Edge of Danger

'Then who?'

'For you and you alone: it's the Council of Elders in Hazar, all twelve of them. They're dragging their feet. They're afraid of me, and they don't want me – they distrust my influence with the tribes, and they're right to. Once I dispose of them and am named the Sultan, I will declare a jihad. Then all the great powers will have reason to tremble.'

'How do you intend to do it?'

'They'll all be together in two weeks. I want you to go down and base yourself in our office in Hazar. I'll join you later.'

'And how will the job be executed?'

'A suitable bomb, and for that we'll need Bell's expertise, and we'll also need to get you there to talk with him without people knowing. Speak to Kelly. He knows some dodgy people, the kind who do illegal flights in small planes from old RAF airstrips. In and out very quickly. Get it arranged.'

'As you say, brother.'

And Kelly came up trumps. He produced a place in Surrey called Grover's Air Taxis, where the proprietor was a shifty-looking middle-aged man in a brown flying jacket and overalls, who met them outside a Second World War Nissen hut, two hangars looming behind.

'Now then, Mick,' Kelly said. 'Let's call this lady Miss Smith and get on with it. As I told you, we need Drumcree. A couple of hours at the most, then back again.'

'No trouble. I can do the old Titan. It's got twin engines and an airstair door.'

'No problem on the approach?'

'None. I'll go in under six hundred from a couple of miles out at sea. There's an old RAF landing strip ten miles out of Drumcree. I'll use my local contact and have a car left there.'

'Good man, then let's go.'

'Just a minute. What about my money?'

Kate opened her briefcase, took out a brown paper envelope, and handed it to him.

'Can we leave now?'

Grover hesitated, obviously tempted to look into the envelope, then thought better of it.

'All right.' He turned and led the way to the end hangar, rolled back the door and disclosed the Titan.

'How long will it take?' Kelly asked.

'Hour and a half, depending on the wind.'

'Fine. Let's get on with it,' Kelly said, and ushered Kate through the airstair door.

She called Bell on her coded mobile when they were halfway across the Irish Sea. She caught him in the kitchen of his farmhouse.

'This is Kate Rashid. I'll be with you in an hour.'

'You'll what?'

'I want to discuss your vacation in a much warmer climate.'

'What are we talking about?'

'A big payday. The alternative target.'

'Well, that's for me, sweetheart.'

'Kelly's minding me,' she said, 'We'll see you at the Royal George.'

Without bothering to check with Ferguson, Dillon had been following Kate Rashid from the moment she'd left London. Wearing black leathers and astride a Suzuki motorcycle, he'd waited in a small copse and watched Kelly, Kate and Grover through glasses. When they got in the Titan and took off, Dillon drove to the village a mile down the road and went into the pub. There was a log fire burning, but no sign of customers. A middle-aged woman came in from the kitchen.

'My God, it's like a funeral parlour in here,' Dillon said cheerfully.

'It's early,' she said. 'What do you expect?'

'A Bushmills whiskey and directions to Hoxby.' He lied effortlessly and lit a cigarette. 'I was surprised to see a plane take off a little while ago.'

'Oh, that's Mick Grover's outfit. Just up the road in an old wartime feeder station. He does crop spraying, the odd charter flight. Don't know how he makes a living.'

'I don't know how I do.' Dillon grinned. 'You do food?'

'That's right.'

'I'll go and see to my business in Hoxby. I'll probably look in on my way back.'

Grover stayed with the plane, and Kelly drove Kate down to the Royal George. It was quiet enough at that time in the morning, only Patrick Murphy, the barman, reading the Belfast Telegraph at the bar. Kelly led the way in.

'Aidan Bell's expecting us.'

'He's in the snug.'

Kate went first and opened the door and Kelly followed. Aidan Bell sat by the fire, smoking a cigarette and drinking tea. He looked up.

'Lady Kate. Now this really does sound interesting. What do you want me to do?'

'What you do best. Twelve Arab sheiks, the Council of Elders in Hazar, are proving a problem.'

'Well now, we can't have that. On the other hand, I'd always understood that the Rashid would follow your brother anywhere. All those wild tribesmen.'

'They will, once the sheiks are taken care of. This one needs the expert touch. It also needs to be a spectacular. Make various people sit up and take notice. You'll need a team, of course.'

'No problem there. I've got some boys.'

'Are they any good?'

'We're all still here, aren't we? And, yes, to answer your question, they won't screw up like Liam. So what's the deal?'

'Rashid Investments has construction interests in Hazar, and I'm flying out today supposedly to supervise them. I want you and your "boys" to turn up the day after tomorrow at Dublin Airport. Our Gulfstream will run you down to Hazar. We'll talk things over more when you arrive.'

'What are you looking for? Some sort of ambush? A bomb? What's your pleasure?'

'We'll discuss that when I see you. Any equipment you need will be down there.'

'So all I have to do is think of the best way of disposing of twelve old Arab sheiks and getting away with my bollocks still intact?'

She laughed harshly. 'True. That last item could be a consideration. We Arabs are terrible people. You must be careful.'

He smiled. 'That I will, Lady Kate. You may be sure.' He raised his teacup. 'A toast. To peace, Lady Kate, to peace.' He took a swallow. 'And stuff it.'

Dillon had shepherd's pie at the pub and a glass of indifferent Sancerre. There were perhaps a dozen people in, locals from the look of them. He finished his meal, paid up and went to his Suzuki. Fifteen minutes later, he was in the copse overlooking the small airfield, waiting.

He sat there, thinking and smoking, sheltering from the light rain, and eventually he heard the sound of engines in the distance and the Titan appeared and turned in for a landing. Dillon watched through his glasses as Kate Rashid, Kelly and Grover talked. Then she and her security man got into her Mercedes and drove away. Dillon waited for a while, then got on the Suzuki and drove down to the airstrip.

In the old Nissen hut, Grover was boiling the kettle on the stove when he heard the Suzuki. He went to the window and glanced out as Dillon got off and pushed the bike up on its stand. The Irishman removed his helmet, left it on the bike and came in, pushing the door open before him. Grover said, 'What can I do for you?' 'Information,' Dillon said. 'Answers. That kind of thing.'

'What in the hell are you talking about?' Dillon unzipped the front of his leathers, took out a Walther with a silencer, and shot the kettle off the stove.

Grover was terrified. 'What's this, for Christ's sake?'

'Well, for starters, you tell me what I want to know and I won't cripple you. So, let's get down to it. The people you just flew out and flew in again. Who were they?'

'Guy called Kelly. I've known him for years. The woman? He said her name was Smith.'

'Really? Where did you take them?' Grover hesitated and Dillon fired on the floor between Grover's feet. 'Where did you take them?'

'County Down. A place called Drumcree.'

'To see who?'

'How in the hell would I know? I flew them in, they left me at the airstrip and drove off to the village. That's all I know. They were back in an hour and a quarter for the return flight.'

'And you didn't hear a word?'

'No. I've no idea what they were up to.'

Dillon raised his Walther again, and Grover jumped. 'I don't know anything, I tell you!' He paused. 'Just that at one point during the flight, they were talking. I heard her say "hazard", "Hazar", something like that.'

'Good man yourself.' Dillon shoved the Walther back inside his leathers. 'Now, let's get one thing straight. What's just taken place is between you, me and my God. No Kelly and no Miss Smith. Are you with me? Because if you're not, I'll come back and blow your right kneecap off.'