Jack Higgins: The Killing Ground

“An unwise call to your mother’s hospital, a nurse, sympathetic to our cause who overheard. But no matter, this is our final meeting, Sara. May Allah bless you all your days, but go now, obey me in my last request.”

“No more killing,” she said. “It is enough.”

She turned as Dillon, Billy and Levin arrived and walked past them, as Levin knelt over Greta. She went calmly up the steps and her mother grabbed her.

“Are you all right?”

“Oh, yes, but no more phone calls, Mummy, they cost too much. Telling Dr. Samson where you were was a lousy idea. It got into the wrong hands.” She walked into the hall and went upstairs.

There was a kind of horror on Molly’s face as she realized the implication. Caspar said, “What on earth did she mean?”

“That somehow what has happened here was my fault. I rang Dr. Samson at the hospital a number of times on an extra mobile I keep in my bag. I couldn’t help myself.”

“How could you do that?” He shook his head. “So stupid.” She turned wearily and went inside. He sighed, and went after her.

HUSSEIN WAS STILL IN THE PAGODA, fumbling at his anorak, the blood oozing more than ever between his fingers, but when he finally stood up and lurched outside, the Walther was in his right hand.

“Mr. Dillon, Mr. Salter.” They faced him, weapons ready. His hand swung up and each of them shot twice, throwing him backward, the Walther flying to one side.

He was instantly dead. Billy picked up the Walther, inspected it and turned to Dillon as Ferguson appeared. “It was empty.”

Dillon’s face was bleak. “Poor bastard, he’d nowhere else to go.” He turned to Ferguson, “Greta?”

“Levin thinks she’ll be all right. Ambulance on its way.”

“And the bodies?”

“The usual disposal team. I’ll send in the order to Roper now. Hussein Rashid and this chap Khazid cease to exist. It never happened.”

Dillon nodded. “Do you ever wonder what it’s all about?”

“No, I’ve no bloody time, it’s the world we live in, it’s what we have to do to survive these days, with enemies like the Broker and Osama, Khan and people like him. So let’s get back to London and get on with it.”

He turned and walked away, as an ambulance drew up on the terrace and three paramedics piled out, came down the steps and hurried to where Levin crouched over Greta.

Dillon turned to Billy. “Okay, you heard the man,” and they followed Ferguson up to the terrace and into the house.