The Judas gate

10

The following morning, Harry Miller appeared in the computer room, hair wet from the shower and wearing a track suit. It was just before noon and he was yawning.

'I thought you'd have slept longer,' Roper said. 'You don't exactly look your best.'

'I'll pull round. Any word from Ferguson?'

'Not yet, but when he does surface, wait for the fireworks.'

'And why is that?'

'Let me begin at the beginning. Night before last, Sean and Daniel took themselves off to Belfast.'

Miller was astonished. 'But what the hell for?'

So Roper told him everything. Miller sat there, mesmerized, and when the story was finished, said, 'So Mickeen Oge has just been delivered to Rosedene, and Dillon and Holley are on their way back to Belfast, after creating mayhem at Collyban which even managed to involve Jean Talbot?'

'Exactly. I talked to Sean just this morning. What will the brand-new Chairman of Talbot International have to say about his beloved mother and our gallant friends getting involved in a brawl in the worst kind of Republican pub?' Roper smiled. 'It's quite bizarre, isn't it?'

Miller was grinning; just couldn't help it. 'I don't think that's the way Ferguson will describe it. That's quite a bit of event while we were gone.'

'And that's not all,' Roper said, and told him what had happened to Billy.

Miller listened intently. 'So there it is,' Roper said as he finished. 'The existence of the Preacher is confirmed, and we now know with absolute certainty that Al Qaeda is out to get the lot of us.'

'The hit man: no further news of him?' Miller asked.

'Not a thing. It was a totally clean job. No identification, no mobile phone, the silenced Walther he was using was treated with some resin so there are no fingerprints.'

'The kind of man willing to sacrifice himself, like a suicide bomber?' Miller said.

'Yes. When Billy asked him who he was, he said he was the Wrath of Osama and then shot him.' Roper grunted. 'I feel so damn passive. We have these two mystery figures, the Preacher and Shamrock, and we're no closer to finding out who they are. We can only respond when they make a move against us. I want to make a move against them.'

'And we will,' Miller said and stood up. 'Meanwhile, I know one thing. We're all going to have to be bloody careful from now on,' and he went out.

A few minutes later, Roper's phone sounded and Ferguson's voice boomed out from Cavendish Place. 'Ah, there you are, Roper. I'm just enjoying my first decent cup of tea in two days. Why don't you bring me up to speed on what's happening.'

'Everything, General?' Roper asked.

'Of course, everything, man. Get on with it!'

So Roper did. Ferguson was amazingly calm when Roper finished. He said, 'Anything to do with Dillon these days is usually so beyond belief that it can only be true. It's the only bloody explanation. I shall call in at Rosedene on my way in, and I'll discuss Mickeen Oge's situation with Professor Bellamy. Naturally, we'll do everything we can.'

'And the air ambulance?'

'I must be practical there. Budgets are tight these days for all of us. If Daniel Holley feels like taking care of it, that's fine. God knows he can afford it. As for that other adventure in Collyban, it was damn reckless of Dillon. He knows perfectly well there are plenty of people there who'd be delighted to put a bullet in his back. I'll speak to him, of course, but I don't think it will do much good.'

'Is that it, General?'

'No, we'll have a council of war later on today when everyone is available. This attempt on Billy's life worries me greatly. It's very difficult to deal with brutal, simple attacks like that, particularly when the assassin doesn't care whether he lives or dies. From now on, everyone wears his vest, everyone goes armed, and everyone must assume he could be drawn upon at any moment.' Ferguson managed a laugh. 'It's not really very funny, this war on terrorism, is it?' Over the years, the Preacher had evolved certain rules concerning assassination. His asset, as he called him, had to be clean. No mobile phone, nothing that could identify him or the weapon he used. Nevertheless, after the death sentence had been carried out, the asset was supposed to phone in within three hours to tell him it was done. The man he had given the Salter job to had been successful on six previous occasions. The fact that he had not been in touch now could only mean one thing.

Shah had a faculty meeting later in the afternoon, but with two hours to kill, he felt for the first time that things were going wrong. He was used to being in charge, to everything running like clockwork, and now something was out of joint, and he didn't know what to do about it. On impulse, he called Justin Talbot. Shah knew nothing about the Mickeen Oge Flynn affair or any of the subsequent events, because Talbot had chosen to leave him in ignorance of it all. The way Justin looked at it, the comatose Mickeen Oge at Rosedene had nothing to do with the Preacher.

It was raining and Talbot had been for a gallop in the downpour. He was in the stable giving the stallion a rubdown when the Preacher called. Justin stopped working and said, 'How are things?'

In her studio upstairs, his mother had kept the door permanently ajar since she had first started eavesdropping, and now stopped working to listen.

'Not too good,' Shah said. 'You remember Billy Salter?'

'Of course.' Justin lit a cigarette and sat on a bench.

'He's become what the Mafia would call a stone in my shoe. He's been responsible for causing the death of a young man I valued highly.'

'What a shame. Perhaps it's time to make an example of him.'

'I tried to do exactly that. I gave the job to one of my best assets last night.'

'You mean you gave a hired killer instructions to shoot Billy Salter?'

'Exactly. A good man, a true follower of Osama.'

Justin had an insane desire to laugh. 'Don't tell me: let me guess. He didn't shoot Billy Salter, Billy Salter shot him.'

'So it would appear.'

'Have you any idea what you're dealing with with these two, Billy and his father? In spite of his millions from legitimate developments, Harry Salter is still a gangster, and so is Billy. Sean Dillon and Daniel Holley, both Provos, for Christ's sake. Harry Miller – a living legend of Army Intelligence. Ferguson – well, his record speaks for itself.' 'So what's your point?'

'Read The Art of War by Sun Tzu. It's two thousand years old, but still true today. Make your enemy come looking for you, choose your own field of battle and make it unfamiliar and difficult terrain. Take Vietnam. Soldiers from the most sophisticated army in the world found themselves up to their bellies in jungle swamps chasing scrawny little peasants called Viet Cong. Remember who won?'

'Point taken,' Shah said. 'But what are you suggesting?'

'Get Ferguson and his people into the jungle, so to speak. Give them something to hunt for, something they want badly, and they'll come to you.'

'Something like what?' Shah asked.

'I'd think that would be obvious. Shamrock is the man they want to get their hands on more than anyone else. Give them me.'

Shah was shocked. 'What?'

'I understand Daniel Holley was put through an IRA-sponsored training camp deep in the Algerian desert at a place called Shabwa. His chief instructor was a man named Omar Hamza, once a Sergeant in the French Foreign Legion. I've checked him out, using contacts from my SAS days. The camp closed down for lack of business years ago, and Hamza moved on to run a trading post in the Khufra Marshes.'

'Where is that?'

'On the Algerian coast near Cap Djinet, what you might call badlands. Marsh Arabs in villages on small islands, fishermen, Berber tribesmen. It's a haven for smugglers of every description and a home to thieves and cutthroats of every kind,' Justin said quite cheerfully.

'And where is this leading?' Shah asked.

'It's very simple. Your Colonel Ali Hakim has a friendly word with his friend Malik and tells him he's heard rumours which he thinks might interest Holley. His mentor from Shabwa, Omar Hamza, is up to his old tricks, this time in the marshes – and his informants speak of a mystery man Hamza calls Shamrock. Like certain other Arab states, the Algerian Government is not Al Qaeda's best friend. Hakim could say he has been given secret instructions to take a police unit into the marshes to hunt Omar down in a covert operation. Malik is certain to report this to Daniel Holley, and I can almost guarantee you that the idea of a hunting party will appeal to Ferguson very much. What's the betting that he'll offer Holley expert assistance from Dillon and some of the others on this venture into the marsh?'

'From which they'll never emerge,' Shah said.

'I thought the general idea was to kill the bastards, right? Talbot said. 'Okay, we've no idea how many people Ferguson would send, but I'd think three or four at least. It's essential not to delay on this. You must speak to Hakim as soon as possible so that he can get the ball rolling.'

'And you think this could work?' Shah said.

'I don't see why not. Especially since I intend to go and supervise the job myself.'

Shah was shocked. 'But that's crazy. How could you disguise yourself?'

'To Marsh Arabs and Berbers, I'd be just another white face. I was in the Algerian desert four years ago with a Talbot International oil exploration team. I was very impressed with the Tuaregs – noble and aristocratic bastards who wear dark blue robes and turbans and veils. Ordinary Arabs shy away from them. I took some of the robes home as a souvenir. I knew I'd find a use for them one day.'

'So how would you get there?'

'There's an old World War Two air-force base called Fasa on the eastern end of the marshes. It's in ruins, but the runway is still viable. Talbot International has a Citation X at Frensham with full tanks, which can manage the flight to Algiers and the return to England. I might fly it myself, but I'll take another pilot along, too, to stand guard while I'm in the marshes. With luck, it won't take more than thirty-six hours.'

'And you insist on doing this?'

'I'm bored out of my skull and I want to see some action. So I suggest you get things moving with Ali Hakim, like yesterday, unless you think he'll say no.'

'Impossible,' Shah said. 'He has taken the oath. I'll call him at once, but I'll give you his mobile number, too, just in case you need to get in touch at some stage.' Justin returned to rubbing down the stallion, whistling to himself softly. Above, in the studio, his mother still sat on a stool by the half-open door, trying to take it all in. It had been only half of a conversation, so it was difficult to make sense of, but there'd been enough to tell her that her son was getting into something very heavy indeed. And yet she felt, as she had before, a strange kind of paralysis that prevented her from broaching the matter with him. Once again, she backed off and went down the stairs into the stable.

He turned to her and smiled. 'Haven't you finished that damn portrait yet?'

'Soon,' she said, 'I promise you. I'm going to the kitchen to make some sandwiches. Come when you're ready.'

She went out, and he eased the stallion into its stall, closed the gate and went after her. Dillon was having coffee with Holley when got a call from Roper. 'So you've got out of dear old Ulster in one piece.'

'Why, Roper, you sound unhappy about that. Is the General functioning, and Miller?'

'Oh yes. Ferguson's been very understanding about the whole Mickeen Oge business, though he says he'll be happy to have you pay for the air ambulance, Daniel.'

'That's very gracious of him,' Dillon said.

'Just shut up and listen, Sean. He knows about the trip to Collyban and what happened to you, and considers your behaviour ill-advised and reckless.'

'That's nice of him.'

'Yes, but while you guys were busy last night in Belfast, things were happening here as well.'

'Like what?' Dillon was frowning now.

'Like an Al Qaeda hit man shooting Billy outside the Dark Man. If you can keep quiet for five minutes, I'll give you the details.'

When he was finished, Holley said, 'So we now know for certain that Osama bin Laden's man in London is called the Preacher, Shamrock is one of his assets, and Al Qaeda is hoping to shoot the lot of us at the first opportunity.'

'Yes, isn't life grand?' Roper said. 'Ferguson is having a council of war this afternoon. I think it's time to start going after these guys hard.' At the same time, Colonel Ali Hakim was also on the phone to the Preacher, who explained exactly what he wanted Hakim to do.

When he was finished, Hassan Shah said, 'Are we clear?'

'Of course. Actually, it shouldn't be that difficult. That old ruined air base at Fasa is on the edge of the desert and about ten miles from the west side of the Khufra marshes. We keep two police launches there, and there is a coastal village called Dafur, which also has an old runway from the days of the Afrika Korps. It's still used in emergencies.'

'Do the police go into the marshes frequently?'

'Not really. It's a place for bad people to hide in. Omar Hamza is an old friend of mine. He acts as a government supply agent. To be frank, I have a financial arrangement with him. He will do as I say, I assure you, and that will include welcoming this Shamrock.'

'It is essential that you do. Ferguson wants him badly, and Shamrock is the bait in the trap to make them come. What about the Ministry in Algiers?'

'You can leave that to me.'

'And the police to crew the launches?'

'Blackguards to a man. The men I'll use are thoroughly corrupt – and they don't take prisoners.'

'Excellent,' the Preacher said. 'Speak to Malik now. Time is of the essence.'

He switched off. Hakim sat there for a moment, then called Malik at his villa. When Malik answered, Hakim said, 'My dear friend, how are you? I was wondering if I could call round for a coffee.'

'Of course. You know I'm always glad to see you.'

'I have something I think you might be interested to hear.' They sat on the terrace drinking Yemeni Mocha coffee, and Hakim told him everything he thought Malik needed to know. 'Things have got out of hand in the Khufra. This Hamza used to be a good man, but now he's a bad man. Who this individual is he calls Shamrock, I have no idea.'

'It was always a haven for scoundrels,' Malik said.

'Yes, well, the days of the honest thief are over, especially the way the drug traffic has increased. Our friend Hamza has operated under several false names over the years and made a living running a trading post on Diva Island, right in the centre of things. We knew it was him, and decided to let it go as long as he behaved himself, but the cocaine and heroin smuggling can't be overlooked. There's a fortune in that white powder!'

'Disgraceful,' Malik said. 'It must be stopped.'

'Oh, I intend to do that. I'll go in with two launches and elite police and lay hands on Hamza, if it's the last thing I do. Mind you, it won't be easy, but I'm old-fashioned, my friend.' He stood up and put on his cap. 'Duty and honour. If you are talking to Daniel, give him my best – and if he needs assistance from me in any way, you can give him my number.' Daniel Holley and Dillon were deep in conversation when Holley's mobile sounded. Malik said, 'Where are you? Can you talk? I've something interesting to tell you.'

'What is it?'

'You were asking where Omar Hamza had got to. I've discovered where. Those damn Khufra marshes.'

'What's he doing there?' Holley asked.

'Well, I've just been talking to Ali Hakim and it goes like this.'

When Malik finished Holley said, 'That's very interesting, Malik, very interesting indeed. I'm glad you called.'

'The good Colonel said I could give you his personal number if it would be useful and you wanted a word.'

'It certainly would,' Holley said, and inserted it into his own mobile as Malik gave it to him. 'Thanks, you've done me a real service.'

When he hung up, Dillon said, 'What was that all about?'

Holley gave him the gist of it in a few terse sentences, and Dillon said, 'Do you know this place, the Khufra marshes?'

'No, I've never been. The occasion just didn't arise.'

'Well, I have. Billy and I had a hell of a time there about three years ago, chasing a guy who was involved with the murder of Hannah Bernstein, Ferguson's personal assistant.'

Holley said, 'What did you make of the place?'

'Well, the town was pretty wide open, but the back country is wild and treacherous, with water reeds twenty feet high. The villagers and fishermen live pretty much as they have done for centuries. A good place if you want to drop out of sight.'

'Do you think Ferguson would be interested in what Malik's told me?'

'I'd say you can count on it,' Dillon said. 'If it's all true, it's the only really positive lead we've got. It can't be ignored.'

'But what would Shamrock be doing there?'

'I can remember when it would have been the most natural thing in the world to come to Algeria in search of revolutionary training camps,' Dillon told him. 'Both of us did it.'

'That was then, this is now,' Holley said.

Dillon nodded, 'But if he is there, even just passing through, there must be some purpose to his visit. And I intend to find out what.' As he stood up he said, 'Before facing Ferguson, I'd like to call in at Rosedene and check on Mickeen Oge. Is that okay with you?'

'Be my guest,' Holley said. We'll go straight there.' The moment they walked in to the lounge at Rosedene, the Matron, Maggie Duncan, appeared and greeted them warmly.

'How is he?' Dillon asked.

'Much as expected, Sean, but Professor Bellamy just looked in to see a few patients. I'm sure he'll be with you soon. There is one thing. You can't go into Mickeen's room without supervision. He's all wired up, as it were. A very delicate balance. You can go and have a look at him through the viewing window. Room Nine down the corridor.'

They stood together, peering in at the dimly lit room. Mickeen was festooned with cables leading to electronic equipment, tubes into his body from several bottles of fluid. His sleeping face was very pale, no colour there at all.

'He's just like a waxwork,' Holley said.

'More like a corpse, poor devil.' Dillon shook his head. 'A living death is pretty terrible, when you think of it.'

'But if he doesn't know what's happened to him,' Holley shrugged. 'They say that some people waking up from this state have no idea of all the time passed.'

'That's right.' Professor Bellamy came up behind them.

'This condition is one of the strangest known to medical science. He could wake up at any moment or he could languish in the comatose state for months, occasionally even longer than that.'

'So we're keeping him alive with the help of modern electronics and drugs?' Dillon said, and he sighed heavily. 'God help me, I don't know what's right and what's wrong any more.'

Bellamy patted his shoulder. 'At least he's here, Sean, getting the very best of attention. It could have been much worse. Anyway, I must finish my rounds. I'll see you again. By the way, are you aware of what happened to Billy Salter last night? You've been away, of course.'

'Yes, and thank God for the vest,' Dillon said.

'It certainly saved his life, but two forty-five-calibre rounds delivered to the heart area at a range of ten or twelve feet has not left him in the best of conditions. I've released him, but he needs to take it easy for a while. He's not fit to play any of your usual games, Sean.' Bellamy took off his spectacles and rubbed an eye. 'You're his friend and I'm appealing to you.'

'You can rely on me, I promise, Professor.'

'Excellent.' Bellamy walked away.

'Shall we?' Holley asked.

'Yes, let's go and see the old sod and get it over with.'

He followed Holley across the hall and out of the front door.