Edge of Danger by Jack Higgins Page B

Kelly said, and ushered Kate through the airstair door.
    She called Bell on her coded mobile when they were halfway across the Irish Sea. She caught him in the kitchen of his farmhouse.
    ‘This is Kate Rashid. I’ll be with you in an hour.’
    ‘You’ll what?’
    ‘I want to discuss your vacation in a much warmer climate.’
    ‘What are we talking about?’
    ‘A big payday. The alternative target.’
    ‘Well, that’s for me, sweetheart.’
    ‘Kelly’s minding me,’ she said, ‘We’ll see you at the Royal George.’
    Without bothering to check with Ferguson, Dillon had been following Kate Rashid from the moment she’d left London. Wearing black leathers and astride a Suzuki motorcycle, he’d waited in a small copse and watched Kelly, Kate and Grover through glasses. When they got in the Titan and took off, Dillon drove to the village a mile down the road and went into the pub. There was a log fire burning, but no sign of customers. A middle-aged woman came in from the kitchen.
    ‘My God, it’s like a funeral parlour in here,’ Dillon said cheerfully.
    ‘It’s early,’ she said. ‘What do you expect?’
    ‘A Bushmills whiskey and directions to Hoxby.’ He lied effortlessly and lit a cigarette. ‘I was surprised to see a plane take off a little while ago.’
    ‘Oh, that’s Mick Grover’s outfit. Just up the road in an old wartime feeder station. He does crop spraying, the odd charter flight. Don’t know how he makes a living.’
    ‘I don’t know how I do.’ Dillon grinned. ‘You do food?’
    ‘That’s right.’
    ‘I’ll go and see to my business in Hoxby. I’ll probably look in on my way back.’
    Grover stayed with the plane, and Kelly drove Kate down to the Royal George. It was quiet enough at that time in the morning, only Patrick Murphy, the barman, reading the Belfast Telegraph at the bar. Kelly led the way in.
    ‘Aidan Bell’s expecting us.’
    ‘He’s in the snug.’
    Kate went first and opened the door and Kelly followed. Aidan Bell sat by the fire, smoking a cigarette and drinking tea. He looked up.
    ‘Lady Kate. Now this really does sound interesting. What do you want me to do?’
    ‘What you do best. Twelve Arab sheiks, the Council of Elders in Hazar, are proving a problem.’
    ‘Well now, we can’t have that. On the other hand, I’d always understood that the Rashid would follow your brother anywhere. All those wild tribesmen.’
    ‘They will, once the sheiks are taken care of. This one needs the expert touch. It also needs to be a spectacular. Make various people sit up and take notice. You’ll need a team, of course.’
    ‘No problem there. I’ve got some boys.’
    ‘Are they any good?’
    ‘We’re all still here, aren’t we? And, yes, to answer your question, they won’t screw up like Liam. So what’s the deal?’
    ‘Rashid Investments has construction interests in Hazar, and I’m flying out today supposedly to supervise them. I want you and your “boys” to turn up the day after tomorrow at Dublin Airport. Our Gulfstream will run you down to Hazar. We’ll talk things over more when you arrive.’
    ‘What are you looking for? Some sort of ambush? A bomb? What’s your pleasure?’
    ‘We’ll discuss that when I see you. Any equipment you need will be down there.’
    ‘So all I have to do is think of the best way of disposing of twelve old Arab sheiks and getting away with my bollocks still intact?’
    She laughed harshly. ‘True. That last item could be a consideration. We Arabs are terrible people. You must be careful.’
    He smiled. ‘That I will, Lady Kate. You may be sure.’ He raised his teacup. ‘A toast. To peace, Lady Kate, to peace.’ He took a swallow. ‘And stuff it.’
    Dillon had shepherd’s pie at the pub and a glass of indifferent Sancerre. There were perhaps a dozen people in, locals from the look of them. He finished his meal, paid up and went to his Suzuki. Fifteen minutes later, he was in the copse overlooking the small