Gerald Seymour - Condition black

The area around the Embassy and its ten acres of gardens had been sealed. The armoured personnel carriers were in shadow, half hidden under the low foliage of the evergreen trees. Those who lived nearby had retreated behind their gates. The Military Attache estimated that there were a minimum of two hundred troops surrounding the compound. The locally employed staff had been sent home, and told not to return until the matter, the difficulty, had been sorted out. The French had been advised, with regret, that the British Embassy could not be represented at their reception that evening.

The Ambassador met the Colonel at the front door.

" N o, sir, in view of the intolerable situation around this mission, you will not come one step further."

" Y o u are harbouring, Excellency, a criminal."

" Am I? "

" An enemy of the State."

" And what is his name?"

The Ambassador could see the Colonel hesitate and wondered what orders the man had given to the half-dozen heavily armed soldiers who flanked him. Probably just to look as dangerous and nasty as possible but not to shoot anyone. This show of force was as hollow as it was menacing. But that this plausible thug was agitated was not in doubt. Angry, but for the moment, stymied.

"Well, come on, what's the name of this enemy of the State?"

" H e ran in here."

"Who did? People run in and out of here the whole time."

" You know who came."

" How can I identify this criminal if you do not even know his name?"

" Y o u take a risk with me…"

"Kindly remember where you are, my good fellow. You are not in the Abu Ghraib gaol now, you are outside Her Britannic Majesty's legation. Come back in the morning, with a name, with a charge sheet to tell me what crimes have been committed by this anonymous felon, and perhaps we can talk again."

He stared into the eyes of the Colonel. He thought of the agent of the Mossad, prostrate with exhaustion, pretty much at the end of his tether, closeted with his station Officer, and he remembered all that he had read and been told of espionage agents who had been abused into confession and strangled from the gallows, He stared at the Colonel and saw the eyes of a killer, the eyes of a torturer.

He said easily, "And if you come back tomorrow with a clear idea of what you are looking for, and the proper documents, of course, you will be so good as to leave your thugs outside the Embassy's grounds, Goodnight to you."

He walked back inside, He heard the door close behind him.

He heard the bolts pushed to. He saw the merciless smile of his Military Attache, formerly commanding officer of the 2nd Battalion, the Parachute Regiment. He did not trust himself at that moment to walk steadily up the stairs, in full view of his staff, to compose his next signal to London.

It was not original, but it was heartfelt. "God, what a bloody awful couniry," Could someone get me a gin and tonic?"

On the last part of the journey to the airport, Bissett had been quiet. Colt supposed that he would be thinking ol what he had left behind in Lilac Gardens, the woman who wouldn't kiss him goodbye, the kills he hadn't even mentioned tonight Colt talked to him because he felt sorry for the man As he swung the car off the main road and into the airport's feeder lanes, he said, "Heh, Dr Bissett, will you know me when you're there, when you're the big shot?"

"God, Colt, how could you? 'Course I'll remember you…"

"No, no. You'll be in a big car, you'll have a driver. You won't want to know a scruff bum like me."

It was meant lightly. It was just talk, just Colt trying to lift the man.

But in Bissett's answer there was an urgent, passionate sincerity.

"I'll always know you, Colt, for what you've done for me. I am going to tell them that they owe my being there to you. I will make certain that you are properly rewarded…"

"You'll be in your posh compound, Dr Bissett. You'll have taken off."

"Whatever you need, I'll get for you."

"I don't need anything."

"Whatever, a car, a house of your own, anything. "

Colt drove into the long-term car park. He meandered towards a free space. The roar of aircraft engines spilled into the car.

"Everybody has to want something."

"Not me, Dr Bissett."

"Possessions, what you have, what's important to you."

"I own nothing…"

"Nothing?"

"… only myself."

Colt smiled, like it wasn't important. Of course, it would be important to Bissett because he had walked out on his job, and his oath, and his country, and his wife and boys, for $175,000 per annum. But that wasn't Colt's problem, never had been, and he wasn't about to make it his problem now. He reached across Bissett and opened the glove compartment, and took out the Ruger. He saw that Bissett gaped.

"What's that…?"

"It's a close-quarters handgun, Dr Bissett."

"What for, for heaven's sake?"

"For our protection, yours and mine."

"But I didn't know… "

Colt climbed out of the car. He locked his door. He watched as Bissett locked the passenger door. He had the Ruger in the plastic bag. He would palm the bag to Namir or Faud at the check-in desk.

He took Bissett's suitcase, and his own grip, and he led the way towards the stop where the buses for the terminals pulled in.

" I ' m sorry, Major Tuck. The whole village will be sorry."

He wanted her out of the room. He wanted to be alone with his wife, the last time. The District Nurse had slipped her fingers over the sunken eyes. At long last, it was over.

She was at the door. She said that she would go down to the kitchen and make a pot of tea. The wind beat around the rafter beams, surged under the eaves of the roof.

"Colt…?"

"Gone, clear of them, but he was here when she needed him."

"That's something to be thankful for, Major."

" W e can be more thankful that he's gone."

There had been the shots in the night. Obviously not for Colt, otherwise that American wouldn't have come back. The District Nurse had told him old Brennie's dog had been killed, didn't know where nor how.

She left him alone in the quiet of the room. He heard her going down the staircase.

He yearned for his son. But Colt was gone, and he could only pray, as he knelt by his wife's bedside, holding her hand, through his tears, for the boy's safety.

As they hurtled out of the tunnel under the runway into the airport, Rutherford said, "Once more into the breach, old thing, and this time, as you heard the man say, let's do it right." Outside Terminal Three, they pulled into a space vacated by a taxi and jumped out.

"We'll walk, Bill. When we get inside, we may even saunter.

You look so like a policeman you had better stay a pace or two behind. We don't want to attract attention. Lock up, will you?"

"I'll catch up. And James – good luck."

He was thinking of Frederick Bissett. He walked towards the doors of the terminal. He was thinking of the hunted and frightened little man who had sat across the room from him, Bissctt of H area, and he remembered the explosion of emotion.

Wife trouble, eh?

Erlich was at his shoulder.

He went inside.

He saw Namir 50 paces away through the shifting melee of travellers on the concourse. He saw Namir stop and turn and look around him and over the sea of heads, as if he was searching for the familiar face.

Bissett was right against him, as if he were frightened of being left behind.

Colt said, "Our friends are here, Dr Bissett, all in place."

Erlich walked behind Rutherford, edging their way through queues of passengers and their luggage. There was a pier of airline stands between them and the Iraqi Airlines desk.

Rutherford was looking to his right. Rutherford was looking so goddam hard that he walked right into an Asian who must have had everything he owned piled on a baggage trolley. Man and trolley rocked and stayed upright. He'd never seen it, because he was looking right. .. Erlich looked right. A taller man, back to them, fair hair cut short. A shorter man facing them, dark curly hair, heavy spectacles, and looking like he was scared shitless of flying. Two men, tall and short, would have been Arabic. The two Arabic men seemed to be reassuring him.