‘And kidney dialysis isn’t something he could arrange in the Hindu Kush or the mountains of Pakistan,’ Jackson added. ‘He’d need a very well-equipped clinic.’
‘It’s still difficult to believe.’ Caxton shook his head. ‘Despite being persona non grata in Saudi, I would have expected him to go there, rather than Bahrain.’
‘That,’ Evans said, ‘may be exactly why he chose to come here, because he may have predicted that nobody would ever expect him to turn up in a place like this. Let’s face it, bin Laden has enough money to convince almost any doctor that it’s worth bending the rules to give him the treatment he needs, and then persuade him to keep his mouth shut afterwards.’
Carole-Anne Jackson was nodding, and even Caxton now looked less incredulous.
‘Perhaps you’re right. The question, I suppose, is what we should do about it. What do you suggest, Bill?’
‘We have to check out this Sheikh Rashid, and that’s not going to be easy. Mazen has already tried through the hospital administration and got nowhere. He has no other sources he can tap and he’s reluctant to involve the police in case it’s all a big mistake. Bursting into the hospital with a SWAT team, if the target really is an important Arab sheikh, would be a very good way to lose goodwill and attract some extremely unwelcome attention. Mazen thinks, and I agree with him, that the only way to be certain about this man’s identity is to get somebody onto the ward with a camera.
‘The problem, I suppose, is who gets to carry the Kodak. We’re not supposed to be active here, and Vauxhall Cross wouldn’t be too impressed if one of us got arrested for crashing Sheikh Rashid’s party. I suggest we tell London what we know and let them decide what to do. That way, if we’re ordered to investigate and the shit hits the fan, at least we’ve got ourselves top cover.’
Caxton looked somewhat pained at Evans’s turn of phrase. ‘Carole?’ he asked.
‘I agree with Bill. I think you should tell London and wait for a direct instruction. If it was my problem, I’d let Langley make the decision for me.’
‘Right,’ Caxton said. ‘I’ll talk to Vauxhall Cross. Bill, keep Mazen in the loop, and if you hear anything else about this Sheikh Rashid make sure I’m the first to know about it.’
Saadi started one of the farm Range Rovers and drove it into the courtyard. Massood had already loaded the Bobcat on the trailer and was inside the stable office, sorting out the documentation for the journey to Dubai. Bashar was waiting by Shaf’s stall, ready to open the door once the horsebox was safely in position. The stables owned half a dozen specialized trailers, and Saadi’s men were now manhandling the biggest one they’d found into the courtyard. Saadi carefully manoeuvred the big four-wheel-drive vehicle, and moments later the horsebox was attached to the towing hitch.
The Al-Shahrood horsebox would more properly be called a horse transporter. It was a large vehicle, supported by three pairs of wheels, with a separate storage compartment at the front for saddles, boots, helmets, whips and everything else that might be needed during a race meeting. Behind was the equine passenger’s accommodation — though in fact it could carry two horses, side-by-side, with a central partition separating them — and also included a storage area for hay and a large water tank supplying a steel drinking trough.
Saadi supervised the loading of the bales, each requiring two men to carry it, and they were careful to ensure that the opened ends were placed against the sides of the trailer, just in case anyone did inspect their cargo. When they’d finished that, Saadi dropped the steel shutter that screened off the storage area — the last thing he wanted was for the horse to eat its way through the hay and expose the packages concealed inside.
He ordered one of his men to fill the water-supply tank and bring in more hay to ensure that Shaf would become neither thirsty nor hungry on the journey. Personally, he cared not one jot for the horse’s comfort, health or welfare, but he didn’t want a ton or so of angry thoroughbred to try kicking its way out of the trailer when they got a few hours down the road.
And, besides, the water tank was the ideal place to secrete the three Kalashnikov AK47 assault rifles and three pistols they would be taking with them. Saadi had a watertight black rubber bag that he would stash them in well before they reached the airport.
He ordered portable fencing to be erected between the stable and the transporter but needn’t have bothered: without fuss Shaf walked up into the trailer and immediately began eating the hay. Bashar carefully secured the animal’s bridle, stepped out of the transporter and closed the rear door.
‘You found everything?’ Saadi asked Massood, more a statement than a question.
‘Yes. All the documentation was ready, including the tickets and passports. Four people were scheduled to accompany the horse.’
‘We’ll have to explain that one was taken ill. Did you reschedule the flight?’
‘Yes, exactly as you instructed.’
‘Excellent. Then we’re ready to go.’
Massood climbed into the passenger seat of the Range Rover while Bashar made himself comfortable in the back. Saadi took a final look around the vehicle, checking the coupling and the rear door, then climbed in and drove out of the courtyard, heading towards the house. When he reached the driveway he stopped and all three got out.
The other seven men were standing beside their own vehicles. Saadi walked across and, as if by common consent, they clustered around him. He solemnly embraced each of them — for he knew they would never see him alive again — then stood back and bowed his head.
‘Ma’assalama, my friends,’ Saadi murmured solemnly. ‘Go in peace.’
For a moment nobody responded, then one man took a step forward, as if acting as a spokesman for his comrades. ‘Assalamu alaikum wa rahmatulahi wa barakatuhu.’
‘Walaikum assalam,’ Saadi replied formally. And then, louder: ‘Abdu-baha.’
His seven companions then walked back to their vehicles, and within minutes all four jeeps had departed. Saadi’s instructions had been most specific: the Bobcat and trailer were to be returned to the hire company; the weapons, magazines and ammunition would be buried in a location specified by the mission planners, being far too valuable to simply discard; and they were to return the four-by-fours to the various companies from which they’d been hired.
Saadi, Massood and Bashar were faced with the longest journey, but it was still early morning and he hoped they’d complete the first leg, two hundred kilometres back to Buraydah, by noon and the second leg, to Riyadh Airport — which meant another four hundred kilometres — by late afternoon. They were booked on a flight to Dubai that same evening, and Saadi had every intention of catching it.
Litvinoff’s attitude had changed completely. He’d suspected that the administrator was involved in some kind of treachery — serious enough in itself to warrant a full investigation — but Borisov’s revelation that a suitcase nuclear bomb had been spirited out of Zarechnyy had changed everything. The investigation of the plant administrator could wait. Litvinoff’s first priority was to track down the missing weapon.
‘These two Americans,’ he demanded, ‘where did you meet them?’
‘I saw them only once, when I followed Devenko and Nabov to their meeting. It was there one of the Americans gave me the bank passbook. They’d already agreed, through Nabov, to pay me the money to buy my silence.’