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‘It was,’ Roper said. ‘I’ve got the photo to prove it.’
The boy in the photo wore desert combat fatigues and the red beret of a paratrooper, a pistol strapped to his right knee, an AK-47 assault rifle crooked in his left arm. The eyes were haunting in the young face, the cheeks hollow.
Sara took a deep breath. ‘What happened?’
‘He was at school here in London at St. Paul’s, flew back to Iran right away, but missed the funeral. After that, he simply joined the queue of peasant boys at the recruiting office, of which there were many, joined up, and kept his head down to avoid the search for him. There was another two years of war, during which he jumped five times into “action” without having been trained for it. It was during the second year that Emza Khan traced him and he was promoted to the officers corps. He was an acting captain at the end of the war and all of eighteen. He’s 42 now and unmarried.’
There was silence after that for the moment. Dillon said, ‘Well, all I can say is it must be the Irish in him. Having said that, I’d buy him a drink anytime.’
Sara said, ‘A remarkable story, and you’ve gone to a lot of trouble telling us. Is there a reason?’
‘The handout from the London Embassy’s press office covers the award of the Legion of Honour to Simon Husseini and makes the point that Emza Khan, Chairman of Cyrus, will be visiting to support him.’
‘Is Khan’s son going?’
‘I shouldn’t imagine so, with his track record. They wouldn’t want any more scandal. However, the military attaché from Princes Gate, Lieutenant Colonel Declan Rashid, respected war hero, will be in attendance, all staying at the Ritz.’
‘It will be just like old home week,’ Dillon put in.
‘But isn’t this going to be rather obvious?’ Sara asked. ‘Our presence there?’
Dillon said, ‘There isn’t an embassy in London that doesn’t know about Charles Ferguson’s motley crew. They know who we are and we know who they are. The real work in our line of business is finding out what everyone else is up to, and that includes our friends. Take Claude Duval. A strong right arm to us, but France will always come first.’
‘I suppose you’re right, although it does get complicated on occasion,’ Sara said.
‘It’s a damn sight better than Afghanistan, and you’ve got the permanent limp to prove it. So content yourself. If you don’t mind waiting till I change, you can drop me off at my place on the way home. We’ll share a cab. You’ve had too much to drink.’
She laughed out loud. ‘You’ve got the cheek of the devil, Sean Dillon.’
‘It’s been said before.’ He grinned. ‘But think of the pleasure it gives you helping out a poor ould fella like me.’ He was gone before she could reply.
Emza Khan had purchased the apartment on top of a tower in Park Lane because it was within walking distance of the Dorchester and it pleased him to have all of the amenities of one of the world’s great hotels so close to hand. As time went on, he’d fallen in love with the rural sweep of Hyde Park. Finally, the city by night captivated him, the lights stretching into the darkness as if stars had come down from heaven to please him.
Just now he was sitting by the open sliding windows to the terrace, drinking a Virgin Mary, not that he was averse to adding vodka to it if he wished. As chairman of Cyrus Holdings and incredibly wealthy, he was only lacking in life where family was concerned. Two sons killed in the war with Iraq, a third, Yousef, a libertine and drunk who disgraced himself with whores and refused to take anything seriously. Which left Khan with only Declan Rashid, a remote cousin of the family clan, but a man who would make any father proud, except for one thing – careful discussion with the Colonel had indicated that he had not been moved by the words of Osama bin Laden, had not warmed to him at all.
This was a pity and a complete reversal of what had happened to Emza Khan, whose conversion had been quite genuine after hearing Osama speak for the first time. He had immediately contacted the right people, made it clear that he believed in the great man completely, and was soon serving him as required. After Osama’s murder, which was how Khan saw it, he had placed himself at the disposal of those carrying on the holy work of their deceased leader via the Army of God. Following instructions, Khan had declared his opposition to Al Qaeda in newspaper and television interviews, and so now that was the public perception of him, and by everyone around him, including Declan Rashid. It would have been absurd, after all, to have believed otherwise, and Al Qaeda was hardly popular with the Iranian government.
He was involved right now with extremely important work concerning the delivery of arms to various places in the Mediterranean. He had thought of involving Yousef in it, but hesitated, concerned at the consequences if failure occurred. That Al Qaeda could be unforgiving in such circumstances was a known fact.
Rasoul Rahim came in from the kitchen, a green barman’s apron over his black suit, his beard perfectly trimmed, the scar vivid on the left cheek.
‘You still look like an undertaker in spite of that ridiculous apron,’ Khan told him.
Rasoul didn’t even smile. ‘How may I serve you?’
‘As Yousef is taking his time about getting here, I can only fear the worst. We’ll give him another half-hour, then you must go and search his usual haunts in Shepherd Market. In the meantime, mix me a Bloody Mary, and don’t forget the Colonel intends to drop by on his way home from the embassy with the schedule for the Paris trip.’
Rasoul nodded and returned to the kitchen.
Dillon and Sara, sharing a cab on their way to their respective homes, were driving along Curzon Street when Dillon told the driver to turn into Shepherd Market and drop them at the Blue Angel.
‘It’s a piano bar,’ he informed Sara. ‘One of the best in London, with one of the greatest players in the business.’
‘You rogue, Sean.’ She shook her head. ‘You intended this all the time.’
‘Me darling Sara, do I look that sort of a guy?’
‘Absolutely,’ she told him.
At the same moment, Declan Rashid was turning into the underground garage at Emza Khan’s building. As he got out, George, the night porter, joined him.
‘I think you should know that young Yousef’s on the loose, Colonel.’
Declan said, ‘Is he bad?’
‘Drunk as a lord, sir. I refused to give him his car keys and he tried to punch me. Then he said he didn’t need the car because he’d find what he wanted in Shepherd Market. He said he’d get me sacked.’
‘Good work, George, and hang on to those keys. Don’t worry about your job, I’ll see to it.’
He was back in the car in seconds and reversing. It was only a matter of a few hundred yards through empty streets and he turned into Shepherd Market, parked, and saw Yousef at once in the middle of a cobbled alley approaching the Blue Angel, swaying drunkenly. He called his name as Yousef got the door open, and ran to join him, arriving just after him. As he entered, Declan was immediately aware of a woman singing.
Earlier, Dillon and Sara had been greeted by the sound of a great driving piano backed by a trio. Most people had faded away at the lateness of the hour, just a couple of dozen aficionados left. Dillon was welcomed at once by the grey-haired black piano player, who called to them.
‘Hey, Dillon, my man, get up here. Who have you got there, old buddy?’
‘My very special date. A captain in the British Army.’
The pianist leaned over, still playing, and kissed her on the cheek.
‘That can’t be right. This rascal is IRA. Those guys never retire. Once in, never out, ain’t that so, Dillon?’
Dillon said to Sara, ‘Jacko St Clair, off a boat from New Orleans.’
‘That’s true, honey, only it was about thirty years ago. Are you for real? Is it true what he says?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ she told him.
Dillon cut in, ‘She’s got a great voice, Jacko.’
‘You mean she sings with you? Some of that cocktail bar stuff?’
‘Tell the barman that, for this time only, we’ll do it for free.’
Jacko got up. ‘Be my guest.’
Dillon sat down, nodded at the trio, and smiled at Sara. ‘Show them what you’ve got, I’ll do the intro strong, just so you get used to it.’ He turned to the trio. ‘You get that, guys? Then we’ll do it again with her joining in. Just remember, Sara, the hero of Abusan can do anything.’
His hands moved into the driving rhythm of Cole Porter’s ‘Night and Day’, and as Sara swept in powerfully, people in the audience started to clap. The outside door swung open with a crash. Yousef Khan stumbled, fell on his knees, and then turned and grabbed at Declan Rashid, pulling himself up.
‘What’s going on, and why is that silly bitch making such a row?’
Declan said, ‘Remember your manners. We’re leaving now.’
Yousef slapped him in the face, snarling, ‘You stupid Bedu peasant, why don’t you stumble out of here and find some goats to milk?’
Sara, who had stopped singing, moved close to him, followed by Dillon. ‘The only one getting out of here is you, you piece of camel dung,’ she told Yousef in Farsi.
He pulled away from Declan and tried to grab her. Immediately, a Colt .25 was in her right hand and rammed up under his chin. A warrant card was produced from her left pocket and held high for the audience to see.
‘Do I have to arrest him, Colonel, or can you persuade him to go? I’m an officer of the Security Services.’
Rasoul appeared in the open doorway, the ugly scarred face intimidating. ‘What’s going on?’
Declan ignored him and said to her, ‘I’m sorry for this trouble.’
‘Not as much as he is,’ she said. ‘I believe he’s wet himself.’
‘Damn you, whore.’ Yousef’s drunken rage boiled over and he struggled to get at her.
Declan pulled him around and shook him. ‘Control yourself, fool.’ Yousef spat in his face and Declan hit him very hard, a short and sharp punch, catching him as Yousef’s eyes rolled and he started to slide.
Rasoul was outraged. ‘How dare you do that? His father shall hear of it.’
‘I’m frightened to death,’ Declan told him and shoved Yousef into the big man’s arms. ‘Get him out of here, put him in my car, and wait for me.’
Rasoul hesitated, then pulled Yousef up over his right shoulder, and Declan turned to Sara and Dillon. ‘You are a remarkable lady. I won’t forget you.’
‘Or we you, Colonel. That’s a mean right hand you’ve got there,’ Dillon told him. He grinned at Sara. ‘Ferguson ought to hire him.’
‘Your lesson may even do that young man some good,’ Sara said.
‘But you don’t think it will?’ He smiled. ‘I would agree with you completely, which is very sad for his family. But I must go. His father will be waiting impatiently to hear how badly he’s behaved this time. A habit, I fear.’
He left, the door closed, and Sara turned to Dillon. ‘Let’s do it again. I don’t like disappointing such a good audience.’
‘Right on, honey,’ Jacko called. ‘And I do believe the barman is offering a free drink to everyone who stays.’
‘That clinches it.’ She turned and went to where the band was arranging itself, as the audience settled and Dillon eased behind the piano. He was smiling crookedly as he looked at her.
‘What’s that smile for?’ she said as she picked up her mike.
‘I enjoyed seeing you in action.’ He shook his head. ‘No wonder they gave you the Military Cross. Now let’s get down to business.’
His hands slammed into the keys, fingers searching as he launched into that driving rhythm for the second time that night.
They went up in the lift to Emza Khan’s apartment, Declan Rashid leading the way, Rasoul with Yousef draped around him. Emza Khan was sitting in a winged chair by the terrace window reading the Financial Times. He tossed it to one side and jumped to his feet.
‘What is it, what happened?’ He was totally dismayed.
‘Ask the Colonel,’ Rasoul said angrily. ‘The one who beat him.’
‘Is this true?’ Khan demanded.
Declan had two main obligations in his life. One was to his country and its army, in which he had served so gallantly. The other was to the head of his extended family, which meant kissing the hand of Emza Khan and, by tradition, obeying him in all things. The truth was that his Irish half was finding it extremely difficult to follow such a path.
He said to Khan, ‘Listen to this creature’s lies if you must, but Yousef behaved like a drunken sot, tried to attack a young woman who turned out to be an army officer. She had to draw a weapon on him, I took appropriate action and knocked him out. If you want to call in Dr Aziz to check him over, that’s your privilege.’
Khan turned to Rasoul. ‘Get Aziz now. No more arguments, and take Yousef to his bedroom.’ Which Rasoul did. Khan carried on, ‘It is most unfortunate, the drinking. It’s a sickness, a known fact. I had great hopes for him.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘He was such a lovely boy. I was hoping to take him to Paris. What do you think?’
‘God help the chambermaids at the Ritz if you do. I’ve other things on my mind, like finding out who these people we were involved with tonight are. A name was mentioned, Ferguson. If he’s who I think he is, we need to know. I’ll borrow your office and computer to link into the embassy.’
‘Help yourself to what you need,’ Khan said. ‘We’ll speak later. I must check on Yousef.’
He went out.
As the cab turned a corner, Sara leaned against Dillon, eyes closed, and they stayed that way as she murmured, ‘Are we there? I need my bed.’
‘So I can see. Can you remember what happened?’
Her eyes opened. ‘Sean, for your personal information, I like a drink, but never get drunk. So, yes, I remember everything, however improbable it appeared at the time.’
‘Colonel Declan Rashid and a rotten young bastard called Yousef Khan, do you recall them?’
‘Of course I do, and the Colonel was far more interesting. Why do you ask?’
He got the door open for her. ‘I just wanted to remind you he’s the enemy.’
She got out. ‘He joined the paratroopers at sixteen and jumped into action five times without any training. Why would anyone do that?’
‘Perhaps he had a death wish.’ Dillon smiled bleakly, followed her, and paid the driver, who drove away.
Sara turned, found herself facing not her own front door but the Judas Gate in the entrance to Holland Park. Dillon opened it for her, pressing a button on his Codex.
‘What’s going on, Sean?’ she demanded.
‘Oh, I need to bring Roper up to date on what happened, and we’re not all that far from your place. You could have a steam for a while in the spa, even stay in the guest wing, or I can drop you home when I’ve spoken to Roper.’
She sighed. ‘All right.’
They crossed the courtyard and opened the front door, but were surprised to hear Ferguson’s voice echoing from the computer room.
‘I wonder what he’s doing here,’ Dillon said. ‘Do you want to face him?’
‘No, thanks, the steam room sounds fine.’
‘Okay, off you go. I’ll handle it.’
She vanished along the corridor into the shadows, and Dillon stood at the door of the computer room, listening, and then went in.
