Midnight Runner (8 page)

"Time to go, old son," he said softly, lit another cigarette, and the mobile in his left breast pocket rang.

The Codex Four was not available on the open market. It had been developed for intelligence use in places where strict security was necessary, and Villiers had his courtesy of Ferguson.

"That you, Tony? Ferguson here."

"Charles, how's every little thing at the Ministry of Defence?"

"Put your scrambler on."

Villiers pressed a red button. "Done."

Ferguson said, "Where are you?"

"Wouldn't mean a thing to you, Charles. Marama Rocks, just on the border with the Empty Quarter. I'm on patrol here with a few of my men."

"You've got a new second-in-command, I hear."

"Yes, another Cornet, from the Lifeguards this time, named Bobby Hawk. He's off in the other direction with his patrol. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I've just heard that Kate Rashid's flying in tomorrow."

"Well, that's not unusual. She comes here all the time."

"I know, but there've been some funny things going on here. I just have a gut feeling, that's all. Where does she go?"

"Lands at Hamam, then goes to Shabwa Oasis by helicopter in the Empty Quarter. But you know that, you've been there yourself."

"Is anything going on there, Tony?"

"I wouldn't know. I'm forbidden by the Sultan's decree these days to go over the border into the Empty Quarter."

"Don't you find that strange?"

"Not really. All right, I know Kate Rashid has the Sultan by the throat, so I assume that it's her order, not his. But she's the leader of the Rashid Bedu and that's Rashid territory. End of story."

"Could there be something going on out there?"

"Preparing for a revolution, you mean? Come on, Charles, what does she need a revolution for? She's got everything she wants."

"All right, all right, but be a good chap. Scout around, put the word out."

"If I do, Kate Rashid will know in five minutes, but all right, I'll do what I can. I'm due down at the port tomorrow anyway."

"Good man, Tony, keep in touch."

Villiers sat there thinking about it, then called, "Selim." His Sergeant came over. "A big place, the Empty Quarter."

"Awesome, Sahb."

"A man could hide out there forever."

"This is true, Sahb."

"In fact, many men?"

Selim looked a little hunted. "This is possible, Sahb."

"Shabwa is not the only oasis your people use, there are others."

"All Rashid, Sahb."

"So, if others came, from another tribe for instance, you would know."

"We would kill them, Sahb. Any oasis is ours, the wells are ours."

"But if such people had permission, say, from the Countess?"

Selim was caught and terribly upset. "Yes, Sahb, that would be different." His face was pale.

"Yes, I thought so." Villiers patted his shoulder. "We move out in ten minutes."

Villiers turned and looked to the Empty Quarter. There was something out there. Ferguson's wild shot had been right. Poor old Selim, so transparent. But what could it be? No way of knowing. If he strayed over the border, he wouldn't last half a day. The Bedu would know--knew where he was now, come to that. He sighed, took out the Codex Four, and dialed Charles Ferguson back, rather sooner than he had intended.

D
illon was at The Dorchester just before seven, dressed in a black Brioni suit, white shirt, and black tie. He called it his undertaker look, which was appropriate, since he carried a Walther in a special pocket under his left arm. He was greeted by Giuliano, the manager.

"Bushmills," Dillon said. "General Ferguson will be joining me, and we'll want a bottle of Cristal then."

"I'll see to it personally."

There weren't that many people in. It was too early for the evening rush, and a Monday evening anyway. Dillon accepted the Bushmills from Giuliano and waited. A moment later, Ferguson joined him.

"So--no sign of the opposition?"

"Not as yet. Champagne?"

"I suppose so."

Dillon nodded to Giuliano, who smiled and spoke to a waiter who brought the Cristal in a bucket. Giuliano opened the bottle, Ferguson did the tasting.

"Fine." He turned to Dillon. "I've had two phone calls with Tony Villiers. Let me tell you about them."

Afterwards, Dillon said, "Still nothing concrete. But Tony smells something, too. That's good enough for me."

Ferguson looked around. "Still no sign of her. You could be wrong, Sean."

"It's been known to happen. But not tonight, I think." He smiled. "I know what'll bring her."

He walked over to the pride of the bar, the extraordinary mirrored grand piano that had once belonged to Liberace, sat down, and lifted the lid. Giuliano came over with his glass of Cristal.

"All right with you?" Dillon asked.

"Of course. It's always a pleasure to hear you play. The pianist isn't in until eight."

Dillon started with a Gershwin melody, just as Harry and Billy Salter appeared at the bar entrance. Harry, who was into Savile Row suits that season, wore a navy blue chalk stripe, the kind of thing beloved of bank presidents. Billy wore an expensive-looking black bomber jacket and black slacks. They crossed to the bar and Ferguson said, "Good God, what are you rogues doing here?"

"My idea," Dillon called.

"And mine, General." Harry sat down. "Dillon's filled us in on everything."

"Damn you, Sean, that's totally out of order," Ferguson said.

"Come off it, General, as far as the Countess of Loch Dhu is concerned, we're in this together, the four of us, all tarred with the same brush."

"Dead right," Harry said. "So I'll have a glass of champagne with you and await events."

Dillon called. "Tell them about Tony Villiers."

"Oh, all right." And Ferguson did.

More people had come in, scattered around the room at various tables. Billy walked to the piano and leaned on it. Dillon was playing "A Foggy Day in London Town."

"I like that," Billy said. "'I was a stranger in the city.'"

"'Out of town were the people I knew.'" Dillon smiled. "You're looking good, Billy."

"Never mind the soft soap. What do you think she's playing at?"

"I've no idea. Why don't you ask her? She's just come in."

Billy turned and found Kate Rashid standing at the top of the steps, Rupert Dauncey beside her. She wore a black trouser suit, her hair tied back, a pair of very large diamond studs, and no other jewelry. Rupert wore a single-breasted navy blue blazer and gray slacks, a scarf at his neck.

Billy turned back. "Seeing her reminds me: There's something I always wanted to ask you, Dillon. You never married. Are you bent or something?"

Dillon spluttered and then started to laugh. When he was in control, he said, "It's simple, Billy. I'm always drawn to the wrong women."

"You mean the bad ones."

"And the Hannah Bernsteins of this world wouldn't touch me with a bargepole, not with my wicked past. Now if we could postpone this discussion of my sexual proclivity for a while, here she comes."

Kate Rashid approached and Billy went and stood behind his uncle. She passed the group at the table and moved to the piano. Rupert lit a cigarette.

"Very nice, Dillon," she said.

"I told you once before, Kate: Good barroom piano is all. I take it this is the famous Rupert Dauncey?"

"Of course. Rupert, the famous Sean Dillon."

They nodded, then Dillon shook a cigarette from a pack of Marlboros and put it in his mouth one-handed. Dauncey offered him a light and Dillon moved into another number. "You recognize this one, Kate?"

"Of course. 'Our Love Is Here to Stay.'"

"I wanted you to feel at home. Why don't you say hello to the boys?"

"Why not, indeed." She turned to the table. "Why, General Ferguson, what a pleasant surprise. I don't think you've met my cousin, Rupert Dauncey."

Ferguson said, "No, but I feel I know him well." He shook Dauncey's hand.

"A pleasure, General."

"Join us for a glass of champagne."

"Thank you," Kate Rashid said, and Dauncey pulled a chair forward and seated her. "You'll be fascinated by the General's friends, Rupert. Mr. Salter here is a gangster, but no ordinary gangster. For years, he was one of the most important guvnors, as they call it, in the East End of London. Isn't that so, Mr. Salter? Billy here is his nephew, another gangster."

Billy didn't say a word but simply looked at her, his face pale, and left it to his uncle.

"If you say so, Countess," Harry said, and turned to Rupert. "We know all about you, son, you do a good act."

"I'll take that as a compliment, coming from you, Mr. Salter."

Rupert drank some champagne and Dillon came back and joined them. "So what do you want, Kate?"

"Why, Dillon, nothing--nothing at all. I thought it was you who wanted to see me. You left your calling card, after all, and I wouldn't want to disappoint you, of all people." She picked up her glass of Cristal and emptied it in a single swallow. "But I'm hungry, and I don't want to eat here. Where should we go, Rupert?"

"Don't ask me, sweetie. London's your town."

"Somewhere fresh would be nice, somewhere new." She turned to Salter. "Come to think of it, didn't I read in one of the gossip columns that you've opened a new restaurant, Mr. Salter? Harry's Place? Hangman's Wharf, isn't it?"

"Going a bomb," he said. "Booked up for weeks."

"What a shame, Rupert, and I so wanted to try Mr. Salter's cooking."

"We can make room," Harry said. "Call the restaurant, Billy."

Billy's face was almost bone white now. He glanced at Dillon, who nodded slightly. Billy took out a mobile and dialed. After a few moments, he said, "All right, it's done."

Kate Rashid said, "How kind. So, we'll be on our way, Rupert." He pulled out her chair and she got up. "We'll see you gentlemen there."

"You can count on it," Dillon told her.

She reached up and kissed his cheek. "Later, then, Dillon."

She turned and went. Rupert said, "Gentlemen," and followed her.

"There's something about that bastard," Billy said. "And I just don't like it."

"That's because you have good taste, Billy," Dillon said. He drained his glass. "Let's go."

A
s the Bentley drove away from The Dorchester, Kate Rashid pulled the partition glass panel shut.

"Make the call."

Rupert dialed a number on his mobile and said, "It's on." He frowned. "How the hell do I know what time? You wait, okay?" He switched off and shook his head. "I've said it before. Good help is so hard to find these days."

"Poor Rupert." She took out a cigarette, he lit it for her, and she leaned back.

H
arry's Place was another of Salter's warehouse conversions on Hangman's Wharf. The old yard had been converted into a car park. There were new window frames in mahogany and the exterior brickwork had been cleaned and a few steps had been added to make the front entrance more imposing. Next to it flowed the Thames, with plenty of traffic on the river, the lights sparkling on the other side as darkness fell.

There was a line at the door, mainly young people hoping for a cancellation for the restaurant or admittance to the lounge bar. Joe Baxter and Sam Hall stood at the top of the steps wearing tuxedos and black ties.

The Bentley drew up and Rupert got out and opened the door for Kate.

Baxter said to Hall, "That's her," and went to meet them. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Countess."

"These are Mr. Baxter and Mr. Hall, Rupert. I have very nice pictures of them on my computer."

There were two young men at the front of the line sporting black silk bomber jackets with a scarlet dragon on the back and Chinese characters underneath. They both wore gold earrings, and their hair was long and black. The one who spoke up had a Cockney accent.

"Here, how are they getting in and we can't even make the bar?"

"I'll tell you what you'll make," Joe Baxter said. "The back of the line if you don't shut up."

The man subsided, muttering under his breath, and Hall held the door wide to pass them through, then followed. He escorted them up the stairs, where the headwaiter stood at the booking desk, a dark, energetic Portuguese in a white tuxedo.

"Fernando, these are Mr. Salter's guests."

Fernando smiled. "A pleasure," and led the way into the restaurant, which was beautifully designed in Art Deco style, tables dotted around a small dance floor, booths behind. There was a cocktail bar straight out of the thirties, and a trio played dance music. All the waiters wore white monkey jackets.

Fernando led the way to a large booth, and two of the boys pulled the table out so they could sit.