explained what she’d been doing, and he nodded approvingly. ‘Nothing like being prepared.’
‘I thought I knew him, but there was a lot I didn’t,’ she said. ‘What are you up to?’
‘Same thing, in a way. Having a look at his Iranian masters.’
‘That’s interesting,’ she said. ‘Can I see?’
‘Of course you can. I’ll put them up in sequence. There’s the President. There’s the Council of Guardians, which enjoys a lot of influence.’
‘Who’s that man?’
‘Well, according to their official release in Paris, they seem to be expecting a few people from London to be joining them. This chap, Emza Khan, is one of the businessmen who support the Army of God charity.’
‘Can he be trusted?’ Sara asked. ‘Or is there an Al Qaeda connection?’
‘I’m famous for not trusting anyone,’ Roper said, ‘but I tend to think Khan’s on our side. He’s a billionaire, the chairman of Cyrus Holdings, which is responsible for Iran’s oil and gas interests and many other things. The headquarters is in London. He’ll be seventy next birthday.’
Khan stared grimly at Sara from the screen, the once powerful body straining to get out of the excellent suit. Sara said, ‘He looks like he likes to have his own way and normally gets it. Who’s the bearded thing in the black suit behind him? That’s a hell of a scar bisecting the left side of his face.’
‘His name is Rasoul Rahim, Khan’s bodyguard and thug. Reputedly, he kills people for him whenever necessary.’
‘Of course he does.’ Dillon appeared, wearing a towelling robe. ‘He’ll drop in on the Ritz like a lead weight. On the other hand, one sliding stamp of the foot downwards will dislodge the kneecap of even a seventeen-stone rugby player. Remember that, girl dear, if you’re trying your aikido on him.’
‘And you say Khan’s on our side?’ said Sara.
‘You can’t always choose your friends,’ said Roper.
Another image appeared on-screen, a laughing young man, black tie loose, quite obviously drunk, his arms around a couple of women, the three of them looking the worse for wear.
‘And who’s this, the pride of the nightclub circuit?’ Dillon demanded. ‘What about his Muslim principles?’
‘Gone out of the window where the drink is concerned,’ Roper told him. ‘That’s the son, Yousef. Educated at Harrow, where he twice almost got the heave-ho. Several court appearances for drink-driving, brawling. Twice accused of rape by different girls who changed their minds and wouldn’t continue to give evidence. He’s twenty-six.’
‘Obviously bought off by Daddy,’ Sara said. ‘The girls.’
‘What would you expect?’ Roper added. ‘Can you stand another?’
‘Do we have to?’ Dillon enquired.
‘Well, you have to travel hopefully,’ Roper said. ‘And if you do, sometimes you get a surprise.’
A picture appeared of a man in some sort of army summer uniform, medals making a brave show. He was of medium height, with a bronze aquiline face, black hair, a peaked cap in his hands. His gaze was direct and sombre, but to Sara’s disquiet she found him rather attractive.
‘Lieutenant Colonel Declan Rashid,’ Roper said. ‘Military attaché at the Iranian Embassy at 16 Princes Gate right here in good old London town. You know what Muslims are like about family being so important. He’s some sort of third or fourth cousin of the Khans.’
‘Well, that’s hardly his fault,’ Sara said.
Dillon cut in, ‘But where in the hell did he get the Irish name?’
‘His mother was a strong-willed young Irish doctor from Cork named Rosaleen Collins, and his father couldn’t deny her anything, which explains where the name Declan comes in. The Rashids weren’t Iranians, they were from Oman originally, Bedouins.’
‘Which means they’re warriors,’ Dillon said.
‘Certainly as far as his father, Hassan Rashid, was concerned. He rose to brigadier general in the Iranian Army. Remember, they were at war with Iraq for eight years.’
‘Why do I sense the worst coming?’ Dillon asked.
‘Because it did. He was killed in 1986, and unfortunately his wife was with him. She’d visited behind the lines, they went for a spin in a spotter plane and were shot down.’
Sara said, ‘So how old was Declan?’
‘Sixteen, and an only child. His mother hadn’t been able to have any more children.’
‘It must have been hell for him.’
‘It was,’ Roper said. ‘I’ve got the photo to prove it.’
The boy in the photo wore desert combat fatigues and the red beret of a paratrooper, a pistol strapped to his right knee, an AK-47 assault rifle crooked in his left arm. The eyes were haunting in the young face, the cheeks hollow.
Sara took a deep breath. ‘What happened?’
‘He was at school here in London at St. Paul’s, flew back to Iran right away, but missed the funeral. After that, he simply joined the queue of peasant boys at the recruiting office, of which there were many, joined up, and kept his head down to avoid the search for him. There was another two years of war, during which he jumped five times into “action” without having been trained for it. It was during the second year that Emza Khan traced him and he was promoted to the officers corps. He was an acting captain at the end of the war and all of eighteen. He’s 42 now and unmarried.’
There was silence after that for the moment. Dillon said, ‘Well, all I can say is it must be the Irish in him. Having said that, I’d buy him a drink anytime.’
Sara said, ‘A remarkable story, and you’ve gone to a lot of trouble telling us. Is there a reason?’
‘The handout from the London Embassy’s press office covers the award of the Legion of Honour to Simon Husseini and makes the point that Emza Khan, Chairman of Cyrus, will be visiting to support him.’
‘Is Khan’s son going?’
‘I shouldn’t imagine so, with his track record. They wouldn’t want any more scandal. However, the military attaché from Princes Gate, Lieutenant Colonel Declan Rashid, respected war hero, will be in attendance, all staying at the Ritz.’
‘It will be just like old home week,’ Dillon put in.
‘But isn’t this going to be rather obvious?’ Sara asked. ‘Our presence there?’
Dillon said, ‘There isn’t an embassy in London that doesn’t know about Charles Ferguson’s motley crew. They know who we are and we know who they are. The real work in our line of business is finding out what everyone else is up to, and that includes our friends. Take Claude Duval. A strong right
