A hundred yards or so away, the machine gun fired again, so Holley started up, shouting, and could immediately hear Dillon and Miller calling. In a few minutes, they connected.

'Now what?' Holley asked.

'Hakim did us nothing but harm in life,' Dillon said, 'but I've got a use for him in death. Don't waste time, because the Fortuna's coming up fast. We'll dump your inflatable next to what's left of the Evening Star with Hakim sitting up in it, the perfect ambush.' Nadim was at the wheelhouse of the Fortuna as it broke out into the channel and saw the smoke and what was left of the Evening Star still burning. His men cried out angrily as bodies floated by, and then Nadim saw the inflatable and Hakim propped up in it. There were cries of rage from the men.

Nadim cut the engine and came out. 'Get the pole and hook him in.'

Three men started to do that. There were only the marsh sounds in the rain, smoke drifting, the fire crackling as they lifted Hakim up on to the deck.

Nadim had never known such rage. 'Dillon,' he roared out in Arabic, 'I will cut you to pieces, and feed you to the fishes when I find you.'

'Over here,' a voice responded in Arabic.

The grenades bounced on deck, two at the same time, then a third that rolled against Hakim. It was the last thing Nadim saw on this earth. Somewhere nearby in the rain, there was the sound of a plane taking off, but in the mist there was little to see.

'Are you thinking what I'm thinking?' Holley asked Miller and Dillon.

'I definitely shot the Tuareg,' Dillon said.

'Well, let's do the sensible thing and go see your friend Omar Hamza,' Miller said to Holley.

As they emerged at the side of the lagoon, they saw the sport fisherman, with Fatima at the wheel, moving towards the trading post. Holley checked through his binoculars. 'Hamza's sitting beside a Browning machine gun,' he said, and called loudly across the water. 'It's Daniel, let's talk.'

Fatima got out of the sport fisherman and tied up and turned to look at them all. Hamza shouted, 'Okay, come over.' He was drinking beer and sitting there beside his machine gun when they arrived. Fatima leaned in the doorway, arms folded, watching them closely.

Hamza said, 'So you've been killing again, Holley? How many?'

'All of them except for Ali Hakim. Shamrock shot him twice.'

'So he's dead?'

'He lived long enough to tell me a few interesting things. Was that Shamrock flying away?' 'So it would appear,' Hamza said.

'I thought I'd shot him,' Dillon said. 'He shot Hakim.'

Fatima nodded. 'So you did. You hit him in the left side and the bullet came out through his back.'

'And you patched him up?' Dillon asked.

'He had a military kit. He told me what to do. I gave him morphine.'

'And then took him to his plane?'

'Yes, his friend was waiting.'

'What kind of plane was it?' Miller asked.

'I have no idea.'

'He was English, I believe, not an Arab.'

It was her father who said, 'That's enough. Go, Daniel, and don't come back.'

'Just one more thing. He was in reasonable health when you left him. You gave him the penicillin in the kit, and soon?' said Dillon.

'Oh yes, I did everything he told me – not that it will do him the slightest good. He's obviously going to die and I think he knows it.'

She went inside, leaving a stunned silence, and Hamza said, 'That's it, on your way.' He patted the machine gun. 'Unless you want to argue with this.'

'Whatever you say, old friend,' Holley told him. 'I think you can take it that we won't be back.'

'You weren't even here, as far as we're concerned,' Hamza said. 'I imagine that's the way the authorities in Algiers will look at it. After all, an Al Qaeda operation is the last thing they'd want to have anything to do with.' The heavy rain kept what little life there was in Dafur indoors. They dumped the inflatable in the creek, walked down to the runway where the Falcon stood, silent and waiting. Holley took the controls and, within five minutes, they were taking off. Dillon found himself a drink and Miller called Roper on his Codex.

'That was quick. Did you finally come face to face with Shamrock?'

'In a way, I suppose. The whole thing was a sting.'

'What do you mean?'

'Ali Hakim turned out to be Al Qaeda's man in Algiers.'

'God in heaven,' Roper said.

'You can imagine what a shock it was for Holley. The story about Shamrock having dealings with Hamza was just bait for us to go and get knocked off. They'd hoped Ferguson would be there, too.'

'So no Shamrock?'

'No, he turned up. Apparently, he wanted to enjoy dealing with us personally.'

'Just start at the beginning, so I can make some sense of it,' Roper said.

Which Miller did, and when he was finished, said, 'So there it is. Shamrock winging his way back to wherever he came from, with the pilot who flew him in and waited for him.'

'Badly wounded and dying, according to this Fatima girl.'

'She's a strange one, but that's what she said.' Miller was repeating himself now. 'Dillon shot him in the side and the bullet went straight through.'

'And he's making a flight to we don't know where, which could take hours. He's committing suicide.'

'Well, that's the story and it's obviously not finished yet.'

'It's incredible. You've certainly had an extraordinary outing this time. God knows what Ferguson will make of it.'

'He'll be over the moon about one thing. We now know who the Preacher is. Imagine, a Professor of International Law at the London School of Economics, and he's moonlighting for Al Qaeda in London.'

'If you wrote it up, nobody would believe it,' Roper said.

'I would: my father knew Kim Philby at Cambridge,' Miller told him. 'Anything been happening while we've been away?'

'There hasn't been time, Harry. You've hardly been away. Take it easy. I'll see you soon.'

L ONDO N

13

By the time the Citation X was winging its way across Spain to the Bay of Biscay, Chuck Alan was beginning to worry. When Justin Talbot had returned to the plane at Fasa, he had seemed very hyper and full of nervous energy. He'd insisted on taking the controls on take-off and only handed over during the second hour when Chuck had suggested the autopilot.

'Excellent idea,' Justin said. 'I don't think I had a wink of sleep while I was away. I'll get my head down.'

Two hours later, when Alan checked him, he was still asleep, his forehead damp, so Alan returned to the cockpit, consider ably concerned.

At the same time, the Preacher, having heard nothing from Hakim and no response when he tried to call him, contacted Hamza.

'What's happened to Hakim? I don't seem to be able to contact him.'

'Well, you wouldn't,' Hamza said. 'He's dead. In fact, his people are all dead. Dillon and his friends don't take prisoners.'

'Merciful Allah! And Shamrock?'

'Where did you find that guy, the Arabian Nights? He was really something in his Tuareg robes. God knows what he was here for. He only managed to shoot one person, and that was Hakim by mistake. Dillon shot him in return.'

'Are you saying he's dead?'

'No, badly wounded, but fit enough to have flown back out of this cesspool. My daughter did her best for him with his medical kit.'

'So he's going to be all right?'

'Not according to her. She thinks he's a goner and she's usually right about things like that. Where did you get my mobile number from?'

'Hakim.'

'Well, don't call again. I'm not afraid of Al Qaeda, and neither is anyone else that I know around here. After this cock-up, your new motto should be: Stay out of the Khufra.'