The President’s Daughter

by Jack Higgins

  He adjusted them, bringing the images of the boats into sharp focus, the fishermen at their nets. It was the same with the Cretan Lover, Yanni and Dimitri working away in the rain. What he didn’t see were Blake Johnson and Aleko on the starboard side facing out to sea, slipping the Aquamobile over to float, half-submerged, beside the inflatable.

  He handed the glasses back to Raphael. “Stay alert,” then turned, walked to the end of the battlements, and re-entered the castle on the third floor level. Aaron put down the umbrella and followed him and, at that moment, David Braun came out of Marie de Brissac’s room with the dining trolley.

  “So, they’ve eaten?” Levy said.

  “Yes, Colonel.”

  Levy assumed his Judas identity again, pulled on the hood, and stepped into the room. The two women were seated opposite each other at the table by the window.

  “There you are,” he said. “The clock ticks faster and faster, but then, as Einstein said, all time is relative.” He laughed. “Especially when you don’t have too much to play with.”

  “How kind of you to remind us,” Marie de Brissac told him.

  “Always a pleasure to do business with a real lady, Countess.” He made a mock bow and turned to Braun. “Lock them up tight for the night, David,” and he went out followed by Aaron.

  There was a moment’s silence, then David Braun said, “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to return to your own room, Chief Inspector.”

  Hannah kissed the other woman on the cheek. “Good night. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  She walked past Braun into the corridor, and he said to Marie, “I can do nothing – nothing.”

  “Of course you can’t, David. Wasn’t it Kennedy who said for evil to triumph, all that is necessary is for good men to do nothing.”

  He winced, then went out, locking the door behind him, and took Hannah down the corridor to her own room.

  On the Cretan Lover, they had just finished getting ready in the cabin. Dillon and Blake were in the black jump suits, festooned with stun grenades and black packs containing extra ammunition and the Semtex door charges and a couple of quarter-pound blocks for emergencies. Each had a holstered Browning and wore night goggles pushed up on the forehead. An Uzi slung around the neck completed the picture.

  Aleko fastened a weight belt around his waist, and Stavros clipped an air tank to his jacket. “Anything else?” he asked.

  Aleko nodded. “Pass me that dive bag. I’m going to take them a surprise present. You said you’d be half an hour?” he said to Dillon.

  “That’s right.”

  “Then I’ll drop a little Semtex in the motor cruiser and the speedboat with forty-minute timing pencils. That way they can’t come after us.”

  He put some Semtex and timers in the dive bag and hung it around his neck. Ferguson picked up the heavy coil of rope the boys had prepared and draped it around Dillon’s neck diagonally to his waist.

  Dillon smiled. “Don’t forget to put the other flak jacket on, you old sod, just in case it gets a little warm later.”

  “Mind your back, Sean,” Ferguson told him.

  “There you go, on first-name terms,” Dillon said. “I mean, where’s it all going to end?” and he turned and followed Blake and Aleko out through the starboard sliding panel in the cabin wall.

  Aleko adjusted his air and went over the rail backwards. He surfaced and fastened the line to the Aquamobile. Stavros hauled in the inflatable, and Blake went over and then Dillon. They crouched there together, keeping low. A moment later, there was a tug as the Aquamobile took the slack and they moved away.

  The rain was relentless and the waves broke over the side, so that they were soon soaked. There was no light on the jetty, but lights up in the castle. When Dillon pulled down the night goggles, he could see the jetty clearly. They coasted in and beached, getting out and pulling the inflatable and the Aquamobile up on the sand.

  “Good luck!” Aleko whispered, and Blake and Dillon moved away.

  Aleko slipped off his jacket, tank and fins, swam alongside the jetty, then went up the short ladder to the motor cruiser. He took a block of Semtex from his dive bag, found a forty timing pencil, broke the end, and thrust it into the block. He opened the hatch to the engine room and dropped it inside.

  He slipped across the jetty to the speedboat, repeated the operation, then lowered himself into the water, swam to the beach to retrieve his jacket, tank and fins, and pulled them on quickly. A few moments later and he was making his way back to the Cretan Lover, hanging on to the Aquamobile.

  Arnold, patrolling the garden, was miserable and wet, so he went up the steps to the terrace and stood in the shelter of the portico. He managed to light a cigarette and stood with the MI6 slung from his shoulder, the cigarette cupped in his hand.

  Dillon and Blake, approaching the frontage, paused to take stock, their night goggles giving them a remarkably clear picture. Dillon, looking up, saw Raphael on the battlements leaning over. He crouched down and pulled Blake with him.

  “Hey, Arnold, are you there?” Raphael called in Hebrew.

  “Yes, I’m under the portico.”

  “And smoking a cigarette, I can smell it from here. Don’t let the colonel catch you. I’m going inside to do the corridor rounds.”

  “Okay.”

  Arnold stepped back into the portico and Dillon whispered, “I’ll go left and attract his attention and you take him from the rear. Don’t kill him. He’s too useful.”

  He slipped away, pulled himself up over an ornamental flower bed, and reached the terrace. He walked towards the portico, Arnold very clear in the night goggles.

  “Hey, Arnold,” he called in Hebrew. “Where are you?”

  “Who’s that?” Arnold called, taking a step forward, and Blake had him in the same moment, an arm around his neck, the other hand over his mouth.

  In the jump suit and the goggles, Dillon presented a terrifying spectacle. He took out his Browning, cocked it, and touched Arnold under the chin. When he spoke, it was in English.

  “This is silenced, so I can put one in your heart, kill you instantly, and no one will hear a thing. Now you’re going to answer some questions, and if you don’t, I will kill you and we’ll go and find your friend, the one we saw on the battlements. Do you understand?”

  Arnold tried to nod and Blake took his hand from the young man’s mouth. “I’d do as he says if I were you.”

  “Who are you?” Arnold asked.

  “I’ve come back to haunt you. It’s me, Dillon.”

  “Oh, my God, but it can’t be. The colonel told us you were dead.”

  “The colonel, is it now? Well, he’ll always be Judas to me. Now, answers. The countess, is she still in the same room on the third floor?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Chief Inspector Bernstein?”

  “She’s on the same corridor in the room you were in.”

  “How many are you? The same number?”

  Arnold hesitated and Dillon jabbed the Browning into his side painfully. “Come on. Judas and five of you. Is that it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who was on the battlements?”

  “Raphael.”

  “We heard him talking to you.”

  “You couldn’t, he spoke Hebrew.”

  “So do I, in a manner of speaking, something Judas didn’t know. Raphael said he was doing the corridor rounds. What’s that mean?”

  “What it sounds like. He patrols corridors and stairs.”

  “And the others, where are they?”

  “Braun is usually in the kitchen on the ground floor. He does all the cooking. There’s a small lift to serve the other floors. That’s how he gets food to the women.”

  “And the rest?”

  “The colonel is usually in his study.”

  “Which leaves Aaron and Moshe.”

  Arnold hesitated. “Aaron and Moshe?”

  Dillon screwed the silencer on the end of the Browning into Arnold’s neck.<
br />
  “I’m not sure. There’s a billiards room by the library, that’s off the main hall. Sometimes they play.”

  “Anywhere else?”

  “The recreation room on the first floor. Satellite television, that kind of thing.”

  Dillon nodded. “All right, so to get to the stairs up to each floor, we need the main hall?”

  “Yes, you take the stairs from there.”

  “Good.” Dillon turned him round. “Then show us the way.”

  They moved along the terrace through the rain and Arnold opened an iron-studded door leading the way into a corridor. There was a light on, another oaken door at the end.

  Dillon pushed up his goggles. “Where are we?”

  “The entrance hall is through there.”

  “Then lead on.”

  Arnold reached the door, turned the iron-ringed handle and opened it, revealing a massive hall beyond. There was a flagged floor, a log fire in an open fireplace, an array of flags hanging from poles above the fireplace, the ceiling vaulted. Why he did what he did next was probably a mystery to himself as much as anyone, for he swung the door back behind him and ran across the hall.

  “Colonel!” he screamed. “Intruders! Dillon!”

  Dillon pulled back the door and shot him in the spine. A moment later, a door opened on the opposite side of the hall, and Aaron and Moshe appeared carrying handguns. Dillon was aware of the billiard table in the room behind them and fired twice to keep their heads down. Blake backed him with a quick burst from his Uzi that sent them into the billiard room, slamming the door.

  “Here we go!” Dillon cried and started up the great stone stairway fast, Blake following.

  They reached the first landing and began to climb further. As they came out on the second landing, Raphael appeared at the far end, clutching his M16. He raised it to fire and Blake loosed off another wild burst that drove Raphael diving for cover.

  “Come on!” Dillon said and made for the third floor and Blake went after him.

  In his study, reading a book and drinking cognac, Daniel Levy was instantly alert at the first sound of gunfire. He opened his desk drawer, took out a Beretta which he put in the pocket of his jump suit, and picked up an M16 that was leaning against the wall. His study was on the first floor, and as he emerged, Aaron and Moshe appeared at the end of the corridor, having come up the back stairs. They were each holding AK assault rifles.

  “What is it?” Levy demanded.

  “We heard Arnold shouting in the hall. He called: Intruders. Dillon. Then we heard gunfire in the hall, went out and saw him dying, two men in black jump suits, night goggles, just like the SAS on a bad night in Belfast,” Aaron said.

  “Dillon?” Levy stood there staring at them. “It can’t be. Dillon’s dead.” And then some kind of comprehension dawned. “Berger, knocked down in London. Dillon – it must have been.” There was gunfire on the next floor. “Come on!” he said. “The bastard’s going for the women,” and he ran for the back stairs.

  Dillon and Blake hit the third floor fast and moved headlong, pausing at the door to the room in which Dillon had been prisoner. He kicked it again and again.

  “Hannah, it’s Sean.” He turned to Blake. “The countess is two doors down. Do it, Blake.”

  He heard Hannah call, “Sean, is that you?”

  “Stand back, I’m blowing the door.”

  He took a door charge from one of his packs, pushing it into the keyhole of the oak door, Blake doing the same further along the corridor. Dillon twisted the timer cap and stood to one side. Four seconds was all it took. The door rocked and splintered and he was into the room.

  Hannah ran to meet him and actually flung her arms about his neck. “I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my life.” The second door charge exploded and she said, “What’s that?”

  “Blake Johnson getting to Marie de Brissac.” He took his Browning from its holster. “Take this, we’re not out of the woods yet and there’s only the two of us.”

  David Braun had been sleeping in the small bedroom at the end of the third-floor corridor. He awoke, confused and frightened at the first sounds of gunfire, and dressed hurriedly. He picked up an Armalite which he kept by the bed, opened the door, and stepped out.

  The first thing he saw was Blake leading Marie out of her room, Dillon and Hannah Bernstein beyond. He raised the Armalite and hesitated, aware of the danger to Marie. Dillon saw him, cried a warning, and pulled the pin on a stun grenade and rolled it down the corridor. Braun jumped into a nearby alcove, and the stun grenade went straight through the archway at the end of the corridor and fell down the stairwell, exploding.

  At the same moment, Levy, Aaron, and Moshe appeared at the other end of the corridor and started firing. Dillon pushed Hannah back into her room and Blake and Marie de Brissac followed.

  There was silence, then Raphael appeared at the stairhead behind Braun. He called, “Raphael here, Colonel, with David.”

  “Good,” Levy shouted back. “I’ve got Aaron and Moshe here. There’s only two of them and they aren’t going anywhere. You hear that, Dillon?”

  “If you say so,” Dillon replied. “I wasn’t going anywhere in Washington, but here I am.” He rolled another stun grenade along the corridor and jumped back.

  Levy had already opened the door of the last room in the corridor and shouted, “Inside!” to Aaron and Moshe. They made the shelter of the room, and as he slammed the door the stun grenade exploded on the landing.

  Levy opened the door. “Not too good, old buddy. Like I said, you aren’t going anywhere. Hey, when you get time you’ve got to tell me about Washington. That must have been real slick.”

  He fired several bursts from his M16, clipping the wall by the broken door of what had been Hannah’s room. Dillon poked the Uzi out one-handed, sprayed along the corridor one way and then the other.

  He turned to Blake, who said, “Now what do we do?”

  Dillon put down his Uzi and pulled the coil of rope over his head. “A good job I brought this along, it’s our one chance. Everybody get in the bathroom.” Marie de Brissac looked dazed and Dillon said, “Move it, for God’s sake. Hannah, we’re running out of time.”

  Hannah urged Marie before her into the bathroom. Blake followed. Dillon fired another burst from his Uzi into the corridor, then put it down again, took a quarter block of Semtex from one of his pouches, jammed it on the windowsill against the bars, and rammed in a two-second pencil timer.

  He ran and flung himself flat on his face on the floor beside the bed. The sound of the explosion seemed to make the room sway, and when he looked up through drifting smoke the window, the bars, and some of the surrounding stonework had disappeared, leaving a jagged hole.

  Dillon ran to peer out and Blake joined him, the two women at his shoulder. “Forty feet down to the terrace,” Dillon said. “You lower the countess and Hannah one by one, then tie one end to the bed and go down yourself. I’ll hold the fort and follow when I can.”

  Blake didn’t hesitate, simply uncoiled the rope and tied a large loop in the end. As Dillon picked up his Uzi and reloaded, Hannah grabbed his arm.

  “Sean, you wouldn’t do anything stupid like going down with the ship or something?”

  He grinned. “Hey, genuine concern, and at this stage of our relationship?”

  “Damn you!” she said.

  “Already taken care of.” He ran to the door, poked the Uzi out again, and fired toward Braun and Raphael, who fired back instantly.

  On the Cretan Lover, they saw the explosion blossom in the night up there in the castle, and a second or so later, there was the hollow boom as it echoed across the water.

  “What in the hell is happening?” Ferguson said as he stood at the rail wearing the third flak jacket, a Browning in one hand.

  “Whatever it is, I’m going to be ready,” Aleko said. “We’ll move in close, a hundred yards from the jetty. Dump the nets, just cut them loose, and everyone make sure they’re armed.”<
br />
  He went into the wheelhouse and took over from Stavros. A moment later, the engines rumbled into life, and as the nets slipped away the Cretan Lover moved toward the jetty.

  Hannah went first, finding it surprisingly easy with the loop under her shoulder and the rough stone walls of the castle providing good footholds. She reached the terrace, pulled the loop over her head, tugged, and Blake pulled it up.

  He turned to Marie de Brissac. “How about it? You’ll be safe in my hands, I promise you. Just don’t look down.”

  “And we haven’t even been introduced.”

  “Johnson – Blake Johnson. I’m your father’s special security man.”

  “Well, it’s nice to know you, Mr. Johnson, but I’ve no problem with heights. The general climbed in the Swiss Alps every year. I was ten when he first took me with him.” She pulled the loop over her head. “Thank you, Mr. Dillon. I thought you looked like the sort of man who always comes back for the girl.”

  “In the last chapter only, Countess, and this isn’t the last chapter. On your way,” and Dillon crouched back as a storm of firing erupted in the corridor.

  Marie de Brissac arrived safely on the terrace. This time, Blake left the rope hanging and did as Dillon had suggested, tying the end securely to one of the massive legs of the old bed. There was silence for a moment, and Blake said, “What now?”

  “Give me your Uzi, then get the hell down the rope and start for the jetty with the girls.”

  “And you?”

  “I’ll lay down a suitable field of fire, then I’ll be down that rope myself doing my celebrated imitation of Tarzan of the Apes.” He shoved a fresh clip into his own Uzi and stood there, one in each hand. “Go on, Blake, get moving.”

  Blake couldn’t think of a damn thing to say, turned, took the rope in both hands, and went down backwards, and Dillon crossed the room, leaned out, and watched him go, for the rain had stopped, the clouds clearing enough to expose a full moon. In its light, he could see Blake descending and the two women looking up.