Jack Higgins - A Devil is vaiting

I was a passenger on a Chinook medevac RAF flight. One pilot was killed, the other wounded, and there were passengers, so I brought her in.

Though wounded yourself.

I was hardly playing heroes. I was saving my neck. Anyway, what is it you want me to do?

Have you ever heard of a Raptor helicopter?

Of course I have. Medium-size, general-purpose load of Russian crap. Imagine a flying tractor, or, even worse, a tractor trying to fly.

I love your sense of humor, Roper told him.

So laugh this off. We want you to make an illegal flight across the border to a village called Amira, approximately forty-five miles into Afghanistan. What do you say to that?

What I d like to say is, you ve got to be kidding, but I don t think you are. Tell me the rest or the worst, whichever comes first.

Which Roper did, covering the plan of campaign, the players, everything. How is it now? he asked. Laughing or crying?

Well, I ve often wondered who was running the lunatic asylum. Now I see it s you. On the other hand, I m a bit of a lunatic myself, so when do we start?

As soon as you get to Peshawar. There s no sense in hanging around waiting for the others to arrive. You ve got a room at this Rangoon place, so book in. Sign for anything you want, it s taken care of. I ve told you all you need to know about Colonel Hamza. He ll be in touch and sort you out the moment you arrive. Enjoy the rest of the flight.

Greg sat there, thinking about it, and then called his partner, Hakim, in Hazar, who answered quite quickly. It s me, Greg said. How are things with you?

That new well they ve been drilling at Gila has come in big. They re going to need me on a daily basis with a Scorpion. Things are looking good. What are you up to?

Advising an old friend in Peshawar who s having problems with his Russian Raptors. I should be back maybe in three days.

The other Scorpion is standing idle. Do I find another pilot?

Thinking of the situation he faced with the trip to Amira in the antiquated Raptor over the Afghan wilderness populated by very unfriendly people, it suddenly occurred to Greg Slay that he couldn t answer Hakim s question properly, as there was a distinct possibility he might not get back at all.

I ll let you know, Hakim, he said, and switched off.

The jet landed at Peshawar International in the early evening and taxied to its designated unloading point, where a squad of soldiers waited to handle the jeeps. A lieutenant, wearing combat fatigues like the rest of his men, was talking to a full colonel in khaki summer uniform with medal ribbons above the pocket. He was clean-shaven, handsome enough, and looked young for the rank, although the scars on his face indicated combat experience. He touched the side of his forehead with his swagger stick as Greg went to meet him.

Captain Slay? Hamza s the name. I command the military police here, but Roper will have told you that. You re an old Sandhurst hand, I hear.

That s right, and so are you.

Something in common. I ll take you to your hotel. A jeep roared up, a bearded sergeant in a scarlet turban at the wheel. They drove away, and Hamza said, It s better to stay out of the downtown area. Lots of refugees from the tribal areas. Al Qaeda s made us one of the most bombed cities in the world.

There seems to be no end in sight, Greg said.

They turned in through an archway with a faded painted sign above it that said Rangoon Hotel and strongly hinted of better days, as did the cracks in the walls of the main building, but there was a fountain, which was actually working, and, inside, the old-fashioned fans stirred the air as they must have done for years.

Colonel Hamza introduced the manager, a dignified and bearded old man who wore a frock coat over traditional dress. Omar has never forgiven the British for leaving India.

You are wrong, Colonel. I have never forgiven myself for not leaving with them, Omar said, and told a porter, Captain Slay s bag to Cottage Three.

Let him take it, but you come and have tea on the terrace with me, Hamza said to Greg. We need to talk. He led the way through an extensive bar area, where staff were already turning on lights and making ready for the evening.

A caravanserai for travelers, just like the old days, only these are pilots, cabin crews, transients between planes. No tourists at all, as you would expect. Terrorism is strangling the world.

They sat on old wicker chairs opposite each other at a small table. The waiter who served them was so old, he seemed to move in slow motion.

Hamza sipped his tea. I have history with Ferguson and Miller, and I hate everything Al Qaeda stands for, so in this matter I m totally on your side. Commanding the military police has given me considerable power. People tend to do as I say.

I bet they do, Greg said.

On the other hand, the Pakistani Army can t be seen to be involved with anything that takes place across the border. That s why the only solution to the present problem is an illegal flight.

In an aging Russian helicopter that wasn t much good in the first place, Greg told him. What does this Wali Hussein get up to anyway?

Drug trafficking, mostly, and guns for the Taliban. A very unsavory crook. His mother is American, and when his father was killed, she took the boy to Florida and raised him there until he was eighteen, so he can t speak Pashtu not that it matters. Nearly everybody can speak English here. He came back because his grandfather left him property here.

He doesn t sound like the most trustworthy guy on the block, Slay said.

He isn t. How did you get mixed up in this?

I was recruited by Major Giles Roper because of my experience flying helicopters in war zones. I have my own setup in Hazar now, next to Rubat and Yemen.

So I understand. What do you know about General Charles Ferguson?

A great soldier who walks on corpses, if needed, to get the job done.

And Roper?

A George Cross man, Colonel. Slay nodded.

A true hero.

So tell me what he expects you to do.

Fly the Prime Minister s personal representative and his support team in across the border to Amira to snatch Mullah Ali Selim.

Oh, is that all?

Roper warned that Downing Street is all atwitter, worried about the possibility that Amira might be swarming with Taliban, putting Miller in danger putting them all in danger, comes to that.

What s your opinion? Hamza said.

I don t have one. I m a pilot. I fly missions, that s what I do. And I do it well.

Yes, I m sure you are adept at looking after yourself. Are you carrying?

With the kind of security in airports these days? Slay smiled. Do I look like that kind of guy?

Yes, you do. Slay produced a. 25 Belgian Leon from the holster on his right ankle.

Some people might say it s a woman s gun. Hamza weighed it in his hands.

Not with hollow-point cartridges.

Yes, that would make a difference. Hamza checked his watch. The Gulfstream won t be in for some time. We ll drop you at the hotel while I show my face at headquarters, then I ll take you to meet Wali Hussein, and you can run your eye over the Raptor.

Hussein Air, as it was called, was in one of several old aircraft hangars on the outer edge of the complex, and about as far from the control block and concourse as it was possible to be. The doors of the hangar were closed, but there was a small Judas gate through which Slay and the colonel entered, leaving the sergeant and the jeep outside.

The hangar was in half darkness and there was an all-pervading odor that was a mixture of damp cold, oil, and aviation fuel. There was music playing softly from above, Latin American rhythms, and a flight of steel steps led up to a railed landing and an office with glass walls and a light on.

Wali Hussein, where are you? Hamza called in English.