Cohen was good. He appeared genuine in his denial. Yet Khalid knew Israel was behind the thefts. Why else would they offer him such an extraordinary sum for the canisters?

"And the woman in Dubai. Mai Fanning. Your people helped her escape, don't deny it."

Cohen stood up and turned his back, gazing out the French windows. "That also was not us. I cannot say for certain, but possibly it was the CIA. They may also have become aware of the canisters."

"Ah. Then if I find these canisters, we will have an auction, neh? I would think that the Iranians might also be interested. Perhaps others. My father always believed in the market deciding the value of things."

Cohen turned back, his voice carrying more of an edge. "Let us speak from the position we find ourselves in now, Khalid. I don't think an intelligent man like you would want to see this nuclear material in the wrong hands."

"You are right. I would not." And Zionists would be the wrong hands.

"So, we believe that after proper consideration, you will conclude that our offer is more than generous. Forty-eight hours should be sufficient time to consider it. I will not make the offer again. Here is my number. Don't worry, I have yours." Cohen handed him a card with a telephone number on it and nothing else. "Let me be absolutely clear: should you try to sell the canisters to a terrorist group or a country hostile to Israel, we will have no hesitation in killing you and your sons. I would strongly advise you to accept our offer."

"I will consider it. If, of course, I find these canisters that my father is supposed to have left me."

They were bullies, the Israelis. And Cohen was lying. It was obvious they'd stolen his gold and killed Ali and Sadiq. And now there was the spectre of his father. Had they killed him too because he would not negotiate? That seemed the likeliest scenario, given that the doctors had said he was almost better from the pneumonia.

They would pay.

He stood up and walked out, his heart pounding like a galloping racehorse. He strode towards the elevator, tearing Cohen's card in two in his outrage, and tossing the pieces in a bin. Seth followed.

If the Israelis wanted to kill him, they could. But killing him would not get them the canisters. And by the time they learned of his intentions, it would be too late. Because what he had planned was something they could not antic.i.p.ate, and something even Israel's military power would be helpless to prevent.

72.

The widow sat in the front left cherrywood pew of Chilworth's St. Peter's Church, her face veiled in black. Two-year-old George held her hand as he stared, bewildered, at the photograph on the oak coffin in front of the altar. Mai's parents, who had accompanied her from p.h.u.ket, sat stoically next to George, casting the occasional anxious glance at their daughter and grandson.

Third pew from the back, Mac was only half listening as Bill Fanning's brother Alan began his eulogy. A musty odour rankled his nostrils that suggested rising damp was endemic in the Saxon-era church, which had been constructed with stones reused from nearby Roman roads. One well-placed grenade could bring the lot crashing down, he thought, as he listened to the creaks and groans from the huge beams that moved with each gust of wind. Probably why Scotty had volunteered to take the outside guarding the perimeter.

As if to emphasize the civilised tolerance of England, Bill's coffin was decorated with a paper boat, a model of a Thai temple covered in gold leaf-complete with chofah-and a delicate tribute of Thai orchids. Mai had explained to him the previous evening at Manor House, her mother-in-law's residence, that although Bill had been christened Anglican, he a.s.sociated closely with her Buddhist beliefs. Buddhist practice was to burn the body to release the soul, then she would scatter his ashes on the pond at Manor House.

His eyes scanned the main entrance and the doors at each end of the transept, the only places anyone could enter. Friends and family were scattered through the church, around thirty-five in all. There was n.o.body from Khalid's group-not that he was expecting any-and no sign of any threats.

Alan Fanning resumed his seat. As the hunched organist ground out How Great Thou Art, Mai stepped to the altar, from where incense in a bra.s.s container smouldered. Removing a smoking stick, she waved it along the length of the coffin and planted it in a bowl of sand. She helped George do the same and her parents followed suit.

After the service was over, the Minister signalled and Mac whispered into the Bluetooth: "Coffin's ready to roll, Scotty."

"All clear. Send out the box."

After tea and sandwiches at Manor House, Mac climbed into Mrs. Fanning senior's BMW to drive Mai to the crematorium. This was to be her private farewell. Scotty followed in the rental.

They drove in silence for a while. Mai appeared lost in thought, staring out the side window, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. They pa.s.sed lush country estates with grazing horses, riding trails and synthetic tennis courts, along narrow lanes between hedgerows and rock walls.

"I want to thank you," she said finally as they reached Chilworth Road, where branches of four-hundred-year-old oaks arched across overhead like lovers holding hands. "Bill would be happy that George and I are safe."

Mac stopped at the intersection with Guildford Lane. "Yes, I think he would be. That was a nice service."

"I must confess, I blamed you for a while for not contacting the police when we were in Dubai. But I always knew that they would have killed us if you hadn't helped us escape."

"Yes, they would have."

"Are we safe now, do you think?"

Before he could answer, a silver Vauxhall overtook Scotty and came up behind them too fast. Scotty flashed his lights to warn him. He took out his pistol and rested it on his lap, frequently glancing in the rearview mirror. The car tailgated them along a section of road too narrow to pa.s.s.

Mai saw the gun. Her face showed alarm and she turned around to check out the threat.

"It's okay. Just a kid. Keep facing ahead."

They came to a wider stretch and he pulled over. The Vauxhall tooted and flashed past, the driver giving him a wave. Scotty pulled up behind them and they allowed eight other vehicles to pa.s.s.

"We might wait a minute or two," Mac said as he checked the road behind. "It'd be better for that lot to get well ahead."

Mai exhaled, her relief evident. "I might as well give you the things Bill sent now." She handed him a large bubble-wrap envelope. "There's a memory stick with plans for the Yubani Resort and the underground fortress. There's also a special electronic key that's designed to give emergency access from the sea."

"Underground fortress? Yes! I knew it! We found the ventilation shaft, but we couldn't find the entrance."

"Oh, there are several entrances. Because the cave's so large, Bill was able to construct several hidden entrances without Khalid's people knowing. They only inspected it occasionally. And the tradesmen he used... Bill was worried because they didn't contact him after they got home. They were all taken on the Princess Aliya back to Pakistan."

"There's a lot of ocean between Andaran and Pakistan."

"Yes, between Andaran and anywhere, really."

"Did Bill ever mention anything about children or slaves? Or organ transplants?"

Mai gave him a strange look. "No. Bill would never have become involved in that sort of thing. But he did think Khalid was an egomaniac. Always beautiful girls around. He's one of those billionaires who builds an underground bunker to survive the next world war."

"Or perhaps to start it."

"Khalid's obsessed with secrecy. And there's his head of security, Ziad. Bill was definitely concerned about him. Bill had no reason to kill himself."

"Mmm." He wondered whether Bill had told his wife everything. Probably not. "It's possible you could still be in danger."

"Oh, G.o.d. I hope not..." Mai stared at him, lapsing into silence. After a few moments, she told him several things that Bill had mentioned the last time he'd been home that had not been included on the plan. Contingencies, she explained.

"Bill must have been worried," he said.

Mai laughed, a sentimental laugh. "He was a boy scout when he was a teenager. 'Be prepared' was a motto he subscribed to in so many ways."

It was beginning to drizzle. Mac flicked the indicator light and drove off. A red motorbike buzzed up out of nowhere and zoomed past, banking sharply to make a right turn, almost colliding with an oncoming Royal Mail van.

Idiot.

They continued along a road bordered by a stone wall covered in lichen, past fields of onions, com and fodder beet.

"It's so beautiful here " she said. "Bill and I would come back when we could, but Dubai was where the big projects were. I'd love to settle here. But it may be safer in Australia. And warmer."

"Definitely warmer."

Scotty was flashing his lights. In the rearview, another motorcycle was coming up fast. Red, like the earlier one.

Coincidence? Maybe, maybe not. In Afghanistan, Taliban insurgents would often do a reconnaissance on the first pa.s.s and attack on the second.

"Take off your seatbelt," he said as he spotted the bike rocketing past Scotty. Flashes from the rider. Gun! Scotty's car swerved, sideswiped a tree and came to a halt.

"Scotty's been hit! Get down!"

The attacker revved up behind him and bullets pinged the car boot as he floored the BMW.

Mai uttered a terrified shriek and ducked down.

The rear window shattered. He instinctively ducked. Lifting his head to stop the car ramming one of the stone walls either side of the narrow, winding road, he jerked the wheel hard right to block the road, then accelerated.

But the road was too tight to get away, and the bike was coming up faster.

Mac braked fiercely and swerved left, but the BMW wheels wouldn't lock as he'd hoped. Some sort of safety device had prevented it. Accelerating again coming up to a comer, he swung hard right as the bike came alongside, forcing the a.s.sa.s.sin to use both hands and check his speed to retain control.

The bike dropped back. Only for a moment.

Once around the comer and on the straight again, he could see in the rearview the rider preparing for another attack.

Several shots smashed the pa.s.senger window and c.h.i.n.ked into the dash. Mai screamed, squeezing as tight as she could in the leg s.p.a.ce.

Mac geared down then accelerated again, swinging the wheel right then left with his left hand as he aimed his pistol back over his shoulder and fired. But the a.s.sa.s.sin had antic.i.p.ated this move and came up on the right.

Mac's window exploded, spattering gla.s.s in his face. Ignoring the stinging shrapnel, he edged further right. The a.s.sa.s.sin braked hard then swung left, coming up to finish it.

But this time Mac was ready. Right arm across his chest, he fired seven times as the bike surged forward.

The bike hit gravel and the front wheel dug in. The rider lost control, flying over the handlebars onto the gra.s.s twenty metres further on.

Mac stopped the car and jumped out, pistol out in front. "Get out and stay down!" he yelled at Mai as he looked around for other threats.

There was no sign of Scotty. He felt a sick hollow in his stomach.

Eyes locked on the unmoving a.s.sa.s.sin, he stalked softly across the road to check the body.

Another vehicle appeared around the bend.

Mac ran for cover behind a rock wall. The car slowed as it pa.s.sed them, then accelerated away.

The body was gone.

Mac cautiously looked around. The a.s.sa.s.sin leapt to his feet beside a tree, automatic weapon in hand. Mac ducked for cover, but the wall of metal slammed into the BMW as the killer targeted Mai. Mac responded with several shots, hurtling back across the road to where Mai was crouched behind the front wheels, her hands covering her head.

Another hail of bullets thundered into the metal and whizzed by overhead. The firing stopped again.

Glancing under the vehicle, he spotted two feet limping out from cover across the road. The attacker was moving in for the kill.

Mac was almost out of bullets. Six shots left. They had to count. He waited. One, two, three. He was about to take aim when a single crack sounded from down the road. Then another.

Rifle shots. Scotty.

"Coming to you! Hold your fire!" Scotty yelled as he jogged up the road, holding his sniper rifle.

Mac walked over to the body. With difficulty, he pulled off the helmet. There was nothing inside that was recognizable as human. Scotty had placed two shots inside the helmet. The head had exploded but the helmet had contained the resulting pulpy mash.

"I owe you one, bud." Cold raindrops began to pepper Mac's face. "Seems to be a loner."

He left Scotty to search the body and ran back to where Mai was sitting with her back against the car. Her face was deathly pale and her eyes were closed.

"You okay?" He knelt down and pressed two fingers against her neck. Pulse was fast, but strong.

She opened her eyes. "George... I need to... check on... George." Blood was seeping from a wound in her arm. Must have been a ricochet, low speed, because it there was no exit wound.

Mac pressed against the wound to stem the bleeding. "Medic, Scotty!" Scotty was better qualified than him in first aid.

Scotty ran over and threw him the car keys. "First aid kit in the boot. And call an ambulance." He examined the wound and spoke to rea.s.sure her as Mac returned with the kit. "Looks like a slug's almost been stopped by the car, but not quite. It'll hurt, but it's not a serious wound, Mai. You'll be fine."

As they waited for the ambulance, Mac called Margaret Fanning and explained there had been a minor accident, that Mai was fine and on her way to hospital for observation. It was not the best outcome, but Mai would be okay. And now they had the plans for Khalid's fortress.

Mac called Tally to tell her the good news. A male voice answered on the third ring. "Lee McCloud, I presume?"

73.

Mac detected an accent, and thought it was Rosco playing around. "Hey, Rosco. Is Tally there?"

"She is not available to speak at present."

He responded in kind: "Ah, then perhaps, my fine fellow, you will be so kind as get her to call me back, please, when she is coming from the toilet."

A pause. "My name is Ziad. I think that is a name you will know, Lee McCloud." The voice was dead flat. No humour there.