Jack Higgins - The Killing Ground

“I can get the end of the crowbar in there. I’ll hold it with one hand while you get the hammer and swing it against the end.” Hussein did exactly that and everything happened in a rush, two or three bricks tumbling down. He jumped out of the way, then pushed his hands into Khazid’s back, holding him firmly, while the manhole cover seemed to slide to one side and a considerable amount of earth showered in.

Hussein shook it off. “Go through, see where we are,” he ordered.

Khazid mounted the rungs farther, pushing the lid right to one side and emerged, heavy rain pouring down, in the middle of a mass of rhododendron bushes surrounded by willow trees and close to a summerhouse styled in the manner of a pagoda. He was hidden from any kind of view, although a narrow path was near at hand, a walkway through the heavy foliage. There was the house, and the front door, the terrace on either side, a glimpse of someone passing the French windows. Although he wasn’t to know, it was Kitty and Ida, setting the dining room tables for lunch.

Khazid slid down into the tunnel and told Hussein what to expect. Hussein mounted a few rungs, paused a moment, then came down.

“Perfect.” He glanced at his watch. It was ten-twenty and the air was filled with the noise of the Hawk landing at the runway. “Ten minutes early. I got it wrong.”

“But we are just in time for Ferguson, is it not so?”

“Absolutely.” Hussein took out the silenced Walther and checked it.

Khazid did the same to his, leaving the Uzi in the other capacious pocket, already loaded with the taped magazines. The hand grenade he had taken from Darcus Wellington’s collection without telling Hussein, he left in his breast pocket.

“So, Sara is no longer a problem?” he said. “It will be Ferguson?”

Hussein nodded slightly. “Yes, Ferguson, because it must be so. I see now I was very wrong where Sara was concerned. My duty lies elsewhere.” He smiled. “Sometimes you see truth more easily than I do. A hard lesson for me to learn.” He kissed Khazid on each cheek. “I will meet you in Paradise, little brother.”

“And I you.” Tears stained Khazid’s face, and he gave his leader a fierce hug.

“Go to a good death,” Hussein told him, waited for Khazid to go up and then followed him.

CAPTAIN BOSEY WAS BY THE RUNWAY, umbrella ready to shield Ferguson from the heavy rain. Dillon and Billy followed behind him and Ferguson turned as Squadron Leader Lacey peered out of the hatch.

“We’ll certainly be here for a few hours, so you and Parry might as well come up to the house.”

“That’s kind of you, sir, but we’ve got things to do.” He turned to Bosey, “Could you come back for us in an hour?”

“I’ll see to it.” Bosey held open the Land Rover door for Ferguson and Dillon and Billy bundled in.

“What a bleeding day,” Billy observed.

“Takes you back to Belfast on a wet Saturday night,” Ferguson added as Bosey drove away. “I must say Lacey and Parry did a fine job. There were times when I flinched.” He turned to Bosey. “How’s everything at the house?”

“Perfect, General, no problems. The Rashids have settled in well and your people seem perfectly happy.”

“Excellent,” Ferguson told him. “Pity about the weather, but I’m sure you have a nice lunch arranged.”

“Oh, you can rely on Mrs. Tetley for that, General.” Bosey drove on.

THE SOUND OF THE HAWK had touched everybody at Zion House with a kind of anticipation, especially Molly Rashid, who was feeling even more unhappy than usual.

“Thank God they’ve got here. I thought it might be canceled by this dreadful weather and I need to have words with General Ferguson.” She was sitting on a sofa beside Caspar and Sara, and the three Russians were chatting in the corner. She stood up. “I’m just bobbing upstairs for a moment.”

“What for, a phone call, Mummy?”

“Yes, I’ll only be a few minutes.” There was instant dismay on her face as she realized her error. The Russians stopped their conversation and Molly, horrified at being caught out, fled.

Caspar said, “What on earth’s going on?”

“Why don’t you ask her?” Sara stood up. “You know how much I like the rain, I’m going for a walk in the garden.”

“You’ll get soaked,” he told her.

“No, I won’t, I shall borrow Igor’s trench coat and take an umbrella.” She turned to the Russians as she walked out. “Taking your trench coat, Igor. I’m just going for a stroll.”

“Do you want any company?” Greta asked.

“Suit yourself,” Sara said.

“I’ll be right with you.”

A few minutes later, they went out the front door, Greta also in a raincoat, linked arms for a moment and paused at the balustrade. Hidden in the rhododendron bushes by the pagoda, Hussein and Khazid saw them emerge, and Hussein raised the Zeiss glasses.

“It’s Sara and some woman.” At that same moment, the Land Rover entered the main gate and started along the driveway. Sara said to Greta, “Oh, damn, here they are. I’m not ready for it yet. Let’s go, just for a few minutes at least.”

“If you like.”

They hurried down the steps and branched off on a path bringing them through to the end of the garden and paused close to the pagoda. They looked back and saw Levin and Chomsky crowding the front door in welcome as Ferguson, Dillon and Billy got out of the back of the Land Rover. There were words exchanged up there, Ferguson turned to the balustrade and peered down, looking for them.

IN THE BUSHES, Khazid couldn’t contain himself. “It’s Ferguson- perfect.” He stepped out of the bushes and faced Sara and Greta, avoiding Hussein’s quick grab, the Walther in his hand, against his leg.

Sara stared at him. “It’s you, Khazid.” She was stunned. “I can’t believe it.”

Hussein stepped out and took off his bush hat. “Hello, Sara, it’s a long way from home.”

She stared at him. “Good heavens, Hussein, what have you done to yourself?”

“Everything changes, cousin.”

She said, “I don’t know how you got here, but I’ve no intention of going anywhere with you.”

“So the Hammer of God has fallen so low?”

And she said the strangest thing. “Oh, Hussein, you’re such a good man, in spite of yourself.”

“Enough of this nonsense,” Khazid said, took the grenade from his pocket and hurled it up toward the balustrade, where it bounced off the steps and rolled backward into a flower bed and exploded.

There was total confusion, everyone ducking, weapons appearing in their hands, Greta, who was carrying her own Walther in her raincoat pocket, drew it. Khazid grabbed her wrist, but she discharged twice, slicing his left shoulder, the second shot catching Hussein in the stomach as he stood to the side.

Khazid shot Greta at point-blank range in the body and she was hurled away to fall on her back. He went completely berserk, pulled out the Uzi and ran wildly up through the garden, calling out Ferguson’s name at the top of his voice, and Dillon and Billy pumped one round after another into him.

Sara shouted wildly, hands up, “No more! Stop it, now!”

Her parents had emerged from the house and Molly tried to run forward, but Ferguson called, “Cease firing.”

Sara looked at Greta, then called, “Come and get Major Novikova at once, but no violence, please.” She turned to face Hussein, old beyond her years, aged by experience.

“What now, cousin?” she said.

He was leaning against the pagoda and turned inside, a hand to his stomach, blood oozing. “How did you know where we were?” she asked.