'No. He should be on his way out here by now.'

'Dillon, I'm a hundred and fifty miles to the south of that road to the Holy Wells and I've split my command, sent Bronsby east. We each have fifty men. I'll never make it.'

'All right. So warn the Council of Elders to turn back.'

'Dillon, it won't happen. They're obviously doing the whole thing on the quiet. These are very old-fashioned people. I tried to speak to the advisers earlier, a routine call, and the mobile phone was out.'

'You mean we sit here and let them drive up through one of the worst deserts in the world to their deaths?'

'I'll go like hell, but through that terrain, fifteen miles an hour is tops. I'll call in Bronsby for support.'

'That's not good enough.' Dillon thought about it. 'What if we fly to that airstrip at Shabwa?'

'It's surrounded by Rashid Bedu at the moment.'

And Dillon saw it then. 'Leave it. I'll call you back.'

Hal Stone called Ben Carver. 'I heard you'd gone up-country, so you're back?'

'Obviously.'

Stone said, 'I want a flight to a position east of Shabwa, to drop two men by parachute, a thousand-foot job.'

'You must be mad.'

'Ten thousand sterling.'

Carver hesitated and there was silence. Stone looked at Dillon, who nodded. 'All right, Ben, fifteen thousand. Come on, just a one-hour flight, drop them and come back.'

Greed, as usual, ruled the day. Carver said, 'Okay, I'll do it.'

Dillon took the phone. 'Carver? Dillon here. We might need you later to pick up Major General Ferguson from Haman military airfield and take him up-country.'

'Now, look,' Carver said.

'Twenty thousand,' Dillon told him. 'How about that?'

Carver took in a deep breath. 'I've heard of Ferguson.'

'Well, you would. He runs things for the Prime Minister.'

'So it's all kosher?'

'It's just like being back in the RAF, so have the plane ready and two 'chutes.'

Dillon went to the rail where Billy and Harry were having coffee.

'So what gives?' Harry asked.

'This is me and Billy,' Dillon told him.

Billy said, 'Come on, Dillon, what are we into now.-'

'I've spoken to Villiers. He's split his command. He'll drive hard through the night, but it's a hell of a way to cover at fifteen miles an hour. Besides that, that airstrip at Shabwa is in Rashid hands. The Council of Elders seem to have a security blackout, according to Villiers.'

Hal Stone said, 'So they'll simply drive through the night to certain death some time tomorrow morning.'

'That's not the way I see it.' Dillon turned to Billy. 'In Cornwall last year, you did brilliantly. Jumped from six hundred feet without any training. Somebody should have given you wings.'

'Here, come off it, Dillon,' Harry said. 'You're talking about jumping from a plane up there? The two of you trying to screw things up until Villiers and his cowboys get there? Am I right?'

'Harry, it's what I'm doing. Billy's a free spirit, and Billy and I share a love of philosophy.'

'What in the hell is that supposed to mean?'

'Plato. Remember him, Billy?'

And Billy Salter, London gangster, four times in prison, a killer in his time, smiled the coldest smile possible. 'Sure, I remember: "The life which is unexamined is not worth living". Which means to me: the life not put to the test. Time to put ourselves to the test, Sean.'

'Good man yourself. I'll fly up with Carver in his Golden Eagle, just like Cornwall, Billy, except it's headfirst at one thousand feet in this case. Some say I'm mad, Billy, unhinged, you might say. I've done bad things in my life, but the Rashids have done worse and I'm going to stop them.'

'No, you've got it wrong, Dillon,' Billy said. 'We are going to stop them.'

'Billy, you're mad, too,' Harry told him.

'What else do I do? Go home to Wapping? Chase birds, get so frustrated I finally do one job too many and pull five years?' Billy smiled. 'I'd rather go down for something worthwhile.'

Harry Salter was astonished. 'What can I say?'

'Nothing,' Dillon said. 'Just come along for the ride.'

In London, Charles Ferguson was clearing his desk when the doorbell rang, and Kim showed Blake Johnson in.

'Good to see you, Blake.'

'The President wanted me here. This latest news has shocked him greatly.'

'You realize, Blake, that Hazar is neutral. The border with the Empty Quarter is disputed territory. You could have a war there, butcher the Council of Elders, do what you like and be totally untouchable by any other country.'

'Yes, we know that, Charles, but the ramifications would be far-reaching.'

'Which is why the President has sent you?'

'Yes.'

'And has spoken to the Prime Minister.'

'So I believe.'

'Well, we're going to Downing Street to speak to him now. You've done well, Blake – the President and the Prime Minister on the same day.'

At the door of the most famous address in the world, an aide greeted them.

'General Ferguson, Mr Johnson. The Prime Minister is waiting.'

He took them upstairs, past the pictures of previous Prime Ministers, knocked and opened the door of the Prime Minister's study. He was working at his desk in shirtsleeves, the youngest Prime Minister for more than a century. He glanced up, the face firm, and then smiled in a familiar way.

'General Ferguson.' He got up, came round the desk and shook hands. 'And Mr Johnson? About time.' He clapped Blake on the shoulder. 'The President has brought me up to date. I'd like to hear it from you two.'

Later, someone brought tea and coffee, and the Prime Minister sat there, his face very calm. 'It defies belief that the Rashids would behave in such a way. I know the Earl well.'

'It's a fact, Prime Minister,' Ferguson said.

'It's appalling. He tries to assassinate the President and now the Hazar Council of Elders.' The Prime Minister turned to Blake. 'Would you agree with me that this would be a disaster?'

'In our opinion, sir, that's exactly what it would be.'

The Prime Minister sat there, face calm, brooding. 'Well, you may act with my full authority.' He stood up. 'I have another appointment. Do what you have to do, General.'

They were ushered out. It was over.

Ferguson said, 'Hazar next stop, Blake.'

In Hazar, Kate Rashid and Bell had landed at the airstrip near Shabwa. Four hours later, they were waiting for the Rashid Gulfstream at the military base at Haman. Early in the Southern Arabian dawn light, the plane glided down and several Land Rovers moved forward. Kate got out of the first one, wearing a khaki bush shirt and slacks and an Arab headcloth.

Paul Rashid embraced her. 'Where's George?'

'With his men on the road to the Holy Wells, with Bell and his people. Is Michael well?'

'Holding the fort in London.'

Rashid warriors had emerged from the Land Rovers and stood there with their rifles in total silence. Kate turned and snapped her fingers. A young boy ran forward, holding a robe, helped

Paul Rashid into it, and then offered a headcloth. Rashid fastened it, then turned and raised his right arm, fist clenched.

'My brothers,' he called in Arabic, and put his arm around Kate.

They brandished their rifles and roared approval.

'So, let's get on with it.' He helped her into the lead Land Rover and got in beside her.

He lit a cigarette. 'So, Bell and his team are definitely on schedule?'

'Yes. As I told you, George and his warriors are supporting them. The only problem is that one of Bell's men went missing. A drunk and a womanizer. They tried to find him, but Bell thinks he's holed up in some whorehouse.'

'I don't like that. When a pattern is disrupted, I wonder why.'

'Well, he's that kind of guy, Paul.'

'And Dillon?'

'Still on the Sultan with Professor Stone and the two London gangsters.'