The Death Trade

‘And we know from past experience,’ Dillon said, ‘that certain areas of its activity are directly linked to Al Qaeda.’

‘Which would shock many wealthy Muslim businessmen, people so rich that we can count them as being beyond reproach, who provide considerable financial support, based on the fact that the charity promotes interfaith involvement with Christians and Jews and sources at a government level.’

‘Which would seem to me to muddy the waters nicely,’ Sara put in.

‘Where is this leading?’ Dillon asked.

‘Many in Al Qaeda’s hierarchy have been assassinated in Pakistan and elsewhere by Reaper drones and similar weapons. But sometimes a different approach is needed. Because of his knowledge of shipping in the Mediterranean, Daniel Holley has been able to give me names of tramp steamers and rust buckets delivering arms of every description on behalf of Al Qaeda.’

Sara nodded. ‘So you want us to—’

‘Board some of them at night, drop a few blocks of Semtex into the hold, and sink them. We’ve done it before. Many times over the years, haven’t we, Billy?’

‘You’re right,’ Billy said. ‘A few times, Dillon and me. Twice in Beirut.’ He turned to Dillon. ‘Get the diving suits out again.’

Harry said, ‘I’m not sure that’s wise, my son; you’ve been damaged enough in your time. Professor Bellamy would like you to take it easy.’

‘That was over a year ago.’ Billy nodded to Dillon. ‘You up for it?’

‘I wouldn’t be asking you to pair up with Dillon,’ Ferguson said. ‘I was considering you and Holley when he’s available.’ Before Billy or anyone was able to say anything, he carried on. ‘I was thinking of Sara and Dillon teaming up for something else. In fact, having seen you in action together earlier at the piano, I think it’s an excellent idea. But we’ll get to that later. We’ll have some more champagne now.’

Maggie had been standing at the back, already opening a fresh bottle. She poured it into glasses and went around with the tray.

Ferguson said, ‘I must say you all seem rather subdued. Why don’t you give us a suitable toast, Sean?’

‘You’re too kind,’ Dillon told him. ‘Considering what you’ve just discussed, I’d say something appropriate would be: We, who could be about to die, salute you.’

3 (#ulink_26e64023-d747-5bc8-ba10-70eead73bfdb)

Ferguson left first, then the Salters. Roper retired to the computer room and Dillon decided to use the sauna. Sara chose the quiet of the library and sat checking everything she could find on Husseini. She spent an hour in this way, then returned to the computer room, where she found Roper at the screens.

‘Still here?’ he said.

She explained what she’d been doing, and he nodded approvingly. ‘Nothing like being prepared.’

‘I thought I knew him, but there was a lot I didn’t,’ she said. ‘What are you up to?’

‘Same thing, in a way. Having a look at his Iranian masters.’

‘That’s interesting,’ she said. ‘Can I see?’

‘Of course you can. I’ll put them up in sequence. There’s the President. There’s the Council of Guardians, which enjoys a lot of influence.’

‘Who’s that man?’

‘Well, according to their official release in Paris, they seem to be expecting a few people from London to be joining them. This chap, Emza Khan, is one of the businessmen who support the Army of God charity.’

‘Can he be trusted?’ Sara asked. ‘Or is there an Al Qaeda connection?’

‘I’m famous for not trusting anyone,’ Roper said, ‘but I tend to think Khan’s on our side. He’s a billionaire, the chairman of Cyrus Holdings, which is responsible for Iran’s oil and gas interests and many other things. The headquarters is in London. He’ll be seventy next birthday.’

Khan stared grimly at Sara from the screen, the once powerful body straining to get out of the excellent suit. Sara said, ‘He looks like he likes to have his own way and normally gets it. Who’s the bearded thing in the black suit behind him? That’s a hell of a scar bisecting the left side of his face.’

‘His name is Rasoul Rahim, Khan’s bodyguard and thug. Reputedly, he kills people for him whenever necessary.’

‘Of course he does.’ Dillon appeared, wearing a towelling robe. ‘He’ll drop in on the Ritz like a lead weight. On the other hand, one sliding stamp of the foot downwards will dislodge the kneecap of even a seventeen-stone rugby player. Remember that, girl dear, if you’re trying your aikido on him.’

‘And you say Khan’s on our side?’ said Sara.

‘You can’t always choose your friends,’ said Roper.

Another image appeared on-screen, a laughing young man, black tie loose, quite obviously drunk, his arms around a couple of women, the three of them looking the worse for wear.

‘And who’s this, the pride of the nightclub circuit?’ Dillon demanded. ‘What about his Muslim principles?’

‘Gone out of the window where the drink is concerned,’ Roper told him. ‘That’s the son, Yousef. Educated at Harrow, where he twice almost got the heave-ho. Several court appearances for drink-driving, brawling. Twice accused of rape by different girls who changed their minds and wouldn’t continue to give evidence. He’s twenty-six.’

‘Obviously bought off by Daddy,’ Sara said. ‘The girls.’

‘What would you expect?’ Roper added. ‘Can you stand another?’

‘Do we have to?’ Dillon enquired.

‘Well, you have to travel hopefully,’ Roper said. ‘And if you do, sometimes you get a surprise.’

A picture appeared of a man in some sort of army summer uniform, medals making a brave show. He was of medium height, with a bronze aquiline face, black hair, a peaked cap in his hands. His gaze was direct and sombre, but to Sara’s disquiet she found him rather attractive.

‘Lieutenant Colonel Declan Rashid,’ Roper said. ‘Military attaché at the Iranian Embassy at 16 Princes Gate right here in good old London town. You know what Muslims are like about family being so important. He’s some sort of third or fourth cousin of the Khans.’

‘Well, that’s hardly his fault,’ Sara said.

Dillon cut in, ‘But where in the hell did he get the Irish name?’

‘His mother was a strong-willed young Irish doctor from Cork named Rosaleen Collins, and his father couldn’t deny her anything, which explains where the name Declan comes in. The Rashids weren’t Iranians, they were from Oman originally, Bedouins.’

‘Which means they’re warriors,’ Dillon said.

‘Certainly as far as his father, Hassan Rashid, was concerned. He rose to brigadier general in the Iranian Army. Remember, they were at war with Iraq for eight years.’

‘Why do I sense the worst coming?’ Dillon asked.

‘Because it did. He was killed in 1986, and unfortunately his wife was with him. She’d visited behind the lines, they went for a spin in a spotter plane and were shot down.’

Sara said, ‘So how old was Declan?’

‘Sixteen, and an only child. His mother hadn’t been able to have any more children.’

‘It must have been hell for him.’