Edge of Danger (12 page)

‘There’s only one way for you to find out.’

At Northolt the following morning, they found Lacey and Parry waiting and, in something of a surprise, Ferguson.

‘I thought I’d see you off. Lacey’s had the roundels removed, since we needn’t advertise the RAF. What are we calling it, Lacey?’

‘A United Nations charter, General.’ ‘Ah, well, no one will quarrel with that.’ The Quartermaster appeared, a rather tall and forbidding retired Guards Sergeant Major. ‘There’s a question of weapons, Mr Dillon. May we talk?’ ‘Of course,’ Dillon said.

The Quartermaster led the way into an anteroom. On a wide table were several AK-47S, Brownings, Carswell silencers, and three small machine pistols.

‘Parker-Hales, Mr Dillon.’

‘Excellent, Sergeant Major.’

‘I’ve had diving equipment loaded on board. You’ll need air bottles down there. I’d take care if I were you. Never know what these Arab buggers might try to put in them.’

‘I take the point,’ Dillon told him.

‘Good, because I would like to meet you again, Mr Dillon.’

‘We’ll see what we can do.’

The Sergeant Major said, ‘I’ll load up, sir.’

While the plane was loading, they drank coffee and tea in the lounge. Ferguson said, ‘We have little outright influence in Hazar any longer. All these small countries like their independence these days. They don’t have an army, just the Hazar Scouts, a small regiment of Arab Bedu traditionally commanded by British officers. At the moment Villiers is the commander - you know about him.’

‘Do I liaise with him?’ Dillon asked.

‘He could be useful. He has his ear to the ground, knows what’s going on. At the moment, as I understand it, the Scouts are patrolling the Empty Quarter. They have problems with Adoo bandits up there, men on the run from Yemen: Lawrence of Arabia stuff. It’s just like the old

days - any game is better than no game. Just like Northern Ireland, really.’

Billy said, ‘The old sod’s getting at you, Dillon.’

‘Yes, I know he is, Billy, but it’s okay.’ Dillon smiled amiably. ‘What do you want me to do, tell him to get stuffed?’

‘Oh, you’ve been doing that one way or another for some years now, Dillon.’ Ferguson got up. ‘I don’t know what’s going on out there, but it’s certain to be dodgy. Take care.’

‘Ah, but I always do.’ Dillon shook hands. ‘Don’t worry, Charles, you’ve got me, Billy, and Harry. We’re an unbeatable combination.’

A few minutes later, the Gulfstream roared along the runway at Northolt. Ferguson waited, then turned and got into his Daimler and was driven away. It was all up to Dillon now, but then there was nothing new in that.

Hazar

The airport at Hazar was five miles out of town. It was a single runway but had been built by the RAF in the old days for military use, so it was capable of handling anything, even a Hercules. When the Gulfstream landed and they disembarked, two Land Rovers drove up. The man who got out of the first one was in his sixties, deeply tanned, white-bearded, wearing a crumpled bush hat, khaki shirt and slacks.

‘Hal Stone.’ He held out his hand. ‘I understand you’re a hell of a diver, Dillon.’

‘How did you know it was me?’

‘The wonders of modern science. Computers, the Internet, the downloading of pretty colour pictures.’ He turned to the others. ‘Billy and Harry Salter. What a combination. Even the Kray brothers would have been impressed.’

He called in Arabic and two men got out of the

other Land Rover. ‘Load everything. Take it to the Sultan.’

Lacey and Parry found them, and Dillon made the introductions. Stone said, ‘Are you staying over?’

‘Not this time, sir,’ Lacey told him.

‘Good, then you won’t need my rather dubious expertise on Hazar. What to avoid, which on the whole is everything.’ He turned to the others. ‘Come on. I could do with a cold beer before I show you the Sultan.’

In the Land Rover, Dillon lit a cigarette. ‘You’re actually a Cambridge don?’

‘A Fellow of Corpus Christi and Hoxley Professor of Marine Archaeology. There’s another thing you should know about me: I used to work for the Secret Security Services when I was a lot younger and rather more foolish. Cousin Charles has filled me in on you and your friends, so I know what you’re up to, but frankly I don’t care as long as you do some diving for me.’

‘Well, that sounds okay,’ Billy told him.

‘Billy is a master diver,’ Dillon said. ‘He’s good.’

‘And you?’

‘Okay I’m just modest, and I do have another agenda.’

‘A Rashid agenda?’ Stone smiled. ‘Kate Rashid turned up yesterday with four Irishmen, Northern variety. Should make you feel at home, Dillon.’

‘And where would they be staying?’

‘The Excelsior Hotel down on the waterfront. It’s like a set from an old Warner Brothers movie. All you need is Humphrey Bogart. I said I wanted a cold beer and we’ll have it there.’ Dillon lit another cigarette and Stone added, ‘Give me one.’

‘Sure.’

Stone took it and inhaled with conscious pleasure. ‘Let me just tell you one thing. What you’re up to is your business, but I would like to point out that this is the sort of place where they’ll cut your balls off for a packet of Marlboros.’

‘The dogs,’ Harry Salter said. ‘We can’t have that, can we?’

There were cottages in the grounds of the Excelsior Hotel. Kate had booked Bell and his three friends into a triple complex around a small courtyard. She herself was staying at the Rashid villa, which also housed the company headquarters and a small computer and communications setup.

A young Arab came into her office and placed

a couple of sheets on her desk. ‘A UN plane landed a short while ago. These are the passengers downloaded from the computer.’

Kate had a look and smiled. ‘Well, now.’

‘Picked up by Professor Stone.’

‘Get my jeep. I’ll take a run down to the harbour.’

The port of Hazar was small, with narrow alleys and white buildings stepped back up the hillside. The Excelsior, as Stone had indicated, was very old-fashioned, with electric fans turning in the ceiling, a huge marble-topped bar, french windows open to the harbour. There was an assortment of vessels there, a few small coastal freighters, many dhows. Stone pointed to a spot a mile out.

‘There’s the Sultan, the big old dhow. The ship we’re looking at, an American ammunition ship sunk by a U-boat on its way to Japan, is about ninety feet down.’ They were sitting on the hotel terrace, the awning flapping above them in the wind.

‘What’s this Phoenician thing?’ Billy asked.

‘Oh, some of the boys brought up shards of

pottery and various other items. It’s down there, all right. What’s left of it. I’ve carbon-dated them. They’re possibly from a couple of hundred bc, but you can’t be sure.’

‘I can’t wait to go down.’

‘Billy’s an enthusiast,’ Dillon said.

Behind him, Bell, Brosnan, O’Hara and Costello came into the bar and sat on the high stools. In the moment Dillon saw them in the mirror, Bell saw him. He was totally astonished.

Dillon got up. ‘With me, Billy.’ He walked over. ‘Why, Aidan. You’re a long way from Drumcree and all that soft Irish rain.’

‘Jesus,’ Bell said. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Being your worst nightmare.’

Costello, who had just sampled his beer, raised the glass suddenly, but Billy kicked him hard on the right ankle, hooked his arm and removed it from his hand.

‘That’s very stupid. Do that again and I’ll put it in your face.’

A quiet voice said, ‘No need for that.’

Dillon turned and found Kate Rashid standing there.

‘Why, Kate,’ he said. ‘And aren’t you the wonder of the world? You turn up everywhere.’

They walked back to the terrace, while Stone and the Salters maintained an uneasy truce with Bell and company.

‘Bizarre, isn’t it?’ Dillon said. ‘Do you know Stone?’

‘Of him. So what are you doing here?’ ‘I’m diving for him. If you know anything about Hazar, you’ll know about the Sultan.’

‘Oh, I know everything about it, just as I know everything about you and your friends the Salters. You mix in interesting company, Dillon.’

‘Very true, Kate. Harry Salter is legitimate now — mostly - but still one of the most influential villains in London. Billy’s killed four times. They’re not Chesterfields,’ Dillon said.

‘Yes, and you’re not here to spend your time diving for Hal Stone.’

‘Oh, yes, I’ll dive for the Professor, and so will Billy.’

‘And nothing else?’ ‘Kate, my love, what could there be?’ ‘You’re on my case, Dillon.’ ‘Beware the heat of the sun, Kate. It can lead to paranoia.’ He finished his beer and got up. ‘I’ll have to love you and leave you. I can’t wait to check out that wreck.’

She went back to the bar. Bell said, ‘What’s that little shite up to?’

‘There’s nothing he can do here,’ she said. ‘Not a damn thing. This is Hazar. The Council of Elders think they control it, but not for much longer. Soon it will be all Rashid. Now let’s go to your bungalow and look at the plans.’

In the living room of Bell’s cottage, many papers were stacked on a desk, including a large Ordnance Survey map. Bell said, ‘There’s only one main road up there.’

‘To the Holy Wells, yes.’ She nodded. ‘And next Tuesday, all twelve of the Council of Elders will be there.’

‘You still haven’t said how you want it done. Ambush or Semtex bomb? We can do either.’

T think the bomb would be more persuasive. I’ll arrange to have some of my people take you up there, so you can see for yourself.’

‘Excellent. But what about Dillon?’

‘Oh, I’ll take care of that. You know what they say? Diving is a hazardous occupation.’

The wind blowing in from the sea was warm and somehow perfumed with spices as they left

the harbour in an old motorboat crewed by two Arabs.

‘Christ, Dillon, you don’t half bring us to some strange places,’ Harry Salter said.

‘Come off it, Harry, you love it. It’s the edge of danger, this place. You’ll need a shooter in your pocket. As the Professor said, you’re up,against the kind of people who’ll cut your balls off for a packet of fags.’

‘I’d like them to try,’ Salter said. ‘I haven’t had a bit of action for a while. That Sultan looks like something out of an old Sinbad movie.’

Stone laughed. ‘You’re just about right, Harry, if I can call you that. Its great virtue is that it’s big. Lots of cabins on board.’

Dillon breathed deeply of the salt air, and a school of flying fish erupted from the water.

‘Jesus, Dillon,’ Billy said. ‘This is special. I mean, this is the real business.’

They coasted up to the Sultan. Someone threw a line, and they tied up and mounted the ladder one by one.

‘The boys will take care of things,’ Hal Stone said. ‘I’ll show you your quarters.’

As it turned out, Billy and his uncle were sharing, and Dillon had a cabin to himself in the stern. He

unpacked, then checked out the weaponry bag. He laid out the AK-47S on a table, the Parker-Hale machine pistols, the Brownings with the silencers, his own favoured Walther. There was a kick on the door, it opened and Billy and his uncle came in. ‘Are we going to war again?’ Billy asked. ‘Well, we are in the war zone, Billy.’ Dillon shoved two Brownings over. ‘Loaded plus spare clips. You need something in your pocket here, especially with Bell and company around.’

‘Yes, well, screw them.’ Harry Salter hefted a Browning. ‘Yes, this will do me nicely.’ He put it in his pocket, plus the extra clip. ‘Loaded for Bell.’

Billy did the same. ‘All right, so we’ve got the heavy artillery here.’

‘Only for when it’s necessary.’ ‘At the moment, all I want is to go down to that wreck.’

‘Well, let’s go out on deck and we’ll see.’ There were three Arab divers on deck as Dillon and Billy got ready. Stone was there, and Harry Salter shook his head.

‘I don’t know, Dillon,’ Salter said. ‘I mean, it isn’t natural, all this diving.’

‘You’re right.’ Dillon was pulling on a blue

diving suit. ‘The air we breathe is part oxygen and nitrogen. The deeper I go, the more nitrogen is absorbed and that’s when trouble starts.’

He clamped a tank to his inflatable and strapped an Orca computer to the line of his air-pressure gauge. He eased on the jacket with the tank, found a net diving bag and a lamp, then spat in his mask and pulled it on. Billy was doing the same. Dillon made the okay signal with his finger and thumb, and went over the rail backwards, followed by Billy.

Way, way below was a great reef, with coral outcrops, sponges, a kind of blue vault. A crowd of barracuda swam by, there were angel and parrot fish, silversides, horse-eyed jacks. It was a total joy, and Dillon jack-knifed and went down, checking his dive computer for its automatic readings on depth, elapsed time underwater and safe time remaining.

And then, there below, was the freighter, still in very reasonable condition. Dillon turned, made the OK sign to Billy and went down.

He led the way in through a torpedo hole on the starboard side, worked his way through a maze of passageways, emerged through another torpedo hole in the stern and paused. He made a sign to

Billy, thumbs down, and jack-knifed again.

There in the detritus on the seabed under the stern, he hovered and scrabbled with gloved hands and, by a miracle, came up trumps straight away. What he pulled out was a small figurine, a religious figure, a woman with large eyes and a swollen belly.

Billy came close and looked, his expression ecstatic, then he went down himself and started to search. Dillon hovered, then Billy came up with some sort of plate. Dillon nodded and they started up.

Back on the boat, they held their finds out for Hal Stone and stripped off their diving gear. The Professor was delighted.

‘Dammit, Dillon, this figurine is a major find. The British Museum would go crazy for it.’ ‘And what about my plate?’ Billy demanded. ‘It’s a temple votive plate, Billy, and an absolute beauty.’

Billy turned to his uncle. ‘There you go. I mean, we’ve brought up stuff the British Museum would give their eye teeth for.’

‘And we’ve only started, Billy,’ Dillon said as he lit a cigarette and turned to Stone. ‘We’ve got visitors.’