into his right thigh, no protection there.” She staunched the blood flow as best she could. “Help me, Sean, there are morphine ampoules in the pack, get one into him.”
Ferguson was talking briskly into his phone, and Ali reached and clutched Sara. “You must take care, Sara. I told you the Grand Council wants revenge and I’m the first to be punished. The traitor . . .”
He fainted, and Ferguson said, “Rosedene’s alerting Professor Bellamy. Let’s get Saif into the Land Rover and get him up there.”
—
A couple of hours later, the matron at Rosedene, Margaret Duncan, approached the group, still in theater scrubs and looking tired. “My goodness, General, another one. When will somebody say enough is enough?”
“Not in the world as it is today, I’m afraid. How is he?”
Professor Charles Bellamy walked in and answered for her. “Alive, and that is one good thing. The vest did exactly what it was supposed to and stopped a heart shot.”
“Which, if successful, would have killed instantly, but Ali started thrashing around, so the shooter put a random round into him and cleared off,” Dillon said. “What’s the verdict?”
“A serious wound in the left thigh, damage to bone and sinew,” Bellamy told him.
“Just how bad?” Ferguson asked.
“He’ll be here for several weeks, and recovery and therapy will take some time.” He smiled at Sara. “As you know only too well, Captain, better than anyone else here, including myself.”
“God help him,” Sara said. “While I’m here, can I ask how Declan is?”
“He’s asleep. You can see him tomorrow.”
“We’ll leave them both in your good hands.” Ferguson turned to the others. “Back to Holland Park, I think, and may I point out that we still haven’t had any supper.”
—
It was much later that they rejoined Roper in the computer room and discussed the attack.
“Takes me back to Afghanistan,” Sara said. “All the trappings of high security mean nothing once you step outside base where some fifteen-year-old with an AK can take a pop at you at any moment.”
“And get away with it,” Dillon said. “Though I’d say in this case, whoever was responsible tonight was aware of Ali’s habit of walking to Tenby Street after visiting us. It’s not much more than a mile. Lots of trees on the other side of the road.”
“I agree,” Roper said. “Looks like the work of a silenced AK with a folding stock, probably carried in an ordinary supermarket shopping bag.”
“A reinforcement of Ali’s warning earlier about al-Qaeda’s Grand Council seeking revenge, and that means full alert, people,” Ferguson said.
There was a few moments of silence as they all thought about it,and it was Sara who spoke first. “There is the business of Flynn and Kelly, sir. What are we going to do about that?”
“Yes, you left it hanging,” Roper pointed out.
“Perhaps somebody should go and see them,” Sara said.
“Maybe we all should.” Ferguson laughed out loud. “That could be fun.”
“You mean just turn up at Drumgoole out of the blue?” she asked.
“It’s a thought.” Ferguson was considering it, a slightly wicked smile on his face. He looked at his watch. “Just after eleven. A man like Flynn’s bound to be up. Find the number, Major. I’ll leave it to you what to say, Dillon.”
—
In the parlor at Drumgoole Place, they were sitting by a log fire, Tod Flynn and Kelly, Aunt Meg and Hannah, a film just finishing on television. Hannah was nearest to the house phone when it rang, and she answered.
“Drumgoole Place.”
“Put me on to Tod,” Dillon said.
She bridled. “And who the hell are you, mister?”
Dillon laughed. “From the sound of you, you’d be Hannah.”
“Aren’t you the cheeky one.” Meg had turned off the television and they were staring at Hannah. “I’ll only ask you once more, then I’m putting the phone down. Who are you?” She put it on speaker so they could all
Ferguson was talking briskly into his phone, and Ali reached and clutched Sara. “You must take care, Sara. I told you the Grand Council wants revenge and I’m the first to be punished. The traitor . . .”
He fainted, and Ferguson said, “Rosedene’s alerting Professor Bellamy. Let’s get Saif into the Land Rover and get him up there.”
—
A couple of hours later, the matron at Rosedene, Margaret Duncan, approached the group, still in theater scrubs and looking tired. “My goodness, General, another one. When will somebody say enough is enough?”
“Not in the world as it is today, I’m afraid. How is he?”
Professor Charles Bellamy walked in and answered for her. “Alive, and that is one good thing. The vest did exactly what it was supposed to and stopped a heart shot.”
“Which, if successful, would have killed instantly, but Ali started thrashing around, so the shooter put a random round into him and cleared off,” Dillon said. “What’s the verdict?”
“A serious wound in the left thigh, damage to bone and sinew,” Bellamy told him.
“Just how bad?” Ferguson asked.
“He’ll be here for several weeks, and recovery and therapy will take some time.” He smiled at Sara. “As you know only too well, Captain, better than anyone else here, including myself.”
“God help him,” Sara said. “While I’m here, can I ask how Declan is?”
“He’s asleep. You can see him tomorrow.”
“We’ll leave them both in your good hands.” Ferguson turned to the others. “Back to Holland Park, I think, and may I point out that we still haven’t had any supper.”
—
It was much later that they rejoined Roper in the computer room and discussed the attack.
“Takes me back to Afghanistan,” Sara said. “All the trappings of high security mean nothing once you step outside base where some fifteen-year-old with an AK can take a pop at you at any moment.”
“And get away with it,” Dillon said. “Though I’d say in this case, whoever was responsible tonight was aware of Ali’s habit of walking to Tenby Street after visiting us. It’s not much more than a mile. Lots of trees on the other side of the road.”
“I agree,” Roper said. “Looks like the work of a silenced AK with a folding stock, probably carried in an ordinary supermarket shopping bag.”
“A reinforcement of Ali’s warning earlier about al-Qaeda’s Grand Council seeking revenge, and that means full alert, people,” Ferguson said.
There was a few moments of silence as they all thought about it,and it was Sara who spoke first. “There is the business of Flynn and Kelly, sir. What are we going to do about that?”
“Yes, you left it hanging,” Roper pointed out.
“Perhaps somebody should go and see them,” Sara said.
“Maybe we all should.” Ferguson laughed out loud. “That could be fun.”
“You mean just turn up at Drumgoole out of the blue?” she asked.
“It’s a thought.” Ferguson was considering it, a slightly wicked smile on his face. He looked at his watch. “Just after eleven. A man like Flynn’s bound to be up. Find the number, Major. I’ll leave it to you what to say, Dillon.”
—
In the parlor at Drumgoole Place, they were sitting by a log fire, Tod Flynn and Kelly, Aunt Meg and Hannah, a film just finishing on television. Hannah was nearest to the house phone when it rang, and she answered.
“Drumgoole Place.”
“Put me on to Tod,” Dillon said.
She bridled. “And who the hell are you, mister?”
Dillon laughed. “From the sound of you, you’d be Hannah.”
“Aren’t you the cheeky one.” Meg had turned off the television and they were staring at Hannah. “I’ll only ask you once more, then I’m putting the phone down. Who are you?” She put it on speaker so they could all
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