by Jack Higgins
She shot the Walther off the table and invited Faldo’s brother to drop his, which he did, looking stunned, and she held up her Colt, and said, “Silenced mode, always a shock,” and then raised her voice. “Sean, where the heck are you?”
The door swung open and he walked in. “I was waiting for you to finish, oh great one,” and he flung a pair of handcuffs on the table. “But if you’d care to do something useful, cuff ’em, as they say in cop shows.”
At the same moment, a mobile rang in Eric’s pocket, and Dillon reached for it quickly and switched it to speaker. The Master’s voice was clear. “Is this Eric or Faldo?”
“It’s neither, you chump, just your old friend Sean Dillon. Eric and Faldo are in handcuffs, I’m afraid, facing a journey to London.”
The Master sounded amused. “Why, Eric, you and your brother seem to have let me down badly. All debts will be paid in full. My deepest respects to your grandmother, who will be delighted at the news, but for how long, I wonder?”
Eric, a new strength in his voice, said, “Our grandmother has nothing to do with this business.”
“Too late to think about it that way now,” the Master said. “There is a debt here that must be paid.”
“A debt on my part, too,” Dillon said. “Because I intend to execute you.”
“What a stupid man you are to think that you could do that. I don’t deal in fantasy, but in reality. I can cause calamity right there in London or in the White House itself, little man.”
“You must be mad,” Dillon told him.
“Well, we shall see what I can accomplish in the next few days. Look for me.”
—
FACED WITH the ignominy of being trounced by a female, the brothers argued angrily in Arabic as they were urged into the rear seats of Dillon’s Mini to have their ankles manacled. They calmed down after stern words from Dillon in Arabic.
“What’s going on?” Hannah asked.
“Each has been blaming the other for praising Osama online and allowing the Master to come into their lives. I’ve just now told them that their U.K. passports are going to be canceled and they will be sent back to Egypt. It’s frightened them to death, which is why they are suddenly behaving themselves.”
“Do you think there’s any chance of their being sent back?”
“Doubtful. I think Dr. Ali Sharif will have plans for them. But if you knew what life is like in an Egyptian jail, you’d know how the prospect terrifies. They’ll be good boys on the trip back to London.”
“You can be a proper bastard when you want to be, can’t you, Sean?”
“Hannah, these people are all the same, foolish puppets of men like the Master, spreading death and destruction like you faced the other night. I’ll tell you, cousin, I’ve made a personal vow that I will see the Master dead one way or another.”
Kate came running from the cottage clutching an umbrella. “Just go, will you. It’s difficult to make sense of what’s happened, but it would help if you went. I can’t imagine that we’re likely to be threatened by any more of the same ilk, so I’ll take my time convincing Molly that Mayfair might be good for her again.”
And as they took to the road, Hannah said, “Frankly, I can’t see Aunt Molly being anywhere near as happy in London as she is in the Aldwick estate. It’s a lovely place, you can see that straightaway, and violent fools like you and me aren’t welcome.”
“Save all your anger for the Master, Hannah. We’ll get him one of these days.”
Eric Haran, who had obviously been listening, said, “But you’ll never catch the Master, Mr. Dillon. He is just a voice that comes and goes without warning. That is how he entered our lives. A voice from nowhere telling us we were needed by al-Qaeda.”
“And you believed that?”
“Yes, but now I’m not so sure. This Dr. Ali Sharif. Is he a good man?”
“He used to be in your shoes. Believed in al-Qaeda, but then Ferguson turned him. He’s quite good at interrogation. Don’t try to lie to him. He has a brilliant mind, and you would be foolish not to listen to him. As for me, I have one important piece of advice for you. Never go anywhere near Egypt again. Don’t even travel on a plane that might have to make a stopover. You could be in the worst prisons in the world and drinking water out of the lavatory bowl before you know it. They never forget and they never forgive. And if Sharif offers you a job with MI5, grab it with both hands.”
—
TENBY STREET SAFE HOUSE had been a Victorian primary school in its day, a grim-looking establishment that offered ample accommodation to meet the requirements of MI5. It was London’s turn to be flooded by heavy rain, and in response to Dillon’s mobile call, Dr. Ali Sharif waited under an umbrella, flanked by four military policemen in waterproof capes, who had the boys out of the Mini in no time and hauled them inside.
Dillon and Hannah stayed in the car, and she handed Ali Sharif the two Walthers. “You’ll need these for evidence,” she said.
“Did they fire these at you?” he asked.
“I persuaded them otherwise.”
He smiled and held out his hand. “You were so kind to me when I thought I was going to die in Rosedene last year.”
“It’s good to see you looking so well. These two are silly spoiled boys, so please kick their backsides and make them see sense.”
Dillon said, “The Master called in on Eric’s mobile as we were cuffing them. He cursed them for letting him down and threatened their grandmother. He then tossed a torrent of abuse my way, hinting that not only might he pull his party tricks here but also in Washington.”
“A big claim, Sean, do you believe him?”
“Yes, but first let’s watch out for Eric and Faldo’s grandmother.”
“I’ll see to it, Sean, I promise you,” Ali said, and went inside.
“There goes a great and good man,” Dillon said. “He fell for Osama bin Laden’s message but saw through it and survived the assassin’s bullet that al-Qaeda sent his way.”
“I agree,” Hannah said. “Where do we go now?”
“Report in to Roper at Holland Park, see if Maggie Hall has some dinner for us tonight.”
“I suppose it would help to ease the pain of losing out on Aunt Molly’s hot pot. Holland Park it is, driver,” Hannah said. “Let’s get out of here.”
“At your service, ma’am.” Dillon switched on the ignition, slammed down a foot, and roared away.
—
ROPER WAS DELIGHTED to see them, Tony Doyle brought tea, and Maggie Hall was offering fish pie for dinner.
Roper said to Hannah, “I haven’t seen you since you and Kate had your evening out at the Dorchester. How are you after your little adventure there?”
“Excellent. The moment that man got me from behind and leered at her over my shoulder, Kate shot him.”
Roper said, “Ferguson wants her for MI5 at least but is playing with the idea she might be good for MI6. He’s looking on her as his discovery. What do you think?”
“She’s certainly got the makings,” Dillon said. “It may be a curse in some ways, but we can’t avoid who or what we are. To do what Kate Munro did, and at night, her willingness to kill on the instant—you can’t teach that.” He switched topics. “Something to discuss with you, Giles.”
“Okay, fire away,” Roper said.
“When Hannah and I were arresting the boys, the Master called on Eric’s mobile. He puts on that suave approach, as if amused at your stupidity, poor fool that you are. He told Eric and Faldo they’d let him down, so there were debts to be paid, and hinted that their grandmother could be one of his targets.”
Roper said, “Well, he would. All part of his unlovable approach. You’ve mentioned this to Ali Sharif, I hope?”
“Of course,” Dillon said. “He said he’d take care of it.”
“And he will. Didn
’t you notice anything different when you dropped the boys at Tenby Street? About the military policemen?”
Dillon thought. “It was pouring with rain, and they were swathed in heavy-weather gear, but there’s nothing unusual about that.”
“Well, thanks to Ali Sharif’s new approach, the soldiers under that heavy weather gear are Ghurkhas.”
“Why, that’s wonderful,” Hannah said.
“And controversial,” Roper told her, “but we’ll see.”
“The Master said something else, too,” Dillon said. “I threatened him, and he implied that I was a stupid man to think that I could harm him. He said he didn’t deal in fantasy, but in reality—and that he could cause calamity right here in London or in the White House itself.”
“But he’s insane, surely?” Hannah asked.
Roper nodded slowly. “I’d like to think so, but perhaps not. What did you say to him, Sean?”
“Oh, I told him he must be mad.”
“And what was his response to that?”
“He said he’d see what he could accomplish in the next few days. The trouble is, Giles, he’s not just a fantasist, this guy, as he’s proved by his actions so far. Where’s Ferguson?”
“He, Cazalet, and Johnson are up to their eyes in the antiterrorism discussions.”
“Oh, well, I’ll just have to do something myself,” Dillon said. “I’ll give Alice Quarmby a call.”
“And why would you do that?” Roper asked.
“Because the great and the good, struggling to save the world, tend to see only the big picture, leaving a great deal behind. Like Blake, for example, and his secretary of many years, who struggles to run the Basement while he’s not there.”
“What are you saying?”
“Alice Quarmby is my friend, too. I’ll tell her how the Master boasted about White House calamities.”
“Excellent,” Roper said. “Take your choice. Phones all over the damn place in here.”
—
IT WAS NOON in Washington. Alice Quarmby sat at a table outside a coffee shop, a shopping bag loaded with groceries at her feet.
Her phone rang, she hurried to turn it on, and Dillon said, “How’s my girl?”
“Never mind that, Sean, how’s my boy?”
“I hardly see him. He and Cazalet are pulled in to serve on one committee after another in a futile attempt to save the world from I don’t remember what anymore.”
“You sound depressed.”
“I am, I suppose. I was recently involved in a phone exchange with the Master.”
“How did that happen?”
“Never mind how, but he made a rather disturbing remark to me. He boasted that he could cause calamities here, which he has, but also in the White House itself if he wanted to. Would you believe that?”
“The times we live in, I’d believe anything, Sean. On the other hand, the clown could have been boasting.”
“No, this guy is for real. Just hear what happened to my cousin, Hannah, and her friend the other night.”
She listened while he told her, and when he was finished, she said, “What an evil son of a bitch he must be. You’ve got to get him some way, Sean.”
“Oh, we will, but I just thought that with the swine mentioning Washington I’d like my friends to know, if only to remember to keep a gun under the pillow.”
“I do that, never fear, but I’ll see the President hears about it. Take care, Sean, and thanks.”
—
ROPER SAID, “Good stuff, I liked that. A real sense of theater. You should have gone on the stage.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Hannah said. “He’s taking the mickey.”
“Now, would I do that?” Roper asked, and Sara walked in wearing her black suit and looking strained.
“Hello, love,” Roper said, and to Dillon and Hannah, “Our American chums were taking Colonel Hunter home from Rosedene. How was it, Sara?”
“They’re sending him home as a hero, soldiers in uniform to handle the coffin, a forest of umbrellas from the American Embassy. I felt embarrassed at being the only one of our people there, but Ferguson and company are too busy with ISIS.”
“And Hannah and I were getting fired at,” Dillon said.
“So I heard. You’re really going to have to do something about that. As for me, I could do with a drink.”
“What an excellent idea.” Holley, in a tracksuit and with a towel around his neck, joined them.
“There’s a magnum of Cristal in the small icebox, Hannah. If you wouldn’t mind,” Roper said.
Hannah didn’t. Dillon uncorked it. Sara found five glasses, and Roper poured and gave them the toast. “My dear friends, to love and friendship and to what comes next, which we’ll face together.”
11
HANNAH BORROWED THE MINI and sped up to Highfield Court, where she persuaded Sadie, much against her will, to return with her for dinner at Holland Park. They went in for seven o’clock, had settled themselves to Maggie’s turtle soup, when there was the roar of a Daimler arriving. A few moments later, Ferguson walked in with Blake and Cazalet.
“Well, hello, stranger,” Sara said.
“I thought we ought to look in on you. I know you’ve had a hell of a time, but so have we. My God, but that soup smells good.” He raised his voice. “Henry, get in here. This is better than the Garrick.”
Frankel hurried in and sat down opposite Blake and Cazalet. “I’m sick of having a mobile phone. The Cabinet Office won’t leave me alone.” He started on the soup. “It’s like nectar, and fish pie to follow, I understand? You do realize what a treasure Maggie is?”
“As a matter of fact, we do,” Hannah said.
“Good, because you’ll really need to keep your strength up, ducky, what with all these people you seem to go around shooting. That episode the other night after your meal at the Dorchester was quite something.”
“That’s old news,” Dillon said. “You should have seen her shoot someone’s Walther off a table this morning. Annie Oakley couldn’t have done better.”
Cazalet said, “It doesn’t sound as if you’re finding much time for your piano, Hannah.”
“Mr. President,” she said. “I appreciate that the demands of the great and the good, and sometimes the not so good, take up all your time these days, but meanwhile, we’ve been guarding the wall.”
“Now then, Hannah,” Ferguson said. “Just let it go.”
“No, I won’t, General. The assassin who tried to murder me and Kate Munro the other night boasted that he was acting under the Master’s orders and that he intended to rape us. Well, he made a mistake, just like the two fools this morning who we turned over to Tenby Street. Just like the Master himself and his threats.”
She had the attention of everyone now, and Ferguson said, “We’ll discuss this later.”
“But later is too late, sir. I heard the Master say that he would cause calamity not only in London but also in Washington. When Sean told him he must be mad, he said we would see what he could accomplish in the next few days.”
There was complete silence until Blake said, “Have you spoken to anyone about this, Sean?”
“Yes, I had words with Alice Quarmby. She told me she would speak to the President.”
Ferguson said, “Hannah, I hear what you say, but there is a bigger picture to all this.”
“I know, sir, but you know my family background. It’s the foot soldiers who take the heaviest burden.” And with that, no one could argue.
—
AFTER DINNER, Roper said, “If you could give me a full account of what happened with these two young rogues you passed on to Ali Sharif, Hannah, it would help my records. Do you mind if we do it now?”
“I’d be happy to.”
“Then if you gentlemen will excuse us.” And he rolled out
in his wheelchair, Hannah following him to the sanctuary of the computer room.
“Was I out of order saying what I did, Giles?”
“Not at all,” Sara said from the doorway, as she joined them. “I particularly like that phrase about us guarding the wall.”
“Yes, I thought that particularly apt,” Roper said. “But their problem is they don’t know what to make of you. Even Ferguson isn’t sure. I, however, haven’t got the slightest problem. Do you, Sara?”
“Not a bit,” Sara said, then put an arm around Hannah and kissed her cheek. “They broke the mold when they made you.”
Hannah almost blushed. “What Dillon said—do you think Alice Quarmby has spoken to the President yet?”
“I can’t say,” said Roper. “But I know she will. She told Dillon she would.”
“So we wait and see,” Hannah said. “Which just about sums life up at the moment.”
—
WHICH WAS VERY MUCH how it looked to Alice Quarmby, for several attempts to see the President had failed. Even her friendship with his secretary, Elsie, had got her nowhere.
So she had gotten some food from the White House canteen, consumed it alone in the Basement office, and tried to clear her desk, which was always a problem with Blake being away. She decided to try the Oval Office again and saw Elsie making for the powder room, so she took her chance, tapped on the door, and went in. And she was lucky, because the President was working at his desk, quite alone, and looked up, startled.
“Why, Alice, it’s you. Did we have an appointment?”
“No, Mr. President, I’m here quite illegally and behind Elsie’s back because I was desperate to see you.”
“Well, you are here, so what’s this about?”
“The Master, sir. Things have been getting out of hand in the U.K.”
“Well, nobody’s telling me that. I hear damn little from Blake, in fact, no reports at all.”
“State affairs are beyond my remit, Mr. President. What I do know is this dreadful man has been responsible for a great deal of death and destruction—and he’s now threatening to do the same to Washington.”