Midnight Runner Part 12

They left an hour and a half later. Rupert said, "What am I going to find at Fuad?"

"In effect, an army camp. We have young Arabs from all the main Arab states. We teach them basic weaponry skills with rifles and machine guns, plus more sophisticated weapons such as shoulder-fired missiles."

"What about bomb-making and explosives?"

"Yes, that, too, though it's pretty basic. Mostly how to use explosives effectively with timer pencils. There's a limit to what we can do. It isn't exactly up to Provisional IRA standards. We usually have around fifty in the camp, mostly men, but a few women pa.s.s through. They do eight weeks here and then go back home and pa.s.s their knowledge on."

"Who are the instructors?"

"Mostly Palestinians."

"Are they up to it?"

"Good help is hard to find. The chief instructor is first cla.s.s, though, Colum McGee. He was in the IRA for years."

"So what's the purpose of all this?"

"To have lots of reasonably trained young revolutionaries scattered throughout the Middle East, youngsters who would happily overthrow their governments, who hate capitalism and the wealthy."

"But, Kate, you're you're a capitalist and you are unbelievably wealthy. And yet you want to destabilize the lot. It doesn't make sense." a capitalist and you are unbelievably wealthy. And yet you want to destabilize the lot. It doesn't make sense."

"It does if you want revenge, darling, it does if you want revenge."

"And how do you achieve that?"

"Later, Rupert. When the time is right." She glanced down below where sand boiled in a great cloud. So Ben Carver had been right. A desert storm was brewing.

Villiers and his men were well into the hill country, pa.s.sing between those great ocher cliffs, making for the pool at Hama. For some time as the wind increased in force he had been aware of the fine particles of sand being carried with it, and he and his men had covered their noses and mouths with scarves.

As they approached the pool, he said to Achmed, "We'll stop and replenish the water bags."

"As the Sahb Sahb commands." commands."

Achmed got out with two Scouts, but Villiers stayed in his seat, sheltering behind the winds.h.i.+eld, lighting a cigarette in cupped hands. Achmed and the two Scouts filled the goatskin bags and were turning to bring them back to the Land Rovers, each man carrying two, when there was the crack of a shot, and a bullet hole appeared in the bag Achmed carried in his left hand and water spilled out. The three men dropped the bags and ran for the shelter of the Land Rovers and crouched, weapons ready.

"No return fire," Villiers said.

The wind moaned, more sand carried with it. Achmed said, "Look, Sahb, Sahb, there are tire marks in the sand, a Land Rover for sure. Someone has pa.s.sed this way before us. Maybe Abu." Villiers started to get up and Achmed pulled him back. "No there are tire marks in the sand, a Land Rover for sure. Someone has pa.s.sed this way before us. Maybe Abu." Villiers started to get up and Achmed pulled him back. "No Sahb, Sahb, not you." not you."

"I think it is Abu, but if he could hit the goatskin he could have hit you. He can't shoot me because the Countess wants me alive. This means he's just been playing with us. I'll prove it to you." He stood up and called in Arabic, "Abu, have you no honor? Are you afraid to face me?" He walked out into the open. "Here I am, where are you?"

The visibility was greatly reduced now. They heard the sound of an engine starting up and a vehicle drawing away.

"He has gone, Sahb, Sahb," Achmed told him.

"And we should go, too, and reach shelter. It may be a while before this blows over."

At the end of the pa.s.s was a crumbling fort left over from the old days. The stables still had a roof on them, the Land Rovers drove inside and they all dismounted.

Villiers said to Achmed, "Get the spirit stove going. Coffee for you and tea for me. A can of food for each man. They can choose what they want."

"As the Sahb Sahb orders." orders."

Villiers looked out as the sand was whipped up into a fury and wondered how Abu was getting on out there but, even more, wondered what he intended.

The Scorpion made Fuad before the sandstorm reached full intensity. Rupert was aware of the palm trees of the oasis below and his trained vision took in the crude blockhouse. The firing range beyond it, and many Bedu tents of the kind had evolved over the centuries to handle the vagaries of the Empty Quarter, including sandstorms.

There were many men waiting down there, faces covered against the sand. Kate turned to Rupert. "The breath of Allah, that's what the Bedu call it."

"Then he must be in an angry mood."

Carver put down between two clumps of palm trees, and men ran forward with ropes, fastened them around the skids, and tied the other ends to trees.

Ben Carver switched off. "Jesus," he said, "that was a stinker."

"You did well," she told him.

Carver got out first and held the door, and she wrapped her scarf around her head and mouth and took the lead. Someone offered her a hand, a large man in jeans and a leather bomber jacket, a scarf wrapped around his face. Rupert followed and they hurried toward the tents, followed by a number of men.

The tent they entered was large and well appointed, with carpets on the floor, cus.h.i.+ons, and a low table. It was all quite luxurious. Drapes against the tent walls flapped a little as the wind buffeted them, and yet in there, the sound was subdued and somehow faraway.

The man in the bomber jacket removed his scarf, revealing a tangled black beard flecked with gray. It was Colum McGee, and he was smiling.

"Good to see you, Countess." She introduced Rupert, and a moment later Carver arrived.

"How long will it last?" she inquired.

"I've checked the weather report from Hamam airport. It should die down in two or three hours."

She checked her watch. "Eleven o'clock. That would leave time for an inspection and we could still make it back to Hazar by nightfall. We might as well have something decent to eat, Colum."

"Well, I can't offer a full Irish breakfast, Countess, but the women in the kitchen bake fairly decent bread even though it's unleavened. If you want lamb stew or goat, fine. Otherwise, I can offer various things from cans. Corned beef, new potatoes, carrots, peas."

"I think that should do nicely. Did you bring the refrigerated box in, Ben?"

"One of the men took it to the kitchen for me."

"Good, we'll have a drink."

Carver went out along a tented tunnel and entered the kitchen. There was a round stone fireplace in the entryway, three cooking pots hanging from spits, half a dozen women working at various tasks. The blue plastic refrigerated box was on a low table.

In the main tent, Kate Ras.h.i.+d said, "All Ben Carver knows is what he sees, Colum, the camp and the occasional training. I don't want him to know anything else. Leave the serious business until after the meal."

"As you say. I'll go and give the women their orders, but an old RAF hand like Ben won't miss much."

As he went out, Ben appeared with the box. When he opened it, there were three bottles of champagne and several plastic wine gla.s.ses. He uncorked a bottle and started to pour.

"Four gla.s.ses, Ben."

"All the comforts of home," Rupert told her.

"Look upon it as a picnic," she said as the Irishman returned. "So, how's the training program, Colum?"

"Much as usual." They all sat down on cus.h.i.+ons with their drinks. "Mind you, those Palestinian kids are full of fire, but against Israeli troops they wouldn't last very long."

"I'm sure you're doing the best you can. But let's eat and we can discuss it later."

Back at the old fort, the storm was already abating. Villiers and his men waited, and finally he got out his Codex Four and called up Bobby Hawk.

"Where are you?"

"About twenty miles east from El Haj.i.z. Oasis. What about you?"

Villiers told him. "Are you on the move?"

"No, sheltering in a cave."

"Good. It'll blow itself out in an hour or so. We'll rendezvous at El Hajiz. We've lost two men by the way, Omar and Selim."

"Good G.o.d, how?"

"I'll tell you when we meet." He switched off his mobile and called to Achmed, "More tea," then he called Ferguson in London and brought him up to date.

After the meal, Kate said, "I've had worse. You've done well, Colum."

"We aim to please."

"I'm glad to hear it. Let's talk." She turned to Carver. "If you'll excuse us, Ben, this is business."

Carver couldn't get out fast enough. The money she paid him for his services was enough to satisfy his greed. He couldn't help knowing about the existence of Fuad, but he very much preferred that whatever they were doing here remained a mystery.

Back inside, Kate was saying, "So you're managing all right with the Palestinian instructors?"

"Just about."

"So if I wanted a serious project taken care of, one that would require expertise in the bomb department, where would I go? I asked you this when we last met, remember, and asked you to think about it."

"The best internationally is still the IRA, although the Prods are moving into the market. What about those people you hired when you wanted a hit on the Council of Elders on their way to the Holy Wells? Aidan Bell, wasn't it, along with Tony Brosnan and Jack O'Hara?"

"All long gone. Sean Dillon killed Aidan."

"Ah. A b.a.s.t.a.r.d, Sean, though he was a good comrade in the old days." He smiled. "And him working for the Brits now."

"So what would you suggest?"

"Strangely enough, Aidan's cousin on his mother's side, Barry Keenan. Drumcree is his patch these days. The Provos are out of it. He thinks they're a bunch of old women. His affiliation these days is to the Real IRA, and they're back with old-fas.h.i.+oned Republicanism. There's an Irish saying, which roughly translated means those kind of people would shoot the Pope if they thought it would advance the cause."

"That's a good one. Can you arrange for me to see Keenan?"

"Not in England, there are outstanding charges against him there."

"Ireland?"

"Oh, yes, even in the North the RUC won't touch him, not since the peace process began."

"I'll see him in Drumcree. Arrange it for me."

"It'll take time."

"I'm not in a rush." She stood up. "Let's see if the wind has dropped enough for Rupert to have a look at the camp."

Colum said, curious, "Do you know about this sort of business, Mr. Dauncey?"

"You could say that." Rupert smiled lazily.

They were escorted to a large tent on the outskirts of the encampment. Half a dozen young Arabs were in there, faced by an instructor across two trestle tables, on which various items necessary to the explosives business were laid out. There were timer pencils, other kinds of fuses, clockwork, timers, and various samples of explosives. It was all very basic, and Rupert was not impressed.

"Let's move on," he said to McGee, "before I lose my enthusiasm."

They went to the shooting range, where recruits were lying down, propped on their elbows, cut-out targets of men standing four hundred meters away.

"Pa.s.s me your gla.s.ses," Rupert told McGee, and he focused on the targets. "Not so good. A few random hits, but most of your men are missing."

"And you could do better? If you were familiar with the AK, you'd know it's at its finest as a close quarter automatic weapon. Four hundred meters is a stretch for anyone." He tried to kill the sarcasm and failed. "But then you know the AK intimately, I suppose?"

"Well, I have been shot in the left shoulder by one, but luckily that was in the last week of the Gulf War." Rupert went forward. "Personally, I've always found it an excellent single-shot weapon."

Colum McGee went and got one from a wooden rack, picked up a magazine, and rammed it home. He held it out. "Show us."

"My pleasure." Rupert handed the gla.s.ses to Kate. "Let's just take the first five from the left and the last five on the right."

Colum blew a whistle and made a signal. Everyone stopped firing, unloaded, and stood up. The instructor shouted at them and they moved back. Rupert went forward. He didn't lie down but stood, then raised the AK to his shoulder, and started to fire slowly and carefully. There was a moan from the crowd as he finished, and Kate lowered the gla.s.ses and turned to McGee.

"Ten head shots. I only know one other man that good, and he killed my brother George and three men at four hundred meters-Sean Dillon."

"I've never seen anything like it," Colum said.

"Well, you wouldn't," Kate told him. "What next?"

"Unarmed combat. They tend to do well at that. Most of them are off the streets anyway."

The required area was on the other side of the oasis behind the palm trees, where the sand was soft. Young men squared up to each other in pairs. The instructor was a powerfully built man with a bald head and a heavy moustache. His English was very reasonable and his name was Hamid.

Kate said, "My cousin would like to see something of your work."

He looked Rupert over and was not impressed. "Ah, something for the tourists." He beckoned two youths forward. "Try to take me." They looked distinctly worried. "I said, try to take me," he shouted.

They ran in at him together. He avoided the first boy's punch easily, grabbed him by the jacket, then fell backwards, a foot on the boy's stomach, and tossed him high in the air. The youth crashed to the ground, Hamid rolled on his front and kicked backwards at the other boy, dislodging his left kneecap. The boy lay crying on the ground.