The President’s Daughter

by Jack Higgins

  “He wants me dead, he said so. He also said underground garages like the hotel’s were dangerous places.”

  “I think it’s madness,” Hannah said.

  “But that’s only because you love me, girl dear.”

  “For God’s sake, Dillon, can’t you take anything seriously?”

  “Could never see the point.” He smiled. “I’ve seen the President, and Judas knows that, so now he wants me out of his hair. A fatal error, not for me, but for him.”

  Ferguson’s mobile phone rang and he picked it up, listened, and nodded. “Right.”

  He turned to Dillon. “Sand-colored sedan by the elevator. Two men, one black, the other white and he has the wheel. Johnson says: When you’re ready.”

  Dillon took out his Walther, checked it, and stuck it in his waistband at the back. He kissed Hannah on the cheek. “We who are about to die and all that good old Roman rubbish. Just stick to the plan. It will work. The great Dillon is never wrong.”

  “Oh, get out of here, damn you!” she said angrily, and he did just that.

  Harker and Gold waited in silence. After a while, Harker said, “How long are we going to give this guy before I go upstairs? We could be here all night. You got the number of his suite?”

  “Sure, I tipped a porter.”

  At that moment, the elevator door opened and Dillon stepped out. He moved into the open between rows of cars and lit a cigarette, taking his time.

  “It’s him,” Gold said excitedly.

  “I’ve got eyes, haven’t I? I seen his picture.” Harker took out a Colt automatic and screwed on a silencer. “Here goes. It’s kiss-of-death time.”

  He opened the door, stepped out, and immediately took aim, shooting Dillon in the back twice. Dillon, driven forward, went down on his knees and fell on his face, the back of his jacket smouldering where the bullets had entered.

  Blake Johnson jumped from his limousine. “What’s going on there?” he shouted.

  Harker fired at him twice, but Blake was already ducking, and Harker leapt into the sedan. “Move it!” he snarled, and Gold gunned the engine, swung out into the aisle, and made for the entrance.

  There was total silence and Teddy was already leaning over Dillon, beating out the tiny flames. “Sean, speak to me, for God’s sake.”

  “I’m trying to get my bloody breath first.” Dillon got to his knees.

  Johnson was on his mobile. He switched it off. “You okay, Sean?”

  “Feels like I’ve been hit with a sledgehammer twice, but I’ll survive.”

  “Just hang in there. The ambulance is on the way,” Blake said. “I’ll call the Brigadier and tell him you’re okay.”

  Gold parked three streets away and Harker laughed excitedly. “Did I stiff that little bastard or did I stiff him?”

  “You certainly did. A pity that idiot happened to turn up.”

  “Ah, screw him. Where’s my money, man?”

  Gold took an envelope from his pocket and gave it to him. Harker grinned. “Pleasure doing business with you. I’d get moving if I were you.”

  He got out of the sedan and walked away through the rain. Gold followed him. No need to wipe anything, since he’d worn gloves. He walked back to the hotel, unlocked his car, and got in. A few moments later, an ambulance appeared and went in the hotel garage.

  Gold got his mobile out and called the special number. “Gold here, mission accomplished.”

  “Are you sure?” Judas said.

  “Two in the back. I saw him go down myself. An ambulance has just gone in to pick him up.”

  “Follow it,” Judas said. “Make sure and contact me again.”

  Gold switched off and as the ambulance emerged, turned his ignition key, and went after it.

  In the ambulance, Ferguson and Hannah watched as Dillon removed his jacket and shirt. The two rounds were embedded in the bulletproof jacket. Dillon parted the velcro tabs and Johnson helped him off with it.

  “You’re going to have one hell of a bruise,” Blake said. “Only two inches between them. That bastard is good. I’ve got a friend at the Washington criminal procedures department who owes me a favor to take a look at the garage security video. He’s going to see if he can identify the men, then he’ll erase our little comedy. All highly illegal.”

  “The fella at the wheel would be the Maccabee,” Dillon said as Hannah handed him a clean, checked country shirt. “Our black friend will be hired muscle. We can’t have anyone arrested, that would tip off Judas.”

  Hannah gave him a leather bomber jacket. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I could do with a Bushmills whiskey, but that comes later. Did you bring the makeup box from my suitcase?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “Good. I think it’s time for the second act, then.”

  Gold braked to a halt and watched the ambulance enter the District Three morgue. There had been no police presence, but then they would be back at the hotel pursuing their inquiries. He waited for quite a while, then took a deep breath, got out of his car, and went in.

  The night attendant was a black former Marine sergeant called Tino Hill. He’d known Blake from the old days, when Hill had been an FBI spotter on a monthly retainer to keep an eye out for bad people with their faces on posters.

  Blake, Teddy, Ferguson, and Hannah stood in the back office, the door slightly ajar. Dillon was seated at the table, the makeup box open, looking at himself in a small glass while he coated his face, first with a green-white base, then streaked it with false blood.

  He turned. “Will I do?”

  “You look horrible,” Hannah told him.

  “Good. Let’s see what happens.”

  “Are you sure about this?” Johnson asked.

  “I think Judas will want confirmation.”

  The outer bell rang. Johnson peered through the slightly open door. “That’s him, the driver. Do as I told you, Tino.”

  Tino went out. “Can I help you?”

  “Well, I don’t know,” Gold said. “My cousin was supposed to meet me outside the Charlton Hotel and he didn’t come and someone told me there was a shooting.”

  “Just wait a minute.”

  Tino went back inside, nodded to Dillon, opened a door and led the way into an air-cooled room with several surgical tables containing bodies, three of which were naked, the rest draped with sheets.

  “Ready for the pathologists in the morning,” he said. “Okay, Mr. Dillon, up you go.”

  Dillon lay on a vacant table and Tino covered him with a sheet, went out, nodded to the others, and confronted Gold.

  “Now let’s see.” He looked in his register. “You say near the Charlton?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What was your cousin’s name?”

  “Dillon.” Gold almost whispered it.

  “Hey, that’s the victim of the shooting at the Charlton garage. They just brought him in. Will you identify him?”

  “If I must.”

  “Okay. This way, and if you feel like vomiting, run for the green door.”

  In the receiving room, Gold paused, shocked particularly by the sight of the naked dead bodies. “Don’t look good, do they?” Tino said. “Comes to us all. Mind you, look at the size of the dick on the one at the end. I sure as hell believe he had a good time.”

  Gold breathed deeply. Tino slipped the sheet, revealing Dillon’s face only. His eyes were fixed and staring. He looked truly dreadful and Gold did indeed run for the green door, where he found himself in a lavatory, and was thoroughly sick.

  When he came out, Tino led him through to the front desk. “Can I have your details, sir? The police will need them.”

  “I’m too distressed now,” Gold said. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” and he hurried out.

  In the back room, Blake switched off his mobile. “I’ve got an unmarked car to follow him. We’ll leave him in place, naturally. If we didn’t, Judas would be unhappy, but I’d like to know who he is for future
reference.”

  “And the shooter,” Teddy said, “he gets away with it, too? A bastard like that.”

  “I know, Teddy, but guys like that could get it on the street any night.”

  Dillon came in, sat down, took cleansing cream from the makeup kit, got rid of the grunge on his face, then washed at a sink in the corner.

  He smiled as he toweled it off. “Frightened the bastard to death.”

  Blake’s phone rang. He listened, then said, “Thanks, owe you a favor.” He looked at them. “My friend at criminal procedures. He recognized the shooter at once, one Nelson Harker. The driver’s face was obscure. Harker is a number-one hit man, who frightens the hell out of people so much, no one will ever testify. He lives on Flower Street.”

  “Will you visit him?” Hannah asked.

  “One of these days. We’ll see. Let’s get back to the hotel. I’ll drop you off, then go home and pack. Ireland next stop.”

  His mobile sounded again on the way to the hotel and he answered. When he switched it off, he said, “My man followed our unknown to an apartment block in Georgetown. Mark Gold is his name. My secretary, Alice Quarmby, checked him on our computer, and guess what? He’s a Senior Computer Operator at the Defense Department, a very bright young man. His brother, also American, emigrated to Israel. He was killed in some Hamas rocket attack on the kibbutz where he worked.”

  “So Gold is a Maccabee?” Hannah said.

  “Undoubtedly.”

  He pulled in under the marquee at the front of the hotel. “I’ll see you at Andrews as soon as possible.”

  They got out and went in and Blake Johnson drove away with Teddy.

  Gold had left his call to Judas until he reached his apartment. The bodies at the morgue had horrified him, the sickly sweet smell of corruption.

  He had a brandy and made the call on the special mobile. “It’s Gold,” he said, when Judas answered. “I got access to the morgue. He’s dead all right.”

  “Excellent,” Judas said. “I’ll be in touch.”

  In her room, Marie de Brissac was having a rest, lying on the bed when the door opened. David Braun came in, followed by Judas in his hood. Marie sat up and swung her legs to the floor.

  “What do you want?” She was alarmed but refused to show it.

  “I just wanted to share some news with you.” Judas was laughing, she could tell. “Your friend Dillon was knocked off a little while ago.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “He’s lying in a morgue in Washington right now with two bullets in the back. He won’t be returning, Countess.”

  He laughed out loud and went out and she started to cry. David Braun put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged him off.

  “Go on, get out! You’re as bad as he is!”

  IRELAND • LONDON • FRANCE

  EASTERN MEDITERRANEAN

  EIGHT

  Dillon sat in front of the sink in the bathroom at Teddy’s apartment, a towel about his neck and shoulders. Teddy stood in the corner smoking a cigarette, and Mildred Atkinson was behind Dillon, looking at him in the mirror.

  “Can you do something, Mildred?”

  “Of course I can. Lovely face.” She nodded. “The hair, really, but I hate giving people black dye jobs. No matter how good you do it, it looks wrong. I mean, I adore this hair of yours, love,” she said to Dillon, “like pale straw. What I’ll do is crop it, crew cut really, and I’ll bronze it up just like the photo on the passport you’ve shown me. It’ll change the shape of your skull. Then the eyebrows.” She frowned. “Glasses are tinted, I see. I’ll check on what I have in my bag of tricks.”

  She picked up her scissors and started. “You’re English,” Dillon said.

  “That’s true, love. I’m from Camden in good old London town. Started in this game as a kid at Pinewood Studios.”

  “What brought you here?”

  “Love, my dear, for the biggest American bastard you ever met in your life. By the time I discovered that, I’d made my bones in the business, so I decided to stay. Anyway, stop talking and let’s get on with it.”

  Dillon sat back, a different Dillon staring at him from the mirror. Teddy said in awe, “You’re a genius, Mildred. The tinted glasses are just right.”

  She packed her bag. “Good luck, Mr. Dillon. The dye should be good for two weeks.”

  “Let me give you something,” Teddy said.

  “Nonsense, it was a pleasure.” She patted his face and smiled at Dillon. “Lovely boy, Teddy,” and went out.

  At Andrews, they parted, Ferguson and Hannah Bernstein first in the Lear. Blake, Dillon, and Teddy watched them go, standing just inside the hangar out of the rain.

  Teddy shook hands. “Well, it’s up to you guys now.”

  Dillon started to turn away, then remembered something and produced his wallet. He took out the sketch Marie de Brissac had made for him and unfolded it.

  “The President’s daughter did this for me. It’s the crest on the side of the silver lighter Judas used.”

  “Looks like an army divisional flash to me,” Blake said.

  “Yes, and as we know Judas served in the Yom Kippur War, it must be Israeli. A raven with lightning in its claws. Check it out, Teddy. There must be listings of Israeli Army shoulder flashes somewhere.”

  “Probably in the public library.” Teddy laughed. “Okay, I’ll take care of it.”

  A large black man wearing a standard airline navy blue uniform came across with an umbrella. “Sergeant Paul Kersey, gentlemen. I’m your flight attendant. I think you know the pilots, Mr. Johnson.”

  “I certainly do.”

  Dillon held out his hand. “Keogh – Martin Keogh.” No sense giving his real name, since he was supposed to be dead.

  “A pleasure. This way, gentlemen.”

  He held the umbrella over them and they crossed to the steps where the pilots waited. Johnson greeted them like old friends and made the introductions.

  “Captain Tom Vernon and Lieutenant Sam Gaunt. This is Martin Keogh.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Vernon said. “As you can see, we wear civilian uniform. We find it doesn’t pay to advertise. Usually this plane has a crew of four, but we manage with three. The Gulf Five is the finest private commercial airplane in the world. We can manage six hundred miles an hour and a range of six thousand five hundred.”

  “So Ireland is no problem.”

  “Good winds tonight. We should make Dublin in six hours.”

  “So let’s get on with it,” Johnson said. “After you, gentlemen,” and he followed the pilots up the steps.

  Teddy Grant, at his apartment, felt restless, unable to sit down. There was so much at stake, so damn much, and it was as if he was unable to do anything and that frustrated him. He looked at his watch. It was just nine o’clock, and then he remembered the sketch Dillon had given him. There were bookstores in Georgetown that stayed open until 10 P.M. It would give him something to do. He got his raincoat and went out.

  His sedan was an automatic and had certain adaptations because of his one-armed status, and he drove expertly through the traffic to Georgetown. He parked at the side of the street, opened the glove compartment, and took out a folding umbrella. There was also a short-barrelled Colt revolver in there. He checked it and put it in his raincoat pocket. Muggings were frequent these days and it paid to be careful.

  He pressed the automatic button on the umbrella and it jumped up above his head. He still had forty minutes before the stores closed and he found the area around which the bookstores clustered and went into the first one he came to.

  He found the military section and browsed through it. Most of the books seemed to concentrate on the Second World War, the Nazis and the SS. Strange the obsession some people had with that. Nothing on the Israeli Army at all. On his way out, he paused at a stand where a new book was displayed on the history of Judaism. He looked at it morosely and walked out.

  Although Teddy was a Christian, his grandmother on his fathe
r’s side had been Jewish and had married out of her faith, as the phrase went. Long since dead, but Teddy remembered her with affection and was proud of the Jewish roots she had given him. He’d never advertised the fact, because religion of any kind meant nothing to him, but the Jews were a great people. The religious precepts, the morality they had given the world, was second to none. It made him angry to think of people like Judas and his Maccabees soiling the very name of their own race by their actions.

  He tried three more shops before he struck it lucky. A small corner place was just closing, the owner a very old white-haired man.

  “I won’t hold you up,” Teddy said. “I’ve been looking for a handbook on Israeli Army units, divisional signs, shoulder flashes.”

  “Just a minute.” The old man went to a shelf, searched it, and returned with a small paperback. “It’s a series this company does. Armies of the World. They’re quite popular. In fact, I’ve only got volumes for the Russian and Israeli armies left. I must reorder.”

  “How much?” Teddy said.

  “Fifteen-fifty.”

  Teddy got the cash out. “No need for a bag, and many thanks for your help.”

  He walked back to the sedan in the rain, feeling elated, got in, switched on the light, and opened the book. It was mainly text with about twelve pages in color covering the shoulder flashes of various Israeli units. He closed the book. There was nothing remotely resembling the raven.

  He sat there, frustrated, and for some reason angry. He lit a cigarette and started to go over the day’s events, culminating in the attempted killing of Dillon. That Mark Gold had to be left untouched made sense, but Harker, an animal who had killed many times for money? That didn’t sit well with Teddy at all.

  “I mean, what was it all for, Vietnam?” he asked himself softly. “Did it produce a better society? Hell, no. Downhill all the way.”

  He opened the glove compartment, found his silencer, and clipped it on the end of the Colt and replaced it in his pocket. What was it Blake had said about Harker? That guys like that could get it on the street any night. Teddy smiled tightly and drove away.