The Killing Ground

“My God, you wonderful bastard,” Ferguson said. “How in the hell could he cope with that?” He turned to Molly Rashid. “And they may just be the end of your problem.”

The di

IN HAZAR the heat of the day was intense and Sara was not happy. If things had been difficult at her grandfather’s villa in Iraq, they were infinitely worse at the great house at Kafkar. To start with, her uncle had stipulated that not only Jasmine would have a bed in her room, but also two older family widows. Armed guards on the terraces made things no better.

“It’s intolerable,” she told Hussein. “I feel as if I’m being swallowed whole.”

“Let things settle down,” he urged her. “After everything that’s happened, he’s feeling a bit paranoid.”

“I’m not even allowed to eat with you. I’m consigned to the women, and most of them are old enough to be my grandmother. I can’t go for a swim in the pool unless I dress for it the way Muslim girls do. It’s like going swimming at Brighton in Edwardian times.”

“But you are a Muslim girl, and before you waste my time arguing the point, I will remind you that your uncle is very old-fashioned.”

“Tell me about it.” She was furious and gestured down to the private beach and the sea beyond. “It looks so normal down there. Tourists, water skiing, Jet Skis, speedboats, and up here it’s armed guards, a parallel world.”

“What nonsense.”

“Even you leave me for most of the time.”

“I have important matters to attend to.”

“I can imagine. Back to the war or something, everything a discussion. I’ve seen you, constantly on that satellite phone, arranging things with your friend the Broker.”

He was shocked. “What’s this?”

“The pool at Fuad. I heard him shouting at you on the phone when the static was bad.”

He shrugged. “He’s simply an investment counselor-a broker, just as I said.”

“Can I at least go shopping in the town or out in the bay in a motorboat?”

“We’ll see.” He stood up.

“Or go to town to visit the mosque. Even your uncle can’t say no to that.”

He smiled, aware of how much of a child she was when she chose, and was suddenly acutely aware of what he had promised her grandfather.

“It’s all for your own good. It really is. I’ll see what I can do.”

“And let Hassim and Hamid guard me. At least they’re friends, as is Khazid. They know what war’s about, not like the people here. Not like you.”

He was touched. She couldn’t have pleased him more, which was exactly why she’d said it.

“I’ll do what I can. Be a good girl.” And he left her to Jasmine and the other two women, who’d been seated some little distance away.

Sara moved to the balustrade at the edge of the terrace and looked down toward the harbor. There was a life down there, things were busy. The old dhow, the Sultan, was picturesque and fit the landscape. There was activity on deck; they were unloading a large rubber boat with what looked like gas cylinders. It was difficult to see at this distance. However, at that moment, Hamid appeared with Hassim. They both wore camouflage trousers, green T-shirts and sunglasses and carried AK rifles. There was no doubt they looked good and were much admired by the female staff.

Hamid said, “Hussein has sent us, little cousin. He says you are bored.”

He delivered this in English, for he was trying to improve it and she knew that. He had a pair of Zeiss glasses slung around his neck.

She said, “Excellent-you can start by letting me have your glasses.”

He handed them over. She raised them to her eyes, focusing on the dhow. There was an Arab on deck and another, a desert Bedouin, very dashing in black robes and black-and-white turban, a fold across his face leaving only the eyes uncovered.

Although she did not know it, her father was helping Selim, the caretaker of the Sultan, pull up air canisters as they were passed from the rubber boat by Dillon and Billy. At the same moment, Hal Stone emerged from the wheelhouse.

“What are you looking at?” Hamid asked.

“The big dhow. Hussein told me all about it. It’s used by a Cambridge University professor as a diving platform. There is a very ancient boat down there-Phoenician, I believe. You know about that?”

“Sure I do,” Hamid said, “I learned about the Phoenicians in school. Let’s look.” She gave him the glasses and he raised them. “Yes, that’s diving equipment they’re taking on board. It must be fun. I’d like to try.” He passed the glasses to Hassim.

“If we were allowed to go out in a boat, we could take a look,” she said.

“That would depend on your uncle.” He accepted a cigarette from Hamid and they sat on a bench and smoked.

THE GULFSTREAM HAD MANAGED an uneventful trip, with no need to refuel. They had discussed things over and over again. Caspar Rashid’s recent trip to Hazar had been his first since boyhood. His face was not a familiar one, certainly not to the caretaker of the Sultan.

Each of them had photos provided by Roper. First, one of Sara in her school uniform with her mother and father taken earlier that year, then group photos of Dillon, Billy and Hal Stone taken with Molly and Caspar. These were all obviously to establish credentials with Sara, though they provided no solution about how to make contact.

The first situation they encountered had to do with Selim. There had been a family death up country in the Empty Quarter. It required his presence and he needed five days for the trip. If anything, it made things easier, though, particularly regarding Caspar. Hal Stone provided Selim with his blessing and a hundred American dollars, checked that he’d stocked up on everything needed in the galley, and ran him across to the jetty in the early evening. While there, Dillon and Billy hired Jet Skis from a hire shop, plus a battered station wagon, and returned to the dhow, where they found Hal Stone and Caspar looking across to the Rashid house through glasses.

There was plenty of tourist traffic around and Hal said, “The Jet Skis made sense. There’s a lot of that kind of stuff over there. You can blend in.”

“That’s the idea,” Dillon said. “Get a diving suit on, Billy, and we’ll take a look. Hello.” He stiffened. “There are two guys walking along a terrace over there with slung rifles.” He paused. “Yes, two more and a third above.”

“Place is a fortress,” Billy said. “Come on, take a look.”

“Okay, and remember, we’re just tourists. Do what everybody else is doing and nothing more.”

AT THE AIRFIELD it was bakingly hot, but as a shabby, unshaven police lieutenant had told them, it wasn’t a busy time of year for them. The BA flight to London was their main co

The first task was to refuel, which they did, and then they returned the Gulfstream to the hangar and removed the port engine’s cowling. Said appeared and watched them for a couple of minutes.

“Are you sure you want to sleep here? I could send you to a good hotel. My cousin-”