Rain on the Dead (29 page)

“And why would that be?”

“The Master spoke to me last night and told me your mother was a Jew.”

“Why would he do that?”

“I think it gave him pleasure to try to hurt me, expecting that as a Muslim, I would turn away.”

“And what
did
it do to you?”

“Made me want to comfort you and tell you it didn’t matter.” She nodded, as if considering the point. “You’re tired, so I’ll go now. If you need me, you know where I am. There is no obligation.”

He turned just as Maggie Duncan was opening the door, and she ushered him out. “She seems to be crying?”

He smiled gravely. “I hope for the right reason, Matron. If I may, I’ll keep in touch.”

“Of course.”

He left, and she returned to Lily. “All right, my dear?”

“Absolutely. I just got the greatest surprise of my life, but I’ll sleep again now, I think, and speak later.”

—

Hamid Bey was surprisingly calm as he drove away. It was the strangest feeling that everything had changed, and as he put his foot down and the car increased speed, he smiled, thinking of the Master. He’d only meant harm by telling Hamid that Lily was Jewish, but he had opened up a new pathway for him instead, and hopefully for her also.

There was road work at the bottom of the hill that he’d had to negotiate on the way up, but now the car started to shake going into the bend. He stamped on the brakes and nothing happened, nothing at all. He scraped around by some miracle and found a five-ton concrete truck slewed across the road, workers scrambling out of trenches, and then there was only the truck as he swept on like a bullet, and then there was nothing.

—

Giles Roper picked up a police report of the accident and called Maggie Duncan at once.

“You were expecting Hamid Bey, Matron?”

“Yes, he’s been and gone.”

“Further than you think. Killed in a car crash not much more than a mile or two from you.”

“That’s dreadful,” she said, and groaned. “How am I going to tell Lily Shah about this?”

“How is she?”

“Very poorly.”

“I should have thought he was the last person she needed to see.”

“No, he was completely different. No robes, business suit, quiet and well-mannered. A new model in every way. To be honest, having experienced him as he was before, it was very strange to see him like that.”

“And Lily?”

“She’d cried a little when they spoke, but they parted on good terms. She’s sleeping quite deeply now. God knows how I’m going to break the news to her.”

“And how many times have you had to say that over the years? Take care.”

—

In the penthouse apartment on the huge top floor of the Edwardian house in Mayfair, the Master sat at the desk in his velvet bathrobe, drinking coffee and listening to the transmitter pouring out information, useful or otherwise, compiled continuously by the Grand Council. It was morning and he was just risen, having
followed his usual practice of walking home instead of using a taxi, for security was his personal obsession.

He had just heard the news of Hamid Bey’s death, which he had not intended. His exploit with the imam’s car had been meant to teach the man a lesson, not kill him. A nuisance, since it would be necessary to find someone to fill his place. The Grand Council would feel considerably put out, but that would be easy enough to handle. He could always blame Ferguson’s people.

He poured more coffee, then moved to the window and peered out. He loved this part of Mayfair, the rooftops, the echo of Big Ben in the distance, even the damn rain washing the streets below and the promise of more, and thought of Lily. She was not in good condition, but she would survive. Ali Herim was something else again and very possibly would die. But that was all right. He was a soldier and had taken a soldier’s risks. But they all were when you considered it. Ferguson, Cazalet, Sara Gideon, even Dillon, to give him his due, though his army had been the IRA.

People like the Salters were different, of course, cheap gangsters when you thought of it. Just look at what Billy Salter had done to the
Tara
, and it suddenly struck him that he hadn’t checked to see if Terry Harker was still surviving.

—

The
Arabella
in St. Jude’s Dock was a miserable place to be, swamped in mist and heavy rain. The only good thing about it was that the electric cable and water pipe connection to the shore supply were still holding up, so there was a certain amount of heat to make the all-pervading damp bearable, especially with a blanket over your shoulders, which Terry had.

He was past being unshaven, a beard sprouting, and he’d removed the dressing from his ear, which was better than he had feared. There was powdered milk, frozen meals to microwave, tinned food, and booze. Plenty of that, and he was pouring hot water into a large whiskey when the phone buzzed.

He hesitated, then found the Master when he answered. “How are you bearing up?”

“How the hell do you think I am?” Terry asked. “It’s like living in a swamp. How are things doing at the Sash?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea. For God’s sake, Terry, it was only two days ago that
Tara
went plunging to the bottom, and God knows where she is now. This bad weather coupled with exceptional currents can bounce wrecks all the way down to the Goodwin Sands and the sea.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Terry drank some of his whiskey. “When you think what Billy Salter did.” He shook his head. “And I thought I’d seen some bad times in the army, but never mind that. What
is
going to happen to the Sash? Who’s running the place, paying the staff, ordering the supplies, replacing the booze?”

“Breathe deeply and start getting your head straight,” the Master told him. “So much has happened in a short time. The Sash has stopped dead for a while. It can wait.”

“What for? A few more people to get knocked off?” Terry demanded.

“If that’s what it takes, yes. You know how these Sicilian mafiosi have it. All your doubts will be resolved.”

“I’m not sure about that anymore,” Terry said.

“You’ve nowhere to go.
I’m
all you’ve got. So shut up, and wait. I’ll be in touch.”

So much had happened that Ferguson decided it was time to call a meeting. Cazalet had insisted on staying involved and arrived with Sara and Hannah. Billy and Harry Salter were there, Declan with Khalid Abed, and Ferguson was with Henry Frankel, who was representing the Prime Minister.

Ferguson said, “I’d like to start by expressing our appreciation to Jake Cazalet for insisting on being here.”

“It’s where I should be,” Cazalet said. “I was there at the beginning, so I certainly have every intention of being here at the end.”

Ferguson said, “This affair is only a few weeks old, but the carnage has been terrific. Those two Chechen assassins at Nantucket, Bell and Tully at Drumgoole, although we still have no idea who shot Dr. Ali Saif outside the gate here. He’s been close to death, but rallying.”

Roper said, “He still finds speech very difficult, so if his response is poor when you try to communicate, do the best you can.”

“We’ll take that on board,” Ferguson said. “Then we have Terry
Harker, wounded and on the run, thanks to Hannah being as expert with a pistol as she is at playing a piano.”

Harry cut in, “Have we any information on where he is?”

“Not at the moment,” Roper said. “But it’s only a matter of time.”

Ferguson carried on. “Then we have the people on the
Tara
. Congratulations to Billy for that operation, at considerable personal risk, and I’ve no complaints about the way he had to do it.”

Sara said, “So what about the shooting last night?”

“It appears likely that the Master struck personally, his intention being to dispose of Captains Abed and Herim. I’m going to allow Colonel Rashid to explain that situation to you.”

Declan did, finishing by saying, “I think we all see that these two young officers had little choice in what they did. Captain Ali Herim is hanging on to life by a thread. Whether he lives or dies—the two of them are on our side now.”

“Well, I’ll second that,” Harry said.

Ferguson turned to Roper. “Anything to add?”

“Just to confirm—when the boys told the Master they’d been rumbled and were making a run for it, there’s no doubt he was the one who ambushed them, because they had to be shut up. Lily took him on and he’d no hesitation in shooting her, which shows what a ruthless bastard he is, considering that she was obviously the woman he used on Nantucket.”

“So what will he do now?” Cazalet said.

Roper said, “My opinion? It has to be something spectacular. The Grand Council has to be so displeased with him that he’s hanging by a thread. Whatever it is has got to be fast.”

“So will we,” Ferguson said. “So I suggest we adjourn for lunch and put our thinking caps on. Anything you can come up with will be welcome. Speak to Roper or me or shout it aloud.”

Ferguson’s Codex sounded, he listened, got up and walked away to his office, and Cazalet took the seat he’d vacated beside Roper. “Could we talk?”

“Of course, Mr. President.” Roper had used the title automatically and didn’t know why, except that there was something very serious about Cazalet at that moment.

“Years ago, my first presidential term took place while the war between the IRA and the British Army was at its worst, blood on the streets. British Intelligence had an agreement to keep us fully informed of the most delicate intelligence, but it turned out that it was being passed on by someone on the White House staff to various Irish sources linked to terrorism.” He turned to Roper. “It was slightly before your time, Major. You were busy defusing complicated bombs.”

“Indeed I was, sir.”

“Well, we couldn’t accept that, and then we came across a special computer program called SYNOD. The CIA had used it in the Cold War, and it had enjoyed considerable success in catching Russian spies.”

“Would have been a bit before my time. Do you recall how it worked, sir?” Roper asked.

“It was like an early version of ECHELON. Millions of conversations passed through word recognition. You’d insert a name and the computer tagged it for you, then it took you back, so that you could listen to the relevant conversations. We caught the villain
of the piece, a White House senior staffer no one would have suspected.”

Sara said, “So maybe we could do the same with the Master’s mobile phones that have passed through our hands. You’ve still got the one the Master gave Tod Flynn, I hope?” she asked Dillon.

“Not that I got anywhere with it, but yes, I have,” he told her. “And I’d presume Lily Shah has one, if she really was the lady sympathetic to their cause that the Master mentioned.”

“Of course,” Roper said. “She’s bound to have, surely.”

Cazalet said to Roper, “Interesting, isn’t it, but I suppose yanking old hardware like that back into service is pretty well impossible?”

“Actually, no. In fact, it’s got me so intrigued, I can’t wait to try it. So if you don’t mind, I’m going to get to work. I’d appreciate you letting me have that mobile phone, Sean.”

“It’s upstairs in my room,” Dillon told him. “I’ll get it for you.”

He was back quickly, gave it to Roper, then joined the others. Of Ferguson there was no sign.

“He’s been gone long enough,” Dillon said. “I wonder if there’s something wrong,” and at that moment, Ferguson hurried in and called to Maggie Hall, “Coffee, and strong as you like. I can do with it.”

“Trouble?” Dillon asked.

“You could say. Sir Howard Glynn turned up at Rosedene with Max Shelby. They hadn’t appreciated how serious Ali Herim’s gunshot wound was, and Glynn was very interested, having served as an army surgeon when he was in uniform, so he got deep in conversation with Bellamy. Then there was quite a fuss.”

“What happened?” Dillon asked.

“Ali Saif had some sort of convulsive fit, couldn’t speak because
of choking, and his struggles caused him to yank out some of his lines.”

“And Lily?” Sara asked.

“Woke up, having problems with her mobile. According to Maggie Duncan, she thought it was the Master and said it wouldn’t speak to her. Obviously, she was delirious.”

Hannah made a face and whispered to Sara, “I’d say Roper might like to have a listen to that phone. Perhaps we should go and get it for him.”

“I’m up for it if you want to take a run to Rosedene,” Dillon said. “I’ll just tell Roper we’re going and we’ll get out of here.”

“And I’ll see if he’s getting anywhere with SYNOD,” Cazalet told them, and led the way out.

—

At Rosedene they found Maggie Duncan holding the fort. She said, “Bellamy’s at Great Ormond Street. Heart operation on a child, no avoiding that, but Dr. Saif has settled down now. Sir Howard and Max Shelby were shocked at his condition. He seemed to be choking at one stage.”

“We understand he had a fit,” Sara said.

“Well, Dr. Saif being MI5 now, their concern is personal. He’s terribly bad off and getting through to him is difficult. He has that . . . hunted look that you sometimes see in hospitals, as if the individual wonders what’s going to happen next. I’ll take you in.”