Part 30 (2/2)
”I am what I am. What I need from you is a new face.”
”Frankly, I have a suspicion that I can achieve that best by removing the mask that's already there.”
Hussein said, ”If that means good-bye, Che Guevara, so be it.”
”And what else must go with that?”
”I don't know. We'll have to see.”
THE CORRIDOR DOOR SLIGHTLY AJAR, Khazid watched, in a kind of horror, as the man he had served for so long changed before his eyes. Darcus worked at the hair, cutting, thinning particularly, shaping into an entirely different style and much, much shorter.
Then he lathered the entire face and took a cut-throat razor to it, shortened the sideburns, thinning the eyebrows and very carefully removing the fringe of beard and the mustache.
”I'd like you in the bathroom now, love. Don't be alarmed, you just need a shampoo.”
Khazid dodged into the kitchen and Darcus led the way.
Afterward, back at the mirror and using a hair dryer, he shaped the hair more carefully, took the scissors to it again, then turned Hussein in the swivel chair and did some more work on thinning the eyebrows and used a little dark pencil.
Hussein sat staring at himself, yet not himself. ”G.o.d almighty, you look so young,” Darcus told him. ”How old are you?”
”Twenty-five.”
”And now you look it and that's the difference. Put your s.h.i.+rt on.”
He scrabbled around in various drawers and finally found what he was looking for, a pair of horn-rimmed gla.s.ses, not prescription but clear gla.s.s.
”Try these.” Hussein did. ”Good, it gives you a hint of the intellectual; you could be a schoolteacher or something.”
”Not the Hammer of G.o.d.”
”See for yourself.” Darcus opened a copy of the Times Times with the original photo in it. ”Who could possibly recognize you as you look now from that.” with the original photo in it. ”Who could possibly recognize you as you look now from that.”
”Even I don't,” Hussein said slowly and walked through to the kitchen.
Khazid was waiting for the kettle to boil, standing there, looking out at the rain. He turned and his sense of shock was obvious.
”Merciful heaven, where have you gone?” He shook his head. ”I'm not sure it's you anymore.”
”And maybe it isn't.” There was a strange smile on Darcus's face. ”Who knows? Remember Pandora's box?”
”What do you mean?” Khazid said.
”Greek mythology,” Hussein told him. ”When the box was opened, it released all sorts of unpleasant things.”
Khazid, uneasy, frowned slightly, and Darcus said, ”I'll make some coffee.”
”And I'll phone Dreq Khan,” Hussein said to Khazid. ”Work out our next stop.”
”Hampstead?” Khazid asked.
”It would seem obvious. After all, as no one knows we are here, one should seize the moment.”
”If you say so, but I think we need to talk, and privately.”
”Of course.”
”You can use the study,” Darcus said, but in the end it was outside on the porch, the door open, the rain pouring down.
”Is there a problem?” Hussein asked.
”Hampstead, Sara, her parents. Surely our primary task, the most important to our cause, is the a.s.sa.s.sination of General Ferguson and this man Salter, if possible. If we go to London with that in mind, we could succeed because, as you rightly point out, the authorities have no idea that you're in England. In light of this, I'm in favor of us going to London, but not of a visit to Hampstead. Sara and her parents are a sideshow, cousin. What would you do, shoot her parents? I shouldn't imagine she'd thank you.”
”Don't be a fool,” Hussein told him.
”Or break in the house, kidnap her? Then how would you smuggle her out of the country?”
”Professor Khan, the Army of G.o.d, the Brotherhood, they all would offer their services. Between us we would find a way.”
”Do you honestly think the fate of this young girl is of the slightest importance to these people? No, but Ferguson's head on a platter, the British Prime Minister's most valued security adviser. That would be a triumph.”
Much of what he said made sense, but Hussein was unable to let go. ”I'll phone Khan now and see what the situation is, then it will be my decision.”
IN ANSWER TO ALI Ha.s.sIM'S CALL, Khan had gone round to the shop to discuss the latest development, and it was there that he received the call that he had, if truth be known, been dreading for some time.
He put a hand over his coded mobile and whispered to Ali Ha.s.sim, ”It's him, Hussein Ras.h.i.+d himself, and he's in England.”
”Allah be praised,” Ali said.
Khan returned to the phone. ”Where are you?”
”Dorset-Peel Strand with one of the Broker's people. A cottage called Folly Way. Khazid and I landed this morning. We intend to come to London.”
”Can this be wise? Your face's in so many newspapers.”
”That's been taken care of, no one will recognize me. Trust me in this. Now tell me what the situation is with the Ras.h.i.+ds.”
”We monitored them closely, my network of sweepers and informants, even used a motorcycle unit so that cars which left their house in Hampstead could be followed. Because of this, I have the address of the enemy's safe house in Holland Park. We know where Ferguson and Dillon live, which would obviously be of importance to you.”
Hussein cut in on him. ”Get to the point. You appear to have some bad news for me. Spit it out.”
So Khan told him the worst.
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