Part 32 (2/2)
Although the news was mixed and there was much to say, finally he got personal. ”How are you?”
”Oh, well, I think. We had a problem with Sara, but a rest in the country is doing good and I'll be back in a week definitely. But never mind that, it's Lisa Bedford I'm concerned about.”
”Can I have the number in case I need to contact you?”
”We're moving around a bit, Harry. It's not my phone.”
”No, please don't go. I'm really concerned about little Lisa Bedford. You did a wonderful operation and I've got to give this my best shot. It would be good for me to be able to check with you if things do take a turn for the worst.”
And in the end, she was trapped, by both feelings and situation. ”Dammit, Harry, when you've taken a call, you can call me straight back on a mobile, you know that. I said it wasn't my phone, but it is. Call me back anytime you want. I'll switch off the sound and leave it on vibration.”
He was concerned. ”Look, are you all right?”
”Oh, everything's in a mess,” she burst out. ”I'm here with Caspar and Sara, at this sort of country retreat in West Suss.e.x. Zion House.”
Instantly regretted, but it was too late.
”You mean some sort of clinic?”
”Oh, G.o.d, I don't know what I mean. Good-bye, Harry.”
”Zion House,” he murmured, put down his mobile on the table and started doing his notes.
The nurse on duty was a young Muslim woman named Ayesha, who had been ordered by Ali Ha.s.sim to swap s.h.i.+fts to get on the Bedford case, precisely because of the connection with Molly Ras.h.i.+d.
”What was that you said, Doctor?”
He looked up, slightly abstracted. ”It was Dr. Ras.h.i.+d, wanting to know how the child is getting on. Said she was somewhere called Zion House in West Suss.e.x. She'll be away for a week. Her daughter's had some problem or other.”
The loudspeaker crackled, calling him on an emergency, and he ran out, leaving his mobile. She pressed the return call b.u.t.ton and copied Molly's number and went into an empty room. Since there was no other nurse there she was able to phone Ali Ha.s.sim on her own mobile.
When he answered, she said, ”Dr. Ras.h.i.+d phoned up to check on the child. She said she was in West Suss.e.x at somewhere called Zion House. I've also got her mobile phone number for you.”
”Excellent, girl, you have done well.”
”I have only done my duty. I'm sure you can find this place on the Internet.”
And she was right, of course, for Ali immediately phoned for the a.s.sistance of a member of the Brotherhood, giving him the facts and telling him it was urgent. An hour later, the man appeared at the shop with his laptop and Ali took him in the back room.
”There are several mentions. The marshland about the place is National Trust. The house itself is mentioned a number of times in an official history of the SOE, which used to train agents there during the Second World War. Since then, it's been in the hands of the Ministry of Defence. Apparently, there are various restriction orders in place. There is also a concrete runway. Then I've found mention in general West Suss.e.x tourist guides. Zion Village is three miles from the house, with a medieval church called Saint Andrew, two pubs, several bed-and-breakfasts, a caravan site.”
”Brilliant,” Ali said.
”No, it's really very simple. These machines can do anything you want them to. You should learn. I'll go now. I must earn a living, you know.”
He left, and Ali sat there trying to think who he should call first.
THEY FOUND THE COTTAGE in Chapel Lane easily enough. There was another message on a board hanging from the front door. Students Definitely Not Welcome. Students Definitely Not Welcome.
”A humorist,” Khazid said.
”I knew professors just like that. It's an academic thing. However, if he means it, we don't get in. That's a voice box on the door. If you touch the b.u.t.ton to call, it usually puts you on screen. Look, there's a camera up there.”
”So what do we do?”
”Let's explore.”
There was a narrow flagged path down one side of the cottage that turned in behind the back garden wall. There was a stout wooden door that was locked and the top of the wall was crowned with ancient Victorian spikes.
”What do we do?” Khazid asked. ”Try and climb over?”
”If he's there in the kitchen or sitting room he'd be certain to see us and reach for the nearest phone.” Hussein shook his head. ”That notice probably means what it says. There are times when he values his privacy. On the other hand, a young undergraduate in gown and scarf with a beret on his head and a very French accent, seeking advice, might interest him. Go and give it a try at the front door. If it works, take him prisoner. Don't harm him in any way, and let me in through this door.”
”I'll give it a try.”
”No, make it a performance. Now go.”
HAL STONE, in the sitting room, reading a rather indifferent thesis, the French windows open to the garden, heard the buzz of the entry phone with irritation. He put the thesis to one side, went into the hall and found Khazid on the small screen.
”Who on earth are you?”
”I am Henri Duval of New Hall College, Monsieur le Professeur. I am an archaeology student. I seek your a.s.sistance.”
”Well, as a student at Cambridge you must be able to read English, and my notice board is on the door, so clear off.”
Khazid excelled himself with a stream of very fluent French. ”I beg you, with all my heart. My first-year exams are coming up, and I have to write a thesis. I genuinely need your advice.”
Hal Stone paused before replying in the same language. ”What's your thesis subject?”
Khazid was feeling more into his role and returned to fractured English, ”The influence of Spartan mercenaries on the wars in Persia.”
Hal Stone laughed out loud. ”That's a tall order, but a glamorous one, which I suppose is why you chose it. All right, I'll give you twenty minutes.”
The door clicked open and Khazid stepped inside, dropping his flight bag and trench coat to one side, but still wearing the beret and short undergraduate gown. He clutched the silenced Walther in his right hand against his leg and opened the inner door into the hall. Hal Stone was waiting, a smile on his face, which faded instantly as Khazid covered him with the Walther.
”Just do as you're told or I'll shoot you in your left kneecap.”
”Who the h.e.l.l are you? Is this some kind of joke?”
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