touch, but I ve got to go.
All of this was making her feel rather sorry for him. Then she turned into Park Lane just in time to see his Mercedes emerging from the underground garage of his apartment block. She dodged back out of sight as he joined the traffic and moved on.
She was surprised at how much it hurt her, the dishonesty. A kind of betrayal, really. She deserved better, and when she turned to walk back home, she had to fight to control hot, angry tears.
Henri Legrande and Kelly had arrived at Highfield Court to find the drive empty. They parked at the end of the street behind several vehicles that were already there.
What do you think? Kelly asked. Maybe she has gone to the Dorchester.
Before Henri could answer him, the Alfa turned into the drive. Holley and Sara got out. She looked surprisingly fresh after such a long trip, had changed on the plane, wore a khaki shirt and slacks and a well-cut bush jacket. The cropped red hair looked magnificent.
Kelly said, The whole thing is ridiculous.
Henri didn t bother replying, but leaned forward so he could catch what Sara was saying as she took the key from her shoulder bag. I ve never felt so tired. I think I ll sleep for a week.
Then I suggest you do just that, Holley said, and followed with her bag as she entered the house.
Do you think he ll stay? Kelly asked.
Who knows, Jack. We must wait and see.
In the hall, Holley said, Can I carry your bag up to your bedroom for you?
Just leave it there, love. She moved in close, slipped her arms around his neck and smiled up at him. You re a really special man, Daniel Holley. I don t give a damn about you having twenty years on me, because I love you to bits and I don t care what anyone else thinks. She kissed him deeply for a few long and satisfying moments, then pushed him away. So say it say you love me.
I can t, he said. It wouldn t be true. Would I absolutely adore you do instead?
She reached up and rumpled his hair, a contented and tired smile on her face. Well, I suppose it will have to. I ll see you later.
She had the door open, reached up to kiss him again, giving Henri and Kelly a perfect view, then closed the door as Holley went down the steps, got into the Alfa, and drove away.
What do we do? Kelly demanded.
Wait, of course. Holley might come back, and Owen made it clear we don t try anything until he gets here. You go to that convenience store round the corner and get us some coffee, sandwiches, and newspapers. We may be in for a long wait.
Which Kelly did, also purchasing a half bottle of whiskey and having a good pull at it on the way back, while upstairs in her bedroom Sara Gideon kicked off her suede desert boots, fell on the bed, still in her clothes, and was instantly asleep.
Greg Slay had arrived back in good time, thanks to a lift in an RAF Hercules from Peshawar that was due to refuel at Hazar. He walked across the runway, whistling cheerfully, to the flat-roofed office and the two hangars that housed Slay Flying. There was a new Scorpion helicopter, a Beech Baron, and an old Cessna 310, and Feisal, the mechanic, was working on the port engine. He was a handsome thirtysomething Bedu of the Rashid tribe with one wife, whom he told Slay he truly loved, and a five-year-old son. When he d arrived from the Empty Quarter to try town life, it had become immediately apparent that he had a genius for anything mechanical. From cars and trucks, he had moved up to aircraft.
There was significant history between him and Slay. Earlier that year, Slay had taken Feisal with him on a contract job to fly an old Dakota from Bahrain to Hazar. Five miles out, the starboard engine had caught fire, and the undercarriage had collapsed during the emergency landing on the edge of the airfield.
Feisal, his seat buckled, his safety belt so twisted that he couldn t break free, had thought that his time had come, as the fire started and Slay left him. And then Slay had returned with the fire ax, hacked him free, and they d escaped together and just in time. It was a debt of honor to be paid when the opportunity arose, the Bedu way.
Happy to see you, sahib. We ve missed you, with the oil well coming in nicely at Gila. Hakim s been flying back and forth, sometimes at night, only stopping to refuel, and the other Scorpion s been standing there doing nothing.
Is Hakim up at Gila now?
That s right.
Well, here I am, back in the saddle and raring to get started. Where s the schedule list? What have you got for me?
Feisal consulted the notice board. Machine tool parts, grade-A priority and needed at Gila urgently.
I ll take care of that.
But they aren t here. They were off-loaded in Rubat yesterday.
So I drop in at Rubat. It s only another half hour on the journey. Give me the consignment bill and I m on my way.
The Scorpion was an excellent helicopter, good to fly, a fine performer, and it would be even better when it was fully paid for. He told himself this as he drifted across the outer fringes of the Empty Quarter, the greatest desert in the world, then swung toward the sea and the white buildings that were Rubat. The old military airfield was on the edge of town, and he swung in toward the cargo hangars and settled gently.
A police sergeant in khaki was sitting in a canvas chair, smoking a cigarette, a man Slay had met many times, so he simply waved and went to the foreman on duty, gave him the consignment bill, and stood watching as his goods were loaded.
He had reasonable Arabic, and used it when offering the man a cigarette, which was accepted. Not so busy. It must get boring for you, he said, offering a light.
In spite of the fact that Khazid had issued an order that any mention of the Hawker would be a serious breach of airport security, the foreman, who had dealt with Slay many times, answered instinctively.
Oh, one never knows what the day will bring us. For example, earlier we had a very beautiful jet plane land, gold in color. One of the mechanics, Achmed, told me it was called a Hawker.
So where is this marvel of the skies? Slay asked.
It did not stay. The chief of police drove out to meet it in a security van to speak to the pilots, but came back alone. It refueled and took off again.
To have seen such a thing must have been a wonder, Greg Slay told him. I must go now. The cargo you loaded is needed urgently at Gila.
Take care, the foreman said. I sense a wind coming, a sandstorm perhaps. May Allah guard you.
He always does, Greg said, and took off.
Fifteen minutes out into the desert, he called Giles Roper, who answered at once. Slay, my man, good to hear from you. Where are you?
Straight back to work. There s a lot of pressure due to a big oil strike. I ve just done a cargo pickup at Rubat airfield and heard something strange.
I m all ears.
A golden Hawker dropped in at Rubat earlier. The police chief drove out to greet it in a security van on his own, spoke to the pilots, then returned on his own, and the Hawker flew away after refueling.
Are you sure no one was in the back of the van?
No idea. I m just telling you what I ve heard.
Well, I ve got something strange for you. He told Slay about the Canadian patrol finding the burned-out Raptor at Herat with a corpse in it.
Curiouser and curiouser, Slay said. I haven t the slightest idea what it all means, but if I find out, you ll be the first to know. I must press on. I could be flying into a sandstorm.
The police sergeant at Rubat airfield noticed the lengthy conversation between the cargo foreman and Slay, after the gift of a cigarette, and questioned the man.
You seemed to be getting friendly with the Englishman from Hazar. Enjoying a smoke and a chat? What were you talking about?
Oh, the usual things. The comings and goings, the foreman said uneasily, wondering where this was headed.
