The Killing Ground by Jack Higgins Page B

kidnapped Sara and everything changed.

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    I N L O N D O N , Roper wished them well and grinned as Dillon and Billy made final preparations for departure.
    “Got everything?” he asked.
    “Of course,” Billy told him as he zipped up an aircraft bag. “What would we bloody leave, for God’s sake?”
    “There’s always your Codex Four.”
    “Very funny,” Billy said.
    “Never mind, Billy, you’re going off to war, and you know from experience, there’s nothing like a nice war. Try not to get your head blown off.”
    “Yes, well, you’ve got Ferguson to think about. What if he phones up and tells you he wants his plane?”
    “You mean I could get the sack? I doubt it.” Roper smiled. “I inhabit a wheelchair and I’ve got medals. As for the Gulfstream, didn’t he tell Dillon he was sending it back in case of emergencies?”
    “So he did. Mind you, he might think Baghdad a bit of a stretch.”
    “We’ll worry about that when we have to. Now get moving. Sergeant Doyle’s waiting with the Land Rover. Try not to screw up.”
    “As if we would.”
    They left, and ten minutes later Ferguson did come on the line. “How are things going?”
    “You mean at the coal face, sir?”
    “Is that a reprimand, Roper?”
    “Now, would I imply that you weren’t beating your brains out, General, taking care of world affairs?”
    “Well, we were up half the night and I’m just about to join the conference again. Anything to report?”
    “Not a whisper, sir. It’s as if every terrorist in the land has rolled over and died. The chaps are all polishing their nails.”
    “You’re incorrigible, Roper.” A bell sounded faintly. “Must go. I’ll be in touch.”

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    “Yes, sir, I look forward to it.”
    Roper poured a large scotch, lit a cigarette and continued his investigation of the mysterious Professor Khan.
    A T F A R L E Y F I E L D , the quartermaster had loaded their supplies and weaponry. Two AKs, a couple of .25 Colts with hollow-point cartridges and ankle holster, titanium waistcoats.
    “Nothing left to chance, Sergeant Major.”
    “I don’t believe it should be, Mr. Dillon, that’s not the way to operate. Good luck, gentlemen.”
    At the top of the steps, Parry, in flying overalls, reached a hand out and a car horn sounded and the Aston came round from the entrance and pulled up, Harry at the wheel. He ran forward, and as Billy turned, he flung his arms round him.
    “Take care.”
    Dillon said, “I always knew you were a sentimentalist at heart.”
    “You think what you like, as long as you bring him back.”
    They went up the steps into the Gulfstream. Parry closed the door and joined Lacey in the cockpit. Billy and Dillon settled down, and a few minutes later the Gulfstream took off.
    R O P E R C A M E O N L I N E two hours into the flight. “Is everything going all right?”
    “Fine. What about you?” Dillon asked.
    “Professor Khan is proving more than promising. Dreq Khan is his name, he was a clever young man who took a first degree at home in Pakistan, then earned a scholarship to Oxford. Totally Anglicized now, with apparently an unlimited supply of cash. He started as an assistant lecturer in morality at Leeds University.”
    Billy laughed. “Sorry, I didn’t know you could be one of those.”

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    “Apparently. Left after a year and moved to America, the University of Chicago, then a year later to Berkeley in California.”
    Dillon said, “You see, Billy, he couldn’t resist the call of Hollywood.”
    “Came back East for a post at the United Nations. Secretary to the International Committee for Racial Harmony.”
    “Let me guess,” Dillon said. “After that, he finally made it back to good old England. Londonistan.”
    “Right you are, and he’s certainly made his way in politics. The Committee for Socialist Values—that really made his bones in London, got him in good with a lot of