Page 106 of Next in Line

Davenport had already been informed that HMSUrsulawas patrolling somewhere below theLowlander, ready to release a torpedo and blow it out of the water if the mission failed. He tried not to think about it.

Davenport was the last man to climb aboard the lead helicopter, and would be the first out. Once he’d strapped himself into his seat, he waited for the second hand on his stopwatch to go twice more around the dial, before tapping the pilot firmly on the shoulder.

The rotor blades revolved faster and faster, until finally the first helicopter slowly lifted off the deck, producing a gush of wind and salt spray that had the maintenance staff shielding their eyes.

The second helicopter followed moments later, and although they would never be more than a hundred metres apart, once they reached the target area they would peel off and go their separate ways.

‘Ten minutes,’ said Davenport, breaking radio silence.

‘Can you make that eleven, sir?’ came back the response from the leader of the RIBs.

‘Wilco.’

As they approached the yacht, the sky grew darker, until the sun finally disappeared below the horizon.

•••

If the phone on the jet wasn’t answered, Chalabi had already decided who would die first. If it was picked up and his leader confirmed that he was about to take off, and looking forward to a hero’s welcome in Tripoli, then all that was left for him to do was carry out the ‘end game’.

Hassan had been chosen to hack off an arm and a leg of the so-called protection officer before he was cast into the waves. She had promised Chalabi that the lady-in-waiting would live long enough to see her lover and join him in the water, so they could share their last few touching moments together. Hassan was looking forward to seeing which of them would drown first. Chalabi intended to make a video of their death throes, so he could enjoy pressing the replay button again and again. Once they were back in Libya, it would be repeated endlessly on Al Jamahiriya television, so the whole world could witness his achievement. A hero in his own country, a villain to the rest of the world. What more could a man ask for?

Khalifah picked up the phone on the fifty-ninth second of the fifty-ninth minute of the second hour, to hear the words, ‘Allah be praised.’

‘Allah be praised,’ repeated Khalifah, and put the phone down, feeling exhilarated but exhausted. Exhaustion won, and he fell into a deep sleep as the plane took off and the twinkling lights of Heathrow disappeared behind him.

‘Allah be praised,’ repeated Chalabi as he withdrew a pistol from his holster. He was about to give the order for Inspector Hogan to be brought up on deck so he could personally carry out the execution, when he was distracted by gunfire coming from above. He dropped the phone, fell to his knees and stared up into the sky to see a helicopter hovering above the stern of the yacht. When he looked back down he could see an armada of small boats heading towards them at speed.

Hassan’s men were returning fire, but Chalabi knew it could be only a matter of time before they were overwhelmed, leaving him with just one chance of saving his own skin. He turned his back on his colleagues and began crawling towards the spiral staircase that led down to the lower deck, only to see a second helicopter hovering above the yacht’s bow. A thick rope was now dangling from the second helicopter, and a man was fast-roping down towards the deck, another following close behind. Chalabi had reached the bottom of the staircase before Davenport hit the ground running.

The moment he heard the first shot ring out, Ross leapt across from one balcony to the other to join the Princess and Victoria. The SBS men on the first of the RIBs had already fixed a ladder to the yacht’s side and he and his men were clambering up onto the deck, almost as fast as their comrades in the helicopters were coming down, while theCornwall’s diversionary force had reached the stern of the yacht. Ross knew the battle that followed would be over in minutes. But not for Jamil Chalabi, who was charging down the long corridor towards the royal suite.

As Chalabi burst through the door, Ross scooped the Princess in his arms, dashed out onto the balcony and threw her overboard. Within seconds, the third RIB was by her side and theRoyal Gillie leant over and dragged her unceremoniously out of the water. Once he’d seen her clamber on board, Ross grabbed a pistol he’d secreted under the balcony railing before running back into the suite. He threw himself to the floor and fired three times at Chalabi, who didn’t move, making him an easy target. Instead of the explosion of gunfire Ross had anticipated, all he heard was three clicks. A self-satisfied smile appeared on Chalabi’s face.

‘You underestimated me once again, Detective Inspector,’ he said as he slowly raised his gun, looked him in the eyes and took aim. He was about to fire when a hand grabbed his ponytail, causing him to topple back and fire a shot into the ceiling.

He was recovering his balance when he felt something sharp pierce the side of his neck. A silver letter opener slit his throat from ear to ear with practised efficiency. He collapsed onto the floor, blood spurting from every vessel in his neck. Chalabi lay at Victoria’s feet, staring up at the lady-in-waiting.

‘You underestimated me,’ said Victoria, giving him a warm smile as he gasped his last breath.

Moments later, Captain Davenport burst into the cabin. He stared down at Chalabi’s lifeless body in disbelief before saying, ‘Did you do that, miss?’

‘Yes,’ said Victoria calmly as she took a tissue out of its box, wiped the silver letter opener clean, and placed it back on the table next to a pile of unopened letters.

‘Have you ever considered joining the SBS?’ Davenport asked.

‘Certainly not. The Girl Guides were quite enough.’

•••

The stewardess let him sleep for an hour before she woke him. ‘We’re just about to land, sir,’ she said. ‘I hope you had a comfortable flight.’

Mansour Khalifah didn’t comment, as his mind was on greater things.

She gently lowered his armrest and helped him on with his seatbelt. He sat motionless, deep in thought as he went over the speech he’d prepared during those long days in solitary confinement. He even practised a wave to the crowd as the plane touched down and bounced along the runway. He wondered if the Colonel himself might be waiting on the runway to greet him.

After the plane had come to a halt, the stewardess opened the cabin door and stood to one side. Khalifah rose from his seat, straightened his long white thawb, adjusted his keffiyeh, and began to walk slowly down the aisle.

The captain came out of the cockpit, saluted and said, ‘Welcome home, sir.’

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