Ted Bell - Warlord

"He is lucky, isn't he, Alex? So very lucky," Sahira said, a sudden sadness in her eyes. It was, he thought, a shared sadness for both of them.

EVERY ROOM WAS ALIGHT WITH CHANDELIERS, flaming candles, sparkling diamonds, and bubbling crystal flutes of pink champagne; clinking wineglasses, laughter, and music filled every room with sounds of honest joy for the happy couple. In a far corner, a society band flung Gershwin memories into the smoke and chatter.

Hawke and Sahira made their way through the crowded great hall, a splendid room with its grand fireplace, soaring ceiling, and the famous John Singer Sargent portrait of Diana's great-grandmother that hung to the left of the wide hearth. People would turn to smile in appreciation when they entered new rooms. Hawke and Sahira saw in their eyes the flattering reflection, as if the two of them were some kind of double Narcissus.

Hands touched jeweled arms over and under the white tables. Under the spell of music, the vivid gowns and starched white shirt-fronts swayed together, a vibrant rhythm of dancers circulating in the semidarkness of the candlelit ballroom. Among the passive observers around the edge of the floor, suits of gleaming armor stood guard against walls hung with faded tapestries and large gilt-framed portraits of Lady Diana's long forgotten royal ancestry.

Countless searching eyes instantly shifted toward the exquisite Indian woman on Hawke's arm. Sahira looked resplendent in a simple sari of blazing crimson embellished with gold embroidery. It was the first time Hawke had ever seen her with her dark hair up, held in place by two golden combs, and he had to admit it only made her all the more alluring.

"Ready?" Hawke asked her, looking for an opening in the crowd. He'd seen Diana and Ambrose across the room, receiving guests by the fireplace. Having plucked two champagne glasses from the liveried steward, he moved in their direction.

"Cover me, I'm going in," Hawke said.

"Go for it, champ," Sahira said with a laugh.

Hawke assumed his tried-and-true "Marvelous to see you!" smile and waded in, Sahira happily in tow. As he excused and beg-pardoned his way through the writhing mass of plunging necklines, enormous gems dangling from swanlike, lily-white necks, all the distinguished gents in white ties and tails, he saw looks of utter astonishment of the normally reserved countenances of polite London Society. Why on earth? Then he remembered.

He'd been missing in action for well over a year. Most of these people, upon seeing his face, must have thought a ghost now walked among them. "Was that Alex Hawke? We heard he was dead."

He didn't see Sir David Trulove in the crowd until the man reached out and put a hand on his forearm. C leaned in close to Hawke's ear and said, "Good evening. Need to speak. Rather urgent, I'm afraid. Can you slip away and meet me in, say, twenty minutes? I'll be waiting at the far end of the south terrace, overlooking the parterre and the river."

"Splendid idea, sir," Hawke said in a normal voice. "I should be delighted. Sahira and I just want to say a quick hello to the host and hostess."

"Good," C said, and turned back to the extraordinarily beautiful American wife of the Ambassador to the Court of St. James.

It took a good ten minutes for them to wade in and reach Ambrose and Diana.

"I must say you're beaming like a full moon," Hawke said to Congreve, shaking his dear friend's hand. Ambrose had introduced Sahira to Lady Mars and the two women had immediately engaged in a cheery conversation about charities or some such.

"I must count myself among the happiest of men," Congreve said, smiling, using that stilted lofty tone he adopted when the champers kicked in.

"As well you should, you old dragon," Hawke said, clapping his friend on the back. "As well you should."

"You should have seen her face when I produced the fabled rock at last, Alex. I think she was beginning to doubt the honor of my intentions."

"How long has it been since you first dropped to your knees and begged for her hand? Years, I think."

"Too long. I desperately wish I'd met her in my thirties, instead of my fifties."

"Beware of desperate wishes," Hawke said, looking quickly away.

"Alex, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."

Hawke brightened and said, "Nothing to forgive. It's going to be a splendid evening, and we're all going to live happily ever after. I just want you to know one thing, in case, well, anything should happen. All my life, since I was a boy, you have done more for me than any friend could ever ask. And I will always love you for it, until the day I die."

"Alex, I don't know what to say. I only wish-"

"Don't say anything. It's just something I wanted you to know. In case something should ever happen."

With that, Hawke took Sahira's hand, and the two of them disappeared into the brilliant crowd.

HAWKE FOUND C STANDING ALONE at the stone balustrade, gazing out at the formal gardens now catching the dying rays of the sun. The silvery Thames below, winding through the wooded hills, made it a sight well worth gazing at.

"Lovely view, isn't it?" Hawke said, joining him.

"Lovely. You know, Alex, I've been standing here reflecting on the events of the last few months. We've never been particularly close. We're both given to broadsides, and thus there's been a distance. But. I have endlessly marveled at your…your, what shall we call it, your resurrection. And I've come to the conclusion that you are one of the very few men on earth I shall always have utter and complete faith in."

"Well, sir, that's kind of-"

"No, no, I don't mean it in that way. The Service, thank heaven, is full of brilliant, talented, and courageous men and women who execute their dangerous duties at the very highest levels imaginable."

"How did you mean it, then, sir?"

"Trust. It seems that every time I meet with someone, issue an order, confide in them, question them, I find myself wondering, Is this the one? Is this the traitor in our midst?"

"I understand completely. But I think one has to look beyond the Service as well. Beyond both Six and Five. MI5 reports to the Home Secretary, Lord Hume, as you well know. Perhaps someone on staff there, privy to the Home Secretary's every secret, is on a payroll somewhere. Or someone at Number Ten Downing. Anywhere in government, in fact."

"Yes, yes, of course you're right. At any rate, it's not why I asked you to join me. I'm afraid there is terrible news from Pakistan. I got a call on the drive out here."

"A fundamentalist military coup?"

"No. Worse yet. As you well know, Pakistani president Asif Ali Zadari recently released 'national command authority' over Pakistan's nuclear arsenal to Prime Minister Gilani, who won't really have control either. The real control is now in the hands of the army. General Kayani, his top three-star general. As you know, 'military secure' is not necessarily totally secure. Everyone and his brother in HM government have been worried about nuclear security should the mullahs take over the country. While I have been far more worried about all those senior officers in the Pakistan Army who are caliphates. Men at the top of the chain of Pakistani military command who believe in a fundamentalist pan-Islamic state. And now my worst fears have been realized."

"Tell me."

"It was the CIA chief of station in Islamabad who rang me in transit. At least one powerful nuclear device has gone missing from the Pakistani nuclear arsenal."

"My God. How?"

"The CIA, as Abdul Dakkon stated in my office, have long suspected that some of the guards in the Islamabad underground storage facility were on the payroll of one or two of the most powerful Taliban warlords. Or that other rival warlords were holding the guards' families under threat of death should they not comply with their demands when the time came to seize control of the arsenal."