The moment was shattered. He sat up. "Do you know something? Is there something you're not telling me about Sophia? What is it, Tally?"

She reached for his hand. "No, no. It's just that there's a lot at stake here. A lot more than... I mean, what we're doing's a lot more significant than perhaps... you might realise."

He turned on the bedside light. He spoke slowly, barely able to restrain his emotions. "Tell me."

Tally pulled the sheet up to cover herself. "I can't. Derek thinks you'll go off the deep end."

"Tell me, Tally. Or I get up and walk out of here right now."

"Let me ask you a question first. Do you know if either Sophia or Danni have type AB negative blood?"

"What?" Mac shook his head. "I know Sophia has a rare blood type. Bob has the same. He told me he had to donate his blood before his operation just in case, because they had none available in Martinique. But I don't know what type. Why?"

"Oh, G.o.d. Rosco and I found some emails. We think maybe Khalid's using captive children for organ transplants on Andaran. Someone with type AB negative blood is due to have their liver removed on the eighteenth. For a terrorist, possibly Zodhami. Abu-Bakr had the same AB blood type. But he died. I think he may have been the original intended recipient. A lung transplant."

"What? When were you going to f.u.c.king tell me all this? Or weren't you going to?" He glared at her, scarcely believing she could be so uncaring as to hide that from him. That she could sit through a three-course dinner and try to seduce him without saying anything. It was almost as sickening as what Khalid was doing.

One thing he was sure of, he needed to squash his anger and get things moving. Tonight. They needed to take Khalid hostage. And if that failed, he'd have to get some guys to Andaran in the next few days to try to stop the operation.

"What are you going to do?" Tally said softly, her eyes full of remorse.

"Eight days... Eight days we have. And it's better you don't know." He jumped off the bed and hurried through to the adjoining room, locking the door from his side.

He lay there in the dark, staring at the shadows dancing on the ceiling. Everything now was about timing. Khalid would have to leave the Riston sometime. And he'd have to fly to London for Bill's funeral. Mai had promised to hand over the plans for Khalid's fortress. Now he realised that his decision not to mention that to Tally had been wise. She was Derek Wisebaum's informant, his tool.

His mouth could still taste the sweetness of their kiss. But it was bittersweet, and the trust he had begun to feel for her had vanished.

Some time later, he opened his eyes. His phone alarm. It was 1:30 a.m. After a long p.i.s.s, he dragged on his clothes. He could still sense Tally's fragrance as he hurried through the lobby to greet Scotty, Jog and Schmidt.

62.

Tally's skin tingled as she sprayed the steamy water across her belly and b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She'd learned so much more about Mac from his lips. They'd been soft and warm, not urgent and forceful like Austin's. Mac had clearly a.s.sumed that she'd drunk too much. But she knew her limits and had always been able to keep up with the guys. As a student at the University of Vermont, she'd eat a heap of bread and ice cream before heading out partying. Slowed down the absorption. And Mac had fallen for it. It was the end game that counted. She always focused on the end game.

Though in truth, she'd enjoyed the dinner more than she'd been expecting to. She chuckled at the image of Mac risking his life in the crazy Paris traffic to fetch her shoe and then carrying her up to bed. Who did that anymore? Still, it was... nice. And then the kiss... Oh, G.o.d, the look on his face when the dress dropped to the floor. She closed her eyes and directed the pulsing spray lower and tried not to think.

In the end, her feelings had compromised her focus. She hadn't been able to have the uncomplicated relationship with Mac that she'd hoped for. She couldn't look into his eyes and make love to him, without telling him about Sophia, regardless of Derek's orders. But Derek had been right-Mac had gone off the deep end. Worse-she'd screwed up the trust that had been building between them. Even so, she felt she'd done the right thing telling him.

She lay awake for a long time, and decided to call Benita for a long chat that was overdue. At some point, she heard the m.u.f.fled sound of Mac's phone alarm from next door. Her clock said 1:30 a.m. A short time later, she heard his external door close. She got up and watched through the security viewer as his distorted figure walked along the corridor and waited by the elevator.

She went to her desk and typed his phone number into her computer. He still had it switched on so she could track his movements. Zooming in on the street map, she followed the progress of the vehicle he was travelling in until it suddenly disappeared from the screen. d.a.m.n! He'd taken the battery from his phone. He must have suspected she'd be tracking him.

She stared at the screen. The image had disappeared near the Place Pigalle. The red-light district. It was obvious what he was doing. Sleazing to some strip show, or worse. She felt a sense of outrage, quickly dismissing the flicker of guilt that she might have provoked this behaviour by stripping in front of him. No. This was the soldier, on the prowl for demeaning s.e.x. And to think she had almost allowed him to... that she had led herself to believe he had principles.

On her way back to bed she locked the door between their rooms. No way was he coming back for a grope after dry-humping some doped-up lap dancer.

63.

The limousine's tires crunched on the brightly lit gravel driveway of the estate near the forest of Saint-Germain-en-Laye and as it came to a stop, Khalid opened the window and inhaled the scent of freshly mowed lawn. Ziad and his two security men Sadiq and Ali stopped talking and followed him out of the car. The imposing two-story brick structure with three dormer windows in the slate roof was even more magnificent than Khalid remembered. Beside the steps on their approach to the front door, were enamel statues of fish, rams, dragons, and two female G.o.ddesses in flowing robes. Taoist deities. It was an indication of his father's pragmatic approach to business that he allowed such blasphemous figures.

The front door opened and a tiny, silver-haired Chinese man with an irrepressible grin waited on the threshold. In the porch light, Jing-Ho's wrinkled skin resembled hide from a goatskin tent, and he had a tooth newly missing at the front. Bushy eyebrows jiggled like the feathers of dancers at the Follies Bergere as the squinting eyes narrowed to focus. The old man reached out his hand.

"Peace be with you, brother," Khalid said in French, bending to kiss the old man on the cheeks and touch noses three times.

"And with you, Highness. I very pleased to see you again. I in shock when I hear about your father."

"Yes, it was a little unexpected. And I was concerned when we could not contact you afterwards. Father had been receiving threats."

"Ah, but I always go back home for family visit at this time. Phone service not so good in village."

Khalid introduced Ziad and the other three men, then asked after Jing-Ho's wife.

"She in Paradise, praise Allah. Nearly two year now." Jing-Ho ushered them inside.

Ziad c.o.c.ked his head. "You speak of Allah?"

"My family from out west, Xinjiang Province. We all true believers."

"But the statues out front? Blasphemous idols."

Jing-Ho burst into a fit of high-pitched giggling. "Ah, so. Chinese tradition. Prince Abu-Bakr, he understand. He believe everyone have right to own belief. And he tell me that he want me to feel at home here."

Khalid laughed. "Father used to say that Islam had become so tainted by the ruthless Wahhabi protectors in Mecca that it had lost its way, and that Islam needed a renaissance, like Christianity. Mecca must be swept clean of the hypocrisy and inhumane rules that have nothing to do with worshipping Allah."

Ziad nodded. "That's why my father became one of the martyrs at the siege of the Holy Mosque in 1979. It was only the American weapons that caused them to fail."

Khalid put a hand on his shoulder. "Soon, brother, we will have the power to properly achieve that honourable ambition. In a new Arabia."

A hidden part.i.tion slid back to reveal a room with a control panel full of monitor screens, switches, dials and lights.

"These estates are owned by men of privilege," Jog said, driving past where the limo had entered, and coming to a stop at the end of the cul-de-sac. "Successful entrepreneurs, old money, and the criminal elite, living in harmony side by side."

"And I thought I was the cynical one," Scotty said, and let off a long, tight fart.

The others groaned and opened windows.

"Hey, it's all that cafe au lait, okay? Janice reckons I'm lactose intolerant. She's the one who's f.u.c.king intolerant. Hates my job. Wanted me to quit the Army."

"Not easy being a Special Ops wife. But if you fart all the time, well jeez, try soy," Mac muttered.

"I hate soy."

Jog laughed. "I wonder who Khalid's meeting?"

"Now, please, you do not move," Jing-Ho said, pressing a b.u.t.ton. A section of floor slowly slid back into the wall to reveal a staircase. The old man grinned as Ziad and the others panicked and grabbed their pistols.

Jing-Ho laughed again. "Do not worry. This is a security precaution your father devise."

Descending ahead of them, Jing-Ho pressed another b.u.t.ton on the wall, and the ceiling closed above. Despite his rea.s.surances, Khalid began to feel the familiar sense of panic in the tightly confined s.p.a.ce. The profuse sweating, the pounding heart, the dry mouth.

"You have key from your father?"

Khalid took out the key and went to slide it into the lock.

"No! No! No!" Jing-Ho grabbed it. "That is trap. If you insert key, this s.p.a.ce become sealed and air extracted. All die. Your father, he have many concern about security." Jing-Ho held up the key. "See. Key has electronic chip."

"Then use it," Khalid said irritably, wiping his face with a silk handkerchief.

Jing-Ho waved the key in front of a concealed proximity detector, and a door swung open. Inside the hidden garage was a truck. He returned the key to Khalid. "Keep it. You will need it again."

The truck was white with no logo. Its cargo compartment had a roller door at the back, and at Jing-Ho's request, Sadiq opened it. Inside were dozens of pine boxes, each about the size of a briefcase, secured by canvas webbing. Sadiq jumped up and lifted down one of the boxes. Using a screwdriver, Jing-Ho removed the lid and held out a gold bar that had been inscribed with the letters 'UBS'.

"There are two thousand two hundred gold bars minted by the Union Bank of Switzerland. Each one kilogram. At current price, they worth about eighty million euros," said the old man as he placed the ingot in Khalid's hand.

Khalid sniffed his disappointment. "Is that all of it? The truck is only a third full."

The little man bowed. "Ah, Highness. At first, eight thousand bars. Your father, he gradually convert to cash and other a.s.set. Five year ago gold price increase and he seal what left in this vehicle for you. When you take truck, my job, it finish. It was honour to serve Prince Abu-Bakr, peace be with him, but now I happy you take gold. I go home to live with family in China."

"How soon can we move it?" Khalid asked, throwing the ingot to Sadiq. "We have reason to believe that Israelis are trying to steal father's a.s.sets."

Jing-Ho shrugged. "Can one of your men drive?"

"All of them."

"Then you take it now. I prepare exit."

"Good. Sadiq, you drive. Ali can go with you. We'll wait on the main road." Khalid turned to the old man. "Now, where is the rest that my father promised?"

Before Jing-Ho could respond a red light on the wall began flashing. He spoke urgently. "Please follow. Quickly! We have intruder."

64.

It hadn't been difficult to tail Khalid's limousine with the GPS tracker Scotty had hidden underneath the rear fender. The extensive properties gracing the tree-lined lane competed for the most impressive architecture behind high walls, with the usual elegant gardens, tennis courts, croquet pitches and swimming pools, although Mac's attention was mostly directed at the security measures.

Scotty pointed at a wheel-rut track that ran along the back of the stately homes. "Fancy a bit of off-roading, lads?"

Ignoring the restricted entry sign, Jog switched his lights onto low beam and drove slowly along the firebreak, a narrow, overgrown track with high stone retaining walls at the back of each property on the top side and a steep drop on the lower side. He stopped about two hundred metres before the property where Khalid and his men had gone inside.

"I cannot go further, or they may see the lights," Jog said. "I doubt any fire tracks will need to access the track tonight."

Mac nodded. "We'd better find out where the others are. We can't go in before they arrive."

Jog had called Marcel after they'd learned Khalid was going out. He and the others who'd helped them take down Emil Blaaelescu ten days earlier were on their way. "Maybe twenty-five minutes," Jog said. "I'll wait in the car to direct them."

"Okay. Schmidt, you go up the hill to keep watch. Scotty and I will find the way in. Any problems, we'll switch to Plan B." Plan A was to ambush them as they left the house for the limo, and Plan B was to ambush the limo after it left the house, before it reached the freeway. They would take Khalid and Ziad to Jog's farm and release the others with the ransom demand.

Mac checked his Glock and the radio and stepped out of the car to join Scotty and Schmidt. After last night's rain, the ground squelched underfoot. Schmidt scrambled down the slope, across the storm drain, and up the other side into the pine forest, until he was high enough to see into the property. Mac and Scotty walked along the track until they came to a four metre concrete wall topped by a chain-link fence that had signs warning it was electrified.

"CCTV cameras on each comer of the house," Schmidt said over the radio. "None on the back fence. No sign of dogs. There's an old outbuilding twenty metres from the house. Not a lot happening. The limo driver's having a smoke. Wait-"

Mac glanced at Scotty. They started back towards the car. Plan B.

"It's okay. The driver's just stretching his legs on the front steps."

Back at the retaining wall, Mac climbed on Scotty's shoulders. Inserting his fingers and toes in the narrow cracks where the walls of the adjoining properties met, he climbed up and stood on a metal rail running along the top of the wall, where he could see through the chain-link. fence into the estate. "We're going to need insulated bolt cutters."

"I'll go back to the car. Jog'll have some," Scotty said. "Otherwise, we might have to-"

Schmidt's voice came over the radio again. "Merde! There's four guys with subs running across the lawn! They ours?"

"Negative," came Jog's voice over the radio. "Ours are still a good ten minutes away. Cops?"

Schmidt was panting like a dog in heat. "These guys, they're pros... Masks and vests, all the gear... Maybe cops... Limo driver's down... They're running to the front door."

f.u.c.k no! This is our raid, you b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. But Mac could do nothing as he watched the men in black place explosives on the door hinges. They had no police signage on their vests, so they weren't cops. A puff of smoke appeared and almost simultaneously a m.u.f.fled crack. Two men rammed the door. The men disappeared inside. Almost at the same moment, the wall he was standing on began to rumble and shudder, as though an earthquake had hit.