Free Dark Justice by Jack Higgins

has to be Kuwait."
    "Then what?"
    "We'll go after him. I can't go myself, Belov wants me at his place in Northern Ireland, but you can. Use our GRU contacts, they'll get you into the Baghdad airport. Use Belov's name if you need to. I'll arrange some muscle for you."
    She took a deep breath. "Are you sure?"
    "Smell powder again, Greta. You'll enjoy it."
    "All right, I'll do it."
    "Just be careful. If I were Ferguson I wouldn't let it go, this thing. He'll send somebody."
    "Dillon?"
    "Seems the most likely. He speaks good Arabic and Russian, has lots of Middle East experience. I'll confirm it for you."
    "To hell with him. I'll still do it."
    "Good girl." He was smiling as they passed BuckinghamPalace. "But don't stay at the embassy. The Al Bustan is much more fun."
    Ferguson, Dillon and Billy stood beside Roper's bank of computers. The Major's fingers danced over the keys for a while and he sat back.
    "Definite confirmation. There was a slight delay, but the jumbo took off an hour ago. Selim has seat three-A in the first-class cabin. Nice. I can also tell you that's his fourth time to Kuwait in the last ten months."
    "What else?" Ferguson demanded.
    "I can give you the name of the rental-car firm he uses. It's always the same one. And he stays at the Al Bustan hotel in Baghdad. A good hotel, though somewhat damaged by the war. A favorite with correspondents."
    "Family?" Dillon added.
    "Yes, there are still relatives, in a village called Ramalla about forty clicks north of Baghdad. His great-uncle lives there on a small farm by the Tigris. I've pulled a map of the location from the computer. Nicely detailed."
    "Any more information on Wrath of Allah?"
    "I'm still trawling. We can always try Sharif, of course."
    "And who would he be?" Dillon asked.
    "A major in the Republican Guard during Saddam's day. Intelligence. He's worked for me for a while now. Very expensive, but worth it. I'll give you his photo and details."
    "Why not the Americans?"
    "He's not keen on them. Lost his wife and daughter in the bombing during the war. He'll be of considerable value to you when you get there."
    "So I'm going?"
    "It's essential, dear boy, that you find Selim and haul him back," said Ferguson. "We know a great deal about him, but there's a lot more we need to know, particularly about his dealings with Ashimov and Belov."
    "So you don't want me to kill him?"
    "You're always so basic. No, not if it can be helped. Our Russian friends will have a different point of view, but never mind that. The Superintendent is arranging your papers now. You'll be pleased to know you're a correspondent for the Belfast Telegraph. You do analysis, think pieces, not instant news. Your Northern Irish accent will suit the role admirably. The Superintendent has alerted Lacey and Parry. We'll use the Citation XL. As it's RAF, it can land at Baghdad even though commercial planes are grounded."
    At that moment the door buzzer sounded, and Roper pressed the release. Hannah Bernstein came in.
    "Everything pushing ahead?" Ferguson asked.
    "I think so, sir. They're working on Dillon's papers now, the plane will be ready for morning departure and I've spoken to Sharif. He's arranging for you to stay at the Al Bustan, which should be perfectly satisfactory."
    "I don't think so," Billy said.
    Ferguson frowned. "And why not?"
    "Because you shouldn't be the one going. If Dillon is to pass without suspicion as a newspaper reporter, he needs a photographer with him. I mean, what he really needs is someone to watch his back, but it would be convenient, in this case, if that someone could also pass himself off as a photographer."
    "And you could?"
    "After Kate Rashid and company shot the hell out of me in Hazar, I had to forget my favorite hobby, diving, and so I took up photography. Did a course at the London College of Printing."
    "And you think you know your stuff?"
    "First of all, I'd need two cameras, if not three. I'm sure you saw the photographers during the war, draped in