by Jack Higgins
'And then walk down the dark streets of Hazar shoulder to shoulder?' Blake said.
'Yes, something like that, so make your choice,' Ferguson told him.
The Rashid Gulfstream took off from Haman and Aidan Bell sat back, accepted a whiskey and started to read a supply of English papers which had come out from London on the trip in.
The Premier and the Prime Minister were going to take a trip down the Thames to the Millennium Dome. The two-page article in the Daily Telegraph carried an itinerary. A night trip down the river. The major television companies would be involved and the two leaders, everything you could want.
Bell sat back, a half-smile on his face. It was like Time magazine and Cazalet all over again, not that Nantucket had worked out as expected, but this could be different. He'd always done well in London. All right, he'd lost the team, but this could be one of those jobs where you were better on your own.
He called to the steward for another drink and started to work through the article again.
Ferguson was right. The kebabs were excellent, and they ate with enthusiasm.
Billy said, 'All right, so we survive, which I certainly intend, we survive and get back to Wapping in one piece. What happens then, General? What's Rashid's next move?'
'Dillon?'
Dillon sat back. 'It has to have something to do with Bell. That's why he isn't here.'
'Seen getting onto a Rashid Gulfstream at Haman military airbase, booked for London,' Villiers said.
'Nice of you to tell us.'
'I decided to save it in case you didn't want dessert.'
Blake said, 'Come on, Sean, what is his agenda?'
Dillon lit a cigarette. 'He failed with the American President. He failed with the Elders. Maybe this time his target really is the obvious one. The Russian Premier's due soon in London, isn't he, Charles?'
Ferguson said, 'Come on, even he wouldn't try that now. With all the new security? Impossible.'
'You think so?' Blake shook his head. 'It should have been impossible to get as close as Bell got to the President on Nantucket. With the greatest respect to my fine Irish friend Sean Dillon here, if I gave him the job, he'd find a way. People like him always do.'
'Thank you. I love you, too,' Dillon said. 'But he's right. Rashid would go for the Premier without a second thought.'
'And that's where Bell comes in?' Harry Salter asked.
'Well, the other year, we had the President in London. Two people, Loyalist terrorists, a man and a woman, tried to knock him off. I managed to stop them, with some assistance, and I still bear the scars.'
'What's your point?' Blake said.
'That, to use an English underworld phrase Harry and Billy know well, you don't need to go in team-handed. One person is enough, two at the most.'
'And that's true,' Billy said.
'Yes, but we're talking as if Rashid had this agenda,' Ferguson told them. 'Maybe he's had enough.'
'General,' Sean Dillon said, 'if you think that, you'll believe anything.'
'All right,' Ferguson said. 'Coffee, then let's go.'
'Tea,' Dillon said. 'I'm Irish. It goes with the rain, General.'
From the Gulfstream, Bell called Rashid on his coded mobile and caught him at the villa.
'Listen, I've had a thought.'
'Tell me.'
Bell went through the article in the Telegraph. 'There's a real opportunity here.'
'All right, but not the Prime Minister,' Rashid said. 'Just the Premier. The minute you're in London, go into the situation. I'll be over in a day or two anyway. I'll send instructions to give you any support you need.'
'And Dillon and company?'
'Well, I'm hoping they'll be distant history after tonight.' Bell laughed. Rashid said, 'You find this amusing?'
'Only the idea of Sean Dillon being distant history. If he's on your case, he's your worst nightmare. Having said that, I'll get on with it.'
On board the Sultan, Hal Stone stood in the stern, drinking a glass of cold beer, and Ali hovered. It was raining again, a fine spray, and Stone was enjoying it. He'd have to go soon, of course, back to Cambridge and students instead of being here and what he was involved with.
There was a splash in the water as Ali poured him another beer, and as Stone turned, a man pulled himself over the rail, a knife between his teeth. Ali cried out, 'Sahb!'
Hal Stone saw, and in the same moment reached for the Browning under his left arm. He pulled it out and as the man took his knife from between his teeth shot him so that he went back over the rail. Another appeared. Stone fired again, but the Browning jammed. He grabbed Ali by the shoulder. 'The cabin. Come on.' Then he pulled him away.
Inside, he slammed and locked the door, then unloaded the Browning and took out the clip. As he discharged his bullets, someone started to kick the door in.
Dillon and the others walked down through Hazar, ready for anything and finding nothing. They reached the harbour, found the motor launch, got in and cast off, making for the Sultan. They coasted in.
The stern light was on under the awning, and it was quiet as Billy climbed up the ladder to tie up. Harry followed him, then Ferguson, Blake and Dillon.
At that instant, Hal Stone managed to reload the Browning and fired through the cabin door. The next moment, four Arabs ran out of the darkness to attack Ferguson's party.
Dillon fired at one of them, but the man, in a drug-crazed frenzy, rammed into him and drove him over the rail. Dillon took a deep breath, went under the Sultan and surfaced on the other side.
There were a couple of shots. He pulled himself up the ladder, moved in behind a crouching Arab with a knife in one hand, took his neck and twisted. There was a crack and the man slumped.
Silence. Someone said in Arabic, 'Hamid, are you there?'
'Of course,' Dillon answered and stepped forward.
He took the man, broke his right arm so that the Arab dropped the pistol and put him over the rail. It was quiet. Dillon said, 'It's me. Are you all there?'
Ferguson called, 'On the deck, but in one piece.'
Dillon said, 'Let's check if the Professor is all right, then I'd suggest we get out of this sodding place.'
'An excellent idea,' Ferguson called.
Later, Rashid came into the living room at the villa and said to Kate, 'No go. The attack on the boat failed. Ferguson, Dillon and the others have just left for London.'
'So what do we do now?' Kate Rashid asked.
'Go home, my darling… and try again,' her brother said.
London
The Thames In London, Bell spent time travelling up and down the Thames, following the itinerary for the Russian Premier as laid out by the Daily Telegraph.
He went on a trip to the Millennium Dome, then returned to the Savoy Pier. He thought about it and did the same trip the following day. There was another article discussing the visit, this time in the Daily Mail. He read it meticulously, noted that the riverboat for the trip was called Prince Regent, and that the catering was in the hands of the Orsini brothers.
He sat by the fireplace in the drawing room on South Audley Street and a plan began to form in his mind.
Rashid and Kate left in the second plane after he had made various deals with his people in the Empty Quarter. What he was leaving was a situation so difficult that neither the Council of Elders nor the Americans, nor the Russians, would be able to handle it themselves. He also arranged for the retrieval of George's body and its return to England.
In London, Dillon went to check on Hannah. She was sitting up in bed, and by chance Bellamy was there, checking her over. Dillon excused himself and waited outside. Finally, the Professor came out.
'How is she?' Dillon asked.
'Better. It's still a wait-and-see situation as to how much back to normal she'll be. On the other hand, I remember when Norah Bell stabbed you in the back. You made it through.'
'I know. On a good day, you're a genius.'
Bellamy sighed. 'How many ti
mes have I saved your hide, Sean? I can't always succeed. Try and take care.'
He went out and Dillon thought about it, then knocked on Hannah Bernstein's door. 'How are you?'
'Pretty rotten. But I've only got to look at you to see it's been pretty rotten for you, too. Tell me about it.'
He opened the window, lit a cigarette and sat beside her as he talked. When he was finished, she said, 'Young Billy's turning out to be a star.'
'You could say that. Bellamy says you'll make it.'
'So does my father, though I may not be able to run around Hyde Park again in the morning.'
'Well, you can't have everything.'
'As to Rashid, you might want to take a look at the papers. I read a lot of them every day out of boredom. Look at the pile over there. You should find a Daily Telegraph. I'd say it might interest you.' He read it and sat there thinking. 'It could fit,' she said.
'I'd say so. Do you remember the Norah Bell affair?'
'How could I forget? I shot her dead.'
'She and her boyfriend found it no problem to join the crew of that riverboat…'
'Waiters,' Hannah said. 'It's easy enough to carry the canapes around.'
Dillon stood up suddenly. 'I'd better go. God bless, Hannah.'
'Take care, Dillon.'
He got a cab to Cavendish Place and found Ferguson and Blake sitting on either side of the fire, talking. He explained what he had found.
'Are you suggesting the same script as with Norah Bell?' Ferguson asked.
'Hannah thinks so, and so do I. What do we do? Inform the Security Services?'
Ferguson snorted. 'That bunch? They'd only screw it up royally. You know that, Dillon.' 'All right, so what do we do?' 'Tell you what,' Blake said. 'I love rivers. Take me on the same trip tomorrow, Sean, and let's see what we can see.'
The next morning was typical London, the rain drifting down as Dillon and Blake boarded the Prince Regent at the Savoy Pier. A grey morning out of season, there were no more than fifteen people on the boat.
'It's a great city,' Blake said, as they stood under the awning at the stern. 'Even in the rain.'
'Dublin's not bad, and Manhattan has a feel to it, but, yes, the Thames is special.'
'Tell me about this business with Norah Bell, Sean.'
'An Iranian fundamentalist group called the Army of God didn't like Arafat's deal with Israel over the new status of Palestine. They also didn't care for the President presiding over the meeting at the White House and giving the agreement his blessing. So they approached a Loyalist hit man from Ulster and his girlfriend, names of Michael Ahern and Norah Bell, characters so bad that even the Red Hand of Ulster had thrown them out.'
'And what was the deal?'
'Five million sterling to kill the President.'
'My God, even I never heard of that,' Blake said.
'Oh, it was kept under wraps. The Prime Minister cooked up an evening of frivolity and cocktails for the President, cruising the Thames past the Houses of Parliament and ending up at Westminster Pier. Ahern and Norah got on board by pretending to be waiters. A confederate had left a couple of Walthers for them.'
'And?'
'Well, I managed to work it out and at the last moment joined the boat with Charles and Hannah. I killed Ahern, but Norah gutted me with a spring knife. Hannah shot her dead.' Dillon lit a cigarette. 'It was a bad scene. For a while, it looked as if I was finished, but with the help of friends, I made it.'
'A hell of a story.'
The door opened behind them and a waitress came through. 'Coffee, gentlemen, or the bar is open?'
'Coffee for me,' Blake said.
Dillon smiled. 'I'll have tea and an Irish whiskey or Scotch, if you insist.'
They stayed under the awning and the young woman finally came back with a tray.
Dillon said to her, 'So, you must be pretty excited about this big event coming up.'
'Oh, yes,' she said. 'In fact, you're lucky. Today's our last day before the company pulls the Prince Regent out of service to titivate it up for the big night.'
'Will you be working?' Dillon asked.
'I'm afraid not.' She was obviously disgruntled. 'Believe it or not, they're bringing in a Royal Navy crew to run the boat and some firm to do the catering. We can't even get near the place.'
'That's a hell of a shame,' Blake said.
'Yeah, but that's life. Excuse me, gentlemen.' Blake drank his coffee and Dillon poured his whiskey into his tea as the rain increased in force. The American said, 'What do you think?' Dillon sighed. 'There's just something… I can't put my finger on it. It's just – look, I did my time on jobs like this, right? And I never liked my left hand to know what my right hand was doing. You tried to get people to look one way so they'd miss what's happening the other way. This – it's all just flat in our face.'
'I agree, but you can't afford to take the risk, Dillon. You've got to get the security people out here in full force. All your efforts have got to be focused on this boat.'
Dillon turned, smiling, his personality almost changing. 'Jesus, son, you're right. All our efforts. It's so obvious, it's too obvious. What was I thinking?'
He pulled out his phone and got through to Ferguson. 'Blake and I are on the Prince Regent.'
'So you think that's where they'll hit?'
'Nope. Not in a thousand years. Have you got the itinerary there?'
'Yes.'
'Where's the Premier staying?'
'At the Dorchester, that suite on the top floor.'
Dillon said, 'Perfect. I'll get back to you.' He turned to Blake. 'He's staying on the top floor of the Dorchester. I know that suite. It's got the best rooftop views in London from its terrace. You stand out there and you can see everyone – and everyone can see you.'
'You think that's it?'
'I could be totally wrong, but if I wanted my left hand not to know what my right was doing – that's where I'd do it.'
In the drawing room at South Audley Street, Paul, Kate and Michael sat at a table with Bell. It was the moment Aidan Bell disclosed the truth.
'Ferguson's going to be on tenterhooks. He's expecting a hit, and by now he's convinced himself it'll be on the boat trip. But it won't.'
'What? Then what's your plan?' Kate asked.
'The Premier's staying on the top floor of the Dorchester. There are some lovely flat roofs below, with perfect lines of fire. I'll climb up there and do it myself.'
There was silence. Michael said, 'I'll go with you.'
'Hey, that's not necessary.'
'Bell, this time I want to make sure. I was trained as a marksman myself. I'm going with you.'
Paul Rashid said, 'And so am I.'
Kate said, 'For God's sake, Paul, what are you thinking of? Three people? It's much too dangerous.'
'I don't care. This is our last chance, Kate. If we fail this time, then it doesn't matter if we get caught anyway.' He turned and smiled, and for the first time she thought it the smile of the truly mad. 'This is for George, Kate, and for our mother. There's no turning back.'
Dillon, Blake and Ferguson visited the Dorchester and were shown up to the suite. The views from the terrace were as advertised. They were extraordinary – and extraordinarily dangerous.
'Dillon's right,' Ferguson said. 'The Premier can't stay here.'
'How will you handle it?' Blake asked.
'No need to make a big fuss. I'll just tell the Prime Minister's office that I'm not happy with the overall security.'
'Which means you won't need to explain the plot,' Blake said.
'Exactly. Low key, that's how we'll keep it. I'll see the Prime Minister again.'
At Downing Street, Dillon sat in the Daimler while Ferguson and Blake were taken to the Prime Minister's study. He was sitting with a small man in his early fifties, with white hair and the look of the academic he'd once been. He was Simon Carter, the Deputy Director of the Security Services, and no friend of Ferguson.
'So what happened in Haza
r?' the Prime Minister asked.
'Well, for one thing, the Council of Elders is still intact, thanks to Dillon.'
'Not that little Irish swine again,' Carter said.
'Carter, we're not friends, but I've never disputed your efficiency in the past. Let me tell you what Dillon achieved, if you'll allow me, Prime Minister.'
'Of course.'
Afterwards, the Prime Minister said, 'Extraordinary,' and even Carter had to agree.
'Now tell him about Nantucket,' the Prime Minister said.
This time, when Ferguson had finished, Carter said, 'It's incredible, the whole damn business.' He looked more shaken than Ferguson had ever seen him. 'Well, it's clear we'll have to cancel everything with the Premier, wipe it all out.'
'Hold on,' Ferguson said. 'We have a better idea.'
'What is that?' the Prime Minister said.
'Russian security must be told we might have a problem. I would handle it this way, if the Deputy Director approves. Allow the arrangements at the Dorchester to go through. That would be for the media.'
'And then?'
'Cancel the cocktail party on the Prince Regent, but only at the last moment. Any excuse will do. Change the dinner venue to somewhere like the Reform Club. I'm sure they'd love to have you, sir.'
The Prime Minister smiled. 'I'm certain of it.'
Carter said, 'And then?'
'The Premier is taken back, not to the Dorchester but to his Embassy.'
'But what would the final point be?' the Prime Minister said.
'That I would wait in the suite at the Dorchester with people of my choosing.'
'Dillon?'
'Yes, sir, and some friends of his. They did great service in Hazar. However, you wouldn't put them on the New Year's Honours List.'
'And they'd wait to see if Rashid or this man Bell turned up?'
'Yes, sir, but it's even better than that. I think the Deputy Director already sees what I'm getting at.'
Carter smiled. 'Yes.' And he turned to the Prime Minister. 'There's been no indictable proof against Rashid up to now. But if he comes, or one of his men, and we get him alive, he won't be untouchable any more. He must be getting desperate by now. At last, we can lay a trap for him instead of the other way around.'
'Then so be it.' The Prime Minister stood. 'It's in your hands, gentlemen. Mr Johnson, I'll speak to the President.'
