Читать книгу Edge of Danger - Jack Higgins, Justin Richards - Страница 7

Paul Rashid was one of the richest Englishmen in the world. He was also half Arab, and few people could tell you which influence most ruled his heart.

Paul’s father had been the leader of the Rashid Bedouin in the province of Hazar, in the Persian Gulf, and a soldier by both birth and tradition. Sent as a young man to the Royal Military Academy at Sandhurst, he had met Lady Kate Dauncey, the Earl of Loch Dhu’s daughter, at a formal dance there. He was wealthy and handsome and, despite the obvious problems, it was a love match, and so, despite the initial misgivings of both sets of parents, they had married, Paul’s father travelling back and forth between England and the Gulf as necessary. Over the years they had produced four children: Paul, the eldest, Michael, George and Kate.

The children were intensely proud of both sides of their family. In deference to their illustrious Omani past, they all spoke fluent Arabic and were Bedu to the heart, but as Paul Rashid would say, their English half was just as important, and they fiercely guarded the Dauncey name and their heritage as one of England’s oldest families.

The two traditions flowed together in their blood, the medieval British and the Bedouin, producing a general fierceness that was most remarked upon in Paul, and was perhaps best epitomized by an extraordinary incident that occurred when Paul was himself about to pass out of Sandhurst. He’d just gone home for a few days’ leave. Michael was eighteen at the time, George seventeen and Kate twelve.

The Earl was away in London and Paul had gone down to Hampshire and found his mother in the library of Dauncey Place with a badly bruised face. She had reached to hug him and it was Kate who’d said, ‘He punched her, Paul. That awful man punched Mummy!’

Paul turned to Michael and said carefully, ‘Explain.’

‘Travellers,’ his brother told him. ‘A bunch of them moved into Roundhay Spinney with four caravans and some horses. Their dogs killed our ducks and Mother went to speak to them.’

‘You let her go alone?’

‘No, we all went, even Kate. The men laughed at us, and then when Mother started shouting at them, their leader, a large man, very tall, very aggressive, punched her in the face.’

Paul Rashid’s own face was very pale, the eyes dark, as he stared at Michael and George. ‘So, this animal laid hands on our mother and you let it happen?’ He slapped them both. ‘You have two hearts. A Rashid’s and a Dauncey’s. Now, I will show you how to be true to both.’

His mother grabbed his sleeve. ‘Please, Paul, no more trouble, it’s not worth it.’

‘Not worth it?’ His smile was terrible. ‘There is a dog here who needs a lesson. I intend to give him one,’ and he turned and led the way out.

They drove to Roundhay Spinney in a Land Rover, the three boys. Paul had forbidden Kate to come, but after they left, she saddled her favourite mare and followed anyway, galloping across country.

They found the caravans parked in a circle, with a large wood fire in the centre, and a dozen or so men and women grouped around it, along with several children, four horses and dogs.

The large man described by the two younger boys sat on a box by the fire drinking tea. He looked up as the three young men approached.

‘And who might you be?’

‘My family owns Dauncey Place.’

‘Oh, dear, Mr High-and-Mighty, is it?’ He laughed at the others. ‘Looks more like a prick to me.’

‘At least I don’t punch women in the face. I try to act like a man, which is more than anyone can say about you. You made a mistake, you piece of dung. That lady was my mother.’

‘Why, you little shite…’ the large man started, and never finished.

Paul Rashid’s hand went into the deep pocket of his Barbour, and pulled out a jambiya, the curved knife of the Bedu. His brothers followed suit.

As the other men moved in, Paul slashed with the jambiya down the left side of the large man’s skull, slicing off the ear. One of the other men pulled a knife from his pocket, and Michael Rashid, filled with energy he had never known, slashed sideways with his own jambiya, cutting open the man’s cheek, sending him howling with pain.

One of the others picked up a branch and used it as a club to strike at George, but Kate Rashid ran from where she’d been hiding, picked up a rock and hurled it into his face with a shrill cry in Arabic.

As quickly as it had begun, it was over. The rest of the group stood warily, in silence, not even the women and children crying out, and suddenly the skies opened and rain poured down. The leader held a soiled handkerchief to his ear, or what was left of it, and groaned, ‘I’ll get you for this.’

‘No, you won’t,’ Paul Rashid said. ‘Because if you ever come near this estate or my mother again, it won’t be your other ear you’ll lose. It will be your private parts.’

He wiped his jambiya on the man’s coat, then produced a Walther pistol from his pocket and fired twice into the side of the kettle over the fire. Water poured out and the flames began to subside.

‘I’ll give you one hour to clear out. I believe the National Health Hospital in Maudsley covers even scum like you. But do take me seriously.’ He paused. ‘If you and your friends ever bother my mother again, I will kill you. Nothing is more certain.’

The three young men drove away through the rain, Kate following on her horse. The rain was relentless as they entered the village of Dauncey and drove up to the pub named the Dauncey Arms. Paul braked outside, they got out and Kate slid off her mare and tied her to a small tree.

She stood looking at them in the rain, her face troubled. ‘I’m sorry that I disobeyed you, brother.’

But Paul kissed her on both cheeks and said, ‘You were wonderful, little sister.’ He held her for a moment as his brothers looked on, then released her. ‘And it’s high time you had your first glass of champagne.’

Inside the pub were beamed ceilings, a marvellous old mahogany bar ranged with bottles and a huge log fire in the grate. Half a dozen local men at the bar turned, then took off their caps. The landlady, Betty Moody, who’d been polishing glasses, looked up and said, ‘Why, Paul.’ Her familiarity was expected. She had known all of them since childhood, had even been Paul’s nurse for a time. ‘I didn’t know you were home.’

‘An unexpected visit, Betty. There were some things I needed to take care of.’

Her eyes were hard. ‘Like those bastards at Roundhay Spinney?’

‘How on earth do you know about them?’

‘Not much gets by me, not here at the Arms. They’ve been bothering people in the neighbourhood for weeks.’

‘Well, they won’t be a problem to anybody, Betty, not any more.’ He placed his jambiya on the bar.

There was a sound of vehicles passing outside, and one of the men went to the window. He turned. ‘Well, I’ll be damned. All they shites be on their way out.’

‘Yes, well, they would be,’ Michael said.

Betty put down a glass. ‘No one loves you more than I, Paul Rashid, no one except your blessed mother, but I do recall your temper. Have you been a naughty boy again?’

Kate said, ‘The awful man attacked Mummy, he beat her.’

The bar was silent and Betty Moody said, ‘He what?’

‘It’s all right. Paul cut his ear off, so they’ve gone away.’ Kate smiled. ‘He was wonderful.’

The silence in the bar was intense. ‘She wasn’t too bad herself,’ Paul Rashid said. ‘As it turns out, our little Kate is very handy with a rock. So, Betty, love, let’s open a bottle of champagne. I think copious helpings of shepherd’s pie wouldn’t come amiss, either.’

She reached over and touched his face. ‘Ah, Paul, I should have known. Anything else?’

‘Yes, I’m going back to Sandhurst tomorrow. Could you find time to see if Mother needs any help? Oh, and excuse the fact that the child here is too young to be in the bar?’

‘Of course on both counts.’ She opened the fridge and took out a bottle of Bollinger. She patted Kate on the head. ‘Get behind the bar with me, girl. That makes it legitimate.’ As she thumbed off the cork, she smiled at Paul. ‘All in the family, eh, Paul?’

‘Always,’ he said.

Later, after the meal and the champagne, he led the way across the road and through the graveyard to the porched entrance of the Dauncey parish church, which dated from the twelfth century.

It was very beautiful, with an arched ceiling and, the rain having stopped, a wonderful light coming in through the stained glass windows and falling across the pews and the marble gravestones and carved figures that were the memorials of the Dauncey family across the centuries.

Their peerage was a Scottish one. Sir Paul Dauncey it had been until the death of Queen Elizabeth, and then when King James VI of Scotland became James I of England, his good friend Sir Paul Dauncey was one of those who galloped from London to Edinburgh to tell him. James I had made him Earl of Loch Dhu – the black loch or the place of dark waters – in the Western Highlands. As it usually rained six days out of seven, though, the Daunceys had understandably remained at Dauncey Place, leaving only a small, broken-down castle and estate at Loch Dhu.

The one signal difference between Scottish and English peerages was that the Scottish title did not die with the male heirs. If there were none, it could be passed through the female line. Thus, when the Earl died, his mother would become Countess. He himself would receive the courtesy title of Viscount Dauncey, the other boys would be Honourables and young Kate would become Lady Kate. And one day, Paul, too, would be Earl of Loch Dhu.

Their footsteps echoed as they walked along the aisle. Paul paused beside a lovely piece of carving, a knight in armour and his lady. ‘I think he would have been pleased today, don’t you?’ He recited part of the family catechism, familiar to all of them: ‘Sir Paul Dauncey, who fought for Richard III at the Battle of Bosworth Field, then cut his way out and escaped to France.’

‘And later, Henry Tudor allowed him back,’ young Kate said. ‘And restored his estates.’

‘Which inspired our family motto,’ Michael added. ‘I always return.’

‘And always have.’ Paul pulled Kate close and put his arm about his brothers. ‘Always together. We are Rashid, and we are Dauncey. Always together.’

He hugged them fiercely and Kate cried a little and held him tight.

After Sandhurst, Paul was commissioned into the Grenadier Guards, did a tour in Ireland and then in ninety-one was pulled into the Gulf War by the SAS.

This was ironic, because his father was an Omani general, a friend of Saddam Hussein’s, who had been seconded to the Iraqi Army for training purposes and found himself caught up in the war as well, on the other side. No one questioned Paul’s loyalty, however. For the SAS behind the Iraqi lines, Paul Rashid was a priceless asset, and when the war ended, he was decorated. His father, however, died in action.

For his part, Paul accepted the situation. ‘Father was a soldier and he took a soldier’s risks,’ he told his two brothers and sister. ‘I am a soldier and do the same.’

Michael and George also went to Sandhurst. Afterwards, Michael went to Harvard Business School and George into the Parachute Regiment, where he did his own tour in Ireland. One year was enough, however. He left the army and joined a course in estate management.

As for young Kate, after St Paul’s Girls’ School she went to St Hugh’s College, Oxford, then moved into her wild period, carving her way through London society like a tornado.

When the Earl died in 1993, it was totally unexpected, the kind of heart attack that strikes without warning and kills in seconds. Lady Kate was now the Countess of Loch Dhu, and they laid the old man to rest in the family mausoleum in Dauncey churchyard. The entire village turned up and many outsiders, people Paul had never met.

In the Great Hall at Dauncey Place where the reception was held, Paul went in search of his mother and found one such person leaning over her, a man in his late middle age. Paul stood close by as his mother glanced up.

‘Paul, dear, I’d like you to meet one of my oldest friends, Brigadier Charles Ferguson.’

Ferguson took his hand. ‘I know all about you. I’m Grenadier Guards myself. That job you did behind Iraqi lines with Colonel Tony Villiers was fantastic. A Military Cross wasn’t enough.’

‘You know Colonel Villiers?’ Paul asked.

‘We go back a long way.’

‘You seem to know a lot, Brigadier. That SAS operation was classified.’

His mother said, ‘Charles and your grandfather soldiered together. Funny places. Aden, the Oman, Borneo, Malaya. Now he runs a special intelligence outfit for the Prime Minister.’

‘Kate, you shouldn’t say that,’ Ferguson told her.

‘Nonsense,’ she said. ‘Everyone who is anyone knows.’ She took his hand. ‘He saved your grandfather’s life in Borneo.’

‘He saved mine twice.’ Ferguson kissed her on the forehead, then turned to Paul. ‘If there’s anything I can do for you, here’s my card.’

Paul Rashid held his hand firmly. ‘You never know, Brigadier. I may take you up on that some day.’

Being the eldest, Paul was selected to go to London to consult with the family lawyer about the late Earl’s will, and when he returned late in the evening he found the family seated by the fire in the Great Hall. They all looked up expectantly.

‘So what happened?’ Michael asked.

‘Ah, as you are the one who’s been to Harvard Business School, you mean how much?’ He leaned down and kissed his mother on the cheek. ‘Mother, as usual, has been very naughty and did not prepare me.’

‘For what?’ Michael asked.

‘The extent of grandfather’s position. I never knew that he owned large portions of Mayfair. About half of Park Lane, for starters.’

George whispered, ‘What are we talking about?’

‘Three hundred and fifty million.’

There was a gasp from his sister. His mother simply smiled.

‘And it gives me an idea,’ Paul said. ‘A way to put this money to good use.’

‘What are you suggesting?’ Michael asked.

‘I did Irish time after Sandhurst,’ Paul said. ‘Then the Gulf with the SAS. My right shoulder still aches on a bad day from the Armalite bullet that drove through it. You did Sandhurst, Michael, and Harvard Business School; George a year in Ireland with One Para. Kate has yet to make her bones, but I think we can count on her.’

Michael said, ‘You still haven’t told us your idea.’

‘It’s this. It’s time we banded together, made ourselves a family business, a force to be reckoned with. Who are we? We are Dauncey – and we are also Rashid. Nobody has more influence in the Gulf than we do, and what does the world want most from the Gulf right now? Oil. The Americans and Russians in particular have been nosing around the Gulf for months, trying to buy up exploration leases. But to get to that oil, they have to acquire the goodwill of the Bedu. And to get to the Bedu, they have to get through us. They must come to us, my family.’

George said, ‘What are we talking about here?’

Their mother laughed. ‘I think I know.’

Paul said, ‘Tell them.’

‘Two billion?’

‘Three,’ he said. ‘Sterling, of course, not dollars.’ He picked up a bottle of champagne. ‘I am, after all, a very British Arab.’

With shrewd investment and the muscle of the Bedu behind them, the Rashids pushed the development of new oilfields north of the Dhofar. Money poured in, unbelievable amounts. The Americans and Russians did indeed have to deal with them, albeit unwillingly, and the Rashids helped Iraq restore its oil industry as well.

The first billion was realized in three years, the second in two, and they were well on their way to the third. George and Michael were named joint managing directors of Rashid Investments, and young Kate Rashid, now with her Oxford MA, became Executive Chairman. Any businessman who thought her simply a lovely young woman in an Armani suit and Manolo Blahnik shoes was swiftly disabused of the notion.

Paul himself preferred to remain a shadowy figure, behind the scenes. He spent much time in Hazar with the Bedu. To the Rashid, he was a great warrior, who would appear every so often to roam the desert by camel; to live in the old Bedu way in the Empty Quarter, guarded by fellow tribesmen burned by the fierce sun; to eat dates and dried meat with them.

Often he was accompanied by his brothers, or by Kate, who scandalized the locals with her Western ways, but no one could deny her, for by now her brother was a legend with more power than even the Sultan in Hazar, to whom he was a second cousin. It was whispered that some day he would be voted Sultan himself by the Council of Elders, but for now the old Sultan still held power, his chief strength the Hazar Scouts, a contingent of soldiers officered by British volunteers.

And then came the night when at an encampment at the Oasis of Shabwa as he was seated by a blazing fire, a Hawk helicopter came roaring in and settled in a cloud of sand.

Camels and donkeys milled around, children cried out in delight and women scolded them. Michael, George and Kate emerged in Arab dress, and Paul greeted them.

‘What is this, a family reunion?’

Kate said, ‘We’ve got trouble.’

He took her hand, led her to the fire and waved to one of the women to bring coffee.

Kate nodded to Michael. ‘Tell him your bit first.’

Michael said, ‘We’ve cracked three billion.’

‘So we finally made it.’ Paul turned. ‘I’d be happier about it if I wasn’t waiting for the bad news. Go on, Kate. I only have to look at your face to know if the weather is bad, and I’d say it’s raining.’

‘Have you seen the Sultan recently?’

‘No, he’s been on a pilgrimage to the Holy Wells.’

‘The Holy Wells? That’s a laugh. His only pilgrimage was to Dubai to meet with American and Russian government and businessmen. They’ve agreed on joint exploration rights in Hazar – without us.’

Paul said, ‘But they couldn’t possibly do it without Bedu cooperation. And they can’t get that without us.’

‘Paul,’ Kate said, ‘they can and they have. The Sultan’s sold us out. You know how much the Americans and Russians have disliked dealing with us. Well, now they’ve cut us out. They’re going to walk all over us – and walk all over the Bedu in the process. Without us, those damned oilmen are going to drill wherever they please, and the Arabs can go to hell.’

Paul said, ‘Is this true, Michael?’

Michael nodded. ‘They are going to rape the desert, Paul. And there’s not a damned thing we can do about it.’

Paul nodded thoughtfully and stirred the fire. ‘Do not speak in haste, Michael. There are always things that can be done – if one has the will.’

‘What do you mean?’ George asked.

‘Not now,’ said Paul. He turned to Kate. ‘Do you have the Gulfstream at the Air Force base in Haman?’

‘Yes,’ Kate said.

He drew her up and kissed her on the forehead. ‘Have a good night. Tomorrow we will speak.’

He nodded to his brothers, and they all rose. Kate turned and began to walk away, and it was then that it happened. Beyond, from the shadows, a Bedu emerged screaming, a curved jambiya raised above his head, running straight at them, with Kate in his way. Paul’s guards were caught momentarily unaware, their AK-47s at their feet, coffee cups in their hands, and it was Paul Rashid who flung himself forward, knocked his sister to the ground and pulled a Browning from his waistband. He fired four times quickly and the assassin was driven to the sand.

There was another shrill cry and a second man, jambiya raised, emerged from the darkness, but this time he was instantly overwhelmed by the guards.

‘Alive!’ Paul called in Arabic. ‘Alive!’ He turned to George. ‘Who is he, where does he come from – find out.’

George ran to the struggling group as they held the man down, and Paul helped Kate up. ‘Are you all right? You’re not harmed?’

She held him close and spoke in Arabic. ‘No, my brother, thanks to you.’

He embraced her. ‘Leave this to me. Go to bed.’

She turned reluctantly and Paul Rashid went into the shadows and squatted beside the second assassin, now pegged out on the ground. The man’s face was lined and drawn. The pupils of his eyes were like pinpricks and there was foam around his mouth.

‘A hired assassin drugged with quat,’ George said.

Paul Rashid lit a cigarette and nodded. Quat was a narcotic found in the leaves of shrubs in Hazar. Many of his people were addicted to it. For some, it lent false courage.

For this man, it would lend only death.

‘Do what you have to do,’ he said to George.

He went back and sat by the fire, drank more coffee, and Kate appeared and sat at his side. A cry of pain came from the shadows, a sudden scream, then silence. George and Michael appeared.

‘So?’ Paul asked.

‘The Sultan arranged it for the Americans and Russians. They couldn’t afford us staying alive.’

‘What a pity for them,’ Paul Rashid said, ‘that they failed.’

There was a pause. Michael and George sat down. ‘What happens now?’ George asked.

‘First, I think it’s time for a new sultan. Your speciality is working with our people in Hazar,’ Paul told him. ‘See to it. But there’s a larger issue at stake. Do we let these mighty powers do this to our people? Do we let them destroy our land? Do we let them strike at us? No, I think we must strike at them.’

At that moment, his mobile phone rang. He took it from his robe. ‘Rashid.’

He sat there in the firelight and his face changed before them, his eyes turning to bleak holes.

He said, ‘We’ll be there as soon as possible.’

He switched off the phone and handed it to Kate. ‘Call Haman. Tell them to have the Gulfstream ready for immediate departure. We’re leaving in the helicopter now.’

‘But Paul, why? What happened?’ Kate demanded.

‘That was Betty Moody. Something terrible has happened to Mother.’