Midnight Runner

‘So you think she’ll be there tonight?’ Harry Salter asked.

‘I’m certain of it.’

‘Then Billy and I will be there, too. We’ll have another drink on it,’ and he called to Dora.

A little while later, Dillon punched the doorbell at Roper’s place. The Major said over the voice box, ‘Who is it?’

‘It’s Sean, you daft sod.’

The electronic lock buzzed, and Dillon pushed open the door. Roper was seated at his computer bank in his wheelchair.

‘I’ve had Ferguson on the line. He told me about Loch Dhu, but I’d like to hear it from you.’

Dillon lit a cigarette and told him. ‘So there you are. Pretty much as we thought.’

‘So it would appear.’

‘What have you got? Anything new?’

‘Well, I thought I’d see if I could trace Kate Rashid’s travel patterns. She uses a company Gulfstream, so I can access times easily enough – air traffic slots have to be booked – and I can ascertain when she’s been on board through Passport Control and Special Branch.’

‘Any significant pattern?’

‘Not much. She’s only been up to Loch Dhu once recently. Used the same old airstrip you did. Here’s something that might be interesting, though: she went to Belfast last month.’

‘Now that is interesting. Any thoughts on where she went?’

‘Yes. She landed late afternoon and had a slot booked back to Heathrow the following afternoon, so that seemed to indicate a hotel for the night. So I started with the Europa, accessed their booking records, and there she was.’

‘And why was she there?’

Roper shook his head. ‘That I don’t know. But if she does it again, I’ll let you know. You could follow her. Of course, it could be perfectly legitimate. Rashid Investments has taken a big stake in Ulster since peace broke out.’

‘Peace?’ Dillon laughed harshly. ‘Believe that, you’ll believe anything.’

‘I agree with you. After all, I was the one who defused a hundred and two bombs. Too bad it wasn’t a hundred and three.’ He patted the arm of the wheelchair.

‘I know,’ Dillon said. ‘You know, considering I was on the other side, I sometimes wonder why you put up with me.’

‘You were never a bomb man, Sean. Anyway, I like you.’ He shrugged. ‘By the way, if you want a drink, there’s a bottle of white wine in the fridge over there. It’s all I’m allowed.’

Dillon groaned. ‘God help me, but it will do to take along.’ He got the bottle from the fridge. ‘Jesus, Roper, it’s so cheap it’s got a screw top.’

‘Don’t moan about it, pour it. I’m a reserve officer on a pension.’

Dillon obeyed, and put a glass at Roper’s right hand while Roper played with the keys. Dillon took a swallow and made a face. ‘I think someone made this in the backyard. What are you looking at now?’

‘Rupert Dauncey. Quite a character, but nothing we don’t know about him already. There’s something about him, though, a ruthlessness, always on the edge. There’s a dark side to that one.’

‘Ah, well there’s a dark side to all of us. Can you tell if he was with Kate on the Irish trip?’

‘There are Special Branch regulations regarding passengers on executive jets. He wasn’t on board. He’s a comparatively new arrival to her entourage, remember.’

‘I suppose so.’

Roper drank some wine. ‘However, he is on board tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, with the Countess. Would you like to know where they’re going?’

‘Where?’

‘Hazar.’

‘Hazar, hmm? That means Hamam airport. You know, the RAF built it in the old days. There’s only one runway, but it can take anything, even a Hercules. Check on something for me. Last time I was there, we used an outfit called Carver Air Transport. See if they’re still there.’

Roper tapped his keys. ‘Yes, they are. Ben Carver? Ex-Squadron Leader in the RAF?’

‘The old sod,’ Dillon said. ‘So what’s Kate up to?’

‘That’s what Ferguson asked when I told him. Of course, there are a dozen different reasons why she could be going down there, but Ferguson said he would contact Tony Villiers, ask him to keep an eye on her.’ Colonel Tony Villiers was the Commander of the Hazar Scouts.

‘That should help. Villiers is good, and he isn’t particularly keen on the Rashids since they skinned his second-in-command, Bronsby.’

‘Yes, they do have their little ways. Now go away, Dillon. I’ve got work to do.’

At that moment, on the border between Hazar and the Empty Quarter, Tony Villiers was encamped with a dozen of his Hazar Scouts and three Land Rovers. A small fire of dried camel dung burned, a pan of water on top.

His men were all Rashid Bedu and all accepted Kate Rashid as leader of the tribe, but the clan spilled across the border as well. There were good men over there in the Empty Quarter and there were bad men, bandits who crossed into Hazar at their own risk, for the Scouts had sworn a blood oath to Villiers. Honour was of supreme importance to them – each one would kill his own brother if necessary, rather than violate his oath.

They sat around the fire, AK assault rifles close at hand, wearing soiled white robes and crossed bandoliers. Some smoked and drank coffee, others ate dates and dried meat.

Tony Villiers wore a head cloth and crumpled khaki uniform, a Browning pistol in his holster. He’d never got used to dates and had just eaten the contents of a large can of baked beans cold. One of the men came across with a tin cup.

‘Tea, Sahb?’

‘Thanks,’ Villiers replied in Arabic.

He sat down and leaned against a rock, drank the bitter black tea, smoked a cigarette, and looked out to the Empty Quarter. It was disputed territory there, and utterly lawless. As someone had once said, you could kill the Pope there and no one would be able to do a thing. That’s why he kept to his side of the border whenever possible.

Villiers, approaching fifty now, had served in the Falklands and every little war in between up to the Gulf and Saddam, then had ended up on secondment here in Hazar. It was just like in the old days, a British officer commanding native levies, and it was beginning to pall.

‘Time to go, old son,’ he said softly. As he lit another cigarette, the mobile in his left breast pocket rang.

The Codex Four was not available on the open market. It had been developed for intelligence use in places where strict security was necessary, and Villiers had his courtesy of Ferguson.

‘That you, Tony? Ferguson here.’

‘Charles, how’s every little thing at the Ministry of Defence?’

‘Put your scrambler on.’