Rolling up the casing in the muddy jeans she had taken off that morning, Jean had tucked it at the bottom of the backpack. It had been decided that there was no point in trying to disguise the device. It was light, less than two pounds in weight, but the volume of explosive was too great to fit inside a camera or radio or anything else that she was likely to be carrying. Besides, there was no reason to suppose that she was going to be searched. She had stuffed a dirty T-shirt and her make-up bag on top of the jeans, and zipped up. Now she folded her waterproof jacket through the backpack’s strap, so that it hung in front of her.
He squinted at her shadowy form. “Are you ready to do this thing, Asimat?”
“I’m ready,” she said calmly.
He took her hand. “We will succeed, and we will escape. At the hour of vengeance we will be miles away.”
She smiled. An impossible calm seemed to have settled over her. “I know that,” she said.
“And I know that what you are doing is not easy. That talking to this young man will not be easy. You must be strong.”
“I am strong, Faraj.”
He nodded, holding on to her hand in the darkness. Outside, the wind scoured the pavilion and the dark, wet trees.
“It’s time,” he said.
61
Denzil Parrish had no desire to conform to the unhygienic science student stereotype, and had prepared himself carefully. After a half-hour session in which he had exhaustively bathed, shampooed and shaved himself, he had dressed from head to foot in clean clothing. Encounters like today’s were once-in-a-lifetime opportunities, and he was determined not to squander this one. The woman had appeared as if from outer space-cool, chic and confident. He didn’t know her name, he didn’t know where she was staying… He knew nothing about her.
Was she attractive? Yes, there was a self-possession about her which was definitely attractive. She had one of those faces that you couldn’t immediately summon up. Wide-set eyes and cheekbones, and an oblique-set mouth. A strange sense of urgency about her, as if her thoughts were elsewhere.
“You look very smart, all of a sudden,” said his stepfather, carrying an early-evening beer from the kitchen into the sitting room. For security reasons Colin Delves changed into and out of his RAF uniform at Marwell, and now he was wearing jeans, loafers and the tan leather jacket he habitually wore to drive to and from the base. Despite his casual clothes, however, a palpable air of tension surrounded him.
“And you look a bit knackered,” said Denzil. “Are the Yanks pushing you too hard?”
“It’s been a long day,” said Delves, settling into an armchair opposite the television. “There’s been another big security alert. This time they think terrorists might have targeted the base because of the Fighter Wing’s involvement in Afghanistan. So Clyde Greeley and I decided all off-base personnel should clear off home, me included, and let the security people lock the place down.”
“Is that for my ears only?” asked Denzil.
His stepfather shrugged. “Hard to keep it completely quiet, given that they’ve erected roadblocks around the base and moved three battalions of troops into the area.”
“So what’ll happen to them? The terrorists, I mean.”
“Well, they won’t get anywhere near the base, put it like that. What are you up to this p.m.?”
“Pub,” said Denzil, lowering himself on to the chintz-covered sofa. “Green Man.”
“Right. Shut those curtains, would you?”
The curtains, a worn yellow damask, hung in front of the tall front windows. Standing there, Denzil looked out for a moment at the dark expanse of the cricket field, the distant form of the pavilion against the trees, and the scattered, rain-blurred lights of the houses beyond. It was a good house, he thought, but it just happened to find itself in the middle of the deadest, most desolate patch of countryside in Britain. The security people were parked out there somewhere, he guessed, keeping a weather eye on the place.
Colin Delves’ parents came into the room, and looked about them with the bright, enquiring air of people requiring substantial alcoholic drinks. Buoyed with the secret knowledge of the evening ahead of him, Denzil took their orders himself, and in sympathy with his stepfather’s exhausted state, made a point of pouring them at least quintuple measures.
“Lord!” said Charlotte Delves a minute later, touching her pearls in surprise. “There’s enough gin in here to tranquillise a horse.”
“Enjoy,” said Denzil. “Chill out.”
“Aren’t you going to have one?” Royston Delves, who had made his money in commodities, was a pinker, fleshier version of his RAF officer son.
“I’m driving,” said Denzil piously.
“Yes, straight to the pub,” said Colin.
They were still laughing when Denzil’s mother came in with Jessica. The baby had been bathed, fed her bottle, and dressed in a clean white babygro. Now, sleepy-eyed and talcum-scented, she was ready to be shown off before being tucked up for the night.
It was the moment Denzil had been waiting for. Amidst the cooing and clucking, he slipped away. The woman was waiting outside the shop, as she had said she would be. Denzil didn’t see her at first, but then she stepped quickly towards the Honda and climbed in.
“Sorry,” he said, as she buckled herself in. “It’s a bit of a tip. Try and pretend it’s a Porsche.”
“I’m not sure I like Porsches very much,” she said. “A bit flash, don’t you think?”
He turned to look at her. She was dressed as she had been earlier, and was carrying a dark green waterproof jacket. “Well, I’m glad you see it that way,” he grinned. “Have you had an OK day?”
“A quiet day. How about you? I’m Lucy, by the way.”
“I’m Denzil. So what do you do, Lucy?”
“Very boring, I’m afraid. I work for a company which produces economic reports.”
“Wow, that… that really does sound quite boring!”
“I have dreams,” she said.
“What dreams?”
“I’d like to travel. Asia, the Far East… Hot places.”
“There’s a tandoori place in Downham Market. That can get quite hot.”
She smiled at the windscreen. “Well, perhaps that’s as far as I’ll get this Christmas. How about you?”
“I’m studying geology at Newcastle.”
“Interesting?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. But it can take you to some interesting places. There’s a Greenland trip next year.”
“Cool.”
“Yeah-icy, even. But I’m a cold places person, if you know what I mean. Like you’re obviously a hot places person.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Well, perhaps we could meet in the middle. In some temperate zone. Like the pub.”
Denzil pulled in to a car park.
“This is it. The Green Man. L’Homme Vert. El hombre…”
“It looks nice,” she murmured. “Do you mind if I leave my jacket and bag in the boot?”
62
Yes, Minister,” said the Deputy Chief Constable. “I believe absolutely that they will go tonight, whatever it costs them. We now think it’s not just a question of jihad, but of familial honour. In this context, neither is negotiable… No. Thank you, Minister. Goodbye.”