Free The Killing Ground by Jack Higgins Page A

henchmen, armed to the 64

J A C K H I G G I N S
    teeth, veterans of the streets, men who knew their business, which was proved by the fact that they were still here.
    In the rear was Hussein, Sara and Jasmine, another cousin of Sara’s, who was devoted to her. Fifty miles out of Baghdad, the little convoy had pulled up in the car park of a gas station. Hussein received a call on his satellite phone from the man he knew only as the Broker. He had been allocated to him by al-Qaeda for three years now. They spoke on occasion in Arabic, but in English when appropriate, and on those occasions the Broker sounded like an Oxford professor.
    Hussein answered at once. “Where are you?” said the voice. Hussein told him. “Good, you were in an impossible situation. Other contacts covered events for me. One of Rashid’s men placed the bomb in the Savage people’s boat.”
    “And Rashid himself?”
    “It was a local Sunni group who got him. An old score. How has Sara taken it?”
    He sounded strangely paternalistic and yet there was a certain concern in his voice.
    “I’m just about to tell her, but I’ve further information. The woman who told Rashid of the kidnap attempt said the men involved are called Dillon and Salter. Are they familiar to you?”
    “No, but they soon will be. I’ll call you when I know more. Take care of Sara. I’ve made all the arrangements in Kuwait. A Hawk. You’ll enjoy flying that.”
    W H E N H U S S E I N R E T U R N E D to the group, they were waiting.
    “You could have gone for coffee and a bite to eat,” he said.
    “Not in my leg irons, cousin. Must I endure further humiliation?”
    And he didn’t hesitate, extracted no false promises. “Forgive me, cousin, so much has happened.” He produced a key and unlocked the chains, dropping them over the seat, then said, “I have grave news from Baghdad.”

T H E K I L L I N G G R O U N D
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    His words lingered, his people waited, so used to bad news they knew this must be special, and Hussein put an arm around Sara’s shoulders.
    “My uncle, Sara’s grandfather, has been taken from us at the villa. It was a car bomb, as he was leaving in his Mercedes.”
    Jasmine gave a short wail, then started to sob. One of the men, Hassim, said, “Sunnis?”
    “It would appear so.”
    “May they rot in hell,” Hamid joined in. “Cursed for a thousand years.”
    “Two thousand,” said Khazid.
    Sara stood there, saying nothing. “Come,” Hussein said. “We all agree, but we still have a long trip ahead of us. We must eat.”
    She nodded, torn in her heart between her feelings for her parents and a stubborn old man who had wronged her terribly yet loved her deeply.
    “Yes,” she said. “Yes.” She took Hussein’s arm and they walked to the café.

L O N D O N D U B L I N
    K U W A I T

    4 AT FARLEY FIELD, AS THE GULFSTREAM TOUCHED DOWN, Dillon looked out and saw Ferguson standing under an umbrella smoking a cigarette.
    “What do you think, trouble?” Billy asked.
    “Oh, I don’t know. You might be surprised,” Dillon answered.
    Parry opened the door and they moved out, followed by Lacey, who said, “Dammit, Sean, we don’t like our time wasted.”
    “I’m not sure that’s a correct description. Savage and his wife were blown up in their boat on the Tigris.”
    “And four very unpleasant geezers tried to take us out in the bar at Savage’s club. When we left, it looked like the Last Chance Saloon in a bad movie,” Billy pointed out.
    “How many?” Lacey said slowly.
    “Four,” Dillon told him. “So your time wasn’t wasted—and I suspect we’re about to use your services again.”
    “Where to this time?” Lacey said.
    “You’ve been there before. Hazar.”
    “Christ Almighty,” Parry said. “You nearly left your bones there, Billy.”
    “Well, I didn’t, and I’ve no intention of leaving them there this time.”
    They reached Ferguson, who said, “All right, gentlemen, get in the back of the Daimler and