coastline over there, the North Sea. You’ll notice quite extensive salt marshes. There’s a village of Zion, but Zion House is three miles outside it and close to the marshes. We’re going down now.”

They descended and moved in at five hundred. The house looked like everything it should be, with gracious gardens, and stone walls surrounding it, some sort of wire running along the top. There was a guardhouse at the gate. The marsh was very near to the house, huge reeds springing out of the water, leading to a dike, the landing strip on the other side of it.

“Is that what they call a grass runway?” she asked Levin.

“No, it’s concrete. Have you done this before?”

“Oh, yes, in the Empty Quarter. We had to land in the sand at Fuad.

There was an oil seal trouble in the port engine. Oil was spilling out and burning. You’ve never seen such black smoke. It was lucky Hussein was doing the flying. He’s a wonderful pilot. He let me do the navigating.”

She leaned back as they touched down. “I’m really going to enjoy myself here.”

And to that, there was little that anyone could say.

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T H E Y B U M P E D D O W N on the concrete runway. There was no hangar, just a wooden hut. The man waiting for them wore a navy blue uniform and a clipped mustache, his cap under his left arm, all very regimental. There was a van beside him.

As they approached, he said, “Captain Rodger Bosey. I run things here. You’re all very welcome. What about you chaps?” he asked the pilots.

“We’re at General Ferguson’s command,” Lacey said, “and he wants a quick return. Things are a bit fraught, so we’ll take off straightaway.

See you all soon,” and he and Parry got back in the Hawk.

There were introductions, then they all got in the van and watched the takeoff. “Here we go then, I’ll take you all up to the house and settle you in.”

They turned along a dike and through a fringe of pine trees, the great reeds of the marsh close, trembling in the wind. A little way off there was a group of people in anoraks, sitting on a bank, eating sandwiches.

“Bird-watchers,” Bosey told them. “We get a few of those.”

“Any problem?” Levin said.

“Not really. Sometimes if some rare bird turns up, the numbers increase. They’re completely harmless from my point of view. Some do make a bit of a holiday out of it, stay at a bed-and-breakfast in Zion Village and there’s a place that hires caravans. Harmless eccentrics, in a way.”

“Why do you say that?” Sara demanded.

“Well, I remember one of them telling me in the pub that the rooks in the village came from Saint Petersburg in October, the winter there for them being too cold. Starlings, too.”

“Why would that make them eccentric?” Sara asked.

“Doesn’t seem all that likely.”

“The Russians ring birds, too. I’m sure they could do that in Saint Petersburg. Don’t you think so, Igor?” Sara asked.

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“Ask Greta, she comes from Saint Petersburg.”

“Yes, they do ring rooks there and they do fly away to avoid the Russian winter. I learned this as a little girl.”

“Well, there you are then,” Sara said, and they pulled up at the gate.

A man in a similar uniform to Bosey looked out, then operated the electronic barrier, which rose.

“Hello,” Sara called cheerfully, and he grinned and saluted. “Wasn’t that nice? I feel like the Queen now. You run a good outfit, Captain Bosey.”

Her mother muttered, “For goodness sake, Sara.”

But Bosey, totally charmed, flushed with pleasure, although he couldn’t think of a thing to say.

In a way, it was rather like the old days in that kind of house, for they were greeted on the wide steps by a middle-aged lady whom Bosey introduced as Mrs. Bertha Tetley, the housekeeper, who lived in, as did her support staff, Kitty, Ida and Vera.

“If you follow me, I’ll show you all your rooms. Luncheon will be served soon. This way.” She took them through to the vast hall and led the way upstairs.

“I’ll see you in a moment and we’ll discuss things,” Levin said to Bosey, who nodded.

When Levin and Chomsky went down, they found Bosey in the library. He offered them a drink and they settled for vodka. “Have you been here long?” Levin asked.

“Ten years, and not just for General Ferguson, but I’ve handled jobs for him on a number of occasions, so I’ve come to know him well.”

“You were an army man?”

“Military police.”

“An excellent recommendation. What do you know about this business?”

“General Ferguson told me all I need. We’re providing refuge for the Rashid family, who are apparently under some terrorist threat. A period of one week, longer if needed. I understand that you gentlemen and 256

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Miss Novikova are members of General Ferguson’s security outfit and that’s enough for me. We have weaponry on the premises but don’t usually carry it.”

“Good man, and it’s Major Novikova. She outranks us all.” At that moment, she came in. “Just in time for a drink, Major,” Levin said.

He winked at Bosey, who smiled and reached for the vodka bottle.

“Thank you, Captain.” She toasted them. “To a pleasant stay and all our troubles over.”

There were voices on the stairs outside, Sara’s clear, and then Caspar and Molly followed her into the library. Sara was in excellent spirits.

“This is nice,” she said and ran to the window. Caspar looked hunted and his wife unhappy. “Is lunch ready?” Caspar asked.

“There’s something we have to get clear first,” Levin said, “And this comes directly from General Ferguson. The house phones are only for use internally. You can’t call London. If we communicate with the outside world, it must be through Captain Bosey and his coded mobile system in the communications room. The staff are not allowed personal mobiles on the premises.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Molly asked.

Her husband said warily, “A call from a mobile phone can be very easily traced.”

“What nonsense, it’s preposterous,” Molly told him.

“At the moment, no one knows where you are,” Greta said patiently.

“We’d prefer to leave it that way.”

“So I am not allowed to phone a hospital to check on my patients?”

“For God’s sake.” Caspar took a mobile phone from his pocket and slammed it down on the table. “It’s only for a week.”

Molly took a deep breath and seemed about to explode and then the breath went out of her. She opened her handbag and took out not one but two phones. “If you must, and Sara’s, of course.”

Sara said, “Cheer up, Mummy, we’re going to have a lovely time. Now let’s eat.”

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I T W A S A F T E R L U N C H that Molly Rashid went up to the bedroom and checked the luggage, which included her doctor’s bag. She opened it, pulled her stethoscope out of the way and revealed the spare mobile and its charger she always kept in there in case of a hospital emergency. At least she could still check on the progress of the Bedford child, but it could wait.

14 HAL STONE HAD A MEWS COTTAGE IN CHAPEL LANE,

Cambridge, even though his position at Corpus Christi entitled him to rooms at the college. The cottage was somewhere to hide from the incessant demands of students when he was writing a book.

It was a Victorian cottage consisting of three bedrooms, a study, a kitchen and a lovely sitting room, its old-fashioned French windows opening to a garden that was a great pride to him, the garden surrounded by flint walls with a door that led to a back lane.

He was in the kitchen making tea when his phone rang. He answered it, declaring, “Hal Stone has gone away.”

“No, he hasn’t, you daft bastard,” Roper said. “You’ve just got back.”

“Ah, Roper, is that you? You’re not wanting me for anything active again? After Hazar, I need a rest. Indiana Jones I’m not.”

“Don’t worry, old boy, I’m just bringing you up to speed on what’s happened. Just listen.” He went through everything, Hussein’s departure from Hazar with Khazid, what had taken place in Algeria, the stolen floatplane to Majorca, the security film at Palma, the plane to Rennes.

“Well, I see where you’re coming from. It looks like a stage-by-stage progress to England.”

“Where else could it be? No point in bringing the French in because of that plane at Rennes. He would have been out of France to wherever long ago.”

“I still can’t see it, him coming to England, it would be suicide. I mean, his face has been all over the place. Somebody somewhere would be bound to recognize him. He’s hardly had time for plastic surgery.”