Edge of Danger

'Look, I don't give a damn,' Grover told him. 'Just bugger off and leave me.'

'Don't make me come back.'

Dillon went out, put on his helmet and rode away.

Grover watched him go. 'To hell with them. To hell with the lot of them.' At least he had three and a half thousand pounds in the brown paper envelope.

He opened a cupboard and found another kettle.

Not too far along the road, Dillon pulled into a lay-by and called Ferguson on his mobile.

'Where in the hell are you?' Ferguson demanded.

'Well, if you'll shut up, you old bowser, I'll explain.'

When he was finished, Ferguson said, 'All right, so she went to see Bell and the pilot heard her say Hazar. What does that mean?'

'I have a suggestion,' Dillon said. 'The Rashid house in Mayfair. Did you put in the phone taps yet?'

'Yes. Of course, they haven't said anything. They're too smart for that.'

'Well, it will make him feel confident if we appear to be doing the expected thing. So why don't you get your communications department chaps into the street outside, have them pretend to be working on the telephones, the usual rubbish. In reality, why not instal a directional microphone instead? Who knows? It could pick up some useful stuff.'

'All right, leave it with me. Only, get back here. I need you.'

Dillon went home to Stable Mews and changed. Then he called at the hospital to check on Hannah. The matron gave him five minutes only. She lay there, propped up, festooned with tubes. Dillon sat for a while, then left, angry and bitter. He met Professor Bellamy in the corridor.

'What's the verdict?' Dillon asked.

'Not good, Sean. I think she'll survive, but I can't promise exactly what shape she'll be in.'

'We will travel hopefully,' Dillon said and left.

At Cavendish Place, he found Ferguson going over papers at his desk. 'I've got some interesting news. That directional mike of yours caught a conversation between Rashid and his sister. Rashid said: "You be there to meet Bell and his three cronies when they arrive in Hazar."'

'Did he? Now that is interesting. So what do we do?'

'What do you do is more like it, Dillon. I'd say Hazar is your next port of call.'

'General, the minute I turn up in Hazar, I'll be in deep trouble.'

'We'll have to take that chance. I can't keep an eye on them without your being down there, being your usual bloody nuisance. I've even found a legitimate excuse for your presence. My cousin, Professor Hal Stone of Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, is, by one of life's coincidences, in Hazar right now, conducting a diving operation on a World War II freighter. With typical university nonsense, he has no real money, so he can afford only a small operation of local Arab divers.'

'Sounds exciting.'

'Actually, it is. What's really interesting is that he's discovered what's left of a Phoenician trading ship partly underneath the freighter. You're a master diver, Dillon. Hal would love someone like you to help out, especially as you won't cost anything. You'd be able to monitor Lady Kate and Bell and company. I'll arrange for your flight, then come down myself once you're settled in. Do you agree?'

'Let's give it a try. There's just one thing. I know these Arab divers. They jump with a stone in both hands. I need another master diver to back me up.'

Ferguson sighed. 'Oh, dear, do you mean who I think you mean?'

'Billy Salter is a first-class master diver.'

'And you think he'll go?'

'Do I think he'll go?' Dillon started to laugh.

At the Dark Man, they found Harry Salter, Billy, Joe Baxter and Sam Hall sitting in a corner booth.

'Jesus, Brigadier, what brings you here?' Harry Salter demanded.

'First of all, it's not Brigadier anymore, Harry. They've made him a Major General,' Dillon said.

'Well, damn my eyes.' Salter waved to Dora behind the bar. 'Get champagne over here, girl. It's a special occasion.'

She found the bottle and came round the bar, but it was young Billy who said, 'What gives, Dillon? You aren't here playing patty fingers.'

'I'm going out to Hazar in the Gulf of Oman, Billy. The General's cousin is trying to work a World War II wreck with bits of a Phoenician ship under it.'

'He's what?' Billy's face was pale with excitement.

'The thing is, he's got no money, Billy, just Arab divers, so I'm going to work for bed and board.'

Billy got up. 'If he needs you, he needs me. When do we go?'

'Tomorrow morning.'

Billy turned to go, but Ferguson said, 'Tell the lad the truth, for God's sake. Last time out he killed four times for us. We owe him.'

Billy turned slowly. 'Is there going to be trouble?'

'Bad trouble, Billy. We're up against rough trade this time.'

'Then you'd better bloody well tell me,' Billy said and sat down again.

Afterwards, he said, 'What a bunch of bastards. I mean, if you're British, you're British. I don't mind this Rashid being half Arab, but you behave yourself. I don't know, Dillon, ever since I've met you, I end up trying to save the world. What time do we leave in the morning?'

'Ten o'clock from Northolt.'

'Who's flying us? Lacey and Parry as usual?'

'Who else could you trust to drop you in from six hundred feet?'

Billy smiled wolfishly. 'Too bloody right. They got an Air Force Cross each last time, didn't they?'

'That's right.'

'Any chance of me getting one?'

'Not in a million years, Billy.'

'And they wouldn't give you one?'

'All they'd give me is twenty years if they could.'

Harry Salter got up. 'Right, we'd better go and get on with the packing.'

'We?' Ferguson said.

'I can't bloody well dive, but I can use a shooter and sit in the boat,' Salter said. 'It's called family.'

At the Mayfair house, Paul Rashid said to Kate, 'Take George. He can act as a link with the tribesmen. He knows the dialect, and they respect him, because he's my brother. They respect you, too, because you're my sister, but they're Arabs. They still feel uncomfortable with a strong woman.'

'Then they must learn.'

He embraced her. 'Bell is what matters. He's good, but he has to obey you. Any trouble, and I'll have him and his three friends wiped off the face of the map. Those are my people there.'

'I know, brother, I know. I won't let you down. I'll astound you.'

Dillon went back to check on Hannah Bernstein. She was slightly more alert and responded to him.

'What are you up to, Sean?' she murmured.

'It's what Rashid is up to. He's recruited Bell to go down to Hazar with his cronies. We don't know what for yet.'

'And you're going?'

'Yes.'

'Tell me about it.'

Which he did.

Afterwards, she said, 'So it's you and Billy and dear old Harry into the war zone again?'

'So it would appear.'

'You'll never stop, will you, Sean?'

'It's what I am, Hannah. I lack a good woman, that's my trouble.'

'Oh, get on with it and stop making excuses.'

'I love you, too.' He kissed her on the forehead. 'God bless, Hannah.'

And for once, she gave him a smile, a real smile, 'God bless, Sean.'

Strange, but there he was: Sean Dillon, the ultimate hard man, and when he went out, there were tears in his eyes.

When he got home, he spoke to Blake Johnson on the phone and brought him up to date.

Blake said, 'Jesus, Sean. Hazar is Rashid territory, and you and Billy and Harry are going to go play deep-sea divers with Ferguson's cousin? Come on, you won't be able to go into a waterfront bar for a drink without someone trying to stick a knife in you.'

'True. All life will be there, Blake. You should come and join in the fun.'

'Frankly, my fine Irish friend, I'm tempted. What are the Rashids up to, Sean? Why import an IRA hit squad into Hazar?'

'Well, that's what I'm going to find out.'