Billy said, “Maybe he wants to knock off Caspar for his part in saving her?”
“Which would still leave him with the Sara problem.”
Roper said, “Perhaps he doesn’t know himself. We don’t need to go into his background, you all know it. The deaths in his extended family alone would be a sufficient cause for revenge to many people and it’s certainly enough to make him a driven man.”
“And one of the world’s most successful assassins,” Levin put in.
There was another silence, and it was Billy, a gangster and streetwise since his youth, who said, “It might be a lot simpler than we think. Maybe he’s just striking out, hasn’t thought it through.”
“God help us if that’s what it is,” Ferguson said. “If he doesn’t know himself, what chance do we have?”
“None,” Dillon said and turned to Ferguson. “What did you mean when you said the Rashids should be moved from Hampstead and away from everything?”
“We have a country house called Zion House in West Sussex and close to the coast and marshland. It was donated to the Ministry of Defence in the Second World War and used to train SOE agents. Over the years it’s been used by the Ministry for training purposes, but at the moment it’s in a caretaker situation, watched over by half a dozen uniformed security men, all ex-military police run by Captain Bosey.”
Dillon said, “This marshland, what would be the situation there?”
“It’s owned by the National Trust. The bird life is unique. Curlew, redshank and brant geese from Siberia, that sort of thing.”
“Are bird-watchers a problem?”
“Zion House has unique features. High-security fencing on top of the wall, and if you tried to get over that, you’d fry.”
“Sounds a bit harsh.”
“Warning signs everywhere, security cameras. We can’t do more. There’s never been a problem with any attempts at unlawful entry in the twenty or more years that I’ve been responsible for it.”
“Sounds good to me,” Dillon said. “Anything else?”
“There’s a concrete airstrip there at the side of the marsh from SOE days. We could fly the Rashids down from Farley, and any of you lot.”
“It would certainly clear the decks,” Dillon said. “Who would you send?”
“Greta has good contacts with the family. If Levin and Sergeant Chomsky went with her for starters, that would make it a Russian affair.”
There were nods all round. “Sounds good to me,” Dillon said. “Let’s get moving, and sort it with the Rashids.”
“You and Greta come with me, the rest stay. Roper in charge.” Ferguson led the way out.
THEY SAT IN the sitting room at Gulf Road with Caspar, Molly and Sara, and Ferguson explained patiently what the situation was. Greta stood by the window.
“So what is it you’re trying to tell us?” Molly Rashid demanded. “That Hussein is here in England?”
“We believe very strongly that he’s on his way,” Ferguson said. “Hazar to Algeria, stealing the floatplane to Majorca, then Rennes in Brittany. Look at it on the map and it speaks for itself.”
She sounded desperate. “He’d be mad to come, and what for?”
Sara stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go into the garden. Whatever you decide suits me. Zion House sounds fun.”
“This does concern you, darling,” Caspar said.
“Not really,” Sara said calmly. “Hussein won’t do anything to harm me.” She went out and Greta followed.
Molly Rashid started again. “I think you have to realize, General, we’re trying to live as normal a life as possible for Sara’s sake.”
Dillon got up. “Your decision. I’ll just go out on the terrace for a smoke. It’s up to you, General.”
Sara was moving slowly around the garden. Across the road, a sweeper in yellow had noted the arrival of Ferguson ’s Daimler and its occupants and managed a shot with a special camera donated by Khan.
Dillon lit a cigarette and approached Sara and Greta. “Hello, Mr. Dillon, what do you want?” Sara asked.
“I’m interested in what you said about Hussein. How can you be so certain? He’s a very violent man.”
“I suppose you mean all this Hammer of God thing.” She shrugged. “In Baghdad it was in the papers and on television, but not with photos, so I didn’t know it was Hussein. He always looked after me. Made sure people treated me properly.”
“Did he change then?”
“Not really. At the oasis at Fuad in the Empty Quarter, when Ali ben Levi, the bandit, manhandled me, knocked me down, Hussein shot him.”
“How did you feel about that?”
“Ben Levi was a truly evil man. He was whipping a priest for being a Christian. I told him that so was I. That’s when he treated me as he did.”
Dillon smiled bleakly. “In those circumstances, I’d probably have shot him myself. Tell me, I’ve no business asking you this, but what about this Muslim thing and being promised in marriage when you’re of age?”
“That’s nonsense,” she said. “I never took that seriously and I told Hussein so.”
“And he accepted that?”
“He was told. I could do no more.”
Dillon took a deep breath. “You’re a truly remarkable young lady.”
Caspar came out onto the terrace and called, “Come on, Sara, it’s all decided. We’re going to Zion House, flying down.”
His wife appeared. “For a week-seven days only, so come and pack.”
The girl joined them and they went inside and she went upstairs. Ferguson appeared. “I’m going back to Holland Park. You two stay while they pack. I’ll send the People Traveller to pick you all up and take the Rashids to Farley. I’ll arrange for Levin and Chomsky to meet you there.”
He went off and Dillon said, “Sara’s quite a girl.”
“What do you expect, she’s half Bedouin,” Greta told him. “Come into the kitchen and we’ll have a coffee.”
IN HIS SHOP near the corner of Gulf Road, Ali Hassim was acting as middleman for Professor Khan, overseeing a network of sweepers, hospital porters, cabdrivers and even young girls, office personnel at the local hospitals. The sweeper assigned to the Rashid house phoned in.
“They’ve had visitors. Two of them were in the photos Professor Khan showed us. The General and the man Dillon. There was also a woman. The General left in a Daimler car. I’ve got pictures. Dillon and the woman are still there.”
“Any sign of the family?”
“Only the girl, Sara. She was in the garden talking to Dillon.”
“I’m going to send Jamal on his motorcycle just in case they go somewhere. He’ll be with you in minutes.”
The sweeper waited and then the People Traveller turned up, paused at the electronic gates until they opened. It moved inside and the sweeper caught a glimpse of the front door, Caspar Rashid with two suitcases emerging, his wife behind him, then Sara, Greta and Dillon.
At that moment, Jamal arrived on his motorcycle, rode down by the canal and into the trees. “What’s happening?” he called.
“They’re leaving. It looks to me as if they’re all going. I saw suitcases. You must follow.”
“That’s what I’m here for, you fool.”
Jamal waited, his engine turning over. The gates opened and the People Traveller emerged and turned right, and he followed in traffic so heavy it was possible for him to get really close on more than one occasion so that he soon established who was inside.
At Farley Field he had to turn into the public car park as the van paused at the security entrance and was
