by Jack Higgins
Levy called, “Hey, Dillon, listen to me.”
“Why, it’s my old chum Judas or Colonel Dan Levy or whatever you call yourself. Ready to surrender, are you?”
Levy seemed to crack then, rage erupting as he called, “We’ll rush him now.”
Dillon took a deep breath and stepped into the corridor. Raphael had appeared at the far end, his M16 ready, David Braun behind him. Moshe had moved into the open at the other end. Dillon fired the Uzis in sustained bursts, left- and right-handed, pushing Raphael back against Braun and slamming Moshe against the wall, four or five bullets in him.
The Uzis emptied, Dillon dropped them to the floor, ran for that jagged hole, got a grip on the rope, and started down, knot by knot.
As Moshe fell backwards, kicking in death, Levy looked down at that bloodstained body and something happened to him. It was as if it confirmed the fact that he had lost, everything he had worked for down the sewer, and all because of Dillon.
He erupted then, crying, “Dillon, you bastard! Face me!”
He went up the corridor on the run, spraying the walls with his M16, and paused in the entrance of the room, confronted by the gaping hole, the rope. The shock seemed to make him speechless for the moment. Aaron, coming up behind, pushed him to one side and went to the hole and peered out.
Levy pulled himself together and crossed the room in two quick strides. “Can you see them?”
David Braun entered the room and stood just inside the door, the Armalite in his hands, as Aaron said, “Down there on the other side of the garden. The two women and the other man are making for the beach.”
“Stand back,” Levy said and raised his M16. “I can still get that bitch.”
“No, Colonel, enough is enough.” David Braun held the Armalite to his shoulder. “Just put your rifles down and let her go.”
“Why, David, this is a surprise.”
Levy put the M16 down on the table, at the same time putting both hands in his pockets, the right one finding the butt of the Beretta. As he turned, he fired twice. Braun was thrown back in the corridor, dropping the Armalite, and lay there groaning. Levy picked up the M16.
“Come on,” he said to Aaron. “We’re going after them,” and as he walked past Braun, he finished him with a headshot.
Running through the ornamental garden, Dillon pulled out one of the signal flares and pulled the string. The small rocket curved up into the air, exploding into a scarlet bloom, clear not only to the Cretan Lover but the entire fishing fleet.
Aleko switched on and the engines rumbled into life. “Everybody ready? We’re going in.”
As Blake and the two women reached the jetty, Dillon ran down the path behind them, the Cretan Lover roaring in out of the darkness.
As Dillon joined them, Hannah reached for his arm. “Thank God.”
“Yes, I must live right,” Dillon laughed excitedly and crushed her in his arms. “We did it, girl dear, we beat that son of a bitch.”
The Cretan Lover came to almost a dead stop, drifting against the jetty, engines throbbing. Yanni and Dimitri were over the side in an instant, helping the two women, Ferguson and Stavros reaching for them, and Aleko looked out of the wheelhouse.
“Hey, you two wonderful bastards, you won the war, eh?”
There was a burst of firing from somewhere and a bullet ricocheted from the stonework of the jetty.
“Not yet, we haven’t,” Dillon replied as he and Blake dropped to the deck. “Let’s get out of here,” and Aleko did just that.
Levy and Aaron arrived on the run as the Cretan Lover sped toward the fishing fleet, where most of the boats were already hauling in their nets.
“We’ve lost them, Colonel,” Aaron said.
“Not with the speedboat, you fool. It can do thirty knots. I doubt if they can match that. You take the wheel.”
He dropped down into the stern and Aaron slid behind the wheel and found the ignition key under the rubber mat, where he usually concealed it. He switched it on and the massive engines sprang into life.
Levy said, “Now run them down!”
Stavros said, “He’s coming.”
“Don’t worry,” Aleko said. “We’ll be into the fleet soon, but get the women below.”
Ferguson took them down to the cabin, then came back and joined Dillon and Blake, the third Uzi in his hands. Yanni and Dimitri and Stavros all had revolvers. Ferguson handed Dillon his Browning.
“The Chief Inspector thought you might need it.”
The speedboat roared out of the night, clear because of the moon, Levy crouched in the rear. Ferguson triggered the Uzi, the crew fired single shots, but Aaron weaved from side-to-side, first one way, then the other, and suddenly, Levy stood up and sprayed the Cretan Lover with an entire M16 magazine at close quarters.
The wheelhouse shattered, a round took Ferguson in his flak jacket, knocking him down, and another punched Dimitri in the shoulder.
Dillon loosed off a couple of shots, but the speedboat swerved, came in again, and they all ducked as Levy raked the deck.
“We’re sitting ducks,” Blake cried.
“Not quite,” Aleko told him, and back at the jetty, fire blossomed in the night as the motor cruiser exploded.
“Number one,” Aleko said.
The speedboat came in again and Levy stood up, black against the distant flames. He raised the M16. “I’ve got you now, Dillon,” he cried, his voice echoing across the water.
And then the speedboat blew up, disintegrating before their eyes into a fireball, pieces flying through the air, some rattling against the hull of the Cretan Lover. There was a hissing of steam, and what was left disappeared under the surface of the sea.
“And that was number two,” Aleko said. “Now we go home.”
Stavros was checking Dimitri’s shoulder and Ferguson was sitting down. He plucked the round from his flak jacket. “I feel as if I’ve been kicked by a mule.”
Hannah and Marie appeared cautiously from the cabin. “Is it over?” Marie de Brissac asked.
“I think we might say that,” Ferguson said, “but first I’d better speak to your father.”
Cazalet was hosting a reception at the White House for a Russian delegation. He’d done well, kept his end up remarkably, his mind understandably on other things. He was deep in conversation with the Russian Ambassador when Teddy approached.
“Sorry to intrude, Mr. President, but there’s a call of the utmost urgency.”
Cazalet excused himself and followed Teddy to a small anteroom. Teddy closed the door and handed him the special mobile.
“It’s Brigadier Ferguson, Mr. President.”
Cazalet took the phone, his face pale. “Yes, Brigadier, this is the President.”
He listened, and it was as if ten years slipped from him. “God bless you, Brigadier, God bless all of you. Washington next stop. We’ll expect you tomorrow.”
He switched off the phone. Teddy said, “Mr. President?”
“You know what, Teddy?” Jake Cazalet smiled his famous smile. “What I’d appreciate more than anything right now is a glass of champagne and I’d like you to join me.”
WASHINGTON
Epilogue
When the Gulfstream landed at Andrews, the bad weather had switched to that side of the Atlantic and, under instructions, they taxied through rain to a remote area of the base, right into an empty hangar. Two limousines waited and Teddy Grant stood beside one of them.
Kersey opened the door and Ferguson led the way down, followed by Dillon and Blake. Teddy hurried forward and took Blake’s hand. “I can’t believe it and neither can the President.” He turned to the others. “Brigadier – Mr. Dillon. A great day.”
“Well, in the end it worked, and very much thanks to you.” Ferguson shook his hand warmly.
Kersey had followed and was standing at the bottom of the ladder and Vernon and Gaunt joined him. A moment later, Marie de Brissac and Hannah Bernstein came down.
Teddy took Marie’
s hand briefly, then Hannah’s. “I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to see you here. Please follow me.”
He walked toward the limousines, and Ferguson said, “A moment, if you please.” He turned to the crew. “My thanks, gentlemen. As I’ve already said, you’ve never been involved in anything more important.”
He shook hands with each of them, then walked to the limousines where the others were waiting.
“The countess is expected at the White House with Blake,” Teddy said. “I’m taking her there now. The rest of you go to the Ritz-Carlton, where three suites have been booked. Time for you to freshen up and so on, and then the President will send for you.”
“Of course,” Ferguson said. “We’ll see you later, then.”
Marie looked tired and a little bewildered. “Yes,” she said. “Later. I must see you again.”
She drove off with Teddy and Blake, and Dillon and Ferguson stood back to allow Hannah to get in the limousine first. As they drove away, Ferguson pressed the button to raise the glass divider.
“That all seemed a bit formal under the circumstances.”
“You’re missing the point, Brigadier,” Hannah said. “The President simply wants to be alone with his daughter at this moment in time.”
“Yes, I see what you mean, I suppose,” he said.
Hannah shook her head. “Men, all the same, no idea of sentiment,” and she leaned back.
In the White House, Jake Cazalet was sitting beside the fire, a prey to conflicting emotion. What would it be like? How would she react? There was a tap on the door, it opened, and Teddy entered.
“Mr. President, your daughter,” he said and stood to one side.
Cazalet got to his feet, found himself shaking, and then Marie de Brissac moved into the room and stood looking at him, but only for a moment.
“Father,” she said.
Cazalet, filled with more emotion than at any time in his life, opened his arms and she ran to him.
It was three hours later that the limousine from the White House picked up Ferguson, Dillon, and Hannah Bernstein.
“A nice trouser suit you’re wearing,” Dillon told her. “Armani, isn’t it?”
“They do have a rather splendid boutique at the hotel,” she said. “Got to look right for the White House.”
“I noticed from the functions board in the foyer that the President is entertaining the Russian Prime Minister at dinner at the Ritz-Carlton tonight,” Ferguson commented.
“Well, that’s good,” Dillon said. “Now that we’ve got her back, he can enjoy it.”
It was raining hard as the limousine moved along Constitution Avenue toward the White House, but in spite of the weather, there were TV cameras and tourists on Pennsylvania Avenue.
Ferguson lowered the glass screen. “I’m surprised, considering the rain.”
The chauffeur said, “A lot of activity with the Russian delegation. I was told to bring you to the East Entrance.”
Ferguson put the screen up again. “They would, I suppose. They use the East Entrance for special visitors who want to avoid media attention.”
The limousine drove up East Executive Avenue and stopped at the gates, where the driver spoke to the guard, who waved them through. They finally stopped and the chauffeur got out and opened the door.
“This way.”
He indicated the door, which opened at once, and Ferguson led the way in. Inside was a Marine Lieutenant in dress uniform, who snapped to attention and saluted.
“Brigadier.”
There was also Teddy Grant, who came forward smiling. “Wonderful to see you all again. If you’d follow me, the President is waiting.”
In the Oval Office, Cazalet sat behind his desk and Marie was standing beside the window with Blake Johnson. She made the first move, running to Hannah and embracing her.
Cazalet came round the desk and shook hands with the three of them. “Impossible to thank you. Blake has given me the whole story. If this was Buckingham Palace, you’d be lining up for awards, but it’s America.”
“And thank God for it,” Dillon said.
The President smiled and shook Dillon’s hand again. “You always come through, my fine Irish friend.” He turned to Ferguson. “I’ve spoken to the Prime Minister at Number Ten, given him a résumé of what happened, apologized for using you in such a cavalier way but stressed the unusual circumstances.”
“Oh dear, that could be awkward,” Ferguson said.
“Not at all. He was most understanding and looks forward to hearing about it from your own lips. Now, is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Nemesis, Mr. President?”
Cazalet shrugged. “There’s got to be a better way.”
“I agree,” Ferguson said. “So one last favor. I think we should be getting back to London as soon as possible. If we could borrow the Gulfstream?”
“Of course. No problem, is there, Teddy?”
“Not really,” Teddy said. “We’ll probably need a new crew is all. A question of them exceeding their hours in the air.”
“Take care of it.” Cazalet turned to them again. “Our sincere thanks.”
Marie kissed the Brigadier on the cheek, hugged Hannah, and stood looking at Dillon, strangely shy and apparently unable to speak but she managed.
“You are a remarkable man, Mr. Dillon.”
“It’s been said before, Countess.” He laughed out loud and Teddy opened the door for them.
Two hours later, they climbed up from Andrews out to the Atlantic and leveled off at fifty thousand. Dillon pressed the buzzer and the flight attendant came from the galley. This one was white and called Roscoe.
“I’ll have a Bushmills,” Dillon said, “a large one.”
“Coming right up, sir.”
Dillon grinned at Ferguson and Hannah. “I’ve earned it.”
For once, Hannah agreed. “Yes, I think you have, Dillon.”
Roscoe brought the Bushmills, and Dillon said, “Yes, happy endings is what I like, and I suspect Jake Cazalet is a happy-endings man at heart.”
“What on earth are you babbling about?” Ferguson demanded.
“It’s just that deep down inside, I’m an incurable romantic.”
“You?” Hannah said. “Romantic about what?”
“Oh, you know what they say. Read all about it in the papers. The great Dillon is never wrong,” and he settled back and drank his whiskey.
At the Ritz-Carlton in Washington on Massachusetts Avenue, the great and the good and the Russian Prime Minister awaited the appearance of the President of the United States. When he arrived at the front entrance, got out of the limousine and waved to the crowds, the Comtesse Marie de Brissac was at his side, wearing a simple black evening dress, a gold cross at her throat. Teddy got out of the next limousine with two Secret Service men, and ran ahead.
Cazalet smiled. “Countess?” She took his arm and they walked through the foyer and paused at the entrance to the dining room.
Teddy moved just inside. “Mr. Prime Minister, ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention.”
There was a flurry of movement as everyone rose. Teddy took a deep breath and announced in ringing tones, “The President and the President’s daughter.”
Jack Higgins
Jack Higgins was a soldier and then a teacher before becoming a full-time writer. The Eagle Has Landed turned him into an international bestselling author and his novels have since sold over 250 million copies and been translated into fifty-five languages. Many of them have also been made into successful films.
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