The Killing Ground (15 page)

But Harry didn’t believe it, and with Hall and Baxter walked to the car park. Suddenly, the Russians appeared, three of them with baseball bats swinging sideways into the cars, smashing windows, denting fenders.

Harry didn’t hesitate, took the Colt from his pocket and ducked under Makeev’s flailing baseball bat, stuck the weapon against the Russian’s right kneecap and pulled the trigger. The others, shocked, wavered and Baxter picked up the baseball bat Makeev had dropped. He swung it sideways, fracturing the side of a man’s face, and then the other way, fracturing an arm.

The Harker twins arrived on the run, Ruby behind them, and Harry fired in the air.

The Russians froze. Makeev was writhing on the ground, moaning terribly. Harry reached out and pulled the nearest Russian over. “You came in a car—which is it?” The man pointed to a white van. “Get him in it, in fact all of you get in it and deliver him to Saint Mary’s. Of course, you’ll stay shtum because I wasn’t here, was I? I was elsewhere. Lots of people saw me. Who was the contract for?” he inquired of the driver.

“Better tell me, sunshine, I won’t hold it against you.”

“Stransky said it was for Max Chekov.”

“Really?” Harry said. “The oligarch? Interesting. Thanks very much.”

The van drove away, and Stransky, sitting in his car nearby, whispered to Bikov, “We better go.”

“I’ll have to switch on the engine,” Bikov said.

Harry’s boys moved in their direction instantly and Harry himself tapped on the window on the passenger’s side. “Get the door open unless you want broken glass all over you.”

Stransky complied. “Now look, Harry.”

“I thought you knew only my friends call me Harry. What have I done to Chekov to make him annoyed?”

“He was doing a favor for a friend, that’s all I know, some broker guy

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told me to mess you up.” He didn’t bother telling Harry that wasn’t all Chekov intended to do.

“Bizarre,” Harry said. “But I like it. London’s everybody’s favorite destination these days, capital of the world, even for the gangsters. I feel it might be necessary for me to keep up the reputation of the
British
gangster.”

He reached inside the car, prodded Stransky’s left kneecap and pulled the trigger. He couldn’t tell what Stransky said because it was in Russian, but the man howled like a werewolf.

“Go on, get out of here,” Harry said, and Bikov put his foot down and drove away.

Baxter and Hall applauded as he offered his arm to Ruby. “God, you’re a hard man,” Ruby said. “I never realized.”

“Well, let’s go back inside. Champagne for everyone!”

T H E F O L L O W I N G M O R N I N G , as Chekov was getting out of the shower in his sumptuous apartment off Park Lane, the front doorbell sounded.

Chekov cursed, because the maid didn’t come in until nine o’clock.

He went to the window, toweling himself. The flat was a duplex, and when he looked out a motorcycle was parked at the curb and a man stood on the step wearing black leather and helmet and a yellow waistcoat with Express Delivery emblazoned on it. He held a cardboard box and waited. Chekov pulled on a robe, went downstairs and opened the door.

The face was anonymous behind the black plastic. “Mr. Max Chekov?”

“That’s me. What have we got here?” He took the box in both hands.

“Flowers,” the man said. “Lilies.” He pulled at the end of the box, produced a sawn-off double-barreled shotgun, rammed it against Chekov’s left knee and pulled the trigger.

Chekov was hurled backward. The man said, “Have a nice day,” went down the steps to the motorcycle and drove away.

7 IT WAS QUIET AT THE AIRPORT AT SIX IN THE MORNING, AS

Lacey and Parry kept up a semblance of working on the Gulfstream, the cowling of the port engine still off. A hawk of some kind swept in, dived on some creature or other in the brush on the other side of the runway, and Said appeared in a Land Rover.

“Have you fixed it?”

“Just about.” Lacey nodded. “Started early while it’s still cool.”

“I know what you mean. I’m going downtown early for the same reason.”

“Things don’t look too busy.”

“As usual, it’s like the morgue. There’s an old Dakota on a transport run from Kuwait, in around eleven o’clock, and today’s a British Airways flight. Due at three in the afternoon.”

“That should be lively.”

“Not really. I’ve seen the numbers. Seventy-three people. Hardly worth bothering with. I’ll see you later. I’ll need to be back for the Dakota.”

“I might be ready for that test flight later.”

“No problem. There’s no traffic, so just go.”

He drove away and Parry said, “That’s nice of him.”

“Don’t count your chickens. Now let’s go across and see if she’s open for breakfast yet.”

A B O U T S E V E N , Caspar and Billy ran the inflatable to the jetty where the station wagon was parked. Billy got behind the wheel and drove it a short distance to the garage and made certain the tank was full. When

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he returned, Caspar passed him three flight bags. Billy was just wearing his green diving jacket, his eyes anonymous behind dark glasses. Caspar maintained his full disguise, the fold across his face. The harbor was barely stirring.

“It’s going to be hot later,” Billy said.

“You could be right.”

They got into the boat and Billy turned on the engine and moved away from the jetty.

“How are you feeling?”

“How should I feel?”

“Damn it, Caspar, you are her father.”

“True, but in such a situation as I find myself, I realize I’m still a Muslim and, as we say,
Inshallah
—as God wills.”

“Maybe.” Billy pushed up to top speed and went out in a long sweeping curve toward the
Sultan.
“And maybe not.”

H A L S T O N E W A S S I T T I N G in a wicker chair, a cup of coffee on the table beside him, a pair of enormous glasses to his eyes, gazing toward the great house on the cliff.

“A number of gardeners working away. Activity already on the water, several fishing boats. Mainly on that side, things like motorboats, skiers.

The beach over there attracts them.”

Billy took the glasses from him and looked.

“I see what you mean.” He handed them back. “Where’s Dillon?”

“In the galley seeing to bacon and eggs.”

“That’s even better,” Billy said, and went down the companionway.

Dillon was whisking scrambled eggs. Like Billy, he just wore a diving jacket. “I’ve left the weapons in the saloon on the table. You’d better take a look.”

“What about the woman?” Billy asked.

“She’ll be frightened out of her wits if things go our way. I’ve put some stuff out that should take care of it.”

126

J A C K H I G G I N S

Billy went into the saloon. There were two Walther PPKs on the table, Carswell silencers screwed in place. He handled them both expertly and two Uzi machine pistols that lay beside them. There were some plastic clip-on handcuffs, a roll of plastic tape.

Dillon looked in. “Breakfast’s ready.”

Billy turned, went to the kitchen behind him, picked up a laden tray and Dillon brought another. It was all calm and orderly, the sounds of traffic drifting across the water. They found the others at the table.

“What happens now?” Billy said as he ate.

“We finish eating, then we seem busy, just in case anyone is looking.

Mess around with the diving equipment, stuff like that.”

Hal Stone said, “The Uzis on the table in the saloon. I shouldn’t think Caspar and I would need them.”

“Nice weapon—always liked them,” Dillon said. “If you drop one, it stops automatically.”

“I remember very well,” the professor said. “It’s just that it’s been a long time. What about you, Caspar?”

“My experience with any kind of firearms has been severely limited,”

Rashid said. “So, if things go according to plan, the woman with Sara will be handcuffed, dragged below and locked in a cabin?”

“Better than a bullet, which is what she’d get from some people.

They’ll find her whenever they come looking for Sara and the others.”

“A lot of places to look,” Hal Stone said.

“I think you’ll find the women at the house have already heard about yesterday’s visit.” Dillon shrugged. “Hussein Rashid is a special kind of man. Every sense in him sharpened like some jungle animal. He’ll work out what’s happened here quickly. That’s why we’ve got to move very fast indeed.”

There was silence. Billy went to the side table, got a bottle of Bushmills whiskey, poured half a glass and brought it to Dillon.

“Oh, if only I didn’t hate alcohol, but to us, here’s looking at you.”

Dillon toasted them and emptied the glass, then got up. “Let’s look busy, Billy.”

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“I’m with you.”

Caspar loaded the tray. “I’ll get rid of this.”

Hal Stone said, “Better bring the weapons back with you,” and as Dillon went over the side, he picked up the glasses and focused them on the house on the bluff.

T H E Y D I D N ’ T K N O W I T , but nobody at the house except Sara even wanted to go to South Port that morning. Sitting at a table on the terrace and reading an Arab newspaper, Hussein was enjoying a coffee after breakfast. His uncle had just been called away.

Sara, with Jasmine, stood on the upper terrace looking down on him, Hamid and Hassim behind them, smoking and talking.

Sara turned to them. “Do you know if he’s going to South Port this morning?”

“Well, he doesn’t look like it,” Hamid replied. “He hasn’t said a word.”

She tried to stay calm. “What a shame. I’d hoped to go and see them diving again.”

“I don’t think so.”

At that moment, relief came from an unexpected quarter. Jemal appeared on the upper terrace a few yards away from them, leaned over and shouted to Hussein, “We must leave at once. I’ve had a message from South Port. The loading of the
Kandara
has been disrupted.”

Hussein rose and started up the steps. “What happened?” he called.

“The train was coming down from Bacu with the last load two hours ago, when one of the freight cars was derailed on that bend by Stack Four.”

“How bad is it?”

“It could mean the
Kandara
’s departure being delayed for some days.”

“That would be unfortunate. Our friends in Iraq need those weapons for the big push in Basra next month.”

“We must go at once. See if anything can be done.”

128

J A C K H I G G I N S

“Of course.” Hussein turned to Sara and the young men. “You heard that. Bad trouble. We must get moving. Behave yourself, Sara.”

“Can we go out in the boat?”

“All right—the harbor only, Hamid.” He took his uncle’s arm and helped him up to the entrance to the living room and they vanished inside.

“So—the boat it is.” Hamid looked through the Zeiss glasses at the
Sultan.
“Yes, they’re on the deck, the Bedouin and the old professor and the two divers are getting ready to go down, from the looks of it.”

“We’ll go and take a look.” Now that the moment had come, Sara was intensely nervous, her heart beating. If anything, she felt a little sick, but she tried to pull herself together. “Come on, Jasmine, let’s get going.” She picked up a parasol one of the women had left on a bench and led the way down to the inflatable tied up at the small jetty on the beach below.

Hamid handed her in, then Jasmine. Hassim sat in the prow, his AK

across his knees, and Hamid untied the line and stepped in and sat in the stern.

Sara opened the parasol, Jasmine smiled, and Hamid pressed the starter on the huge outboard motor.

O N T H E S U L T A N , Hal Stone said,“They’re coming. Sara’s the one with the parasol; her companion is the same one as yesterday. The boys are the same. How do we handle it?”

Dillon and Billy had discussed it already and they came up from the diving platform. Dillon pulled the zip of his diving jacket down and slipped one of the Walthers inside. Billy did the same.

“Caspar, you stand on the diving platform to take their line, Billy and I will jump into the sea on the other side when they’re closer, swim round underwater and deal with the boys. Hal, you just be ready for anything.”

Caspar said desperately, “God forgive me, but it’s as good as murder.”

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“You want your daughter back, don’t you?” Dillon said harshly. “So pull yourself together. Come on, Billy.” He dodged round the mast to the other side of the deckhouse.

The sound of the inflatable’s engine was somehow very loud and then it died. Sara’s voice sounded, “Good morning, Professor, here we are again.”

Dillon and Billy dropped over the side, went four or five feet under the water and swam past the prow and toward the diving platform on its line, the inflatable beside it. Dillon gestured to the stern and went up and Billy made for the prow. Hassim was leaning over. “It’s so clear, I can see the ship,” and Billy’s hand clutching the silenced Walther emerged.

The first round caught the boy in the throat, the second between the eyes, hurling him back against Jasmine, who pushed at him with a shrill cry, sending him over into the water.

Hamid was quick, but not quick enough, for his AK was propped against the seat beside him. Realizing how hopeless it was, he flung himself over the stern as Dillon appeared, tearing at Dillon as he did so, leaving Dillon with no option but to pull the trigger several times.

Jasmine cried out again and Hal Stone leaned down at the side of Caspar and pulled her up.

“Oh, my God.” There was absolute horror in Sara’s voice.

Caspar pulled the fold away, revealing his face. “Sara—it’s me.”

Dillon and Billy hauled themselves out of the water. Hamid floated up, rolled over, but there was no sign of Hassim.