“Who told you about this?”

“RAF lads based at Zion House and they also had some Royal engineers. It was done on the quiet, and then some RAF group captain inspected it and said it was a lousy idea and ordered them to just concrete the runway, so planes could land even if it had water on it.”

“And the tunnel and drainpipes?”

“They ordered a stop to that work, blocked off the end in the wood with a big manhole cover and used grass turfs to cover it. It’s a creepy sort of place. There’s a granite pillar there with some lettering that doesn’t make sense. Rubbed away with time.”

“Did you ever take a look?”

Harker smiled. “ ’Course I did, over fifty years ago a bit after the war. It was there all right. Iron rungs to help you down and you had to paddle in water then. God knows what it would be like now.”

“And the garden end?”

“There was another manhole cover there, too, which I couldn’t budge. So what they covered it with, I’ve no idea. I never went down there again, but I always thought it a bit of a laugh over the years with all their security improvements.”

“And nobody knew about it?”

“It was the war, you see, top secret stamped on everything. Who on earth cared when it was done and who on earth would care after so many years? Any mention of it was lost in RAF files years ago.”

“Yes, I can see that.” Bolton got up again and held out his hand. “You are a fascinating man, Seth.”

“And what would your name be, boy?”

“Bolton-Sam Bolton.”

There was a kind of knowing look on Harker’s face, a touch of cunning. “I hope you got what you came for?”

“I met you, didn’t I?”

He went out, and behind him Annie came in with a long tray of glasses and put them on the bar. “He’s gone, has he? What a nice young man.”

“A good listener,” Seth said. “I’ll have another pint.”

BOLTON FOLLOWED THE ROAD past Zion House, noting the electronic gates at the entrance, and saw a uniformed security guard outside his hut smoking a cigarette. He carried on past, came to a large signboard saying zion marshes and wildfowl protection area. national trust. Beyond it was the car park, the wood parallel to the wall of the house at that point and stretching toward the marsh and the runway.

Late in the afternoon of a gloomy day, the car park was empty and it started to rain, but that suited him. He hurriedly raised the roof of the Audi, opened the back, found the tool kit and pulled out the steel tire lever.

The rain increased as he walked along the edge of the wood, paused to look at the concrete runway. At that point you could see over the wall onto the garden, the terrace at the back of the house with binoculars, of course, through the electric fencing with the warning notices telling the public to keep out. He turned and walked into the wood at what seemed to be the point the old man had meant. And it was there, the granite stone, just as he had been told, slightly tilted to one side.

The grass was long all around. He started prodding into it with the tire lever, bending over, moving backward, reaching to the left and then the right, persevering as the rain increased, and then it came, the clang of metal on metal.

He knelt there in the pouring rain, secure in his waterproof clothes, and hacked away at the grass and soil beneath, holding the tire lever in both hands, and gradually a patch tore away. He scrabbled with his hands, and there it was, a portion of a cast-iron manhole cover. He managed to reach a part of the circular edge, forced the tire lever in, hoping to lift it. It was hopeless. It needed the right tools, but that wasn’t his problem. He looked around him. A crowded thicket of bushes and undergrowth pushed in and the trees were close. It was certainly private enough.

He went back through the rain, immensely cheered by the way things had turned out, and his extraordinary good fortune in meeting Seth Harker. He got in the Audi and called Ali Hassim on his mobile. There was an instant answer, for Ali was entertaining Hussein and Khazid in the back room of the shop.

“Where are you?”

“Zion, of course. I’m coming back. I’ll see you in about three hours.”

“But why aren’t you staying overnight?”

“Because I’ve finished the task you’ve given me. Zion House has a purpose. I believe it to be a high-security safe house. People only arrive by plane. They have their own personal runway. They received a plane at eleven-thirty this morning with two women passengers, a young girl and three men. I haven’t the slightest idea who they are, but I suspect you do.”

“This is incredible,” Ali told him.

“No, but the fact that in spite of all their security, I’ve found a way in-that’s incredible.”

“If that is so, truly Allah is on our side.”

“I thought you’d say that.” Bolton drove away fast.

At the shop, Ali turned to face Hussein and Khazid and told them everything.

Chapter 15

AT THE DARK MAN, HARRY AND BILLY SAT IN THEIR USUAL booth, Roper beside him in his wheelchair, Joe Baxter and Sam Hall leaning against the wall and talking in low voices. Sergeant Doyle, who had brought Roper down in the People Traveller, was sitting in it outside, reading a book as usual. They all looked troubled. Harry had just swallowed a large scotch and called to Ruby, who was tending the bar with Mary O’Toole. “We’ll have another, love, me and the Major.”

“All right, Harry.” She poured the drinks. “I’ve not seen this before, the black rage. He frightens me in a way.”

“Did he know this Professor Stone well?”

“According to Billy, they worked quite closely with him when the outfit had some sort of bad time in Hazar two or three years ago.”

“Ruby, what’s keeping you?” Mary picked up the tray. “I’ll take it for you.” Harry accepted it in silence, staring into space, his face like a frozen mask. Ferguson had phoned Billy and told him that the surgeon, a Professor Vaughan at the hospital in Cambridge, unhappy with Hal Stone’s condition, was holding back on the operation.

Billy shook his head in a kind of controlled fury. “I wonder where those bastards are now?” Roper swallowed his scotch. “Well, only they would know that.” Harry seemed to come alive. “Yes, but they must have some plan. I mean, this Hussein is a clever bugger. He wouldn’t do anything without backup.”

“You’re right,” Roper said. “He wouldn’t have dared come to England without knowing there were extremist organizations who would back him to the hilt.”

“Well, we all know that,” Harry said. “Fanatics who get away with preaching terror everywhere from television to the London streets.”

Billy said, “Yeah, but there’s their human rights to consider. We know what they are but can’t do anything about it.”

“Well, I bloody well can.” Harry turned to Roper. “This guy with the funny name, Professor Dreq Khan and his Army of God thing?”

“He’s untouchable. Covers his back constantly.”

“Bloody disgraceful,” Harry said.

“It’s likely Greta speaks Arabic,” Roper said. “So she heard enough of the conversation at the hospital to know those two men at Caspar’s house were under orders from Khan to get up to no good. After things went sour, he did a quick flit to Brussels in his role as chairman of a committee involved with racial harmony. He’s just come back.”

“Then why hasn’t he been nicked?” Harry demanded.

“His work with the UN gives him diplomatic immunity. We know he’s guilty as sin, but proving it legally is another thing. Even if Ferguson descended, it would be laughed out of court, and with Khan’s UN status, he’d probably be allowed to do a runner anyway,” Roper told him.

“Well, I’m not happy about that, and I think I’d like to discuss it with him. I presume you’ve got an address?”