Jack Higgins - The Death Trade

This was a pity and a complete reversal of what had happened to Emza Khan, whose conversion had been quite genuine after hearing Osama speak for the first time. He had immediately contacted the right people, made it clear that he believed in the great man completely, and was soon serving him as required. After Osama’s murder, which was how Khan saw it, he had placed himself at the disposal of those carrying on the holy work of their deceased leader via the Army of God. Following instructions, Khan had declared his opposition to Al Qaeda in newspaper and television interviews, and so now that was the public perception of him, and by everyone around him, including Declan Rashid. It would have been absurd, after all, to have believed otherwise, and Al Qaeda was hardly popular with the Iranian government.

He was involved right now with extremely important work concerning the delivery of arms to various places in the Mediterranean. He had thought of involving Yousef in it, but hesitated, concerned at the consequences if failure occurred. That Al Qaeda could be unforgiving in such circumstances was a known fact.

Rasoul Rahim came in from the kitchen, a green barman’s apron over his black suit, his beard perfectly trimmed, the scar vivid on the left cheek.

‘You still look like an undertaker in spite of that ridiculous apron,’ Khan told him.

Rasoul didn’t even smile. ‘How may I serve you?’

‘As Yousef is taking his time about getting here, I can only fear the worst. We’ll give him another half-hour, then you must go and search his usual haunts in Shepherd Market. In the meantime, mix me a Bloody Mary, and don’t forget the Colonel intends to drop by on his way home from the embassy with the schedule for the Paris trip.’

Rasoul nodded and returned to the kitchen.

Dillon and Sara, sharing a cab on their way to their respective homes, were driving along Curzon Street when Dillon told the driver to turn into Shepherd Market and drop them at the Blue Angel.

‘It’s a piano bar,’ he informed Sara. ‘One of the best in London, with one of the greatest players in the business.’

‘You rogue, Sean.’ She shook her head. ‘You intended this all the time.’

‘Me darling Sara, do I look that sort of a guy?’

‘Absolutely,’ she told him.

At the same moment, Declan Rashid was turning into the underground garage at Emza Khan’s building. As he got out, George, the night porter, joined him.

‘I think you should know that young Yousef’s on the loose, Colonel.’

Declan said, ‘Is he bad?’

‘Drunk as a lord, sir. I refused to give him his car keys and he tried to punch me. Then he said he didn’t need the car because he’d find what he wanted in Shepherd Market. He said he’d get me sacked.’

‘Good work, George, and hang on to those keys. Don’t worry about your job, I’ll see to it.’

He was back in the car in seconds and reversing. It was only a matter of a few hundred yards through empty streets and he turned into Shepherd Market, parked, and saw Yousef at once in the middle of a cobbled alley approaching the Blue Angel, swaying drunkenly. He called his name as Yousef got the door open, and ran to join him, arriving just after him. As he entered, Declan was immediately aware of a woman singing.

Earlier, Dillon and Sara had been greeted by the sound of a great driving piano backed by a trio. Most people had faded away at the lateness of the hour, just a couple of dozen aficionados left. Dillon was welcomed at once by the grey-haired black piano player, who called to them.

‘Hey, Dillon, my man, get up here. Who have you got there, old buddy?’

‘My very special date. A captain in the British Army.’

The pianist leaned over, still playing, and kissed her on the cheek.

‘That can’t be right. This rascal is IRA. Those guys never retire. Once in, never out, ain’t that so, Dillon?’

Dillon said to Sara, ‘Jacko St Clair, off a boat from New Orleans.’

‘That’s true, honey, only it was about thirty years ago. Are you for real? Is it true what he says?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ she told him.

Dillon cut in, ‘She’s got a great voice, Jacko.’

‘You mean she sings with you? Some of that cocktail bar stuff?’

‘Tell the barman that, for this time only, we’ll do it for free.’

Jacko got up. ‘Be my guest.’

Dillon sat down, nodded at the trio, and smiled at Sara. ‘Show them what you’ve got, I’ll do the intro strong, just so you get used to it.’ He turned to the trio. ‘You get that, guys? Then we’ll do it again with her joining in. Just remember, Sara, the hero of Abusan can do anything.’

His hands moved into the driving rhythm of Cole Porter’s ‘Night and Day’, and as Sara swept in powerfully, people in the audience started to clap. The outside door swung open with a crash. Yousef Khan stumbled, fell on his knees, and then turned and grabbed at Declan Rashid, pulling himself up.

‘What’s going on, and why is that silly bitch making such a row?’

Declan said, ‘Remember your manners. We’re leaving now.’

Yousef slapped him in the face, snarling, ‘You stupid Bedu peasant, why don’t you stumble out of here and find some goats to milk?’

Sara, who had stopped singing, moved close to him, followed by Dillon. ‘The only one getting out of here is you, you piece of camel dung,’ she told Yousef in Farsi.

He pulled away from Declan and tried to grab her. Immediately, a Colt .25 was in her right hand and rammed up under his chin. A warrant card was produced from her left pocket and held high for the audience to see.

‘Do I have to arrest him, Colonel, or can you persuade him to go? I’m an officer of the Security Services.’

Rasoul appeared in the open doorway, the ugly scarred face intimidating. ‘What’s going on?’

Declan ignored him and said to her, ‘I’m sorry for this trouble.’

‘Not as much as he is,’ she said. ‘I believe he’s wet himself.’

‘Damn you, whore.’ Yousef’s drunken rage boiled over and he struggled to get at her.

Declan pulled him around and shook him. ‘Control yourself, fool.’ Yousef spat in his face and Declan hit him very hard, a short and sharp punch, catching him as Yousef’s eyes rolled and he started to slide.

Rasoul was outraged. ‘How dare you do that? His father shall hear of it.’

‘I’m frightened to death,’ Declan told him and shoved Yousef into the big man’s arms. ‘Get him out of here, put him in my car, and wait for me.’

Rasoul hesitated, then pulled Yousef up over his right shoulder, and Declan turned to Sara and Dillon. ‘You are a remarkable lady. I won’t forget you.’

‘Or we you, Colonel. That’s a mean right hand you’ve got there,’ Dillon told him. He grinned at Sara. ‘Ferguson ought to hire him.’

‘Your lesson may even do that young man some good,’ Sara said.

‘But you don’t think it will?’ He smiled. ‘I would agree with you completely, which is very sad for his family. But I must go. His father will be waiting impatiently to hear how badly he’s behaved this time. A habit, I fear.’

He left, the door closed, and Sara turned to Dillon. ‘Let’s do it again. I don’t like disappointing such a good audience.’

‘Right on, honey,’ Jacko called. ‘And I do believe the barman is offering a free drink to everyone who stays.’

‘That clinches it.’ She turned and went to where the band was arranging itself, as the audience settled and Dillon eased behind the piano. He was smiling crookedly as he looked at her.

‘What’s that smile for?’ she said as she picked up her mike.

‘I enjoyed seeing you in action.’ He shook his head. ‘No wonder they gave you the Military Cross. Now let’s get down to business.’