Part 30 (1/2)
”Ben Levi was a truly evil man. He was whipping a priest for being a Christian. I told him that so was I. That's when he treated me as he did.”
Dillon smiled bleakly. ”In those circ.u.mstances, I'd probably have shot him myself. Tell me, I've no business asking you this, but what about this Muslim thing and being promised in marriage when you're of age?”
”That's nonsense,” she said. ”I never took that seriously and I told Hussein so.”
”And he accepted that?”
”He was told. I could do no more.”
Dillon took a deep breath. ”You're a truly remarkable young lady.”
Caspar came out onto the terrace and called, ”Come on, Sara, it's all decided. We're going to Zion House, flying down.”
His wife appeared. ”For a week-seven days only, so come and pack.”
The girl joined them and they went inside and she went upstairs. Ferguson appeared. ”I'm going back to Holland Park. You two stay while they pack. I'll send the People Traveller to pick you all up and take the Ras.h.i.+ds to Farley. I'll arrange for Levin and Chomsky to meet you there.”
He went off and Dillon said, ”Sara's quite a girl.”
”What do you expect, she's half Bedouin,” Greta told him. ”Come into the kitchen and we'll have a coffee.”
IN HIS SHOP near the corner of Gulf Road, Ali Ha.s.sim was acting as middleman for Professor Khan, overseeing a network of sweepers, hospital porters, cabdrivers and even young girls, office personnel at the local hospitals. The sweeper a.s.signed to the Ras.h.i.+d house phoned in.
”They've had visitors. Two of them were in the photos Professor Khan showed us. The General and the man Dillon. There was also a woman. The General left in a Daimler car. I've got pictures. Dillon and the woman are still there.”
”Any sign of the family?”
”Only the girl, Sara. She was in the garden talking to Dillon.”
”I'm going to send Jamal on his motorcycle just in case they go somewhere. He'll be with you in minutes.”
The sweeper waited and then the People Traveller turned up, paused at the electronic gates until they opened. It moved inside and the sweeper caught a glimpse of the front door, Caspar Ras.h.i.+d with two suitcases emerging, his wife behind him, then Sara, Greta and Dillon.
At that moment, Jamal arrived on his motorcycle, rode down by the ca.n.a.l and into the trees. ”What's happening?” he called.
”They're leaving. It looks to me as if they're all going. I saw suitcases. You must follow.”
”That's what I'm here for, you fool.”
Jamal waited, his engine turning over. The gates opened and the People Traveller emerged and turned right, and he followed in traffic so heavy it was possible for him to get really close on more than one occasion so that he soon established who was inside.
At Farley Field he had to turn into the public car park as the van paused at the security entrance and was admitted, but he watched its progress to the terminal building, saw them get out and meet with Levin and Chomsky.
A sign at the gate said MINISTRY OF DEFENCE, FARLEY FIELD, RESTRICTED AREA, but in the car park it amused him to see plane spotters. Probably any kind of security breach would have been cla.s.sed as a violation of their human rights. ”Only the English,” he said to himself. ”That's why we will win.”
He took out a pair of Zeiss gla.s.ses and spotted an old Hawk, although he didn't know it. He did get a photo.
On the airfield, Dillon waited for the plane to take off, then got back in the People Traveller and told Sergeant Doyle to take him to Holland Park.
Jamal waited until it had gone, then mounted his motorcycle. There was nothing he could do except return to Ali Ha.s.sim at the shop.
Ali hauled him into the back room. ”You're sure they have gone?”
”Definitely. The suitcases mean for some time and the airplane, somewhere far away.”
”So no means of finding out the destination?”
”No way of getting in. I've told you, it's a restricted area. Security guards everywhere. You wouldn't even get through the gate.”
Ali was upset. ”So we really have no idea where they've gone?”
”Only that they have have gone. I saw this with my own eyes and their house is empty; tell Professor Khan that.” gone. I saw this with my own eyes and their house is empty; tell Professor Khan that.”
Ali sighed. ”He won't like it. Anyway go and make yourself a coffee in the kitchen while I give him the bad news, and leave your camera so I can check the photo for the type of plane.”
It didn't take long and he found it quite quickly in a handbook of small planes: a Hawk, eight-seater, twin engines.
He started to go through a number of photos taken by the sweepers watching the comings and goings at the Ras.h.i.+ds' house since their return, not that there had been many. The most interesting was the man who had turned out to be the archaeologist from Hazar, Professor Hal Stone. Friends to the Brotherhood, academics at London University, had confirmed his ident.i.ty. A fellow at Corpus Christi College in Cambridge. He had called at the house in Gulf Road in a taxi, which had waited for him and taken him on to King's Cross Station. Jamal had followed him and watched him board a train for Cambridge. Obviously returning to his work.
All in all, not good news, and he phoned Khan and told him so.
HUSSEIN SAT IN FRONT of the makeup table in Darcus Wellington's bedroom, naked to the waist. The mirror was very bright with all those small bulbs around it, and the profusion of makeup itself was something alien to Hussein. He found the smell of it distasteful.
Khazid was sitting on a settle by the window, smoking a cigarette. Hussein said, ”Open it, then go and find something to do.”
”But I want to watch.”
”And I don't want you to. Go away.”
Khazid went reluctantly and Darcus put a large towel around Hussein's shoulders. ”The mark of a true actor, love. Makeup is such a private affair. Not something to share. Knowing who you are, that's the thing.”
”And who am I?” Hussein asked himself. ”Hussein Ras.h.i.+d or the Hammer of G.o.d?”
Rain fell heavily outside the open window, bringing the smell of rotting vegetation, and Darcus went and closed the window. ”If you don't mind, love, it smells as if the whole world's dying.”
”Perhaps in some ways it is?” Hussein said.
Garish in his auburn wig, Darcus stood there, arms folded, chin on one hand, and observed him. ”The Che Guevara look. Was that a conscious decision on your part?”
”Not that I know of.” Hussein was beginning to feel uncomfortable.
”A true romantic, Guevara, he really looked the part. In a way, he gave people what they expected. It was all in the look, love. Was that what you tried to do-give the people what they expected?”
”Where would this be leading?”
”It's also a question of knowing what you are and still liking yourself. Most actors, of course, would rather be someone else.”