Free Edge of Danger by Jack Higgins Page B

special, all right.’ Blake smiled. ‘Excuse me. I’ll get on with this if you’ll follow me, Mr President.’
    The Alice Brown rose and fell on a heavy rolling swell as Bell surfaced on the Dolphin. Nets trailed into the water, all very businesslike, and Grant came to the stern rail.
    Bell undid the Velcro ties of his jacket and eased off his air bottles into the water. He pulled off his mask and flippers; the AK he had dropped off a mile back.
    ‘Throw me a line.’
    Grant frowned. ‘Where’s your friend?’
    ‘There was an accident.’
    Grant didn’t like it, his face clouding. ‘Now look, what’s going on here?’
    Bell unzipped his nylon diving jacket, produced the Browning, and shot him between the eyes. Then he reached for the rail and pulled himself over and turned and fired several shots into the Dolphin, which started to settle into the water. He went through the lockers in the wheelhouse and found a length of chain, which he wound around Grant’s ankles before pushing him under the rail. The body slid under the surface and Bell hauled in the nets quickly, then went below, got a bottle of Irish from the galley and hurried back on deck. He went into the wheelhouse, switched on the engines and moved away, one hand on the wheel while he poured whiskey, a very large one, into a plastic cup. He swallowed the lot, then poured another as rain started again.
    In the living room of the great house at Quogue, Paul and Kate Rashid sat by a log fire. Michael and George were in London. Rashid’s coded mobile rang, he answered and found Bell.
    ‘What news?’
    ‘There was a screw-up. This is the story.’
    He gave an account of what had happened, which was a reasonably true version, omitting only the fact that he’d finished off Liam Casey.
    ‘I’d like to say I’m sorry,’ Bell said, ‘but I did nothing wrong and everything right. It was just that damned dog.’
    ‘You know what the Arabs say? Inshallah. As God wills,’ Paul Rashid told him. ‘You couldn’t shoot the dog?’
    ‘There was no time.’
    ‘When will you arrive?’
    ‘Four hours.’
    ‘All right. I’ll have the Gulfstream waiting at Westhampton Airport. My sister is here. We’ll fly back to the UK together.’
    ‘Suits me.’
    ‘What about Grant? I hate loose ends.’
    ‘Taken care of. What’s the expression? Arthur Grant is asleep with the fishes.’
    ‘And what about his boat?’
    ‘I’ll swim ashore.’
    ‘We’ll see you soon, then.’
    Paul Rashid switched off and turned to Kate. ‘A dog - a flatcoat retriever called Murchison.’ He
    started to laugh, then he reached for his mobile. ‘I’ll phone the airport and tell them to get the Gulfstream ready. Then we’ll have a glass of champagne.’
    ‘But what do we drink to?’
    ‘Why, Murchison, of course.’
    At the hospital, the fight for Clancy Smith’s life continued for four hours. The Air Force flew in two additional trauma surgeons and the President’s own doctor.
    After the surgery, Cazalet and Blake sat for a while with Clancy, whose pain had been dulled by drugs. The chief surgeon came in and had a look at him.
    ‘You’ll be fine, son, just fine.’
    ‘Thank you, sir.’
    The surgeon nodded to Cazalet, who followed him out. ‘Mr President, does this mean what I think it means?’
    ‘Robert, I need your holy oath on this,’ Cazalet said.
    ‘Of course, Mr President. That was an AK bullet we took out of that young man. I had one in me myself in Vietnam.’
    ‘Well, this one was meant for me, and that brave boy pushed me aside, turned his back and took it for me.’
    ‘God in heaven. And the other?’
    ‘Is the assassin, although we think there could have been another one, too. Will he live?’
    ‘Debatable. I’ll keep you posted. We’re just finishing in there.’
    Cazalet went back in the room and brought Blake up to date. ‘Let’s hope he survives. It’s a bizarre business and I’d like an answer.’
    Clancy was drifting off. ‘Do I still have