Close Call

Chapter 19

‘Donation will see us this evening,’ said Miles Brookhaven, putting down the phone. ‘I told his son I was bringing a colleague from the British Embassy and he didn’t ask any questions. His son seems to be a sort of secretary for this so-called charity he runs. Well, he calls it a charity, but as far as I can see it’s a kind of private fund-raising operation. God knows what shady deals they’re doing. Anyway, we’re to go out to his farm this evening.’

‘A farm?’ Bruno Mackay raised his eyebrows. ‘How far away is it? I don’t fancy a long drive in the dark in this place. I won’t be at all popular with Geoffrey Fane if I end up as a kidnap victim.’

‘It’s not that far. About ten miles or so along a fairly decent road. It’ll be dark when we come back, but Donation seems to have some sort of security operation set up to control who goes along that road, so it should be OK.’

Bruno Mackay was sitting in Miles Brookhaven’s office in the American Embassy in Sana’a. The surveillance pictures from Paris were spread out on the table in front of them.

‘I hope it’s worth the journey,’ said Bruno. ‘I can’t imagine they’ll make much out of these photographs. I don’t know why Liz Carlyle bothered sending them. The guy looks like thousands of young men you might meet anywhere from Algiers to Afghanistan.’

‘Maybe he does, to you, but Donation or his son may recognise him – or know someone who will.’

‘Let’s hope so. Our French colleagues certainly seem to have messed up thoroughly in Paris. First they blew the surveillance and then they lost both of their targets.’

‘I don’t think it’s a complete disaster. I’ve heard from Andy Bokus that they know the European who met this guy in Paris. He’s called Milraud, a DGSE officer who left the Service and turned rogue.’

‘Oh him. The French have been looking for him for years. He stole a lot of cash and set himself up as an arms dealer. If he’s reappeared it will have set the cat among the pigeons. He used to work with Liz Carlyle’s boyfriend Martin Seurat; Seurat’s sworn to get him.’

‘Well, apparently they have got him. They pinned him down in a hotel in Berlin and they’re hoping to find out why he was meeting this guy in Paris’ – he waved at the photograph of the young Arab – ‘and what he went to Berlin for.’

Five hours later Miles Brookhaven was driving the Embassy SUV along the road through fields and small apple orchards. The sun was setting over the line of hills in a clear pink and red sky.

‘No clouds tonight, thank God,’ remarked Miles. ‘Last time I came along here there was a downpour. I couldn’t see a thing. Had to stop dead in the middle of the road.’

‘Hmm,’ said Bruno, who was sitting uneasily sideways in his seat, keeping an eye on the road behind them and looking from side to side.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Miles. ‘I’m sure it’s OK. I told you, he’s got this road monitored. It feels safe to me.’

‘Hmm,’ said Bruno again.

Miles drove on another few miles and then Bruno, who was peering out of the front windscreen, said, ‘I thought you said there were no clouds tonight. What’s that then?’ He pointed to what looked like a small black cloud low in the sky ahead of them.

‘It looks like smoke. It’s just about where Donation’s compound is. Perhaps they’re burning rubbish.’ But as they got nearer the cloud seemed to separate itself and gradually it became a moving mass of birds.

‘Vultures,’ said Bruno. ‘Something’s died.’

‘Probably a cow or a buffalo. We’ll soon find out. We’re less than a mile away from the farm now.’

As they came up to the walls of the compound, another cloud of flapping vultures rose up to join those circling in the sky. Miles turned the car to go under the arch and then slammed on the brakes.

‘My God,’ shouted Bruno. ‘What the hell’s that?’ A body clad in what had been white robes was swinging in the arch, dangling from a rope round its neck. Its face was a raw mass of bloodied flesh and its eyes had been pecked out. The legs, swinging in mid-air, ended in shiny black leather shoes.

‘It’s Donation’s son.’ Miles’s voice shook.

‘Turn round,’ yelled Bruno. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

‘Donation may be inside. He may need our help.’

‘If he’s in there,’ said Bruno, ‘he’s long past our help. Can’t you see? It’s a warning. Go on, get out or we’ll be next.’

Suddenly Miles jerked into action. With squealing tyres throwing up sand and stones he turned the car and drove off, back down the road they had come along.

Bruno was leaning forward now, holding on to the dashboard. ‘I thought you said they had security on this road.’

‘That’s what Donation told me and I believed him. I thought they knew what they were doing. It all seemed very casual but I figured they were the best judge of what was safe. I bet it’s that bloody French surveillance operation that’s blown it. The guy in Paris knew he was being followed, so he knew there’d been a leak and they’ve traced it back to Donation and his son.’

They fell silent, each thinking over the implications of what had happened. Miles drove fast, bouncing the heavy car over the ruts in the road, while Bruno kept a sharp eye on the fields to each side. The light was fading now as Bruno turned to look over his shoulder at the road behind them.

‘How much further?’

‘About six miles.’

‘Well, get a move on. There’s company behind us.’

‘I know. It came out of a field track just back there.’

A battered-looking pickup truck was approaching at high speed. As it got nearer two men in black balaclavas stood up in the back, each waving a heavy weapon in one hand.

Miles had his foot on the floor but the pickup truck was gaining on them. ‘Hold on,’ shouted Miles, ‘I’m gonna knock them off,’ and as the pickup drew alongside them, he turned the wheel of the SUV hard to the left.

But the truck driver had anticipated the manoeuvre and with a burst of acceleration managed to block their sideways move. There was a loud bang as metal hit metal, and the two vehicles each did a sweeping one-eighty and came to a halt side by side, slewed along the road.

The two armed men leapt down and pulled open Miles’s door.

‘Get out. Both of you,’ said one in an accent straight from the streets of south London.

The two climbed out of the SUV, and the man with the London accent motioned with his rifle for them to move away from the car. ‘Get down on your knees,’ he ordered, and when Bruno hesitated he pointed the gun at his head. ‘Get down, I said.’

As they knelt on the sandy road, Miles glanced at Bruno. He had clasped his hands behind his head and was staring straight ahead. Miles knew he was waiting for the shot. Then they’ll shoot me, he thought. There was silence for a moment. A breeze had picked up, bringing a faint smell of petrol from the pickup truck. Behind them one of the men moved close; Miles could hear him breathing, noisily and fast. This is it, thought Miles, trying to come up with something meaningful for his final thought.

But then the Londoner spoke again. ‘This is a warning. Keep out of our business and go home or you’ll end up like that corpse at the farm. Now get back in that car and bugger off.’

And as Miles got slowly to his feet, he saw the man and his colleague leap back into their pickup truck. The engine started, the truck turned in a cloud of dust and drove back along the road the way it had come.

Miles stood with Bruno in the road for a moment, looking after the rapidly disappearing truck.

‘What on earth was that all about?’ said Bruno, his voice shaking very slightly. ‘Why did they let us go?’

‘Are you complaining?’ asked Miles with a tremulous laugh. ‘Perhaps they’ve got too much going on to want two dead diplomats on their hands.’

Bruno said, ‘Maybe that’s it. We’ve been lucky this time. Let’s get the hell back to your Embassy.’