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Authors: Jack Higgins
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know."
"We would kill them, Sahb. Any oasis is ours, the wells are ours."
"But if such people had permission, say, from the Countess?"
Selim was caught and terribly upset. "Yes, Sahb, that would be different." His face was pale.
"Yes, I thought so." Villiers patted his shoulder. "We move out in ten minutes."
Villiers turned and looked to the Empty Quarter. There was something out there. Ferguson's wild shot had been right. Poor old Selim, so transparent. But what could it be? No way of knowing. If he strayed over the border, he wouldn't last half a day. The Bedu would know--knew where he was now, come to that. He sighed, took out the Codex Four, and dialed Charles Ferguson back, rather sooner than he had intended.
D illon was at The Dorchester just before seven, dressed in a black Brioni suit, white shirt, and black tie. He called it his undertaker look, which was appropriate, since he carried a Walther in a special pocket under his left arm. He was greeted by Giuliano, the manager.
"Bushmills," Dillon said. "General Ferguson will be joining me, and we'll want a bottle of Cristal then."
"I'll see to it personally."
There weren't that many people in. It was too early for the evening rush, and a Monday evening anyway. Dillon accepted the Bushmills from Giuliano and waited. A moment later, Ferguson joined him.
"So--no sign of the opposition?"
"Not as yet. Champagne?"
"I suppose so."
Dillon nodded to Giuliano, who smiled and spoke to a waiter who brought the Cristal in a bucket. Giuliano opened the bottle, Ferguson did the tasting.
"Fine." He turned to Dillon. "I've had two phone calls with Tony Villiers. Let me tell you about them."
Afterwards, Dillon said, "Still nothing concrete. But Tony smells something, too. That's good enough for me."
Ferguson looked around. "Still no sign of her. You could be wrong, Sean."
"It's been known to happen. But not tonight, I think." He smiled. "I know what'll bring her."
He walked over to the pride of the bar, the extraordinary mirrored grand piano that had once belonged to Liberace, sat down, and lifted the lid. Giuliano came over with his glass of Cristal.
"All right with you?" Dillon asked.
"Of course. It's always a pleasure to hear you play. The pianist isn't in until eight."
Dillon started with a Gershwin melody, just as Harry and Billy Salter appeared at the bar entrance. Harry, who was into Savile Row suits that season, wore a navy blue chalk stripe, the kind of thing beloved of bank presidents. Billy wore an expensive-looking black bomber jacket and black slacks. They crossed to the bar and Ferguson said, "Good God, what are you rogues doing here?"
"My idea," Dillon called.
"And mine, General." Harry sat down. "Dillon's filled us in on everything."
"Damn you, Sean, that's totally out of order," Ferguson said.
"Come off it, General, as far as the Countess of Loch Dhu is concerned, we're in this together, the four of us, all tarred with the same brush."
"Dead right," Harry said. "So I'll have a glass of champagne with you and await events."
Dillon called. "Tell them about Tony Villiers."
"Oh, all right." And Ferguson did.
More people had come in, scattered around the room at various tables. Billy walked to the piano and leaned on it. Dillon was playing "A Foggy Day in London Town."
"I like that," Billy said. "'I was a stranger in the city.'"
"'Out of town were the people I knew.'" Dillon smiled. "You're looking good, Billy."
"Never mind the soft soap. What do you think she's playing at?"
"I've no idea. Why don't you ask her? She's just come in."
Billy turned and found Kate Rashid standing at the top of the steps, Rupert Dauncey beside her. She wore a black trouser suit, her hair tied back, a pair of very large diamond studs, and no other jewelry. Rupert wore a single-breasted navy blue blazer and gray slacks, a scarf at his neck.
Billy turned back. "Seeing her reminds me: There's something I always wanted to ask you, Dillon. You never married. Are you
"We would kill them, Sahb. Any oasis is ours, the wells are ours."
"But if such people had permission, say, from the Countess?"
Selim was caught and terribly upset. "Yes, Sahb, that would be different." His face was pale.
"Yes, I thought so." Villiers patted his shoulder. "We move out in ten minutes."
Villiers turned and looked to the Empty Quarter. There was something out there. Ferguson's wild shot had been right. Poor old Selim, so transparent. But what could it be? No way of knowing. If he strayed over the border, he wouldn't last half a day. The Bedu would know--knew where he was now, come to that. He sighed, took out the Codex Four, and dialed Charles Ferguson back, rather sooner than he had intended.
D illon was at The Dorchester just before seven, dressed in a black Brioni suit, white shirt, and black tie. He called it his undertaker look, which was appropriate, since he carried a Walther in a special pocket under his left arm. He was greeted by Giuliano, the manager.
"Bushmills," Dillon said. "General Ferguson will be joining me, and we'll want a bottle of Cristal then."
"I'll see to it personally."
There weren't that many people in. It was too early for the evening rush, and a Monday evening anyway. Dillon accepted the Bushmills from Giuliano and waited. A moment later, Ferguson joined him.
"So--no sign of the opposition?"
"Not as yet. Champagne?"
"I suppose so."
Dillon nodded to Giuliano, who smiled and spoke to a waiter who brought the Cristal in a bucket. Giuliano opened the bottle, Ferguson did the tasting.
"Fine." He turned to Dillon. "I've had two phone calls with Tony Villiers. Let me tell you about them."
Afterwards, Dillon said, "Still nothing concrete. But Tony smells something, too. That's good enough for me."
Ferguson looked around. "Still no sign of her. You could be wrong, Sean."
"It's been known to happen. But not tonight, I think." He smiled. "I know what'll bring her."
He walked over to the pride of the bar, the extraordinary mirrored grand piano that had once belonged to Liberace, sat down, and lifted the lid. Giuliano came over with his glass of Cristal.
"All right with you?" Dillon asked.
"Of course. It's always a pleasure to hear you play. The pianist isn't in until eight."
Dillon started with a Gershwin melody, just as Harry and Billy Salter appeared at the bar entrance. Harry, who was into Savile Row suits that season, wore a navy blue chalk stripe, the kind of thing beloved of bank presidents. Billy wore an expensive-looking black bomber jacket and black slacks. They crossed to the bar and Ferguson said, "Good God, what are you rogues doing here?"
"My idea," Dillon called.
"And mine, General." Harry sat down. "Dillon's filled us in on everything."
"Damn you, Sean, that's totally out of order," Ferguson said.
"Come off it, General, as far as the Countess of Loch Dhu is concerned, we're in this together, the four of us, all tarred with the same brush."
"Dead right," Harry said. "So I'll have a glass of champagne with you and await events."
Dillon called. "Tell them about Tony Villiers."
"Oh, all right." And Ferguson did.
More people had come in, scattered around the room at various tables. Billy walked to the piano and leaned on it. Dillon was playing "A Foggy Day in London Town."
"I like that," Billy said. "'I was a stranger in the city.'"
"'Out of town were the people I knew.'" Dillon smiled. "You're looking good, Billy."
"Never mind the soft soap. What do you think she's playing at?"
"I've no idea. Why don't you ask her? She's just come in."
Billy turned and found Kate Rashid standing at the top of the steps, Rupert Dauncey beside her. She wore a black trouser suit, her hair tied back, a pair of very large diamond studs, and no other jewelry. Rupert wore a single-breasted navy blue blazer and gray slacks, a scarf at his neck.
Billy turned back. "Seeing her reminds me: There's something I always wanted to ask you, Dillon. You never married. Are you
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