“Harry, I wasn’t sure what to do.” He struggled for something good to say. “I know who the other one was, though. I saw him in the Dorchester bar one evening and got his name out of a waiter. Someone named Max Chekov.”
“Yes, ten thousand quid would make more sense.” Harry turned to Baxter. “See if the safe works!”
Moon moaned, “Please, Harry,” but the safe did work and there was even a key in the door. Baxter held up a briefcase. The contents spoke for themselves.
“Excellent. Ruby can buy some nice things. Go down and get her in the car.”
“Yes, boss.”
Baxter went out and Harry made for the door, and paused. “Dear me, I was forgetting Ruby is leaving you.” He shot Moon through the right thigh. Harry said, “It would be wise to get some medical help for that. These days, terrible things happen, street robberies, guns-it’s just a shame.” He shook his head. “Get me?”
He left, the room was quiet, then there was only the sound of the limousine driving away. Moon groaned and reached for the telephone.
IN THE BENTLEY, Harry passed the briefcase over. “You’ll need a savings account.”
Ruby examined it. “My God, this can’t be happening.”
“It is happening. You’ll do a great job running the pub, I’m never wrong about people. Happy days, sweetheart.”
AT HEATHROW it wasn’t busy, possibly due to the lateness of the hour and, though the custom and passport officers on duty regarded them with deep suspicion, they knew better than to object to Dillon and Billy’s presence.
They’d been there a couple of hours, with no one particularly interesting coming through, when a new entry on the arrivals screen caught Dillon’s attention.
“Well, look at that, Billy,” he said. “An old friend. Hazar.”
Billy stopped smiling and shivered a little at the memory of the ordeals they’d gone through in that desolate Middle Eastern country. “Dear God, Kate Rashid of blessed memory.”
“Is that how you remember her?”
“She was some woman.” Billy shook his head at the thought of the woman who had sworn to kill them, and almost succeeded. “If I never see that place again, I’ll only be too happy.”
“A long time ago,” Dillon said. “But thinking of her brings events flowing back, enough to want to take a look at who’s doing night runs from Hazar these days to good old London. Let’s see.”
AS THE QUEUES LENGTHENED, a supervisor called over the loudspeaker for people specifically traveling from Hazar to move to a special section, which they did with surprisingly little fuss.
Caspar Rashid was one of them, a tall handsome man, comparatively light in color, his chin and mouth covered by a beard that was almost blond. He had one piece of folding hand luggage and a briefcase.
Billy said, “He looks like a Bedouin.”
“That’s because he is, Billy. Let’s join him.”
As they approached, the passport officer had already opened the passport and was examining it. “Mr. Caspar Rashid? Address?”
“ Gulf Road, Hampstead,” Rashid told him.
“Country of birth?”
“ England.”
“Would you like to have a look, sir?” The passport man passed it across and Rashid waited impassively while Dillon stepped back and examined the pages. Finally, Dillon said, “Fine,” and handed the passport to Rashid, who gave him a wonderful smile and walked away.
“He has, you would agree, a great smile,” Dillon said.
“Yes, I suppose so, but then he’s a good-looking guy.”
“But that isn’t why he’s smiling. He’s smiling because he thinks he’s got away with it, and I’m smiling because I’ve caught him. He’s hiding something, Billy. I don’t know what, but he’s hiding something. Let’s go.”
RASHID WAS TIRED from the flight, and obviously beyond caution. His vehicle was a red hire car on the ground floor of the car park opposite the exit. Rashid unlocked the door, including the luggage compartment. They were close enough to have a look when Rashid heaved out the spare tire and started to lift up the carpet.
“Get him, Billy,” Dillon said, and they moved fast and Rashid turned to face them. Dillon produced his Walther. “Hands behind your neck. See what you can find, Billy.”
Billy struck gold straightaway, lifting out a cloth in which were wrapped a few tools-and a pistol. He held it up.
“Thirty-eight Smith amp; Wesson automatic. Loaded.”
“Cuff him.” Billy did as he was told. “Do we take him in?” he asked.
“No. He interests me.”
“Why?”
“You didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to know he was up to no good. His passport indicates that he arrived in Cairo last week by plane from London. Took a train to Mombasa, then a ferry from Mombasa to Hazar. He didn’t even stay a full day before flying back to London. Why did he do all that? Why not fly from London to Hazar and back?”
“I see what you mean.” Billy nodded. “Probably because he didn’t want to be noticed.”
“And there was a better chance of that by the roundabout route.”
“So why didn’t you want to be noticed, Mr. Rashid?”
“Because,” Rashid said, his face twisting with emotion, “I couldn’t. They might have killed me. They might have killed her. I had no choice.”
“Wait a minute,” said Billy. “Who are we talking about here?”
“Al-Qaeda. And the Army of God.”
A chill ran through them at the mention of the two terrorist organizations.
“What did they want with you?” asked Dillon.
“They called me. The man spoke excellent English and perfect Arabic. He told me I was under surveillance and could be killed at any time. He said I had to think of him as the Broker. He gave me no connecting number, but said they wanted to talk to me in person. That’s why I went to Hazar, that’s why I took such a roundabout route, they told me no one must know. The gun was given to me in London. It appeared in my desk drawer, but I didn’t know what to do with it, and I just wrapped it up in the cloth and stuck it in the car. I’m not a terrorist, you must believe me.”
“But why did they call you?”
Rashid’s face contorted again. “To talk about my daughter. My beautiful, thirteen-year-old daughter, Sara. They were… they were brought in by my father. He is very wedded to the old ways, and when he told us he intended to marry Sara to a cousin, a person we had never even heard of-a thirteen-year-old girl!-we refused, my wife and I. She’s English, too, a doctor. We refused-and then he just took her. Took her away. And now Sara is in Iraq.”
“Bloody hell,” Billy said.
“Please-I don’t know who you are, but you must be with the government in some way. Can you help me? I’m not a terrorist, but I’ve learned a lot about the Army of God. I can tell you everything I know if you only help me get my daughter back. Please?”
