Jack Higgins - The Death Trade

‘No, he isn’t, he’s damn good,’ Sara called as she went out along the corridor and turned into the dining room.

Dillon, at the piano, was just finishing ‘Blue Moon’ while Maggie Hall was laying a table for dinner.

‘Don’t exaggerate, Sara,’ he said. ‘I play acceptable bar-room piano, that’s all.’

‘Don’t you be stupid,’ Maggie Hall said. ‘You’re better than that and you know it, so why pretend?’

She moved off to the kitchen. Dillon said, ‘There you go, she should be my agent. What would you like?’

‘What about “A Foggy Day in London Town”?’

‘Why not?’

He started to play, and she listened and said, ‘Could you up the tempo?’

He did, attacking it hard, and she started to sing, surfing the rhythm, her voice lifting, and Maggie Hall emerged from the kitchen and stood there, staring. The music soared and came to an end. Maggie clapped vigorously and called, ‘Right on.’

Dillon was astonished. ‘Where the hell did that come from?’

‘I learned to play guitar at twelve and I loved singing, but just for me. I don’t advertise.’

‘Well, you should. Any cocktail bar I’ve ever been in would snap you up.’

Clapping broke out from behind, Sara turned and found the Salters standing in the doorway.

‘Marvellous,’ Harry Salter said. ‘I’d give you a booking any time for my restaurant.’

‘Harry’s Place, Sara,’ Billy told her. ‘You haven’t been yet, very classy. We’ll take you.’

‘Some other time.’ Ferguson appeared behind them. ‘But not now. There’s work to be done. Back to Roper, if you please.’

For half an hour, Roper ran a compilation of film featuring Simon Husseini, mostly garnered from news reports. It finished, and Ferguson said, ‘Well, there you are. That’s our man.’

‘Looks a decent enough chap to me,’ Billy observed.

Harry said, ‘Do I take it we can be certain he’s not out to blow up the bleeding world, then?’

‘He’s a decent man who’s in a very bad situation and doesn’t know what to do about it.’

‘The way I see it, there’s not much he can do,’ Dillon said.

‘I’ve got film of an Élysée Palace ceremony coming up,’ Roper said. ‘Just for information.’

They saw a place crowded with people, many of them in uniform or ecclesiastical wear, palace guards in full uniform, a glittering scene, sparkling chandeliers. People who were to be decorated sat near the front and went forward in turn for the President of France to pin on the insignia of the Legion of Honour or whatever. Finally, Roper switched off.

‘So there you are,’ Ferguson said. ‘What do you think?’

‘An awful lot of people,’ Sara said. ‘Difficult to make contact with our man.’

‘Or perhaps the crowded situation would make it easier. There’s a buffet, champagne. It would depend on how long you wanted to be in contact with him. Perhaps a few snatched moments is all you could expect.’

That was Ferguson, and Dillon said, ‘There might be an opportunity at the hotel. We’ll just have to see.’

‘Perhaps Duval could be useful there,’ Ferguson said.

‘He’s a sly fox, that one.’ Dillon grinned. ‘So he may have a useful idea or two. How are we going to Paris?’

‘The Gulfstream from Farley Field. My asset is at the Ritz, an ageing waiter named Henri Laval. He knows the hotel backwards. Can be very useful. You’ll be given his mobile number.’

‘Well, if his help would lead us to a meeting of some sort with Husseini, it will be more than welcome.’

‘Excellent,’ Ferguson said. ‘Now we’ll eat and I’ll tell you what else I’m planning for the future.’

Maggie Hall had excelled herself. Onion soup, poached salmon, Jersey new potatoes and salad, a choice of cheese or strawberries, backed up by Laurent-Perrier champagne.

‘You’ve been too nice to us entirely,’ Dillon said as coffee and tea arrived. ‘So what’s this about future plans?’ he asked Ferguson.

‘ AQ. Two letters only, but we all know they stand for “Al Qaeda”. Osama may be dead, but in a worldwide sense he lives on and is as potent as ever. His jihadist message appeals to people in every country and from all levels of society. He made them think they were fighting for a just cause, doing something worthwhile with their lives. The purity of terror excuses all guilt from the message. That also has great appeal. Take the Army of God organization. It’s a perfectly legitimate charity, dedicated to the welfare of Muslims in many countries. Right here in London, it operates from an old Methodist chapel in Pound Street, and its welfare work is first class.’

‘And we know from past experience,’ Dillon said, ‘that certain areas of its activity are directly linked to Al Qaeda.’

‘Which would shock many wealthy Muslim businessmen, people so rich that we can count them as being beyond reproach, who provide considerable financial support, based on the fact that the charity promotes interfaith involvement with Christians and Jews and sources at a government level.’

‘Which would seem to me to muddy the waters nicely,’ Sara put in.

‘Where is this leading?’ Dillon asked.

‘Many in Al Qaeda’s hierarchy have been assassinated in Pakistan and elsewhere by Reaper drones and similar weapons. But sometimes a different approach is needed. Because of his knowledge of shipping in the Mediterranean, Daniel Holley has been able to give me names of tramp steamers and rust buckets delivering arms of every description on behalf of Al Qaeda.’

Sara nodded. ‘So you want us to—’

‘Board some of them at night, drop a few blocks of Semtex into the hold, and sink them. We’ve done it before. Many times over the years, haven’t we, Billy?’

‘You’re right,’ Billy said. ‘A few times, Dillon and me. Twice in Beirut.’ He turned to Dillon. ‘Get the diving suits out again.’

Harry said, ‘I’m not sure that’s wise, my son; you’ve been damaged enough in your time. Professor Bellamy would like you to take it easy.’

‘That was over a year ago.’ Billy nodded to Dillon. ‘You up for it?’

‘I wouldn’t be asking you to pair up with Dillon,’ Ferguson said. ‘I was considering you and Holley when he’s available.’ Before Billy or anyone was able to say anything, he carried on. ‘I was thinking of Sara and Dillon teaming up for something else. In fact, having seen you in action together earlier at the piano, I think it’s an excellent idea. But we’ll get to that later. We’ll have some more champagne now.’

Maggie had been standing at the back, already opening a fresh bottle. She poured it into glasses and went around with the tray.

Ferguson said, ‘I must say you all seem rather subdued. Why don’t you give us a suitable toast, Sean?’

‘You’re too kind,’ Dillon told him. ‘Considering what you’ve just discussed, I’d say something appropriate would be: We, who could be about to die, salute you.’

Ferguson left first, then the Salters. Roper retired to the computer room and Dillon decided to use the sauna. Sara chose the quiet of the library and sat checking everything she could find on Husseini. She spent an hour in this way, then returned to the computer room, where she found Roper at the screens.

‘Still here?’ he said.

She explained what she’d been doing, and he nodded approvingly. ‘Nothing like being prepared.’

‘I thought I knew him, but there was a lot I didn’t,’ she said. ‘What are you up to?’

‘Same thing, in a way. Having a look at his Iranian masters.’

‘That’s interesting,’ she said. ‘Can I see?’

‘Of course you can. I’ll put them up in sequence. There’s the President. There’s the Council of Guardians, which enjoys a lot of influence.’