return, then fell backward down the stairs.
Down below, Dillon nodded to Billy and they both pulled the Colts from their ankle holsters and confronted Sharif and his men. Nobody fired. There was a kind of tableau, a frozen moment, the door swinging all the way back in the wind, rain driving in.
Sharif raised his AK. “I’m sorry, Mr. Dillon,” and Parker appeared in the doorway and shot him twice.
What happened then was very fast, very quick. Dillon swung, threw himself at Greta, flinging her out of the way. “Get in one of the stalls,” he cried, as bullets shredded the floor beside him from the loft. He turned, firing twice, and the man up there came down headfirst.
Billy had dodged into the shelter of a stall and picked off one man carefully, a bullet to the head, and shot the other in the back as he turned to run away.
There was silence, and then Parker walked in, soaked. “Jesus” was all he could say.
Selim cowered on hands and knees in one of the stalls, and Zorin had produced a pistol. Greta moved out into the open. “For God’s sake, put it away. We’ve lost.”
Sharif groaned and moved a little and Dillon dropped to one knee, not that there was much to be done. Sharif couldn’t even manage a smile.
As Dillon stood up, Zorin moved in behind him and put his pistol to his back. “I’ve had enough for one night, so I’m leaving and taking this bastard with me.” He glanced at Greta. “You want to come, get over here.”
“As you say.”
“I like that. Maybe I could teach you how to do as you’re told.”
She was very close to him. “But I always do.” She took out the Makarov, rammed it into his back and shot him twice. He went down like a stone.
“Now what?” Billy asked Dillon.
“Another bad night in Iraq, Billy. We get the hell out of here.” He nodded to Parker. “You did well.” He turned to Selim. “I could shoot you, but you’ll do better with Ferguson. Stay here and you’re a dead man one way or another when Ashimov hears you’re on the loose.” He turned to Greta. “Isn’t that so, Major?”
“I’d have to agree.”
“But you didn’t shoot me, you shot your own man,” Selim argued. “It makes no sense.”
“Well, she’s a woman.” Dillon pushed him over to Parker. “Get him in the station wagon.”
Parker took Selim away, a hand on his arm, and Dillon and Greta paused in the doorway, Billy watching, his Uzi back in his hands. Dillon gave her a cigarette, took one himself and lit them with his old Zippo.
“Give you a lift, lady?”
“I don’t think so. I’ll take the Cherokee, get back to the Al Bustan and pack. Next step for you is the airport, I imagine.”
“Why did you do it?”
“Does it really matter? Let’s say I liked you and I didn’t like them, and Sharif, as it happened, screwed things up big-time.”
“Yeah, but where’s that leave you with Ashimov and Belov?” Billy demanded.
“Oh, I’ll give a satisfactory version of events. I’m good at that, and there’s no one to contradict me.”
Dillon opened the door of the Cherokee and said, “In you go, girl.” Which she did, and put down the window. He leaned in. “I owe you one. I owe you a life.”
“That means a lot to an Arab, Dillon, but you’re Irish and a bastard. A charming one, but that’s what you are.”
She switched on the engine. “Buy me a drink at the Dorchester sometime and we’ll call it quits.”
“It’s a deal.”
“One more thing.” She smiled out at him. “I’m still on the other side.”
“I never doubted it.”
She drove away, and Billy said, “That’s a hell of a woman.”
“A one-off, Billy. Now let’s get moving.”
They started up to the orange grove and he took out his Codex Four and called Lacey. “We’re on our way, plus the passenger I mentioned.”
“No problem, Sean. I’ve spoken to Robson, so it was all in the security pipeline. I’ll confirm it now. We’ll be waiting. Was it rough?”
“You wouldn’t want to know.”
“That bad? Ah, well, see you soon.”
Dillon took out his cigarettes and said to Selim, who sat between him and Billy, “Do you use these?”
Selim was trembling a little. “Not for years.”
“Then have one now. It’ll help settle your nerves. Stay here and Belov’s people will get you one way or another, but you’re too valuable to waste, which is why I’m taking you back to Ferguson. As I’ve told you, play ball and you’ll be fine.”
“But my roots are here.”
“Bollocks,” Billy said. “Look out there at the romance of Iraq. Bleeding peasants at this time of night in the pouring rain, leading donkeys for the morning market in Baghdad to make a few bob. It’s a shithole.”
“And you’re British anyway,” Dillon said. “Born in London, went to St. Paul’s, Cambridge.”
“You went to St. Paul’s?” Billy said. “I didn’t know that. I was there for two years. My uncle Harry wanted to make a gentleman of me.”
Selim was interested in spite of himself. “What happened?”
“They expelled me when I was sixteen for beating up two prefects. I’ve never told anyone that before, not even you, Dillon.”
“Well, there you go.” Dillon smiled. “A great man once said England was a splendid, tolerant and noble country, and even though I’m Irish, I’d have to agree. Let’s put it this way. There are mosques all over London.”
The first thing Greta did at the cottage when she got back was to call and arrange an early-morning departure for the Falcon. Then she phoned Ashimov, finding him in bed, because in London it was three in the morning. He was all attention, sat up and reached for a cigarette.
“How’s it going?”
“I’m on my way back, that’s how it’s going. Sharif sold us out.”
“I’ll have his balls for that, I promise.”
“No need. They ambushed us at Ramalla – Dillon, Slater and Sharif. There was a firefight. Zorin and Makeev were killed. I managed to shoot Sharif and got away in the darkness. I saw Dillon, Salter and some other men take Selim away to a station wagon. I was close enough to hear Dillon say something like ‘Let’s get out of here. Next stop the airport.’ I waited until they’d gone and came back to the house in the Jeep.”
“It’s like a black comedy,” he said. “A total farce.”
“I’m sure they’re going to squeeze Selim dry in some London safe house,” she said.
“Yes, I’ll have to find out where that is. But at least you’re safe, my love. I’ll expect you tomorrow.”
She put the phone down, quite pleased with herself, and went to bed.
At Baghdad Airport, they gained access through a discreet security entrance, where Robson and Lacey waited in a Land Rover.
“Follow us, Sergeant, straight to the plane,” Robson called.
They did and found the Citation waiting, ready to go. The two vehicles stopped at the bottom of the steps and they all got out.
Robson said, “Please board now, gentlemen. You’ve sort of never been here, if you follow me. Much better all round.”
“You’ve got a good man here.” Dillon turned and shook hands with Parker. “We’ll do it again sometime.”
“Once around the houses with you is enough for any man, but good luck.”
Billy pushed Selim up the steps, Dillon followed and then Lacey, who closed the door. Selim sank into a seat. Lacey joined Parry in the cockpit.
Dillon took out his Codex Four and called Ferguson, as Greta had done with Ashimov, finding him in bed.
“Who in the hell is it at this time in the morning?”
