Rain on the Dead by Jack Higgins Read Free Book Online Page A

beauties.”
    “You show some respect, girl,” Tod told her. “We’ve been away earning a crust. Takes money to run this place.”
    “Where to this time?”
    Kelly looked hunted, but Tod said, “Nothing much, just inspecting the security system for the company that runs the ferries from Harwich to the Hook of Holland. No big deal.”
    “A pity.” She tossed some matches into Tod’s lap. “I found those in the kitchen. They advertise a café in Nantucket. That would have been much more exciting.”
    She went out, and Meg picked up the matches.
    “I wonder where these came from?”
    “Don’t ask me,” Tod said. “I don’t know.”
    She said, “You told me you were dressing up to put one over on a rival firm for someone you were working for?”
    “So we were,” he said. “Just business, Meg. Is she pleased about the Royal College of Music?”
    “I’m not really sure. It’s not residential, so accommodation is going to be a problem with it being London.”
    “Don’t worry, these days we’ve got plenty of money. Just keep on cutting and bring back my auburn hair.”
    Which she did, cut Kelly’s very short and darkened the white to gray.
    “Marvelous,” Tod said. “I feel human again. Let’s have dinner.”
    —
    Ferguson’s Daimler and driver were waiting when the Gulfstream landed at Farley. Dillon had left his Mini Cooper there, but Sara had nothing.
    “I’ve decided not to go home tonight,” Ferguson said. “I’d like to have words with Roper sooner rather than later, so I’ll stay in the guest wing at Holland Park.”
    Dillon often did the same, and said, “I’d like to join you.”
    “That’s fine by me, but I expect you’ll be wanting a lift to Highfield Court to see your grandfather?” he said to Sara.
    “He won’t be there, he’s touring the lecture circuit. ‘God and the Mind of Man,’ his favorite topic. Everyone wants Rabbi Nathan Gideon these days.”
    “And so they should,” Dillon told her. “He’s a great man.”
    “Actually, I’d welcome your input, Captain,” Ferguson said, “So jump in and we’ll be on our way. We’ll see you there, Dillon.”
    —
    When Roper returned from the shower, it was to find that Ferguson and the others had arrived and had gone upstairs to unpack, but he had another visitor waiting.
    Dr. Ali Saif was an Egyptian with an English grandmother who’d not only sent him to Eton but supplied him with a U.K. passport under filial law. A brilliant scholar, a senior lecturer in archaeology at London University, he had initially found Osama’s messageattractive enough for him to offer his services to the Army of God charity. As with others, one could be drawn into the activities of al-Qaeda without realizing it, especially with the hypnotic tones of the Master on the telephone to guide you.
    He’d been caught in a bad situation, however, and his decision to act on the side of right had not only saved lives but impressed Ferguson enough to save him from prison and find a use for his talents as an interrogator of Muslims suspected of terrorism, at Tenby Street safe house run by MI5.
    “Have they arrived?” Ali inquired, and before Roper could answer him, Ferguson, Sara, and Dillon walked in.
    “Ali, it’s you,” Ferguson said in surprise.
    “We were talking earlier,” Roper told him. “He’s been fully informed about the latest development. After his past services to us, I felt he could be trusted to keep it to himself.”
    “Your account of Belfast 1979 was extraordinary, Mr. Dillon,” Ali said. “It’s certainly possible that these men, Flynn and Kelly, could have something to do with the affair. I’ve already learned in my short time at MI5 that individuals from dissident Irish groups have used their past experience in all kinds of violent situations, from Eastern Europe to the Middle East. Does anyone else know?”
    “No, actually, which is rather interesting.” Ferguson said. “I haven’t mentioned them to anybody,