“I’ll see to it.” Bosey held open the Land Rover door for Ferguson and Dillon and Billy bundled in.
“What a bleeding day,” Billy observed.
“Takes you back to Belfast on a wet Saturday night,” Ferguson added as Bosey drove away. “I must say Lacey and Parry did a fine job. There were times when I flinched.” He turned to Bosey. “How’s everything at the house?”
“Perfect, General, no problems. The Rashids have settled in well and your people seem perfectly happy.”
“Excellent,” Ferguson told him. “Pity about the weather, but I’m sure you have a nice lunch arranged.”
“Oh, you can rely on Mrs. Tetley for that, General.” Bosey drove on.
THE SOUND OF THE HAWK had touched everybody at Zion House with a kind of anticipation, especially Molly Rashid, who was feeling even more unhappy than usual.
“Thank God they’ve got here. I thought it might be canceled by this dreadful weather and I need to have words with General Ferguson.” She was sitting on a sofa beside Caspar and Sara, and the three Russians were chatting in the corner. She stood up. “I’m just bobbing upstairs for a moment.”
“What for, a phone call, Mummy?”
“Yes, I’ll only be a few minutes.” There was instant dismay on her face as she realized her error. The Russians stopped their conversation and Molly, horrified at being caught out, fled.
Caspar said, “What on earth’s going on?”
“Why don’t you ask her?” Sara stood up. “You know how much I like the rain, I’m going for a walk in the garden.”
“You’ll get soaked,” he told her.
“No, I won’t, I shall borrow Igor’s trench coat and take an umbrella.” She turned to the Russians as she walked out. “Taking your trench coat, Igor. I’m just going for a stroll.”
“Do you want any company?” Greta asked.
“Suit yourself,” Sara said.
“I’ll be right with you.”
A few minutes later, they went out the front door, Greta also in a raincoat, linked arms for a moment and paused at the balustrade. Hidden in the rhododendron bushes by the pagoda, Hussein and Khazid saw them emerge, and Hussein raised the Zeiss glasses.
“It’s Sara and some woman.” At that same moment, the Land Rover entered the main gate and started along the driveway. Sara said to Greta, “Oh, damn, here they are. I’m not ready for it yet. Let’s go, just for a few minutes at least.”
“If you like.”
They hurried down the steps and branched off on a path bringing them through to the end of the garden and paused close to the pagoda. They looked back and saw Levin and Chomsky crowding the front door in welcome as Ferguson, Dillon and Billy got out of the back of the Land Rover. There were words exchanged up there, Ferguson turned to the balustrade and peered down, looking for them.
IN THE BUSHES, Khazid couldn’t contain himself. “It’s Ferguson- perfect.” He stepped out of the bushes and faced Sara and Greta, avoiding Hussein’s quick grab, the Walther in his hand, against his leg.
Sara stared at him. “It’s you, Khazid.” She was stunned. “I can’t believe it.”
Hussein stepped out and took off his bush hat. “Hello, Sara, it’s a long way from home.”
She stared at him. “Good heavens, Hussein, what have you done to yourself?”
“Everything changes, cousin.”
She said, “I don’t know how you got here, but I’ve no intention of going anywhere with you.”
“So the Hammer of God has fallen so low?”
And she said the strangest thing. “Oh, Hussein, you’re such a good man, in spite of yourself.”
“Enough of this nonsense,” Khazid said, took the grenade from his pocket and hurled it up toward the balustrade, where it bounced off the steps and rolled backward into a flower bed and exploded.
There was total confusion, everyone ducking, weapons appearing in their hands, Greta, who was carrying her own Walther in her raincoat pocket, drew it. Khazid grabbed her wrist, but she discharged twice, slicing his left shoulder, the second shot catching Hussein in the stomach as he stood to the side.
Khazid shot Greta at point-blank range in the body and she was hurled away to fall on her back. He went completely berserk, pulled out the Uzi and ran wildly up through the garden, calling out Ferguson’s name at the top of his voice, and Dillon and Billy pumped one round after another into him.
Sara shouted wildly, hands up, “No more! Stop it, now!”
Her parents had emerged from the house and Molly tried to run forward, but Ferguson called, “Cease firing.”
Sara looked at Greta, then called, “Come and get Major Novikova at once, but no violence, please.” She turned to face Hussein, old beyond her years, aged by experience.
“What now, cousin?” she said.
He was leaning against the pagoda and turned inside, a hand to his stomach, blood oozing. “How did you know where we were?” she asked.
“An unwise call to your mother’s hospital, a nurse, sympathetic to our cause who overheard. But no matter, this is our final meeting, Sara. May Allah bless you all your days, but go now, obey me in my last request.”
“No more killing,” she said. “It is enough.”
She turned as Dillon, Billy and Levin arrived and walked past them, as Levin knelt over Greta. She went calmly up the steps and her mother grabbed her.
“Are you all right?”
“Oh, yes, but no more phone calls, Mummy, they cost too much. Telling Dr. Samson where you were was a lousy idea. It got into the wrong hands.” She walked into the hall and went upstairs.
There was a kind of horror on Molly’s face as she realized the implication. Caspar said, “What on earth did she mean?”
“That somehow what has happened here was my fault. I rang Dr. Samson at the hospital a number of times on an extra mobile I keep in my bag. I couldn’t help myself.”
“How could you do that?” He shook his head. “So stupid.” She turned wearily and went inside. He sighed, and went after her.
HUSSEIN WAS STILL IN THE PAGODA, fumbling at his anorak, the blood oozing more than ever between his fingers, but when he finally stood up and lurched outside, the Walther was in his right hand.
“Mr. Dillon, Mr. Salter.” They faced him, weapons ready. His hand swung up and each of them shot twice, throwing him backward, the Walther flying to one side.
He was instantly dead. Billy picked up the Walther, inspected it and turned to Dillon as Ferguson appeared. “It was empty.”
Dillon’s face was bleak. “Poor bastard, he’d nowhere else to go.” He turned to Ferguson, “Greta?”
“Levin thinks she’ll be all right. Ambulance on its way.”
“And the bodies?”
“The usual disposal team. I’ll send in the order to Roper now. Hussein Rashid and this chap Khazid cease to exist. It never happened.”
Dillon nodded. “Do you ever wonder what it’s all about?”
“No, I’ve no bloody time, it’s the world we live in, it’s what we have to do to survive these days, with enemies like the Broker and Osama, Khan and people like him. So let’s get back to London and get on with it.”
He turned and walked away, as an ambulance drew up on the terrace and three paramedics piled out, came
