Part 37 (1/2)
He checked the weather report on television and it wasn't good, then he accepted the mug of tea from Doyle and poured a whiskey sup in it when he was alone. He pulled Hussein's photo on screen. It stared back at him, that Che Guevara look.
”Yes, I know that isn't you anymore, but where the h.e.l.l are you?”
And closer than he would ever have dreamed possible, at the shop on the edge of West Hampstead, Ali Ha.s.sim was tapping on Hussein's door, a cup of tea in his hand. He put on the light and went in. Hussein was awake.
”It's earlier than you said, but the weather is not good.” He put the green tea down at the side of the bed.
The window rattled in the wind. Hussein said, ”My thanks for the tea, but I must pray for a while. I'll be ready to leave at the time agreed. If you would turn off the light.”
”Of course.”
Ali went out, tapped on Khazid's door and went downstairs.
ROPER DOZED AGAIN and came awake to find it was just seven o'clock. At the same time, the Caravanette pulled in at a Little Chef outside Guildford. There was a strong wind and the rain was relentless, but Hussein and Khazid were impervious to it, thanks to the outfits Bolton had purchased. The three-quarter-length anoraks in olive green were hooded with capacious pockets large enough for the silenced Walthers they carried, including spare clips of ammunition. Waterproof bush hats, leggings and heavy boots made short work of the weather.
There were a dozen or so customers scattered around the cafe, mainly truck drivers from the look of what was in the car park. Hussein and Khazid sat in a corner away from anyone else.
”What do we eat?” Khazid asked.
”Look at the menu. The popular choice is the full English breakfast with a mug of tea.”
”Which includes bacon for a start.”
”In the circ.u.mstances, Allah will be merciful. So, go to the counter and in your best broken French, give the order. To be practical, I'm hungry and we have a long day ahead of us.”
Khazid went and spoke to the young girl on duty and returned and sat down. ”What do you think of the Caravanette? It's hardly a getaway car, the engine throbbing when you put your foot down.”
”It could be argued that it would be perfect for such a purpose. What police are usually chasing is the faster traffic, not the vehicle in the slow lane.”
”A debatable point,” Khazid said.
The girl brought the breakfasts and teas on a tray, put everything on the table and departed. ”My chief instructor in the camp in Algeria had a saying: Walk, don't run, whenever possible. Now eat your breakfast, little brother, and shut up.”
IT WAS EIGHT O'CLOCK when Dillon and Billy joined Roper, and his news wasn't too good. ”I've had Lacey on. He and Parry have arrived at Farley. It's not too nice. He certainly thinks it's not on for a nine-o'clock departure. They'll just have to wait for a window of opportunity. I've spoken to Ferguson. He's suggested we have a quick breakfast. He'll be here for an eight-thirty departure.”
”That's fine,” Dillon said. ”Are you going to join us?”
”I don't think so. I'd a bad night, and then this weather.” He shook his head. ”I think I'll check with Zion while you eat. See you later.”
Dillon and Billy left him for the canteen, and Roper called Levin.
AT THE DINING ROOM at Zion House, Levin, Chomsky and Greta sat at a corner table and rain rattled against the French windows, the terrace outside streaming with it as it fell on the garden extending all the way to the wall, the wood beyond.
There was a certain amount of mist that made everything look a little mysterious. Various trees, ma.s.ses of rhododendrons, willow trees, an old summerhouse, sheltered pathways running through shrubberies.
Greta, who was drinking coffee and looking out, said, ”Rain, b.l.o.o.d.y rain, but it suits the garden.”
Sara came up behind. ”I heard that. It's like something out of Jane Eyre. Jane Eyre. Dark and brooding.” Dark and brooding.”
”Would you like to join us?” Greta said.
”No, I'd better go and sit in the far corner. The parents are coming down, I'll see you later.”
She moved across, waving cheerfully at Captain Bosey and Fletcher and Smith, two of his guards, who were eating together. A little later, Caspar and Molly arrived and joined their daughter. One of the girls, Kitty, took an order and went off to the kitchen.
Levin's phone went and it was Roper. ”How's the house party proceeding?”
”Rain and even a little mist. Makes the garden look romantic.”
”What about the runway?”
”I can't see from here. Hang on and I'll go to the terrace.” Which he did, going out to the hall and helping himself to an umbrella he found behind the door. He opened it and stepped out, giving Roper a running commentary. ”There's no way this rain is going to stop, that's for sure, but I can see the runway. There is some mist there, certainly. What's the word from your end?”
”Well, Lacey doesn't seem to think nine o'clock's likely. He'll await a window of opportunity was what he said.”
”Okay, I'll keep in touch.”
Levin turned, moved back to the house to report to the others.
AT FARLEY FIELD, Jamal had set himself up in the public car park. He parked in a spot from which he could see the arrivals. The Hawk was already parked on the other side of the terminal building.
The yellow van had Telecom on the side and he raised the rear door like a flap against the rain and sat there from half-past seven and waited. He was surrounded by coils of wire, a large tool box was open, and in his yellow oilskins with Telecom on the back, he looked perfectly acceptable.
Ali Ha.s.sim, who had phoned several times, tried again at half-past eight. ”Still nothing?”
”I'm afraid so. I will contact you the moment I see anything.”
He opened a lunch box and took out a banana and a carton of yogurt, ate it slowly with a spoon, then unpeeled the banana, watching. Time ticked by and suddenly the People Traveller from Holland Park, the vehicle that he had followed on his motorbike when it had taken the Ras.h.i.+ds and the three other people to Farley, arrived. He watched it park at the end of the terminal. Three men hurrying for shelter. He knew one was Ferguson because Ha.s.sim had shown him a photo.
He phoned Ali instantly. ”They've arrived, Ferguson definitely and two other men. They were too fast for me, hurrying through the rain.”
”Allah be praised. Phone me again the moment they take off.”
”It may be a while. The weather is not good.”
”So wait and watch.”
IN THE TERMINAL BUILDING, Ferguson talked to Lacey. ”What do you think?”
”I don't hold out any hope of nine o'clock. The flight down there takes an hour, a little more depending on the wind and whether it changes direction. Maybe another half hour. That would give an estimated time of arrival at about ten-thirty. We'll just have to see. I suggest coffee, General.”
”Oh, very well.” Ferguson wasn't pleased and phoned Levin.