The White House Connection sd-7

by Jack Higgins

  It was Quinn who spoke. 'We're with you, Jack, you know that.'

  Barry slapped him on the shoulder. 'Good man yourself. Now let's get to it,' and he led the way out.

  The front advanced across England like a plague, fog drifting everywhere. At Gatwick, Ferguson and Hannah waited in a special security lounge.

  Ferguson looked out of the window. 'It's gone rather silent.'

  Hannah said, 'I'll check.' She went out, returned a few minutes later and made a face. 'All traffic cancelled at the moment, sir.'

  'Damnation. Is anywhere open?'

  'Oh, yes. Manchester and East Midlands.'

  'Check them out. See if she's diverted.'

  Hannah left, and a moment later, the phone rang. The switchboard operator said, 'Call for you, Brigadier.'

  Helen Lang sounded good. 'Dear Charles, sorry I missed you. Filthy weather. I just landed at East Midlands. Lucky to get in. On our way to Norfolk. Scattered fog but not too bad. Hedley is such a good driver.'

  'This is madness, Helen. Look, Dillon and Blake Johnson are hard after you. Leave it to us, Helen.'

  'God bless you, Charles.' She rang off.

  Hedley said, 'What happens now?'

  'That depends on Mr Barry.'

  'He won't get anywhere near Norfolk, not in weather like this.'

  'I wouldn't depend on that, Hedley. He's a man of infinite resources and guilt.' She shook out a couple of pills. 'The flask, please.'

  He passed it across. 'You'll kill yourself

  'As long as I kill Barry first, I'll be happy.'

  It was late afternoon as the Chieftain crossed the English coast over Morecambe. It was raining hard, fog swirling, but Docherty kept below the overcast. Barry sat beside him.

  'Are we going to make it?'

  'It isn't good, but I think so. We can always turn back.'

  'You do and you're a dead man when we land.' Barry's smile was terrible. 'You see, this meeting I'm going to is the most important in my life.'

  Docherty was terrified. 'Jesus, Jack, it'll be fine. Just give me a chance,' and he concentrated on the flying.

  Sergeant Paul came in with the portable phone. 'Brigadier Ferguson , Mr Dillon.'

  Dillon said, 'Here I am.'

  'Bad weather, fog. She's landed at East Midlands. On her way to Norfolk by road.'

  'So?'

  'Listen. She told me Barry said he'd be flying in. Now that would mean by some highly illegal means, presumably direct to Norfolk.'

  'You mean, you think she could be on her own at Compton Place when he arrived?'

  'Something like that.'

  'You could always ring the Chief Constable of Norfolk and…'

  'Don't be stupid, Dillon. For once forget that Irish propensity for gallows humour and be serious.'

  'Well, she needs backup,' Dillon said. 'She's got good old Hedley with a great record in ' Nam, but that was years ago. If Barry arrives, he won't come alone. I've known him long enough to know that.'

  'Dillon, North Norfolk is one of the last truly rural parts of England. It would take us hours to get there by road and she's determined to do this thing. I mean, what can we do?'

  'First of all, you check whether we can land at Farley Field. Then you call in Flight Lieutenants Lacey and Parry and tell them we're going to war.'

  'What in the hell do you mean?'

  'I know something of the North Norfolk coast. It's got broad beaches, especially when the tide's out. They can take me in and drop me by parachute. We've done it before. Leave it to Lacey to work out.'

  'For God's sake, Dillon.'

  'He's got nothing to do with it. I'll have Blake order our pilot to divert to Farley. I'll call you back.'

  Blake said, 'Farley?'

  'Come on, Blake, you remember Farley, the RAF proving ground outside London. The department has a regular Lear jet operating out of there, piloted by Flight Lieutenants Lacey and Parry. We've had some interesting moments together. Now, we have another problem.'

  'And that would be?'

  'Lady Helen Lang wants the last man standing in this whole rotten mess, Jack Barry. So she's drawn him out. He can't resist, so he's told her he would fly in. She could be in a bad situation at Compton Place. It's miles from anywhere in the depths of the English countryside. So, we land at Farley. They have an armourer there, full facilities. Just listen and learn.'

  He phoned Ferguson again. 'Tell Lacey to find me a suitable beach near Compton Place. As I said, I'll drop in by parachute.

  At least she'll have backup. Just have the necessary equipment and weaponry ready.'

  Blake reached over. 'Excuse me. Make that for two.'

  Dillon laughed and said to Ferguson, 'Hey, I've got this crazy middle-aged American who's decided to come along for the drop. He's a kind of war reporter for the President.'

  'You're mad, the both of you,' Ferguson said.

  'Of course we are, so get on with it,' and Dillon rang off.

  The Chieftain landed on the old decaying bomber runway at Shankley Down and rolled to a halt by the decrepit hangars and the Nissen hut with the chimney smoking. There was a Cessna 310 parked on the apron, an old Ford Transit beside it, a man standing there in a flying jacket.

  They all got out. Docherty said, 'Hey, Clarke, you look good.'

  'Where's my money?' Clarke said.

  Docherty produced a fat envelope. 'Two grand in cash.' Clarke fingered it and Barry punched him in the shoulder. 'Okay?'

  Clarke looked at the Irishman and his friends, and discretion, as always, was the better part.

  'Sure, fine, anything you want. Key's in the Transit.' Barry patted his face. 'Good boy. We'll be back.' He nodded to his men. They got in the Transit, Quinn at the wheel, and drove away.

  The Gulfstream landed at Farley, rolled to a halt and Dillon and Blake got out. Ferguson and Hannah were standing there, Lacey and Parry behind them.

  'Everything organized?' Dillon asked.

  'Let's go in and discuss it,' Ferguson told him.

  Inside, they had a room to themselves. There was a trestle table with parachutes, two AK47 assault rifles and two Brownings with silencers.

  Dillon said, 'I see you remember my preference.' He turned to Lacey. 'What's the score?'

  'Let me show you on the chart, sir.' Lacey led the way to the table. 'Ordnance Survey map, large scale. Compton Place, so close to the sea it makes no difference. Here is Horseshoe Bay. Very wide when the tide's out and it's turning tonight. We could wait until it's really out, but…'

  'No way. If we leave now, how long?'

  'Forty minutes.'

  'I should say we're coming with you,' Ferguson said. 'We can drop you, then there's an RAF feeder station at Bramley twenty minutes flying time away. We'll come on by road.'

  'Terribly good of you.' Dillon looked at the chart again and turned to Blake. 'That's it, then, Horseshoe Bay.'

  He and Blake put themselves in the hands of the armourer, an ageing sergeant major who went over the equipment with professional competence. They took only one parachute, no reserve, an AK each, a Browning plus magazines.

  Dillon said, 'Look, Blake, Vietnam was a long time ago.'

  'Stuff you, Dillon, okay?' Blake told him.

  'Hey, I'm with you.'

  They dressed in jump suits, shoulder holsters for the Brownings, and checked the AKs. Ferguson and Hannah came in. 'Lacey says still sporadic fog, but worse for you at Horseshoe Bay. Not too bad at Bramley for our landing.'

  'Well, good for you, Brigadier.' Dillon grinned at Blake. 'Let's do it.'

  'Why not?' Blake said, picked up his parachute and walked out.

  Norfolk, Ulster

  Chapter Fifteen

  In the transit, the mood was euphoric. Barry, sitting behind Quinn at the wheel, brought them up to date.

  'The woman we're visiting is called Lady Helen Lang, originally American, but don't be fooled by appearances. She's killed several times. There's one wild card. She has a very big black chauffeur called
Hedley.'

  'Just another nigger,' Dolan said, and patted his ArmaLite. 'I'll take care of him.'

  'You've already made a mistake that could cost you your life,' Barry told him. 'As you all know, I'm an old Vietnam hand and so is Hedley Jackson. Marines, Special Forces, medals. This man could be bad news.'

  'So he's a bad nigger,' Dolan sniggered.

  'Your funeral, old son.' Barry produced a large-scale Ordnance Survey map and passed it back to them in the rear of the Transit. 'You'll find Compton Place there. Right on the edge of the sea. There's a village called Compton, but it's five miles away. One of those no-no places you find in the countryside, with a dying population of about fifty. No problem.'

  Mullen, a large, evil-looking specimen with a shaved head, said, 'This is a walkover, Jack, why bring us all along? You could do it yourself

  'Because she's invited me. I killed her son three years ago, a Brit officer working undercover. That's why she stiffed Tim Pat

  Ryan in London and my friends in New York. Now she wants me. It's a bit like one of those old Westerns on television where the hero says meet me on the street at dawn.'

  'She must be puddled,' Mullen said.

  'Five dead men, all killed with the same gun. That says she knows her business. She even stiffed two lowlifes on Park Avenue one night who were trying to rape some girl.'

  'We'll blow her away,' Quinn said. 'Her and the black.'

  'I sure as hell hope we do,' Barry said. 'I don't want her on my case for the rest of my life, and that's where she'll be if she isn't wasted.'

  There was a kind of regret in his voice as he said that, a regret he couldn't explain even to himself, and Quinn said, 'An easy one, Jack. We'll be on our way back before you know it.'

  'Let's hope so,' Barry said. 'Study that map. Just make sure you know where we're going.'

  It was late afternoon, with fog, and rain falling and the Mercedes passed through Compton, followed the winding roads through that ancient countryside. Hedley pulled into the courtyard and switched off. Lady Helen was already out of the car and unlocking the kitchen door. Hedley carried the bags in.

  'Now what?'

  'I'm going to change, then we'll get ready.'

  'Ready for what, Lady Helen?'

  'Jack Barry.' She raised a hand. 'Oh, he'll come, Hedley, he won't be able to resist. On the other hand, Charles Ferguson, Mr Dillon, Blake Johnson

  'Could arrive first and I hope they do.'

  She looked out at the fog. 'Don't be silly, Hedley. If they have to drive from Gatwick in this pea- souper, it will take hours. I'll see you in fifteen minutes.'

  In her bedroom, she undressed, took a one-piece jump suit from the wardrobe, and put it on. She found some elastic-sided ankle boots, then opened her purse and took out the Co She unloaded it, screwed the silencer on the end, then inserted the magazine again. She opened a drawer, took out four magazines and put two in each pocket.

  She was breathing heavily now, found her pill bottle, shook two into her hand, hesitated, then shook out two more. She went into the bathroom, filled a glass with water and swallowed them down.

  'What the hell,' she murmured. 'What does an overdose matter at this stage? It's all the same in the end.'

  She went downstairs and found Hedley in the kitchen, making tea. He was wearing a track suit. He handed her a cup. 'Ready for war, Hedley?'

  'It's been a long time.'

  'I suppose some things you don't forget.' She smiled. 'You've been a good friend.'

  'It's easy where you're concerned.' He swallowed his tea. "Hell, I even drink this stuff instead of coffee to please you.' He put the cup down. 'Still, if you're intent on seeing this thing through, I suggest we adjourn to the barn.'

  There, she didn't use the Colt, although she had it in a small holster at her waist. Hedley gave her a 9mm Browning pistol with a silencer on the muzzle and slammed in a twenty-round magazine which protruded from the butt.

  'I really feel I'm going to war with this,' she said.

  'Believe me, you are. Legs apart, both hands.'

  She worked her way across the target figures, shredding them. 'Oh, my word. Now what, Hedley?'

  He said, 'It's simple. We wait to see who gets here first.'

  The Transit pulled in by a pine wood overlooking the estate at Compton Place. The fog swirled, touched by the wind, giving occasional glimpses of the countryside below and there was the house and grounds and the sea beyond, and then the fog descended again.

  'Leave the Transit here,' Barry told them. 'Keys under the mat. We'll go on foot.'

  'We're with you, Jack,' Quinn said.

  'That's good to know. You can take point, as we used to say in Vietnam.'

  It started to rain as they went down the hill and approached the outbuildings. Hedley, on top of steps leading to the upper floor of the barn, had an AK47 with a silencer and a night sight. He focused on Quinn and pressed the trigger. By chance, Quinn turned at the precise moment to speak to Barry, and the bullet missed his heart and hit the stock of his ArmaLite. He staggered back.

  'Christ, Jesus.'

  'Down!' Barry called, and they all obeyed him.

  He crawled to Quinn. 'You okay?'

  'I think so.'

  'I recognized the sound. A silenced AK. I heard enough of those in Vietnam.' He spoke to the others in low tones. 'She's there and she's waiting. Take care. Now fan out and move forward.'

  The Lear jet went down and down, passed through fog at one thousand feet, then broke clear, Horseshoe Bay below, surf creaming in, a touch of early evening grey.

  Flight Lieutenant Lacey said over the intercom, 'It's not good. Half-tide at the moment. Better to abort.'

  Dillon and Blake in parachutes, jump suits, shoulder holsters, AKs suspended across their chests, glanced at Ferguson and Bernstein.

  The Brigadier said, 'Your call, gentlemen.'

  'What the hell.' Dillon reached for the lever and dropped the Airstair door. 'Who wants to live for ever?' He grinned at Blake. 'Hell, you're an older guy. You can go first.'

  'You're so kind,' Blake said, and as Lacey made a pass at eight hundred, dived out headfirst and Dillon went after him.

  The sky was turbulent, fog swirling to the horizon, the evening light fading. Dillon, aware of Blake in front of him, went down the Airstair door and allowed himself to fall, turning over in the Lear's slipstream. He pulled the ring of his rip cord, looked up and saw the plane climb steeply.

  Below him, Blake landed on the sand just in front of the surf. Dillon, further behind, plunged into six feet of very salty water, surfaced and ploughed forward with difficulty because of the parachute trailing behind. He punched the quick release clip, let the harness slip away and waded to the beach.

  Blake came to meet him. 'You okay?'

  Dillon nodded. 'Let's do it.'

  They went up the beach, paused in the pine trees, then started towards the house. They stood together, looking down, and there was a sudden explosion and smoke drifted up.

  'I'd say that was a smoke grenade,' Dillon said. 'Let's go,' and they charged down the hill.

  Barry stayed back, some instinct telling him to. Quinn led the others down towards the barn, and Hedley focused on Mullen and shot him through the head. Then he tossed a smoke grenade. The others flung themselves down and sprayed the first floor of the barn with fire. Hedley lay there at the top of the steps, head down, a round creasing his right shoulder.

  Lady Helen crouched behind him. 'Are you all right?'

  'Slightly damaged. Don't worry.'

  Barry said, 'Get on with it, Quinn.'

  Quinn stood up. 'Let's get to it,' he urged and they all stood and followed him. Lady Helen, behind Hedley, raised the Browning and fired it repeatedly, blowing Quinn away. They retreated, she reached down for Hedley.

  'Come on, inside.'

  Dolan and McGee crawled back. Barry said, 'Right, lads, into the barn. They've nowhere to go.'

  'Christ, Jack, it's a bad scene,' Dolan said.
'Walk in the door and get your head blown off.'

  Barry took out a Beretta. 'Well, you fucking well get in or I'll blow your head off myself. Go on, up those steps.'

  Dolan, terrified, started up, and Blake, arriving in the courtyard at the same moment, sprayed him with his AK, sending him headfirst to the cobbles below.

  Blake crouched, and Barry moved closer to McGee. 'Don't worry, we'll manage.'

  Dillon appeared on the other side of the courtyard and fired his AK. 'You there, Jack?'

  Barry called, 'So it's you, Sean. You always arrive too late.'

  Blake fired in the general direction of Barry's voice, and there was return fire. He felt a red-hot poker in his left arm and fell back. Dillon fired in reply, three rounds, catching McGee in the face.

  There was silence now, only the rain and the fog. Barry crawled forward, eased open the bottom door and passed inside. He saw her, up there on the barn platform, pulling Hedley back to safety, hay drifting down.

  'I'm here,' he called.

  She turned, dropping Hedley. Barry had his gun hand raised, as she pulled out the Colt without hesitation.

  His Beretta jammed. He worked the slider desperately and she took deliberate aim. And then something strange happened. She seemed to struggle for breath, staggered back and fell to her knees. Barry ejected one magazine, rammed another in and took aim, and Dillon burst in through the barn door.

  'No!' Dillon cried and fired, and his bullet creased Barry's face, sending him lurching back with a cry.

  Barry recovered, and fired back repeatedly, sending Dillon down, then vanished through the back door. There was silence. Dillon stood and went up the stairs.

  Hedley lay there, blood on his shoulder, Lady Helen beside him, face grey. Dillon kneeled beside her. 'What is it?'

  'My heart, Mr Dillon. I've been on borrowed time for a while. Did we get them?' Dillon hesitated. 'The truth now.'

  'From the looks of it, his gang, but not Barry.'

  'What a shame.' She closed her eyes.