The Killing Ground

“Take some of the smaller tools, the screwdrivers, and we’ll scrape round the edges of the circle. That was Ali. Jamal reports the Hawk departing nine-thirty.” He scraped away furiously, as did Khazid. “That would mean an ETA of ten-thirty plus the drive from the runway. I’d say they’ll arrive at the house at about ten forty-five. Now put your back into it, little brother.”

And it moved with a strange kind of groan and tilted and broke free and they carried it farther into the thicket and dumped it in the long grass.

“You first,” Hussein said to Khazid and pulled the cape from the tool bag. “I’ll pass it to you. There seem to be rungs down into this thing.”

Khazid did as he was told, the flashlight in one hand. His voice echoed up. “It’s about five foot in diameter. Drop the bag.”

Hussein did so, spread the cape on the ground, went a few steps down the rungs and reached up to pull the cape over the hole. It was green in color, and with any luck, it would be undetected for a very long time.

KHAZID HAD THE FLASHLIGHT OUT and it picked out the tu

“Must be leakage of some kind,” Khazid said.

He moved ahead, bending over slightly, oblivious in his stout boots to the sludge under his feet. There was a smell, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Rather like walking through a wood in the rain, earthy and damp.

In his head, Hussein moved in slow motion as if in a dream. The sight of Sara under that umbrella had shocked him. It was the reality of her presence after the things that had gone before, the journey from Hazar, so much violence and death. Now she was near and there was little doubt what Khazid would expect to do.

And Khazid was right to expect such a thing. They were soldiers, fighting in a war, one of the worst of modern times that, one way or another, had cost the lives of many thousands of his fellow Iraqis, including his parents. It would be the worst kind of dishonor to fail them all now, even though it would cost him his life. He saw all this so clearly. He was the Hammer of God and he had never failed in his duty.

There was the same kind of ladder in the brick wall. He said to Khazid, “Mount a few rungs with a crowbar and see what you can do. I’ll brace you.”

Khazid put down the lantern and obeyed and mounted to the right level and got to work, as Hussein took his weight. He was having difficulty, but a crack was obvious at the left-hand side of the manhole cover, the decay of the years.

“I can get the end of the crowbar in there. I’ll hold it with one hand while you get the hammer and swing it against the end.” Hussein did exactly that and everything happened in a rush, two or three bricks tumbling down. He jumped out of the way, then pushed his hands into Khazid’s back, holding him firmly, while the manhole cover seemed to slide to one side and a considerable amount of earth showered in.

Hussein shook it off. “Go through, see where we are,” he ordered.

Khazid mounted the rungs farther, pushing the lid right to one side and emerged, heavy rain pouring down, in the middle of a mass of rhododendron bushes surrounded by willow trees and close to a summerhouse styled in the ma

Khazid slid down into the tu

“Perfect.” He glanced at his watch. It was ten-twenty and the air was filled with the noise of the Hawk landing at the runway. “Ten minutes early. I got it wrong.”

“But we are just in time for Ferguson, is it not so?”

“Absolutely.” Hussein took out the silenced Walther and checked it.

Khazid did the same to his, leaving the Uzi in the other capacious pocket, already loaded with the taped magazines. The hand grenade he had taken from Darcus Wellington’s collection without telling Hussein, he left in his breast pocket.

“So, Sara is no longer a problem?” he said. “It will be Ferguson?”

Hussein nodded slightly. “Yes, Ferguson, because it must be so. I see now I was very wrong where Sara was concerned. My duty lies elsewhere.” He smiled. “Sometimes you see truth more easily than I do. A hard lesson for me to learn.” He kissed Khazid on each cheek. “I will meet you in Paradise, little brother.”

“And I you.” Tears stained Khazid’s face, and he gave his leader a fierce hug.

“Go to a good death,” Hussein told him, waited for Khazid to go up and then followed him.

CAPTAIN BOSEY WAS BY THE RUNWAY, umbrella ready to shield Ferguson from the heavy rain. Dillon and Billy followed behind him and Ferguson turned as Squadron Leader Lacey peered out of the hatch.

“We’ll certainly be here for a few hours, so you and Parry might as well come up to the house.”

“That’s kind of you, sir, but we’ve got things to do.” He turned to Bosey, “Could you come back for us in an hour?”

“I’ll see to it.” Bosey held open the Land Rover door for Ferguson and Dillon and Billy bundled in.

“What a bleeding day,” Billy observed.

“Takes you back to Belfast on a wet Saturday night,” Ferguson added as Bosey drove away. “I must say Lacey and Parry did a fine job. There were times when I flinched.” He turned to Bosey. “How’s everything at the house?”

“Perfect, General, no problems. The Rashids have settled in well and your people seem perfectly happy.”

“Excellent,” Ferguson told him. “Pity about the weather, but I’m sure you have a nice lunch arranged.”

“Oh, you can rely on Mrs. Tetley for that, General.” Bosey drove on.

THE SOUND OF THE HAWK had touched everybody at Zion House with a kind of anticipation, especially Molly Rashid, who was feeling even more unhappy than usual.

“Thank God they’ve got here. I thought it might be canceled by this dreadful weather and I need to have words with General Ferguson.” She was sitting on a sofa beside Caspar and Sara, and the three Russians were chatting in the corner. She stood up. “I’m just bobbing upstairs for a moment.”

“What for, a phone call, Mummy?”

“Yes, I’ll only be a few minutes.” There was instant dismay on her face as she realized her error. The Russians stopped their conversation and Molly, horrified at being caught out, fled.

Caspar said, “What on earth’s going on?”

“Why don’t you ask her?” Sara stood up. “You know how much I like the rain, I’m going for a walk in the garden.”

“You’ll get soaked,” he told her.

“No, I won’t, I shall borrow Igor’s trench coat and take an umbrella.” She turned to the Russians as she walked out. “Taking your trench coat, Igor. I’m just going for a stroll.”

“Do you want any company?” Greta asked.

“Suit yourself,” Sara said.

“I’ll be right with you.”

A few minutes later, they went out the front door, Greta also in a raincoat, linked arms for a moment and paused at the balustrade. Hidden in the rhododendron bushes by the pagoda, Hussein and Khazid saw them emerge, and Hussein raised the Zeiss glasses.

“It’s Sara and some woman.” At that same moment, the Land Rover entered the main gate and started along the driveway. Sara said to Greta, “Oh, damn, here they are. I’m not ready for it yet. Let’s go, just for a few minutes at least.”