The Judas gate

'Charles Bellamy,' Dillon told him. 'He made me promise to make sure you stay out of things for a while. The vest saved your life, Billy, but two forty-five-calibre rounds at short range to the heart takes time to get over, and he warned you.'

Harry Salter turned to Billy. 'You didn't tell me.'

'So what, it's no big deal,' Billy told him.

Harry looked at Ferguson. 'That's it, he's out of it.'

'Yes, I understand the situation-' Ferguson began, but Dillon cut in on him. 'And you're out of it, too. You've been a great soldier, Charles, but to use military terminology, Peshawar was a bridge too far. Any idea of you penetrating a pesthole like the Khufra marshes is ridiculous. Think Vietnam. The average age of those Yanks in the Mekong Delta was nineteen.'

Ferguson's face was pale. 'God damn you, Dillon. Yes, I'm an arrogant bastard, but I'll have you know I'm still as good a man on the ground and in the air as anyone else here.' He appeared to be trying to get a grip on his emotions. 'But that said, you're right. My role is here and yours is in Algeria. Roper, call Hakim back and finalize the arrangements.' Hassan Shah was in West Hampstead, working at his computer, when Hakim contacted him.

'It worked. Dillon, Holley and Miller are leaving in four hours' time to fly here. They're as good as dead.'

'Just those three?' Shah frowned. 'I'd hoped for Ferguson. What about young Salter?'

'Who knows? The death of these three alone will be an enormous coup. It will cripple Ferguson. When will Shamrock leave?'

'I'll call him now to tell him the whole thing is a go, and get back to you.' His call found Justin Talbot in the study, having a drink and reading The Times. 'It's on,' Shah said. 'Dillon, Holley and Miller are leaving in four hours. They've arranged with Hakim to land on the old German runway at Dafur to join him for a dawn invasion of the marshes. It seems Ferguson is not going.'

'I didn't think he would,' Justin said. 'And what about Omar Hamza?'

'He expects you, and Hakim will inform him when he knows you're on your way. When will that be?'

'Sooner than you think. I got moving on my preparations yesterday. I arranged for one of my pilots, Chuck Alan, to fly the Citation X over yesterday evening. It's owned by a Swiss company and untraceable. It's at Belfast City now and Chuck is standing by, waiting for my call. I'm already packed, too, so I'll get straight off. I'll be in Belfast in an hour.'

'But what about your mother?'

'She's gone into Newry to get her hair done. I'll leave her a note pleading urgent business. She's used to it.

'Good. Now take this down. Hakim gave me Hamza's mobile number.'

Justin did. 'I'll get moving then.'

'May the blessing of Allah go with you.'

'Nonsense,' Talbot said. 'He gave up on me long ago.'

He switched off, went to the writing desk, jotted a note to Jean and left it in a prominent place. Then he dashed upstairs, found his flying jacket and the bag he'd packed, went down to the front door, and was in the Mercedes and driving away just ten minutes before the maroon Shogun turned into the drive.

He got his mobile out one-handed and called Chuck Alan. 'Hi, old buddy,' he said. 'I'm on my way, so get moving.'

Alan said, 'Will do, boss.'

A little while later, Justin's mother called. She didn't argue, simply said, 'Couldn't you have said goodbye?'

'Sorry about that. Something urgent came up, a company matter. It's a last-minute thing.'

'No, it wasn't. I took a call from Frensham when you were out yesterday afternoon. They were checking to see if everything had gone well with the Citation at Belfast. You knew in advance you were going to make this trip.'

'Come on, love, it's no big deal.'

'Secrets and lies, Justin, so many of them. I don't know where I am any more. You're as careless as a young boy; your conversations on that wretched mobile echo round the house, or half of them do, and that's enough to frighten me, because so much of it seems to concern itself with death. I even know where you're going now – Algeria. I hear the name Al Qaeda mentioned many times, as well as Sean Dillon and Daniel Holley, the men I met in Collyban. I know what they are and I'm so, so frightened.'

'Maybe you've been listening when you shouldn't,' Justin told her. 'That's always very unwise, because when you only get part of a story, you don't get the truth.'

'Oh, go to hell, Justin,' she shouted at him, and threw her mobile across the room. Hassan Shah called Hakim. 'I've spoken to Shamrock. He'll be airborne before they are.'

Hakim said, 'You gave him Hamza's number?'

'Of course.'

'Good, I'll have them alert me as soon as he lands. Hamza will be on a small island called Diva in the centre of the marshes: that's where the trading post is. It's about ten miles from Fasa. People use small boats to get around in there, mostly with outboard motors. I'm sure Hamza will pick Shamrock up himself.'

'Amazing,' Hassan Shah said. 'You and your men have no intention of invading the Khufra to flush out the thieves and vagabond. The only purpose of the entire operation is to kill Dillon, Holley and Miller.'

'But of course. That's what you wanted, wasn't it? My units on patrol in the Khufra learned a long time ago that it was better to leave well enough alone up here. It's like keeping animals in a zoo. The people who are penned up in the marshes are the scum of the earth, so we leave them to get on with it as long as they don't venture outside. Omar Hamza rules with a rod of iron, on my behalf.'

'I assume you take your share of the drug trade and so on?'

'A man must live, Preacher.'

'Take care you never reveal such matters to Osama. He would not approve.'

'It's a hard and disgusting world from a policeman's point of view. I do my best to protect good people and the weak, but I am past apologies.' Hakim sounded weary. 'We will talk again when I confirm the arrivals.' At Holland Park, Dillon, Holley and Miller went through the wardrobe room and settled on green fatigues with no camouflage markings and crumpled green jungle hats. One outfit to wear, another as a spare, in the bottom of a dark green holdall, with T-shirts, a toilet bag and military items. Their usual weapons, the Walther and the Colt.25 in the ankle holster, were backed up by an AK47 each, and some fragmentation grenades.

Dillon went out carrying his holdall. He put it down while he spoke to Roper, who said, 'Very dashing. I'm not used to seeing you in uniform.'

Miller joined them and said, 'That's because the Provos never wore one.'

'Now that wasn't fair,' Roper mocked.

'Remember what President Kennedy once said,' Dillon shrugged. 'Anyone who expects fairness in this life is seriously misinformed.'

'I love that,' Holley said, as he joined them. 'Seriously misinformed. It has a ring to it. Rolls off the tongue.'

Sergeant Doyle came in. 'I'm ready, gentlemen.'

'No fond farewells from the boss?' Dillon said. 'Ah, well, we who are about to die salute you.'

'Oh, get out, Dillon,' Roper said. 'I'll start to cry.' 'That'll be the day,' Dillon said, and led the way out. They reached Farley Field in forty minutes and discovered Ferguson and the Salters standing beside the Daimler, talking.

'There you are,' Ferguson said. 'We thought you'd got lost.'

'No, that's what happens when we try to find Algeria, General.' Dillon shook hands all round. 'Keep the faith. We'll see you soon.'

'It would seriously inconvenience me if you didn't,' Ferguson told him.

Holley and Miller got in, and Dillon paused. 'Keep an eye on Mickeen Oge for me, Billy.'

'You can count on it,' Billy called, as the door closed and Dillon moved up to take his seat beside Holley.

Ferguson and the Salters moved back to the Daimler and stood watching as the engines fired and it started to move away.

'What do you think?' Harry Salter asked.

'I don't know: a funny one, this.' Ferguson looked up as the Falcon lifted. 'All up to Dillon, I suppose.'

'Well, there's nothing new in that,' Harry said. The Citation had taken off two hours before the Falcon. Chuck Alan, a former US Navy pilot with a DFC who had served in Iraq and Afghanistan, was familiar with Justin Talbot's vagaries, but with the fabulous salary he was paid, never complained. Cruising at thirty-five thousand feet, he put the Citation on automatic pilot and went over their route.