Page 95 of Next in Line

‘He won’t need to. But I’d love to see Booth Watson’s face next time he turns up at the bank.’

CHAPTER 32

TWO RIGID INFLATABLE BOATS DRIFTEDinto the bay. They were only doing two knots, so their engines wouldn’t be heard on a still, windless night as they headed towards the stationary yacht silhouetted in the moonlight. Nasreen Hassan, sitting in the bow of the lead boat, raised her binoculars and focused on the only light coming fromLowlander.

A man sitting on the bridge of the yacht was playing a game of chess against himself to while away the long hours on anchor watch. So powerful were her binoculars that she could see him make his next move: queen to knight four.

Her next move had been planned some weeks ago. Once they knew the dates the target would be going on holiday with her boyfriend, they had begun preparations for their unheralded arrival.

They already knew the yacht Chalabi had hired was anchored in Palma, Mallorca. A small bribe to the assistant harbourmaster was all it took to find out when it would be leaving port. They were even in possession of an architect’s plan ofthe yacht. They had spent the past two days secreted in a small inlet further up the coast, putting the finishing touches to their plans.

Hassan checked her watch – 03.17 – confident that the only person on board still awake would be the young man on the bridge. Rook to bishop’s four. He removed a knight from the board.

She looked back to check on the tiny flotilla and her nine-man team, each one chosen for their particular area of expertise. Sitting around her in the lead boat were five hired killers, none of whom was on his first mission. They all wore black from head to foot, and their faces were smeared with burnt cork so they wouldn’t be spotted in the moonlight. Each one of them could go thirty-six hours without sleep – not that this part of the operation should take them more than a few minutes. It was disappearing without trace that would take time – and time, or the lack of it, was their only enemy.

Slung loosely over Hassan’s shoulder was a Dragunov sniper rifle that she kept at her side even in bed. She had made her name killing a British soldier in Libya with a single bullet, from six hundred yards away. The other five carried Kalashnikovs, purchased on the open market. One of them had his cocked, the first round in the chamber. He only expected to fire one bullet.

The second boat was piloted by a ‘for hire’ captain with twenty years’ experience of serving various cartels as a drug runner, and his number two, who’d spent more time in jail than on the high seas. Behind them sat the engineer, whose pale, lined complexion suggested years of heaving and sweating deep in the bowels of ships. The final member of the team was a doctor who’d been struck off, although for what Hassan had in mind, they would have been better off with an undertaker.

Every pair of eyes on the two inflatables was fixed on the yacht. The man who’d been chosen to eliminate the chess player would be the first on board, while Hassan and the other four men from the lead boat went below to where the Princess and Chalabi’s other guests would be dreaming; dreams that were about to turn into a nightmare.

Hassan felt her mouth go dry, as it always did before an attack. Their beloved leader had selected her to lead this audacious coup, promising her that if she succeeded, not only would the British be humiliated in the eyes of the world, but her name would become part of the nation’s folklore and inspire many other young women to join their cause. The irony was that she’d been born in Wakefield and recruited while she was at university. Like many converts, Hassan had become more passionate about and dedicated to the cause than any of the hired mercenaries seated around her, who were interested only in how much they would be paid.

When they were within a couple of hundred yards of the target, they slowed down to make sure the low murmur of their engines didn’t alert the chess player on the bridge. Hassan smiled at the thought that one of the attractions of this particular vessel, as the charter agent had helpfully pointed out, was that even a child returning from a swim could clamber aboard without needing assistance.

With a hundred yards to go, they cut the engines altogether and allowed the two inflatables to drift up to the stern of the yacht, so that nine gatecrashers could join the party.

When the lead dinghy touched the edge of thelanding deck, the chosen assassin was the first on board. He moved swiftly across the lower deck and up the short flight of steps to the bridge. The chess player looked up after playing his last move and a single bullet entered his forehead. Before hecould make a sound, he collapsed onto the ground in a heap beside the wheel. Without a word passing between them, the new captain and his first mate took over.

Hassan was half-way down the spiral staircase that led to the guest quarters when Ross was woken by the shot. He was immediately alert, although for a moment he couldn’t be sure if it had just been part of his dream. He leapt out of bed, rushed across to the cabin door, and opened it, to be met by the barrel of a Kalashnikov rifle aimed between his eyes.

As two of the gunmen dragged Ross out into the corridor, he instinctively looked in the direction of the Princess’s cabin. The door opened, and out stepped Jamil Chalabi wearing a khaki uniform and carrying a gun. He leant forward and kissed Hassan on both cheeks before saying, ‘You couldn’t have done a more professional job, my sister. The cause will be forever in your debt.’

‘Can I kill him?’ she asked, looking at Ross.

‘No,’ said Chalabi firmly. ‘I have other plans for him.’ Hassan looked disappointed. ‘For now, we stick to our original plan. Start by searching all the cabins. Look for weapons of any kind – guns, knives and, equally important, phones. After that, lock them all up. Put those two in the same cabin,’ he said, nodding towards Ross and Victoria. ‘I’m going to need my own room and I have a feeling the Princess won’t be welcoming me back into her arms.’

‘What should we do with these four?’ Hassan asked, waving her weapon at the captain, the engineer, the steward and the chef, who’d been dragged out of their beds.

‘You can kill them,’ said Chalabi as if it were a compensation. ‘That way we won’t be outnumbered, and it will also make the Inspector think twice should he have any ideas about playing the hero.’

One of the thugs thrust a knee into Ross’s groin, who bent double before toppling backwards into Victoria’s cabin. The door slammed and he heard a key turn in the lock. Moments later, four shots rang out. Victoria instinctively clung onto Ross. She was trembling, but when she spoke, her voice was defiant.

‘I never trusted that man. Given half a chance, I’ll happily kill him.’ Ross hadn’t thought it possible he could still be surprised.

Chalabi left two of his men on guard in the corridor while he went back up on deck, where he found blood splattered everywhere. His favourite colour.

He was about to give the order to raise the anchor when he saw a flash coming from the beach. He grabbed a set of binoculars, and in the moonlight could just make out a lone figure holding a long-lens camera resting on a tripod.

‘Damn, I’d forgotten about him,’ said Chalabi. ‘But as he no longer serves any purpose …’ He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Hassan, who was standing by his side, raised her rifle, rested it on the ship’s railing and lined up her target through the nightscope. He was four hundred and fifty-eight yards away. She nestled the butt of the rifle firmly into her shoulder, and took a deep breath before gently squeezing the trigger. She was prepared to fire a second shot if there was any further sign of movement on the beach. There wasn’t.

‘Let’s get going,’ Chalabi shouted up to the bridge. He knew theLowlandercould only manage twenty knots flat out, so there wasn’t a moment to waste if they were going to make it to the safety of their homeland, where the world would learn about the daring coup, and be left with no choice but to agree to their demands.

•••

The phone was ringing on William’s side of the bed. He grabbed it in the hope it wouldn’t wake Beth. She groaned and turned over.

‘Good morning, Warwick,’ said a voice he thought he’d heard the last of.

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