something and could afford to cut him some slack; to listen carefully to his demands and find a way of accommodating some, if not all of them.
But rather than think of him as a very clever conspirator, he preferred to think of Marcus as a loose cannon, rather than a skilful agent working for Hudson’s CIA. He had to because his reputation and possibly other people’s lives depended on it.
He didn’t need the list now; there were only two people he needed to watch very carefully, and he would need to take McCain into his confidence. So before tearing the list up and flushing it down the toilet, Cavendish knew he would have to show it to the lieutenant.
He picked up the phone and dialled Lieutenant McCain’s private quarters.
Randy Hudson, the CIA chief received a call at the same time. Once again the CIA liaison officer had something for him. Hudson dressed and hurried across the domestic compound to the CIA office on the technical site. He had no vehicle so had to put up with a fairly lengthy walk. It was very early in the morning and, thankfully for Hudson the air was just cool rather than freezing as it often was during the winter months.
He reached the CIA office and showed his pass to the MP at the door. There was a turnstile entrance which the security man opened electronically from within his pigeon-hole office.
Hudson hurried through and found the liaison officer waiting for him.
‘I have these co-ordinates for you,’ he told Hudson.
The CIA man took them from him, read them and nodded his head in obvious satisfaction.
‘Are they there now?’ he asked.
The liaison officer said they were. ‘We picked them up on the Reaper. My guess is they’ll be there a few hours yet.’
Hudson thanked him and folded the note on which had been written the co-ordinates to the farmhouse where Abdul had taken Marcus and Susan. He checked his watch; it was a little after five o’clock. He smiled ruefully; once the figures had been passed on to Chuck Berry the farmhouse would be utterly destroyed on the next Reaper pass. He only wanted to take out Abdul Khaliq, but the collateral damage, meaning whoever was with him, would be perfectly acceptable to a man like Hudson.
He stepped out of the building, a light spring in his step. The dawn light was bright enough now to pick out the silhouettes of the F15E Strike aircraft and the Apache gunships lined up on the pan. Ground crews were out early preparing the aircraft for the coming day’s operations. Tractors towed generating sets out to each airplane, and ammunition trolleys were on their way to fill the jets and the gunships with their deadly loads.
None of this attracted Hudson’s attention as he hurried over to Reaper flight, intent on a strike of his own. Within one hour he reasoned to himself, Abdul Khaliq would be dead.
Cavendish apologised to Lieutenant McCain for the second time that early morning and asked to see him again. McCain agreed, telling Cavendish that he hadn’t bothered going back to bed. Cavendish grinned as he put the phone back in its cradle.
He came out of the accommodation block in which he was housed and once again hurried across to the Base Headquarters. McCain was there before him, which pleased Cavendish. He wasted no time in showing McCain the list with the two names on it that he had highlighted. One of them was Lieutenant Dale Berry.
‘Is there any way in which you can put Lieutenant Berry out of action?’ Cavendish asked the security officer.
McCain shook his head. ‘We need every damn last sonofabitch here, fully fit and working, Sir Giles. Unless you can give me a cast iron reason for excluding Lieutenant Berry from his work, I’ll have to say no. Besides which the Base Commander would expect me to give a damn good reason.’
Cavendish acknowledged that; he didn’t expect anything less but it had been worth a try. He did realise that McCain had no authority, other than his police authority to prevent people from working, so it was a lame effort on Cavendish’s part.
‘You think Lieutenant Berry may be up to something over here?’ McCain asked him.
Cavendish had no reason to think so. ‘No,’ he admitted, ‘but I have an uneasy feeling now, knowing that Hudson has turned up here unexpectedly. Seeing the two of them on my list, and knowing that they are here gives me a gut feeling that it’s no accident; no chance thing.’
McCain sighed deeply. He had the sense of Cavendish’s worries, having often experienced them himself; that same, gut feeling; a policeman’s ‘nose’ for something untoward. He could only see one way to settle the Englishman’s nerves.
‘What would you say if I arrange for you to speak to Berry, would that help?’
‘Yes,’ Cavendish replied demonstrably. ‘I think that would be a great help.’
‘You realise that the lieutenant has every right to refuse? Cavendish nodded. ‘And I can only ask, not demand?’ Cavendish nodded again.
McCain picked up the phone. ‘Reaper Flight please.’
He waited. Cavendish looked on. Eventually McCain’s body language altered.
‘Lieutenant McCain here, Military Police. Could you let me know when Lieutenant Berry will be on duty next?’
Cavendish felt confident about McCain’s way in dealing with things, and believed that he had found an excellent contact that he could use in the future. He wasn’t about to tell McCain that though.
McCain was nodding his head, his eyebrows lifting in a show of surprise. He thanked whoever he was speaking to and put the phone down.
‘Berry has been asked to cover for a sick officer. He’s going on duty in five minutes.’
Cavendish felt a sliver of tension run through his body and he suddenly felt helpless. He had a feeling something was wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on it, and he couldn’t expect McCain to understand.
But he was wrong.
‘You want to speak to Berry.’ It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. McCain had sensed the dilemma affecting Cavendish. ‘But you don’t know how you’re gonna do it because this is our patch and not yours, correct?’
‘I could not have put it better myself,’ Cavendish admitted.
McCain stood up. ‘In that case we’ll go over to the Reaper Flight and have a chat with the man. We can say that you want to make an appointment to see him; something like that. OK?’
Cavendish knew now that he and McCain were on the same wavelength, and McCain was going along with Cavendish’s fears. The last thing McCain wanted was trouble on his patch.
He came round from behind the desk, business-like.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and talk with Lieutenant Berry.’
TWENTY THREE
Marcus stood still in the passageway. He put his AK47 on the floor and held his arms out to show his empty hands. He could feel his heart beating solidly in his chest, but it was not through fear; it was the adrenalin beginning to course through his veins.
Maggot took the pistol away from Susan’s head and pointed it at Marcus. He was about to pull the trigger when he had to do a double take.
‘Marcus?’ He lowered the gun and peered along the length of the corridor. He let Susan go. As soon as she was released, she ran towards Marcus who grabbed her and pulled her in close. Then he made a kissing motion on the side of Susan’s face, but he didn’t kiss her, instead he whispered.
‘I don’t think he knows that David is here. Don’t say anything.’
‘Marcus?’ Maggot called out to him. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Abdul is going to take us to see Susan’s brother.’ He hoped that might persuade Maggot to think that they were on their way somewhere else. ‘What are you doing here, Maggot?’
‘You don’t want to know, Marcus. But I’m going to search all these rooms, including those down there, so you
