A Devil is vaiting

TEN

Four hours earlier, Greg Slay had been sitting at the desk of his small office at the old railway airfield in Hazar, bemoaning the fact to his partner, Hakim Amal, that business was seriously slack, when his mobile had sounded. The names of Major Giles Roper and General Charles Ferguson were more than impressive to any old army man, and the use of phrases like highly dangerous and top secret finished it off nicely.

A call to the control tower produced information that a jet was due to refuel in thirty minutes, then proceed onward to Peshawar with a cargo of jeeps for the Pakistani Army. It wasn t RAF, but the captain knew Greg Slay and was able to offer a lift.

So he was a happy man, striding purposefully across the cracked concrete of the old runway. He was an inch or so over six feet, wearing jeans and a bush shirt under an old Luftwaffe flying jacket, and Ray-Bans that shrouded a heavily tanned face with tousled hair that had needed a barber for some considerable time.

He said hello to the crew on the flight deck, then went to the rest area, where there was a small kitchen, a shower, and some seats, and belted up for the takeoff. Everything had happened so fast. He glanced at his watch. Only an hour and a half had elapsed since Roper s call, and he still didn t know what he d let himself in for. He tilted back in his seat, lay there thinking about it, and fell asleep.

Two hours later, he awakened with a start and realized how much time had elapsed. He phoned Roper and got him at once. It s Slay here. I m on my way and doing well.

Excellent, Roper said. Although you re going to be there a long time before Ferguson and his party, but, then, I think you ll be able to make good use of it. You were Army Air Corps.

That s right.

Retired in the rank of captain last year. Why did they give you an RAF decoration, the DFC?

I was a passenger on a Chinook medevac RAF flight. One pilot was killed, the other wounded, and there were passengers, so I brought her in.

Though wounded yourself.

I was hardly playing heroes. I was saving my neck. Anyway, what is it you want me to do?

Have you ever heard of a Raptor helicopter?

Of course I have. Medium-size, general-purpose load of Russian crap. Imagine a flying tractor, or, even worse, a tractor trying to fly.

I love your sense of humor, Roper told him.

So laugh this off. We want you to make an illegal flight across the border to a village called Amira, approximately forty-five miles into Afghanistan. What do you say to that?

What I d like to say is, you ve got to be kidding, but I don t think you are. Tell me the rest or the worst, whichever comes first.

Which Roper did, covering the plan of campaign, the players, everything. How is it now? he asked. Laughing or crying?

Well, I ve often wondered who was running the lunatic asylum. Now I see it s you. On the other hand, I m a bit of a lunatic myself, so when do we start?

As soon as you get to Peshawar. There s no sense in hanging around waiting for the others to arrive. You ve got a room at this Rangoon place, so book in. Sign for anything you want, it s taken care of. I ve told you all you need to know about Colonel Hamza. He ll be in touch and sort you out the moment you arrive. Enjoy the rest of the flight.

Greg sat there, thinking about it, and then called his partner, Hakim, in Hazar, who answered quite quickly. It s me, Greg said. How are things with you?

That new well they ve been drilling at Gila has come in big. They re going to need me on a daily basis with a Scorpion. Things are looking good. What are you up to?

Advising an old friend in Peshawar who s having problems with his Russian Raptors. I should be back maybe in three days.

The other Scorpion is standing idle. Do I find another pilot?

Thinking of the situation he faced with the trip to Amira in the antiquated Raptor over the Afghan wilderness populated by very unfriendly people, it suddenly occurred to Greg Slay that he couldn t answer Hakim s question properly, as there was a distinct possibility he might not get back at all.

I ll let you know, Hakim, he said, and switched off.

The jet landed at Peshawar International in the early evening and taxied to its designated unloading point, where a squad of soldiers waited to handle the jeeps. A lieutenant, wearing combat fatigues like the rest of his men, was talking to a full colonel in khaki summer uniform with medal ribbons above the pocket. He was clean-shaven, handsome enough, and looked young for the rank, although the scars on his face indicated combat experience. He touched the side of his forehead with his swagger stick as Greg went to meet him.

Captain Slay? Hamza s the name. I command the military police here, but Roper will have told you that. You re an old Sandhurst hand, I hear.

That s right, and so are you.

Something in common. I ll take you to your hotel. A jeep roared up, a bearded sergeant in a scarlet turban at the wheel. They drove away, and Hamza said, It s better to stay out of the downtown area. Lots of refugees from the tribal areas. Al Qaeda s made us one of the most bombed cities in the world.

There seems to be no end in sight, Greg said.

They turned in through an archway with a faded painted sign above it that said Rangoon Hotel and strongly hinted of better days, as did the cracks in the walls of the main building, but there was a fountain, which was actually working, and, inside, the old-fashioned fans stirred the air as they must have done for years.

Colonel Hamza introduced the manager, a dignified and bearded old man who wore a frock coat over traditional dress. Omar has never forgiven the British for leaving India.

You are wrong, Colonel. I have never forgiven myself for not leaving with them, Omar said, and told a porter, Captain Slay s bag to Cottage Three.

Let him take it, but you come and have tea on the terrace with me, Hamza said to Greg. We need to talk. He led the way through an extensive bar area, where staff were already turning on lights and making ready for the evening.

A caravanserai for travelers, just like the old days, only these are pilots, cabin crews, transients between planes. No tourists at all, as you would expect. Terrorism is strangling the world.

They sat on old wicker chairs opposite each other at a small table. The waiter who served them was so old, he seemed to move in slow motion.

Hamza sipped his tea. I have history with Ferguson and Miller, and I hate everything Al Qaeda stands for, so in this matter I m totally on your side. Commanding the military police has given me considerable power. People tend to do as I say.

I bet they do, Greg said.

On the other hand, the Pakistani Army can t be seen to be involved with anything that takes place across the border. That s why the only solution to the present problem is an illegal flight.

In an aging Russian helicopter that wasn t much good in the first place, Greg told him. What does this Wali Hussein get up to anyway?

Drug trafficking, mostly, and guns for the Taliban. A very unsavory crook. His mother is American, and when his father was killed, she took the boy to Florida and raised him there until he was eighteen, so he can t speak Pashtu not that it matters. Nearly everybody can speak English here. He came back because his grandfather left him property here.

He doesn t sound like the most trustworthy guy on the block, Slay said.

He isn t. How did you get mixed up in this?

I was recruited by Major Giles Roper because of my experience flying helicopters in war zones. I have my own setup in Hazar now, next to Rubat and Yemen.

So I understand. What do you know about General Charles Ferguson?

A great soldier who walks on corpses, if needed, to get the job done.

And Roper?

A George Cross man, Colonel. Slay nodded.

A true hero.

So tell me what he expects you to do.

Fly the Prime Minister s personal representative and his support team in across the border to Amira to snatch Mullah Ali Selim.

Oh, is that all?

Roper warned that Downing Street is all atwitter, worried about the possibility that Amira might be swarming with Taliban, putting Miller in danger putting them all in danger, comes to that.

What s your opinion? Hamza said.

I don t have one. I m a pilot. I fly missions, that s what I do. And I do it well.

Yes, I m sure you are adept at looking after yourself. Are you carrying?

With the kind of security in airports these days? Slay smiled. Do I look like that kind of guy?

Yes, you do. Slay produced a. 25 Belgian Leon from the holster on his right ankle.

Some people might say it s a woman s gun. Hamza weighed it in his hands.

Not with hollow-point cartridges.

Yes, that would make a difference. Hamza checked his watch. The Gulfstream won t be in for some time. We ll drop you at the hotel while I show my face at headquarters, then I ll take you to meet Wali Hussein, and you can run your eye over the Raptor.

Hussein Air, as it was called, was in one of several old aircraft hangars on the outer edge of the complex, and about as far from the control block and concourse as it was possible to be. The doors of the hangar were closed, but there was a small Judas gate through which Slay and the colonel entered, leaving the sergeant and the jeep outside.

The hangar was in half darkness and there was an all-pervading odor that was a mixture of damp cold, oil, and aviation fuel. There was music playing softly from above, Latin American rhythms, and a flight of steel steps led up to a railed landing and an office with glass walls and a light on.

Wali Hussein, where are you? Hamza called in English.

There was an old Cessna 310 to one side of the hangar and a Raptor helicopter parked toward the rear, close to the engineering section, where an engine, suspended by chains and pulleys, hung close to one of the benches.

Nothing to do with our requirements, I hope, Hamza said.

The main door of the Raptor had been pushed back so that one could see into the interior, and Slay was already pulling himself inside. Hamza joined him. It was larger than Slay had expected, quite cavernous, with a bench seat and a high superstructure, housing seats for two pilots. He mounted four steel rungs and slid into the right-hand seat.

He had never flown this aircraft before, but it felt completely familiar to him, in spite of the fact that all the instrumentation was in Russian, which he could not read. He knew exactly what everything was for, though, after the vast range of helicopters he d flown over the years.

It s a dinosaur, it belongs in a museum, but I like it, he said.

She ll fly you, a voice broke in, and they turned to view the man who was leaning in. Raptors have a mind of their own. He was small and aggressive, his skin olive and eyes blue hinting at his mixed blood. He wore a khaki shirt and jeans, and a baseball cap pulled down over long hair.

Where are the other two? Hamza asked.

Islamabad. They both needed work done on the engines that I can t do here. He had a distinct American accent.

Where are your flight mechanics? Greg asked.

Islamabad with my two pilots.

So what if we want this up and running first thing in the morning? Greg asked. Are you capable of checking it out?

Hey, I fly them, but I m no mechanic, man. He was obviously on something. Anyway, I was flying it yesterday, and it was fine.

Not for me, my friend, not when we re faced with the kind of flight we re going to make on the other side. It s a long night ahead, so you can help me.

Can I? Hell, that wasn t in the deal. You wanted to hire a helicopter, and there it is. What makes you so special anyway?

Because as a captain in the British Army Air Corps for the last fifteen years, he s flown more helicopters in more wars than you ve had hot dinners, Hamza said.

He lightly tapped his swagger stick against Wali s chest.

You ve been snorting coke again, I can always tell. I imagine you ve left your supply on the desk. I ll send Sergeant Hamid to find it. He s a religious man, so he ll be disgusted enough to take you down to the military prison. We re rather full at the moment. It can be very unpleasant in the showers.

You lousy bastard, Wali Hussein said.

Time you learned that. Hamza turned to Slay.

Is there anything else?

There s a mounting for a machine gun.

Have you got it? Hamza asked Wali Hussein.

They didn t have the guns when I bought them.

Hamza said to Slay, I ll see you get one.

Pineapple fragmentation grenades would be good, and a couple of AK-47s. A launcher and some RPGs would also be useful.

You re going to war, then?

A few of those grenades dropped from on high can have a salutary effect.

I can imagine. I ll see you later when the others get in. After Sergeant Hamid drops me, I ll send him back. He speaks English, and he s a good man. Maybe he can help you with that engine, and he can certainly kick Wali Hussein up the backside if he needs it.

He went out through the Judas, and Slay turned to notice that Hussein had mounted the steel steps and was going up to the office. He went after him, found the door open and Hussein leaning across the desk.

There was a line of cocaine lying ready, a bag of the stuff beside it, the white powder round his mouth and nose when he turned to look at Slay. There was also an open bottle of Cossack vodka, a half-filled glass beside it.

Slay picked it up. They wouldn t be very pleased about this down at the mosque. The toilet door was ajar; he walked in and emptied the bottle down the bowl.

You bastard. Hussein lunged at him.

Slay slapped him backhanded twice, then picked up the bag of cocaine. Let s just flush it away.

Hussein s face was contorted, and he was close to tears.

No, don t do that, he pleaded.

Then let s play question-and-answer. This place Amira it s Taliban, isn t it? Don t tell me you don t know. The colonel seems to think you deal in guns with them.

You don t go to them unless they send for you, and they ve never sent for me from Amira. Most of the people only speak Pashtu, and I can t. Blame my Yank mother. The rest speak very little English. I only know it by reputation. It s a bad place.

No word of anyone special being there?

No! Wali Hussein cried. And if I start asking round the bazaar, they d be at my door within the hour, wanting to know what was going on. Get one thing straight, pal. He was suddenly all-American. These Taliban bastards make the Mafia look like a Sunday-school outing. They think they ve got God on their side when they cut your throat.

And what about Al Qaeda?

Wali Hussein laughed wearily. So what can I say? It s in the police force, it s in government, it s in the schools, and the Taliban are the foot soldiers. They probably know about you now, but if they don t, they soon will. I d go back to where you came from, I really would.

There was the sound of the jeep down below. Slay said, That will be Sergeant Hamid, arriving to give me a hand. He tossed the bag of cocaine to Hussein. I notice a convenient bunk back there. I d go to bed, if I were you, and stay out of his way.

Hussein retreated, and Slay went down the steps, taking off his flying jacket as Hamid got out of the jeep and came to join him with a bag in one hand. He had opened the hangar doors to get in, and it was raining outside.

Not good flying weather, Slay said.

The forecast is bad for the next few days, sahib. Hamid held up the bag. Tea and coffee, various things to eat and keep us going. He put the bag on the bench. So what do we do first?

We need the engine cowling off, Slay told him.

So let s get started.

It was seven o clock in the morning when the Gulfstream landed at Peshawar International, the normally impressive background of the mountains of the northwest frontier shrouded in heavy rain.

Colonel Hamza was standing under a canopy, a Burberry trench coat hanging from his shoulders, a van beside him, and another of his sergeants wearing a yellow slicker. A couple of porters ran forward with large umbrellas as Ferguson led the way down the steps.

My goodness, Colonel, the rains seem to have come early this year. It s good to see you.

I ll take you along to the Rangoon and help you settle in, Hamza said. You re just in time for breakfast.

Lacey called from the Gulfstream. We ve got to sort out a few things with the plane, sir. We ll be in touch later.

The rest of them piled into the van. As it drove away, Ferguson asked, Where s Captain Slay? I thought he d be here.

He and one of my sergeants have been working all night. I called on them a short while ago with weaponry he wanted, including a machine gun for mounting in the Raptor. He told me the engine was now ready.

And this Wali Hussein chap?

Knows where he stands, as far as I m concerned. I don t know whether he ll be much good to you.

Well, I must say Gregory Slay has come up trumps in my book, Ferguson said. I look forward to meeting him.

Slay and Hamid showered in the staff quarters at the back of the hangar. It had been a hard night, but it had been worth it, Slay told himself as he got dressed. There had been plenty that had needed taking care of. He was so pleased that he actually felt full of energy as he stood looking at the old Raptor, and Hamid had hosed it down to finish things off.

She looks good, sahib?

You were a great help, Slay told him.

Wali Hussein came down the steps and paused, gazing in awe at the helicopter. My God, what have you done?

A complete overhaul, which is what was required. You look a mess, so go and stand under a shower for half an hour. That s an order. We may need your brain working.

The van swung into the hangar and braked to a halt. Colonel Hamza got out of the front, Ferguson leading Miller and Dillon out of the back, followed by Holley and Sara.

They all stood staring at the helicopter, the muzzle of the machine gun poking out of the side door, which had been rolled back, Slay and Hamid standing beside it.

Dillon said, I thought it was supposed to be some kind of wreck.

Well, it looks pretty damn good to me, Sara said.

And to me. Ferguson held out his hand. Captain Slay? I can only congratulate you on a job well done. If it flies as well as it looks, our problems are over.

Oh, I think she might surprise you, General, Slay told him. She s surprised me already.

That s good to hear, so let s all sit down, talk things over, and discuss our next move.

The rear of the hangar was still the departure hall from the old days of the airport, with chairs and tables in profusion, toilets that still worked, and kitchen facilities. They put some tables together, and Sergeant Hamid went to make coffee and tea while the plan of action was considered.

It could all be very simple, Ferguson said.

Ali Selim is in Amira and waiting, probably contacting his people in London to try and find out what s gone wrong. No news from his niece or Jemal, no big bang at Westminster.

The important thing is who s waiting with him in Amira, Slay said.

He went and got into the Raptor, and Hamza, who had noticed Wali Hussein hanging around on the fringe of things, said, Here s a man who must have a point of view. He owns three of these Raptors and does a brisk business running guns and drugs to the Taliban.

Slay leaned out the door of the Raptor, one hand on the machine gun. You re wasting your time. He s half American and can t even speak Pashtu.

It s true, Wali Hussein said. Just leave me out of it, and he turned, moved away to the back, and disappeared into the kitchen area.

Ferguson and Miller had their heads together with Dillon and Hamza, and Holley approached Sara. Are you all right?

I was impressed with what Slay had to say. I could do with another cup of coffee. Let s see what Hamid s got going in the kitchen.

There was no sign of him, only a pot bubbling on the electric stove. She switched it off and was suddenly aware of a low voice coming from the next room. Holley started to speak, and she held up her hand and shook her head.

Someone s speaking in Pashtu, she said, and eased the waist-high screen door gently open to reveal Wali Hussein talking softly into a mobile phone. She turned to Holley.

He said he couldn t speak Pashtu.

We ll see about that. Holley darted out the door, appeared in seconds on the other side, a Colt in his hand, and rammed the barrel into Hussein s neck. Now then, you little bastard, let s have some truth.

Everybody watched as Colonel Hamza questioned Hussein, who stood before him handcuffed, Sergeant Hamid at his side.

I have no time to waste in this matter, the colonel said. You will answer my questions or it will be the worse for you.

They will cut me to pieces, Hussein told him.

Who, the Taliban or Al Qaeda?

I dare not say.

Hamza turned to Sergeant Hamid. Take him down to the military prison. Don t book him, turn him loose in the general cell, lose him. We ll see how he likes that. Twenty-four hours and he won t be able to walk.

Sara, horrified, said to Hussein in Pashtu, Don t be stupid. He means it. Tell him what he wants to know.

He raged at her in fluent Pashtu. All right! The Taliban rule in Amira, but on behalf of Al Qaeda. Ali Selim arrived from London in a gold Hawker jet, with two prominent businessmen with him as cover. I flew him to Amira myself in the Raptor that you didn t think was safe. He s waiting for you, whoever comes, but not to return to England. You are meat for the dogs, all of you, and a Jewish whore like you knows what to expect.

She punched him in the mouth, knocking him back into Hamid, and Ferguson said, Tell me the worst, Captain Gideon.

Which she did.

Hamid took Wali Hussein off to the kitchen, while the rest of them sat around the table and considered the situation.

Slay said, Can I ask a question of you, Major Miller? As there was always the chance that things would go sour when you met Ali Selim face-to-face, what did you intend to do if that happened?

Shoot him dead, Miller said. That s why Dillon and Holley came along, to back me up.

Dillon said, His importance stretches way beyond Europe. He s been responsible for more deaths than you could ever imagine, from Yemen to New York. If I could get close enough, I d shoot him dead without a thought.

Are you saying you d still like to go through with it? Hamza said. Even though you know Ali Selim has got his own troops ready for whoever comes along?

Slay said, On the other hand, what if we changed that some?

How could we do that? Ferguson asked.

Let s be a little inventive, Slay told him. Say, Wali Hussein phones Ali Selim up to tell him that the whole mission s been aborted. That he s been told that the Prime Minister s got cold feet, decided he can t risk losing Miller, and has called them all home. You could order the Gulfstream to take off as if returning to London, put down at Islamabad perhaps.

What would be the point?

A considerable one, if Hussein could be persuaded to tell Ali Selim he d be dropping by in the Raptor to report in person, especially if he had us on board.

Good God, what a wonderful idea! Ferguson exclaimed.

It does have merit, though there would be no guarantee you could get close enough to guarantee killing Ali Selim. That was Hamza, who was frowning but suddenly smiled. Of course, and so obvious. A mullah s blessing, the most precious gift a young woman contemplating marriage can have. If Wali Hussein begs for such a blessing, as if for a relative and his intended bride, such people would be privileged to meet Ali Selim face-to-face.

It was Holley who said, Before we go any further, we d need a woman

We ve got one, Daniel, don t be silly, Sara told him. I could pass without comment in my black burka. One of you would have to go native and dress up. You could get away with a cotton headcloth across the face, only the eyes showing.

Two would be better, Dillon said. Men, I mean. I m small enough to pass as Wali Hussein wrapped up. You could play the lover boy, Daniel.

There was silence for a while, everyone considering it. Sara took Holley s hand under the table and squeezed it hard, and he knew that what she said was as much for him as anyone else.

I m a soldier and I take a soldier s risks. Ali Selim is as bad as it gets, so I say let s take him out.

Greg Slay said, Well, you get full marks from me, Sara.

Ferguson turned to Hamza. How do you feel about this, Colonel?

I m in complete agreement with Captain Gideon. We re doing the world a favor by disposing of this wretched man. Let s have Wali Hussein in, and I ll make him an offer he can t refuse. You speak to your pilots, and I ll apply the right pressure to make sure the Gulfstream flies out within the next hour. I would also suggest trying to arrange the flight to Amira for as soon as possible. I see no reason why it should not be this afternoon.

Then by all means get Wali Hussein back, and let us do what has to be done.

Hamid produced Hussein, still in his handcuffs. He looked a sorry sight and was obviously terrified. Hamza said, Do you remember what I said before? I could send you to the military prison, not even book you in, just allow it to swallow you up until you die from abuse.

Hussein moaned, shaking his head. In the name of Allah, don t do this.

On the other hand, we could put you on a flight to Florida with your American passport in your hand, and a thousand dollars to tide you over, as long as you never come back.

Which stopped Wali Hussein dead in his tracks. He stared at Hamza.

What would you expect of me in return? Just tell me. I don t care what it is I ll do it.

I thought you might say that, so now we will have the truth. When you were on the phone talking in Pashtu, was this to Ali Selim?

No, to Ibrahim, his bodyguard. Ali Selim prefers to speak to me in English. I was to call back. He was at his prayers.

Then you must try again, but first we must get your story straight.

To Wali Hussein, deceit and low cunning were second nature, and he was actually smiling when Hamza finished planning what he had to do.

That s really very clever, he said. You ve got it right about the value of a mullah s blessing. There are parents who d pay through the nose for one of those, but from Ali Selim he shook his head you couldn t put a price on it. Mind you, the things I ve done for him, I could ask him this favor, but it would have to be for relatives. My mother s Italian American, so it d have to be one of my father s cousins. Selim is an amazing guy, he knows everything about everybody who works for him. I d have to use real names.

But that wouldn t matter, Hamza said.

If everything goes according to plan, Ali Selim would be dead.

You ve got a point. Wali Hussein smiled strangely. Or maybe we could be the ones to end up dead. But okay. I ll say my cousin Malik is marrying Zara Khan. The families have been arguing about it for years.

Excellent. What happens now? Ferguson demanded.

Hamza said to Hamid, We ll need suitable clothing for Mr. Holley, Sergeant. You go and see to that. He turned to Ferguson. Come into the office with me, and we ll arrange for the Gulfstream to take off for a simulated trip to Islamabad.

Of course, Ferguson said, and followed him to the office, leaving a disconsolate Wali Hussein sitting with his wrists still handcuffed.

Sara and the three men sat talking about the situation at one of the tables, and Dillon glanced across.

Are you all right there, Wali, me ould son?

What do you bloody think? Wali Hussein replied.

Dillon peered out to the rain falling outside and wet snowflakes drifting in it. Just look at that weather and think how lucky you are to be returning to the place where you were born. Good ould Florida oranges, blondes on the beach, and tourists to fleece. You ve got it made. Remember that, so be a good boy and don t cock it up.

The clothing Hamid returned with was what you d expect in winter: boots, long shirts, baggy trousers, a three-quarter-length sheepskin coat, and a choice of headcloths in various colors and with loose ends to wrap around the neck and face against the bitter mountain cold. Every so often there was the sound of a plane landing or taking off, and suddenly, Ferguson s Codex sounded.

He answered, listened for a moment, then said, Excellent, Squadron Leader, let s hope everything goes to plan.

Was that Lacey? Greg Slay leaned out of the Raptor.

Yes, on their way, but with any luck, they might be able to turn back without landing at Islamabad, so let s get this show on the road.

Hamid unlocked Wali Hussein s handcuffs, and Ferguson said, Everybody stay well back, please, and keep absolutely quiet. He s going to make this call using my Codex on speaker. Sara, you stand close. He handed the Codex to Wali Hussein.

Get on with it.

I ve been expecting to hear from you. Tell me what Ferguson and company are up to.

The voice was dry and precise, the English perfect. Wali Hussein said, Good news, master, they ve gone.

There was a pause, and then Ali Selim said, Gone where?

Back to London. The Gulfstream has just left.

You re absolutely sure about this?

Of course. You may confirm it at the airport. There were many phone calls, which led to a great deal of talk amongst Ferguson s people. It seems the British Prime Minister has changed his mind about the whole thing and ordered they return.

How amazing, Ali Selim said. What else do you recall?

Many things, master, but I m not sure what is important and what is not. Perhaps I could come and see you. I d like to try the Raptor out. The pilot they brought with them has given the engine an overhaul. I was going to give it a test flight anyway.

An excellent idea. Come, by all means.

I would beg a favor, Wali Hussein said. My cousin Malik and Zara Khan are to be finally wed. A mullah s blessing is the most precious gift, but one from you would give them a lifetime s happiness. Forgive my impertinence.

No need to beg, Ali Selim said. You have served me well. Bring them with you, by all means. Come as soon as you like.

Amira was a typical frontier village on the edge of a plain at the foot of soaring mountains that were invisible behind a curtain of gray mist. It was raining here, too, the same mixture of large wet snowflakes. There was an air of poverty and decay to everything the crumbling flat-roofed houses, the water streaming down the center of the streets. No sign of people, no sign of life, not even a dog, but there was smoke drifting out of the stovepipe poking up from the largest house.

Ali Selim sat at a table by the window to catch the light, and the wood-burning stove produced a certain amount of heat. In spite of that, he wore a large sheepskin against the cold as he sat there, still holding his mobile phone in his right hand.

His bodyguard, Ibrahim, a fearsome creature in black robes and over six feet tall, stood impressively at the door, an AK-47 automatic rifle slung across his chest.

Ali Selim said, That was Wali Hussein to tell me the English are returning to London. He comes to see me bringing his cousin Malik and his intended bride, Zara Khan. What would you say to that, old friend?

That Allah is merciful if he allows the dead to walk, master, for Malik Hussein and Zara Khan were killed in the Raga bombing six months ago. Ibrahim spoke excellent English. Ali Selim nodded. Wali is a clever young fox to fool them like that. He is obviously under duress. We must be prepared.

I ll go and see to it, master. Ibrahim went out.

Ali Selim sat there, thinking about it, then tapped a long number into his phone. In bed at his Park Lane apartment, Owen Rashid groped for his mobile in the dark.

Ali Selim said, Ah, there you are, Owen. This is Abu.

I was asleep. It s the middle of the night.

Ah, pardon me, I m in a different time zone. I just wondered how the reception went at Parliament.

Rather crowded, and it rained. They had to put the canopies out.

Did Jean Talbot enjoy herself?

She certainly did. The President had a word with her.

Was he in good form?

He seemed so, though his day was busy. He s gone now, off to Berlin.

So there were no problems, then, no disturbances?

No, nothing at all. Why do you ask?

Oh, no reason, just curious. Sorry I bothered you, Owen. Go back to sleep.

Selim nodded to himself and switched off his mobile, thinking about his niece and Jemal, wondering what had gone wrong. But that would have to wait. He had enough on his plate right now.

At the aircraft hangar, Sara said, Ali Selim s voice on the phone was so different from when he delivered that speech in Hyde Park. He sounded so benign.

I wouldn t count on that, Holley said.

Wali Hussein said, Did I do well?

Yes, I have to admit you did, Ferguson said.

Now you d better get changed, all of you, so we can be on our way.

Sara went off with her bag, and Ferguson, Hamza, and Dillon watched as Holley picked up his clothes and went, followed by Miller. Greg Slay had been leaning out of the Raptor, watching, no need for him to change. Only Wali Hussein was left.

Can I get my flying gear? asked Hussein.

Dillon said, I ll go with him. Whatever he puts on, I ll have to do the same, if I m going to have any chance of looking like him, and he followed Wali Hussein upstairs.

Ferguson said to Colonel Hamza, You don t trust Hussein, do you?

Not even a little bit, which is why I ve decided to go along for the ride, Hamza told him.

My dear chap, Ferguson said. You ve been absolutely splendid, but I really don t think that s necessary.

He s my responsibility, General, so there s no argument here. I ll stay in the helicopter when we get there and keep an eye on him. I ll leave Hamid here with you, of course. Use him in any way you see fit.

Miller came in wearing combat fatigues, his head and face wrapped in black-and-white checkered cotton, and Holley moved in after him. The costume was perfect, and as Sara had suggested, he had wound a cotton headcloth about his head, its folds falling to his shoulders.

They d love you in the bazaar, Miller told him.

Wali Hussein came down the stairs with a baseball cap pulled down over his eyes, a blue cotton scarf wound around his neck. He wore a black flying jacket and a khaki shirt and trousers. Dillon was wearing identical khaki.

I ll fly like this and steal his flying jacket and the baseball cap when we get there.

My spare shirt and trousers, Wali said.

You should he honored, Dillon told him.

All conversation died at that moment, as Sara drifted in, moving out of the gloomy shadows like some dark ghost in her black robes.

Will I do? she asked.

Most certainly, Colonel Hamza told her. You fit the part perfectly.

Then let s get going. She went to the Raptor and reached for the helping hand that Gregory Slay offered her.