Billy found it, a bundle of ten-pound notes with an elastic band around them. He pa.s.sed it to Salter, who slipped it in a pocket.

"Now, that wasn't too hard, was it? Of course, you've seriously upset me, and that won't do." He picked up a baseball bat. "Right arm, Billy."

The man tried to struggle, but Baxter and Hall held him fast and Billy pulled the arm straight. The baseball bat rose and fell. There was a crack, and the man cried out and slumped to his knees.

Salter crouched. "There's a hospital a mile up the road. You need the Casualty department, my old son, but you should be able to make it. Just don't come back here again. If you do, I'll kill you." He stood up. "I think I could do with another brandy."

He walked away. The rest followed, but Dillon paused to call Ferguson on his mobile. The General was still in the Daimler.

"What a surprise-they were hired by Rupert Dauncey."

"Well, at least we know where we are now. What happened to the Chinese gentleman? Not in the river, I trust?"

"One of the walking wounded. I'll see you tomorrow." Dillon clicked off his phone and went inside.

It was quiet outside, the only sound that of the injured man hauling himself off his knees. Rupert Dauncey slipped out of the shadows. "Are you all right, old man?"

"He's broken my arm."

"I'd say you're lucky he didn't break your neck." He took out a cigarette and lit it with his AK lighter. "In fact, you're lucky I don't break your neck, you idiot." He blew a stream of smoke at him. "Let me just leave you with this thought. Step out of line, open your mouth just once-and I'll kill you myself. You understand?"

"Yes," the man moaned.

"Excellent."

Rupert Dauncey walked away, and after a while the other man began to stumble up the street.

HAZAR.

7.

NORTHOLT, ON THE OUTER EDGE OF LONDON, WAS AN RAF base much used by the Royal Family, the Prime Minister, and major politicians. Because of this, it had become increasingly popular with users of executive aircraft and proved a lucrative sideline for the Royal Air Force.

It was ten o'clock the following morning when Kate Rashid and Rupert Dauncey pa.s.sed through security and drove round to the ap.r.o.n where the Gulfstream was standing. The engines were already turning over as they arrived, and a few minutes later they had started their climb to fifty thousand feet.

When they leveled out, a young woman in a navy blue uniform, slacks, and tunic approached them. "Tea as usual, Countess?"

"Thank you, Molly."

"Coffee for Mr. Dauncey? We have an American in the family now!" Molly went to the kitchen. Kate said, "Give me a cigarette and go over it again, Rupert."

He did as ordered and described the events of the night before. He shook his head. "I can't understand it. The Red Dragons came highly recommended."

"Those incompetents in Washington came highly recommended, too."

"Yes, I'm obviously going to have to get better sources. Now, what's the agenda for today?"

"We land at Hamam airport, then we'll take a helicopter to Shabwa Oasis in the Empty Quarter, then further into the Empty Quarter, to the oasis at Fuad. I have a camp there. I'd like you to see it."

"What goes on there?"

"You'll see."

"Mystery on mystery, hmm? Do we go to Hazar Town?"

"Oh, yes, I'd like to see Tony Villiers."

"Are you going to have him b.u.mped off?"

"I'd rather not. I like Tony. He's a superb commanding officer, and since the Sultan forbids him to go into the Empty Quarter, he's really not much threat." She shrugged. "We'll see. I've taken certain steps which should give him pause for thought."

"Such as?"

"Oh, let that be another little mystery for now, Rupert. Pa.s.s me the Times. Times." She opened it to the financial pages.

Villiers had left most of the Scouts in Cornet Bobby Hawk's hands and was proceeding down the desert road to Hazar Town. This was hill country, filled with rocky defiles and great cliffs the color of ocher. There was no traffic, not a sign of another human being, not even a goatherd.

He had two Land Rovers with eight men, including himself, a light machine gun mounted in each vehicle. It was incredibly hot and dusty, and Villiers was looking forward with pleasure to his room at the Excelsior Hotel, a bath, and a fresh uniform.

They stopped by a pool at a spot called Hama at the foot of some cliffs. The water was deep and cool, and one of the men stood on watch with a machine gun, while the others took off their bandoliers and sandals, walked into the pool in their robes, and splashed each other like children. Villiers lit a cigarette and watched, amused, but the smile quickly vanished as a spattering of stones came down the cliff in a shower. He glanced up, and his men started to plunge through the water to their weapons. A shot rang out and the leading man went down, a bullet in his head.

The machine gunner raked the cliffs up above for a full minute, as the men reached their rifles and fired up, too, but there was no reply. Villiers brought it to a stop. There was silence now.

Selim crawled to him beside one of the Land Rovers, and Villiers waited for a while, then stood up.

"No, Sahb, Sahb," the Sergeant said.

The silence was eerie. "It's all right. Whoever it was has gone already. I don't know why, but it was. .h.i.t-and-run."

"Maybe Adoo Adoo bandits from the Yemen, bandits from the Yemen, Sahb. Sahb. Or maybe Omar there offended someone?" They gazed at the floating body. Or maybe Omar there offended someone?" They gazed at the floating body.

"No, it could have been any one of you." He turned to his men. "Go on, get him out of the water."

Three of them waded in and pulled the body out. They had a couple of body bags in one of the Land Rovers amongst the general supplies and got Omar into one.

"Put him on the hood of number two Land Rover," Villiers ordered. "And tie him on tight. The next few miles are rough."

Someone produced a coil of rope and they placed the body as instructed, running the rope across and beneath the vehicle. The other Scouts watched in silence, subdued.

"Right, we'll move out now," Villiers said.

Selim sat beside him, looking troubled. "Sahb, one thing puzzles me. If the man who did this thing simply wanted to kill only one of us, why not the one thing puzzles me. If the man who did this thing simply wanted to kill only one of us, why not the Sahb, Sahb, why not the most important of us?" why not the most important of us?"

"Because they didn't want me dead," Villiers told him. "They just wanted to send a signal, Selim."

Selim looked even more troubled. "Can this be so, Sahb Sahb? Who would want this?"

"Someone from the Empty Quarter. One of those people who shouldn't be here and perhaps shouldn't be there, Selim. We'll find out soon enough." He smiled. "As Allah wills."

Selim, deeply disturbed, looked away, and Villiers lit a cigarette and leaned back.

The Port of Hazar was small, with white houses, narrow alleys, and two bazaars, but the port area was busy, filled with shabby coastal ships, Arab dhows, and fishing boats. The two Land Rovers stopped at the largest mosque, where Villiers delivered Omar's body to the Iman.

Afterwards, they drove down to the Excelsior Hotel, where he told Selim and the other five Scouts to take a couple of days off and gave them twenty dollars, each in fives. They were American dollars, an old custom that delighted them, for U.S. dollars were greatly appreciated in Hazar. He told them he knew where to find them if necessary and dismissed them.

The Excelsior dated from colonial days and still had a whiff of British Empire about it. The bar had the look of an old movie, with cane furniture, fans turning on the ceiling, and a marble-topped bar, bottles arranged behind. The barman, Abdul, wore a white monkey jacket from his days as a waiter on cruise ships.

"Lager," Villiers told him, "and as cold as it gets."

He went out through the French doors and sat in a large cane chair, the awning above his head flapping in the wind. Abdul brought the lager. Villiers ran a finger down the gla.s.s, beaded with moisture, then drank slowly, but without stopping, washing away the sand and the heat and the dirt of the border country.

Abdul had waited, an old ritual. "Another one, Sahb Sahb?"

"Yes, thank you, Abdul."

Villiers lit a cigarette and looked out to the horizon, a dark mood on him. Maybe it was the death of Omar, and the puzzle why he himself had been spared. On the other hand, maybe he'd stayed in Hazar too long. He'd been married once, more years ago than he cared to remember: Gabrielle of the blond hair and the green eyes, the love of his life. But he'd been away from home too much, they'd drifted apart, and finally divorced just before the Falklands War. What made it worse was that she'd married the enemy, an Argentine Air Force fighter ace who later became a general.

No one could ever replace her. There had been women, of course, but never one to move him enough to marry again. For Villiers, it had been a life of soldiering in strange places, his only anchor the old family house in West Suss.e.x, and the home farm, worked by his nephew, who was married with two children and also doubled as the estate manager. They were always begging him to give up soldiering while he was still in one piece and come home.

Abdul interrupted his reverie with the second lager. Someone called, "I'll have one of those," and Villiers turned to see Ben Carver walk in wearing flying overalls and a Panama hat. He flopped down in the chair opposite Villiers and fanned his face with the hat.

"Christ, it's hot out there."

"How's the air taxi business?"

"Lucrative, with all those oil leases out there on the border country. I've replaced the Three-Ten your friend Dillon crashed last year."

"He didn't crash it, he was shot down by Bedu, as you well know."

"All right, so he was shot down. I've still got the Golden Eagle, and I've got a couple of South African kids flying over in my new Beechcraft. Well, it's not exactly new, but it'll do nicely."

"Are they going to stay?"

"They're giving it six months. I need someone. There's a lot of Rashid work around."

"I hear she's coming in today."

"The Countess? Yeah, she's flying in with someone named Dauncey. Not staying long, though. Got a slot back to London day after tomorrow."

"Dauncey is her cousin. Tell me, Ben, when you fly to oil sites out there in the Empty Quarter, do you see much action?"

"Action? What do you mean?"

"Well, since the Sultan won't let the Scouts cross the border anymore, I just don't know things the way I used to. Who do you see?"

Carver wasn't smiling now. "A few caravans, will that do?" He swallowed his lager and stood. "I see nothing, Tony."

"Which is what you're paid to do?"

"I'm paid to fly to exploratory oil wells, land in the desert, then fly back." He walked to the door and turned. "And I'm paid to mind my own business. You should try it."

"So that means you don't fly that new toy of hers, the Scorpion? I've seen that helicopter crossing the line dozens of times when we've been on patrol. That isn't you at the controls?"

Carver glared as he walked out, and as Villiers stood, he realized Abdul was carefully cleaning a gla.s.s-topped table close to the open French door. He'd obviously heard every word.

"Another lager, Colonel?"

"No, thanks." Villiers smiled. "I'll be down for dinner later," and he walked out.

He had a long hot shower to get really clean, then relaxed in a tepid bath for half an hour, thinking about things, particularly his encounter with Ben Carver. A good man, Ben, DFC in the Gulf War, but with an eye to his bank account. He wouldn't want to rock the boat, especially the Rashid boat. There were certain things Villiers could take for granted about Kate Rashid, though. She would stay at the Rashid Villa in the old quarter, a Moorish palace. At some stage, she would proceed to Shabwa Oasis by helicopter. And she would dine at the Excelsior restaurant that night, because she always did.

Evening was falling, orange streaks coloring the horizon beyond the harbor. He toweled his long hair vigorously, remembering his years with the SAS, when you were never sure what would happen next, when if you'd suddenly have to a.s.sume a civilian ident.i.ty, an Army haircut wouldn't do. All that Irish time that would never go away.

As he stood at the mirror combing his hair, he thought about how to handle dinner, then decided to go all the way: no linen suit tonight, something to impress. He took a tropical uniform from the wardrobe, khaki slacks and bush shirt, the medal ribbons making a brave show. He held it up and smiled. That would do nicely.

Rupert was much impressed with the Rashid Villa. He stood in the great hall, looking up at the vaulted ceiling. There were wonderful rugs scattered on the marble floor, Arab antiques on every hand, and the walls were painted with frescoes.

"This is really quite a show."

"Thank you, darling. There are offices at the back, computers, the full Monty. This is headquarters for Rashid Investments in Hazar and the whole of Southern Arabia."

The head houseboy, who had greeted them at the great copper door, said, "Abdul, from the Excelsior, has been waiting to see you, Countess."

"Where is he?"

"With Abu."

Abu was her body servant, a fierce Bedu warrior from Shabwa Oasis. He was always there to greet her when she arrived in Hazar and stayed at her side for the length of the trip.

"We'll have tea and coffee on the terrace. Bring him to me."

She led the way up marble stairs, Rupert following, pa.s.sed along an airy corridor, and came out on a wide terrace, the awning flapping in the early evening breeze. The view was stupendous, for they were high up above the rooftops.

"Magnificent." Rupert sat down and offered her a cigarette.

"It'll be dark soon. Dusk doesn't last long here," Kate said.

Behind them, Abdul was ushered in by Abu, who was tall and bearded with a hard face, and wore a white head cloth and robe.

"Abu, it is good to see you," she told him in Arabic.

He smiled, a thing he rarely did, and salaamed. "And for me to see you, Countess, is a blessing as always. This creature wishes to see you."