Jack Higgins - The Death Trade

His hands slammed into the keys, fingers searching as he launched into that driving rhythm for the second time that night.

They went up in the lift to Emza Khan’s apartment, Declan Rashid leading the way, Rasoul with Yousef draped around him. Emza Khan was sitting in a winged chair by the terrace window reading the Financial Times . He tossed it to one side and jumped to his feet.

‘What is it, what happened?’ He was totally dismayed.

‘Ask the Colonel,’ Rasoul said angrily. ‘The one who beat him.’

‘Is this true?’ Khan demanded.

Declan had two main obligations in his life. One was to his country and its army, in which he had served so gallantly. The other was to the head of his extended family, which meant kissing the hand of Emza Khan and, by tradition, obeying him in all things. The truth was that his Irish half was finding it extremely difficult to follow such a path.

He said to Khan, ‘Listen to this creature’s lies if you must, but Yousef behaved like a drunken sot, tried to attack a young woman who turned out to be an army officer. She had to draw a weapon on him, I took appropriate action and knocked him out. If you want to call in Dr Aziz to check him over, that’s your privilege.’

Khan turned to Rasoul. ‘Get Aziz now. No more arguments, and take Yousef to his bedroom.’ Which Rasoul did. Khan carried on, ‘It is most unfortunate, the drinking. It’s a sickness, a known fact. I had great hopes for him.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘He was such a lovely boy. I was hoping to take him to Paris. What do you think?’

‘God help the chambermaids at the Ritz if you do. I’ve other things on my mind, like finding out who these people we were involved with tonight are. A name was mentioned, Ferguson. If he’s who I think he is, we need to know. I’ll borrow your office and computer to link into the embassy.’

‘Help yourself to what you need,’ Khan said. ‘We’ll speak later. I must check on Yousef.’

He went out.

As the cab turned a corner, Sara leaned against Dillon, eyes closed, and they stayed that way as she murmured, ‘Are we there? I need my bed.’

‘So I can see. Can you remember what happened?’

Her eyes opened. ‘Sean, for your personal information, I like a drink, but never get drunk. So, yes, I remember everything, however improbable it appeared at the time.’

‘Colonel Declan Rashid and a rotten young bastard called Yousef Khan, do you recall them?’

‘Of course I do, and the Colonel was far more interesting. Why do you ask?’

He got the door open for her. ‘I just wanted to remind you he’s the enemy.’

She got out. ‘He joined the paratroopers at sixteen and jumped into action five times without any training. Why would anyone do that?’

‘Perhaps he had a death wish.’ Dillon smiled bleakly, followed her, and paid the driver, who drove away.

Sara turned, found herself facing not her own front door but the Judas Gate in the entrance to Holland Park. Dillon opened it for her, pressing a button on his Codex.

‘What’s going on, Sean?’ she demanded.

‘Oh, I need to bring Roper up to date on what happened, and we’re not all that far from your place. You could have a steam for a while in the spa, even stay in the guest wing, or I can drop you home when I’ve spoken to Roper.’

She sighed. ‘All right.’

They crossed the courtyard and opened the front door, but were surprised to hear Ferguson’s voice echoing from the computer room.

‘I wonder what he’s doing here,’ Dillon said. ‘Do you want to face him?’

‘No, thanks, the steam room sounds fine.’

‘Okay, off you go. I’ll handle it.’

She vanished along the corridor into the shadows, and Dillon stood at the door of the computer room, listening, and then went in.

‘Holy Mother, and me thinking you’d wrapped up for the night.’

‘Oh, we never close,’ Roper told him.

Ferguson said, ‘I went home to get some essential papers. I’m due at the Cabinet Office first thing in the morning to brief the Prime Minister on Simon Husseini. I thought I’d come back here and use one of the guest rooms so I’d get an early start.’

‘So what’s your story?’ Roper asked. ‘If you have one at all.’

‘Oh, I certainly do,’ Dillon said. ‘Though there are aspects of it that may not get your seal of approval.’

‘That sounds sinister,’ Ferguson said. ‘Better get it over with and tell us the worst.’

He was smiling when he said that, but not when Dillon was finished. ‘That’s incredible. We were only discussing the Iranians earlier and then they go and turn up in the flesh.’

‘Carl Jung called it synchronicity,’ Dillon told him. ‘Events that have a coincidence in time, so that it’s understandable to imagine some deeper meaning involved.’

‘Nonsense,’ Ferguson told him. ‘Pure coincidence. Emza Khan lives in Park Lane just up the road from Shepherd Market, where his son is a well-known drunk in local bars and clubs. The fact that Declan Rashid turns up, obviously trying to clean up the mess Yousef Khan has created for his father, should surprise no one.’

‘Well, let’s put it down to the romantic in me,’ Dillon said.

‘Nothing romantic about it. Things got very much out of hand, and that Captain Sara Gideon drew her pistol in a public place is to be deplored. The Iranians will be taking a close interest in what we are doing, which was the last thing I wanted.’

‘Or was it?’

Ferguson frowned. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

‘That you’re a master of guile and wickedness, always stirring the pot.’

Ferguson wasn’t in the least put out, just smiled cheerfully. ‘Of course I am, and one never knows what’s going to bubble up to the surface. Take Paris and Simon Husseini. Anything could happen, the possibilities are endless.’ He swallowed the last of his whiskey, got up. ‘Must get some sleep. See you at breakfast.’

Roper said, ‘What do you think he’s up to?’

‘I haven’t the slightest idea,’ Dillon said. ‘When I do, I’ll let you know.’

He moved to the door, and Roper said, ‘Are you staying?’

‘I don’t think so. Sara’s downstairs having a steam. She preferred not to face Ferguson at this stage.’

‘I don’t blame her.’

‘I’ll join her and take her home in the Mini when she’s ready.’

He went out quickly, leaving Roper to his screens.

At Park Lane, Declan Rashid, a slight smile on his face, read the computer report on Ferguson and company that the printer had ejected. When he was finished, he made another copy and went in search of Khan and found him in the sitting room, talking to Dr Aziz, a small cheerful Indian with skin like brown parchment.

‘I’ve given him a shot of morphine, which will keep him sleeping for eight to ten hours. Nothing broken, but he’ll have a bad bruise,’ Aziz said.

‘That was me,’ Declan told him.

‘Quite a punch, Colonel.’ Aziz smiled.

‘Which he richly deserved,’ Declan told him.

‘I’m sure you’re right. Drink will be the death of him.’ He turned to Khan. ‘But I’m tired of telling you that. I’ll call again in the morning.’

‘I’m very grateful,’ Khan said. ‘Anything he needs. I’ve got to go to Paris for three days, and I’ll need Rasoul with me. Can you arrange a nurse?’

‘No problem.’

‘I think the male variety would be advisable in the circumstances,’ Declan Rashid said and turned to Khan. ‘I mean it for the best, naturally.’

‘Of course,’ Khan said. ‘See to it as you think fit, Doctor. Show the doctor out, Rasoul.’

Rasoul, who had been glowering in the background, did as he was told, and Declan joined Khan over by the great windows and offered the report.