The Killing Ground

“Probably well over the Horn of Africa by now,” Hussein said and went in search of his uncle.

THE OLD MAN was so shocked, he required the attention of his physician, who was waiting for them when they got to the house. It required servants to help carry the old man upstairs to his bedroom, and Dr. Aziz accompanied him. He waved the servants away and checked the heart. Hussein waited for the bad news.

Aziz turned, his face grave. “It is not good. He’s in a poor state of health anyway, much worse than you perhaps realized.” He opened his bag, took out a hypodermic and charged it. “Hold his arm.” Hussein did so and Aziz made the injection.

The old man groaned. His vacant eyes traveled the room and settled on Hussein. There was a light there for a while.

“Why did you trust her?”

“Because she gave me her word,” Hussein said bleakly.

“They could not have done this thing, those who did it, unless she was willing. Her father, right under our noses, and the man who accompanied him.”

“The men from Baghdad, this Dillon and Salter. It must be.”

“But her father, the apostate, the cursed one who turns his back on Allah. May every devil in hell wait for you, Caspar Rashid.” He shook his head. “That he bears the name of our family shames me beyond belief.” He began to weep.

Aziz had retreated to the door to speak on the phone. Now he beckoned to Hussein. “I’ve sent for an ambulance.”

“You think it’s that bad?”

“Let me put it this way. It’s a good thing Rashid Shipping invested in the development of the hospital the past few years. We’ve got the equipment to at least give him a fighting chance.” He put an arm around Hussein’s shoulders. “It’s also good that your doctor is Indian and so are his nurses. There will be no Muslim stupidities to make things difficult.”

“I think we’ve seen enough Muslim stupidities for one day,” Hussein said. “Two friends to bury, lads I soldiered with.” He shook his head. “Why did she betray me?”

“So that’s how you see it?”

“She was in shackles-I freed her. When a dog named Ali ben Levi laid a hand on her, I killed him. But more than that. I swore, a hand on the Koran, that I would prove a true husband to her in thought and deed when she came of age. More than this, no more than a couple of hours before his death, her grandfather put her welfare in my hands when he placed her in my care for the journey to Hazar. On my honor, I swore to him to protect her always.”

“Can you be certain, my friend, it is not just your pride which has been hurt?”

“Pride?” Hussein shrugged. “What has this miserable affair to do with such a shallow emotion?”

An approaching siren outside heralded the ambulance. Aziz went out to meet four porters in green hospital overalls carrying a stretcher, followed by two nurses in saris. Within a few moments, the old man was maneuvered onto a stretcher, drips were inserted, bottles held high as he was lifted.

“I’ll come with you,” Hussein said.

“I’d rather you left it till later.”

The little column descended the stairs, accompanied by weeping women of the household, the servants visibly upset below. Hussein went down, moved amongst them.

“Pray for him, pray hard. Now attend to your work.” Khazid stood by the open window, his AK hanging from his left shoulder He looked somber and they went outside on the terrace.

Hussein took out a pack of American cigarettes, gave him one and a light. Khazid said, “The look on Hamid’s face. I think it was surprise.”

“Well, it would be. Come on, little brother, you’ve seen enough of death to recognize it any way it comes. No shock there.”

“Not anymore.”

“Well, then. You’ve been in touch with Said at the terminal since I last called him. What did he have to say?”

“The Gulfstream, as you know, was UN. It turned up the other day, two pilots, this Professor Hal Stone, the archaeologist who has worked on this wreck in the harbor, and three men with him. One was your cousin Caspar Rashid, two were logged in as divers. Interestingly, the pilots had been here before-the other year.”

“And Hal Stone?”

“It would appear so. He came several times. They talked about it, the pilots, and the aircraft’s insignia was definitely UN.”

“Which I don’t believe for a moment. I’ll tell you what I think. Dillon and Salter went to Baghdad, and we know what happened there. They then went back to London, probably having found out we were on our way to Hazar.”

“So?”

“You’ve been involved in enough of my exploits in the past to know that the one essential ingredient is surprise. What greater surprise for them than attempting to snatch Sara from us virtually the moment we arrived? Who in the hell would have expected it?”

“Yes-but there are still mysteries here. There must have been some sort of communication between them and Sara?”

“Possibly, but we’ll never know without being told. Be a good soldier now. Go to the hospital and stand vigil for me.”

“And you?”

“You think it ends here, this business?” Hussein shook his head. “Not if I can help it. Off you go and leave me to speak to the one man in the world who can truly help me.”

THE BROKER FOUND little to comfort him at the news. Volkov had already called him with word about Max Chekov’s unfortunate fate, some of the best doctors in London struggling to save his leg.

“What the hell is going on?” Volkov wanted to know. “This could have a huge effect on our future plans.”

“You hardly need to make the point,” the Broker said. “But it confirms what I suspected. Salter and his associates are totally ruthless men. Together with Dillon and Billy Salter, they pose a real threat.”

“Then I suggest you do something about it,” Volkov said. “It’s hardly the kind of news that will please President Putin,” and he ended the conversation.

The Broker sat there, brooding. An important kill was what was needed. Obviously, to see Harry Salter stone-cold dead in the market would be good, but Ferguson -that really would be something. But for that, he needed Hussein more than ever. Even Putin would be impressed with Ferguson out of the way. He reached for his phone and called Hussein, only to receive the shocking news about Sara.

As Hussein spoke, he sat there, trying to take it all in, part of him unwilling to believe what had happened. When the account was finished, the Broker said, “What do you want to do?”

“You wanted me to come to England anyway and deal with Ferguson. This would suit me very much. And not just for personal revenge. I refuse to leave Sara, wherever she is. I made a promise, a sacred oath to her grandfather. I intend to carry it out.”

“And so you shall. I will arrange things. General support in the UK will be from the Army of God network of spies and informers. I had meant to send Professor Dreq Khan to Hazar. I’ll call him back at once to London and put him to work. He will be useful to you.”

“How do I come?”

“Plane to Paris, then the Cha

“Of course.”

“Use the British passport. Hugh Darcy. I like that one. Get yourself a blazer. You’ll look like an English gentleman who’s been on holiday. The passport will support that. I’ll arrange what happens to you when you reach London with Khan. When will you come?”

“Tomorrow if I can, but it depends on my uncle’s health at the moment. This business has hit him hard.”

“I look forward to hearing from you.”

They disco