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Authors: Jack Higgins
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“You’ve no idea how much of a pleasure that would be.”
“And another hundred thousand if you dispose of the girl.”
Tully stopped smiling. “Is that necessary?”
“She could be a serious threat to us. If there is a difficulty here, I must go elsewhere.”
Bell was looking grim, ran a finger across his throat and nodded slightly. Tully said, “No problem, we can see to the girl, too.”
“I’ll place the second hundred thousand in your account and on hold for three days. After that, all bets are off. In the glove compartment of your Jeep at the pub, you will find a package containing a mobile linked only to me. It also contains photos of everyone who could be linked in any way to Tod Flynn.”
“What a bastard,” Tully said when the call ended. “He soundedjust like one of those Brit judges who used to sentence us.” He laughed harshly and reached to take the very large whiskey that was pushed across the bar.
“Two hundred thousand dollars.” Bell was smiling. “He can look like the Queen of Sheba, as far as I’m concerned. Happy days, my old son.” He raised his glass and then emptied it in one quick swallow.
—
Hannah Flynn was a remarkable young woman harmed by life, but she had threatened to expose al-Qaeda and had to be eliminated. Which still allowed the Master to feel nothing but distaste where Tully and Bell were concerned. It was time to move on, so he tapped in a highly secret number in Tehran.
—
With his blue suit and striped tie, the Iranian Minister of War, seated behind the mahogany desk in the comfortably furnished room, would not have been out of place in the White House or Downing Street. But this was Tehran, his phone number so secret that when it rang, it was usually a matter concerning the highest levels of government.
He picked up the phone and said in Farsi, “Yes, what is it?”
The Master replied in English, “You’ve been trying to trace the whereabouts of General Ali ben Levi since his disappearance.”
The minister said, “To whom am I speaking?”
“I am the man who replaced him. He was killed on a private mission to London in pursuit of his deputy, Colonel Declan Rashid, a traitor to his country and its army.”
The minister was aghast. “Rashid! His father was a fine general, but that Irish wife of his. . . . Where is the colonel now?”
“He was badly wounded in London. General Charles Ferguson is holding him in a private hospital at the moment.”
“Was Ferguson responsible for what happened to ben Levi?”
“I wish I could say that he was, but the general was shot by one of our own people, a malcontent who has since paid the penalty.”
“So why are you calling?”
“Because I believe Declan Rashid should be punished. And Charles Ferguson and his people finished off for good.”
“I suppose that would be because of their success against al-Qaeda,” the minister said. “Sorry that I can’t help you there, but my government would really prefer to rule Iran ourselves.”
“There may come a time when you regret it,” the Master told him.
“I wouldn’t be surprised. I already have so many regrets. What’s one more?” But he was deep in thought.
“Did you know that there are scores of language schools in London? It’s true. The system is wide open if you want to pose as a student, which illegals do who simply want to live in England. We’ve sent young officers to such places for some time, to perfect their language skills and learn to adapt to Western society. They’ve all had special forces training, of course.”
“So what’s your point?”
“I like to think of them as foot soldiers, men who can handle any dirty work which comes along. Now, I am not a religious man. I am indifferent to the message of Osama bin Laden. However, we live in a world of change, and who knows what may happen politically?”
“So what are you saying?”
“I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll take care of Ferguson and his people. You take
“And another hundred thousand if you dispose of the girl.”
Tully stopped smiling. “Is that necessary?”
“She could be a serious threat to us. If there is a difficulty here, I must go elsewhere.”
Bell was looking grim, ran a finger across his throat and nodded slightly. Tully said, “No problem, we can see to the girl, too.”
“I’ll place the second hundred thousand in your account and on hold for three days. After that, all bets are off. In the glove compartment of your Jeep at the pub, you will find a package containing a mobile linked only to me. It also contains photos of everyone who could be linked in any way to Tod Flynn.”
“What a bastard,” Tully said when the call ended. “He soundedjust like one of those Brit judges who used to sentence us.” He laughed harshly and reached to take the very large whiskey that was pushed across the bar.
“Two hundred thousand dollars.” Bell was smiling. “He can look like the Queen of Sheba, as far as I’m concerned. Happy days, my old son.” He raised his glass and then emptied it in one quick swallow.
—
Hannah Flynn was a remarkable young woman harmed by life, but she had threatened to expose al-Qaeda and had to be eliminated. Which still allowed the Master to feel nothing but distaste where Tully and Bell were concerned. It was time to move on, so he tapped in a highly secret number in Tehran.
—
With his blue suit and striped tie, the Iranian Minister of War, seated behind the mahogany desk in the comfortably furnished room, would not have been out of place in the White House or Downing Street. But this was Tehran, his phone number so secret that when it rang, it was usually a matter concerning the highest levels of government.
He picked up the phone and said in Farsi, “Yes, what is it?”
The Master replied in English, “You’ve been trying to trace the whereabouts of General Ali ben Levi since his disappearance.”
The minister said, “To whom am I speaking?”
“I am the man who replaced him. He was killed on a private mission to London in pursuit of his deputy, Colonel Declan Rashid, a traitor to his country and its army.”
The minister was aghast. “Rashid! His father was a fine general, but that Irish wife of his. . . . Where is the colonel now?”
“He was badly wounded in London. General Charles Ferguson is holding him in a private hospital at the moment.”
“Was Ferguson responsible for what happened to ben Levi?”
“I wish I could say that he was, but the general was shot by one of our own people, a malcontent who has since paid the penalty.”
“So why are you calling?”
“Because I believe Declan Rashid should be punished. And Charles Ferguson and his people finished off for good.”
“I suppose that would be because of their success against al-Qaeda,” the minister said. “Sorry that I can’t help you there, but my government would really prefer to rule Iran ourselves.”
“There may come a time when you regret it,” the Master told him.
“I wouldn’t be surprised. I already have so many regrets. What’s one more?” But he was deep in thought.
“Did you know that there are scores of language schools in London? It’s true. The system is wide open if you want to pose as a student, which illegals do who simply want to live in England. We’ve sent young officers to such places for some time, to perfect their language skills and learn to adapt to Western society. They’ve all had special forces training, of course.”
“So what’s your point?”
“I like to think of them as foot soldiers, men who can handle any dirty work which comes along. Now, I am not a religious man. I am indifferent to the message of Osama bin Laden. However, we live in a world of change, and who knows what may happen politically?”
“So what are you saying?”
“I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll take care of Ferguson and his people. You take
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