The Killing Ground

HAL STONE’S CLEANING LADY, a widow named Amy Robinson, usually only worked mornings, but she had her own key and his laundry to deliver, so she called in at the cottage and discovered him in the garden. She had once been a nurse and was still expert enough to establish that he was alive. It was roughly an hour and a half since Hussein and Khazid had left.

She dialed 999 and called for ambulance and police, stipulating gunshot wounds, then she went out with a rug and pillows and tried to make him comfortable. She was kneeling beside him, stroking his hair, when his eyes opened. He looked at her, bewildered.

“Amy?”

“Don’t fuss, love, lie still. There’s an ambulance on its way. Who did this to you?”

“My cousin General Ferguson-you met him when he visited the other year. My address book’s on the desk. His private mobile number. Call him for me.”

“Don’t upset yourself, love, I’m sure he’ll be contacted in time.”

“You don’t understand.” He clutched at her with a bloodstained hand. “Tell him they were here, both of them. They were here in England. The other one shot me.” He closed his eyes and opened them. “I didn’t mention Zion.”

He lost consciousness again and there was a sudden confusion outside as the ambulance arrived.

She went to the front door and admitted the paramedics, who followed her as she showed what waited in the garden. And then, of course, the police came, first one car, then two. She waited, bewildered by it all, and then a man in civilian clothes arrived, who she was told was a Chief Inspector Harper. He had a quick look round the cottage and went outside to the wall. When he returned, a police sergeant was taking a written statement from Amy.

“He did say something strange when he came to for a moment.” She told him what it was.

Harper, coming in through the French windows, heard. “Did you say General Ferguson?”

“Yes, Professor Stone’s cousin. He’s very important in one of the ministries.”

“You can say that again, if it’s who I think it is.”

“The professor said the General’s personal number was in his address book on the desk.”

Harper rushed to find it, and so it was that Ferguson, who had just arrived at the Holland Park safe house to discuss progress, heard the dreadful news.

THE TRAIN WAS just twenty minutes out of King’s Cross when Ali received the call from Hussein. “We’re just arriving from Cambridge. A waste of time. We’ll come round to your shop. We’ll need somewhere to stay.”

“I’ve been waiting to hear from you. I have discovered where they have taken the Rashids.”

“But where does such information come from? Khan, I suppose, and presumably he would have got it from the Broker?”

“No, neither Khan nor the Broker know about it. It was the action of the Rashid woman, the doctor, which came to our aid. She was concerned for the welfare of a child she had operated on and telephoned the surgeon who has taken over the case. He wanted to be able to get in touch with her if there was a change in the child’s condition. One of the nurses, a member of my network, was on duty and obtained the address for us.”

“This is truly unbelievable. They are still in England then?”

“West Sussex, a place called Zion House. Not only can I show it to you on a laptop when you get here, I’ve also sent a trusted agent straight down there to scout the place out for you. I’ve impressed on him the urgency of his report.”

“It is hard to imagine that Ferguson let them make phone calls.”

“She probably broke the rules,” Ali said.

“And must pay the price. It would suit me very well for the enemy not to know that we are here. If you mention your discovery of Zion House to Dreq Khan, he will in turn inform the Broker.”

“And that one you distrust?”

“He has had his uses, but he has his fingers in too many pies. You must not take this as an attack on Osama bin Laden, whom Allah protect, because on the ground, he represents Osama in certain matters. In those affairs, he is simply serving a great man’s needs and he must remember his place. Sometimes such men see themselves as being more important than they are.”

“Professor Khan, for example?”

“It is difficult for some people to remember that the cause they represent is more important than themselves,” Hussein said.

Ali said calmly, “Khan will not be told of Zion from me. I look forward to receiving you.”

“We shall be seeing you soon,” Hussein told him.

He turned off his phone. Khazid said, “What was all that about?”

“Brother, Allah is on our side. Ali Hassim has discovered where the Rashids have been taken.” He proceeded to tell Khazid as much as he needed to know.

“Perfect,” Khazid said. “With the professor dead, no one in Ferguson’s organization even knows we are here.”

“Of course,” Hussein said, a faint shadow on his face as that wavering pulse came back to haunt him. He took a deep breath. “Nothing can go wrong now.” A few moments later, the train arrived at King’s Cross.

AT HOLLAND PARK, Ferguson was speaking to Harper again. “Chief Inspector, I’m invoking the Terrorism Act, to put a blanket on this for the moment. Some very nasty people are involved.”

“We are dealing with terrorists here, sir?”

“I have a special warrant from Downing Street on this one. I also have an official request to your chief constable that you act as my liaison there.”

Harper’s spirits lifted. “Very good of you, sir. Happy to be on board.”

“I’ve borrowed a police helicopter from the Met, thanks to the commissioner. They’re lifting me from a school football field just down the road from here.”

“Stone’s hanging on by inches, General, that’s what the surgeon in charge informs me. The scans show two bullets, one under the left shoulder that’s apparently fragmented much of the shoulder blade, and there’s a major artery close by that will give a problem.”

“And the other?”

“Low in the back. It’s done a lot of damage to the pelvic girdle. What I’m telling you is what the scans show. I expect the major surgery will reveal much more.”

“Thanks very much. I’ll see you soon.”

Roper said, “What a bastard.” Dillon and Billy looked grim.

Billy said, “What did he say to the cleaning lady?”

“He said to tell me they were here, both of them, they were here in England. The other one shot me. I didn’t tell them about Zion.”

“It was them, all right,” Dillon said. “Has to be.”

“And the other one, the bastard who shot him in the back, was this Khazid guy.” Billy was angry.

“I think that’s obvious,” Ferguson said, and there was the chatter of the helicopter passing overhead to the football field. “Sean,” he said to Dillon, “Hal is the closest relative I have left. Would you come with me?”

It was a direct appeal that couldn’t be refused. “Of course I will.”

“Good luck,” Roper called as they went out the door.

The noise of the helicopter was with them for about ten minutes and then the aircraft lifted and moved away. Roper reached for the scotch.

Billy said, “Knock it off. At a time like this, a man needs friends to drink with.”

“That’s the best idea you’ve had for some time.” Roper started his wheelchair and Billy followed him out.

ON HIS WAY TO ZION, Sam Bolton had stopped in Guildford and visited the army and navy store, where he purchased an anorak, a jumper, a waterproof bush hat and trousers to go with it and some boots. He then cast around for a pair of binoculars and found something suitable in a camera shop. He also purchased a canvas carrying bag from a nearby store, then went into a convenient hotel and found the gentlemen’s toilets.