She waited, watching the crowd, swollen now by late arrivals. Finally, Dillon emerged, pausing only to light a cigarette. 'Not a sign.'
'That's strange, he definitely went in.' She was aware of a sudden touch of anxiety. 'Let's see if he's in the ballroom,' and she led the way back.
Helen Lang's passkey worked perfectly. She was into Cohan's suite instantly and closed the door. It was very luxurious. An excellent bedroom and bathroom, a shower room and a superb panelled sitting room. The maid had drawn the curtains. Helen slipped through, slid back the French windows and stepped on to the terrace. Hyde Park was opposite, the lights of the city beyond. Down below, Park Lane was crowded with traffic. She felt strangely nostalgic standing there. It was raining slightly and she moved under the canopy, lit a cigarette and waited.
Cohan got out of the elevator and hurried along the corridor, his heart pounding. Christ, what's happening to me? he thought. I need a drink. He reached his suite, got the door open and moved inside. He opened the doors of the Chinese lacquered bar unit, poured a large Scotch, his hands shaking. He took it
down, then poured another. What in the hell was he going to do? He'd never felt like this ever. Everything was falling apart. It occurred to him then that the one person who could possibly tell him what to do was Barry, so he went into the bedroom, got his mobile from his travelling bag, returned to the sitting room and phoned him.
Barry, still at the safe house in County Down, said, 'Who is this?'
'Cohan. For God's sake, what's going on?'
'What do you mean?'
'Look, I spoke to the Connection. I know all about your escapade in London last night. I've had Brigadier Charles Ferguson and this Dillon guy on my back and they told me.'
'And what did they say?'
Cohan told him everything he could remember. 'The Connection said you were here to protect my back.'
'So I was.'
'Dillon said you were here to knock me off.'
'Who do you believe?' Barry asked. 'Your friends or that little Taig shite? We're in this together. We'll sort it together. When are you due back in New York?'
'Tomorrow.'
'Excellent,' Barry lied with his usual smoothness. 'There are things happening that you don't know about, but all your doubts will be resolved, I promise you.'
'Okay, okay,' Cohan nodded. Til stay in touch.'
'You do that.'
Barry thought about it, then phoned the Connection. 'I've just had Cohan on the line from London.'
'And?'
'He's coming apart. You've got to do something.'
'Such as?'
'Couldn't you arrange for him to be hit by a truck when he gets back to New York?'
'I'll give it my consideration,' Thornton told him, and rang off.
Cohan put the mobile phone down and picked up his glass. 'Why in the hell did I ever get mixed up in all this?' he whispered. He put the glass to his lips, the curtains opened, and Lady Helen Lang entered, the Colt.25 in her right hand, the silencer in place.
TEN
'What in the hell is this?' Cohan demanded shocked at the appearance of this grandmother-looking person with a gun. And she looked familiar somehow.
'Nemesis, Senator, that just about sums it up.'
'Now look here.' He was blustering now. 'If it's money you want...'
She laughed. 'No, that's not it. Remember those old movies with the highwayman demanding your money or your life? In this case, I'd prefer your life. I have money.'
Cohan was horrified. 'Who are you?'
'Sit down and I'll tell you.'
He subsided into one of the sofas, shaking like a leaf. 'What is this?'
'I think it's what they call in those old gangster movies on television, payback time.'
'But what have I done?'
'Oh, nothing personally. I'm sure you have clean hands, you're a typical politician, but you did connive, along with the rest of the Sons of Erin.'
Cohan had never been so terrified. 'Oh, my God, it is you! But why? Why?'
She took out her silver cigarette case one-handed, got one in her mouth and lit it. 'I had a son, Senator, a brave and gallant
young man. Let me tell you what his ending was because of the stupid fantasy games you and your friends got up to.'
When she was finished, Cohan was ashen-faced. He sat there, huddled in the corner of the sofa. She poured another whiskey and passed it to him.
'It's unbelievable,' he said.
'But true, Senator, your worst nightmare. I shot Tim Pat Ryan here in London, went to New York and got your friends Brady, Kelly and Cassidy.'
He swallowed the whiskey. 'What do you want?'
'Let's start with some questions. The Connection. Who is he?'
'A voice on the phone, I swear it.'
'But surely you have some clue?'
'No! He knows things, but I don't know how he knows them! He never says!'
'And Jack Barry? Where would he be?'
'Somewhere in Northern Ireland, that's all I know.'
'But you were talking to him, I heard you.'
'A special phone, a coded mobile. It has a number, but it can't be traced.'
'Really?' She picked the mobile up. 'What's the number?' He hesitated and she raised the Colt.
He gave it to her.
Barry was having supper when his mobile rang. 'Who is this?' Helen Lang said, 'Nobody special, Mr Barry, but I will be in
touch.'
She put the mobile in her purse, moved to the desk, quickly
noted the number on a note pad and put that in her purse also.
She had switched the Colt to her left hand so that she could
write, and Cohan, seizing his chance, threw his glass at her and
plunged through the curtains to the terrace.
It was stupid, really. He had nowhere to go. There was a small fountain, a fish spouting water, and a step beyond, the terrace wall. He peered over, looked at the ribbon of light moving along Park Lane, and below the ledge spotted an iron ladder going down, obviously for maintenance purposes. He quickly sat astride the coping, one foot feeling for the ladder, just as Helen Lang came through the curtains, the Colt ready.
'No, for God's sake, no!' he screamed, and then his foot slipped and he was falling.
Helen looked down, saw a sudden stoppage of traffic, horns honking, the sound drifting up. She turned at once, went through the suite to the door, opened it and went out. A few moments later, she was descending to the foyer. She walked through to the ballroom, took a glass of champagne from a tray held by one of the waiters by the door, and mingled.
Nemesis was the right word. It hadn't needed her on this occasion. Cohan had paid an inevitable price. Everything came around, a law of life. She hadn't needed to do it herself, only that it should be done. It was enough. She saw a great deal of movement down at the main door, caught a glimpse of Ferguson and Dillon and then was aware of a pain in her chest. She found her pill box, swallowed two with a gulp of champagne and walked towards the ballroom entrance.
'Perhaps he's gone up to his suite,' Dillon said as they finished their search of the ballroom, and then there was the sound of horns from outside the ballroom, a considerable disturbance. Hannah said to Ferguson, 'I'd better see what the trouble is, sir.' The traffic had slowed noticeably, and Hannah immediately saw the cause of it. There were people on the pavement surrounding a body, and a single motorcycle cop was standing beside his machine and calling it in. Hannah flashed her ID.
'Chief Inspector Bernstein, Special Branch. What happened?'
'I was just passing, guv. He fell from up the top, nearly hit a passing couple. The woman is in shock over there. I've called an ambulance and backup.'
Hannah leaned down and recognized Cohan at once. She straightened. 'I know this man, Constable, he's a guest at the hotel. You stay shtum, no answers to any questions, not to the press, not to anyone. This is a red alert. You know what that means?'
'Of cours
e I do, guv.'
'I'm going inside, but I'll be back.'
They checked out Cohan's suite, the three of them, with a decidedly shaken duty manager. Hannah said, 'Not a thing, no sign of a struggle.'
'I agree, Chief Inspector,' Ferguson said. 'But did he fall or was he pushed?' He turned to Dillon. "What do you think?'
'Oh, come on, Brigadier, who believes in coincidence in our business?'
'Yes, I agree.' Ferguson nodded. 'She must be one hell of a woman.'
'I'm inclined to agree,' Dillon nodded.
Ferguson said to the duty manager, 'Keep this suite locked and secure. You'll have police here to do forensic tests quite soon.'
'Of course, Brigadier.'
Ferguson turned to Dillon. 'You break the bad news to Blake, and obviously through him, to the President. I'll handle the Prime Minister.'
'The great pity it is, your knighthood going down the drain like this,' Dillon said.
Ferguson smiled. 'I always knew you were on my side, Dillon.'
In spite of the close proximity of the house in South Audley Street, Lady Helen had arranged for Hedley to wait for her in Park Lane in the Mercedes. She pushed her way out through the curious onlookers, passing what was left of Senator Michael Cohan. Hedley saw her coming, jumped out and got the rear door open. She got in, he climbed behind the wheel and drove away.
'Just drive around, Hedley, it's been a heavy night.' She lit a cigarette.
'What happened?'
She told him everything. 'So, Cohan's gone and I'm actually left with a link with Jack Barry.' She held up the mobile. 'I'll try him again, shall I?'
Barry grabbed at the phone when it rang. 'Who is this?'
'Nemesis,' she said. 'But first, some hot news. Senator Michael Cohan took a fall from the seventh floor of the Dorchester in Park Lane. I'm using his mobile.'
More than at any time before in his life, Jack Barry was shaken rigid. 'What are you telling me?'
'That Senator Michael Cohan is lying on the pavement in Park Lane outside the Dorchester Hotel. It's like a bad Saturday night in Belfast. Police, ambulances, onlookers, but then you know about this kind of thing.'
Strangely enough, Barry wasn't angry. He actually knew a kind of fear. 'Who in the hell are you?'
'Brady, Kelly, Cassidy in New York, Tim Pat Ryan in London, and now Senator Michael Cohan. That's who I am.' She laughed. 'That just leaves you and the Connection.'
Barry took a deep breath. 'Okay, so who are you? Loyalist freedom fighters? Red Hand of Ulster? Protestant scum?'
'Actually, it may surprise you to know that I'm a Roman Catholic, Mr Barry. Religion doesn't come into it and I'm surprised you say Protestant scum. You're a Protestant yourself.
So was Wolfe Tone, who invented Irish Republicanism; so was Parnell, who came close to achieving a United Ireland.' She was enjoying herself now. 'Then there was Oscar Wilde, George Bernard Shaw, Sean O'Casey, all Prods.'
He cut in, angry now. 'What kind of shite is this? I don't need a fugging history lesson. What's it about? Who are you?'
'The woman who is going to execute you, just like I executed the others. Justice, Mr Barry, is what it's about, a rare commodity these days, but I intend to have it.'
He listened to her soft, measured voice, entirely the wrong kind of voice for what he was hearing. His anger increased. You're mad.'
'Not really. You butchered my son in Ulster three years ago, and executed his friends, four of them, including a woman. You wouldn't remember, Mr Barry, I'm sure. You've got so much blood on your hands, it's hard to remember which corpse is which.' She was giving him too much information, but it was all right. A plan was forming in her mind.
Barry had never felt so frustrated. 'Look, Cohan's mobile is to use to you. It's coded. Any calls are untraceable.'
"Yes, but I can at least speak to you.'
"Okay, so what is it you want?'
"It's quite simple. As I said, you butchered my son in Ulster three years ago. I'm going to butcher you.'
He felt a sudden touch of fear again. 'No way. You're crazy,
lady!'
east I can talk to you when I want on this very useful bone. We could even arrange a meeting. I'll be in touch.'
'Anytime, you bitch. You got a time and place, just name it,' but she had already rung off.
Lady Helen said, 'Pass me the flask, Hedley.' He did so. She took a swallow and passed it back. 'Excellent. I feel great.' She got
out her silver case, lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. 'Marvellous. Drive round for a while. The Palace, Pall Mall.'
The rain had increased again, the wipers clicked backwards and forwards. Hedley cruised the traffic carefully.
'I like driving in the rain,' she said. 'It's a safe, enclosed feeling. It's as if the rest of the world doesn't exist. Do you like the rain, Hedley?'
'Rain?' He laughed out loud. 'Lady Helen, I saw too much of it in 'Nam. Patrolling in the swamps of the Mekong Delta, leeches applying themselves to your more important bits and those monsoon rains sluicing down.'
'Just hearing about it makes me shiver. Find a pub. I feel like a drink.'
Which he did, a very respectable place called the Grenadier close to St James's Place. They'd used it before. The landlord, Sam Hardaker, was an old Grenadier Guards sergeant and knew Hedley from his days at the Embassy.
'A real pleasure, Lady Helen.'
'Nice to see you, Sam. I don't expect you have such a thing as a bottle of champagne?'
'One in the fridge. Non-vintage, but Bollinger. Promised to a Grenadier Guards officer at the Palace, but he'll have to do without.'
She and Hedley sat in a corner booth, Sam brought the Bollinger in a bucket and produced two glasses. He uncorked and poured. Lady Helen tasted it.
'Heavenly.' She smiled as Sam filled the glasses. 'They say that if you're tired of champagne, you're tired of life.'
'I wouldn't know,' Sam said. 'Being a beer man myself.'
He retired and she lit another cigarette. 'All right, Hedley?'
He nodded. 'Just fine, Lady Helen.'
She raised a glass. 'To us, then. To love and life and the
pursuit of happiness.' He raised his glass and they touched. 'And damnation to Jack Barry and the Connection.'
Hedley drank some of his champagne and put the glass down. 'You wouldn't really try to meet that bastard?'
She lit another cigarette, frowning, considering the point. 'The only way to see him, Hedley, would be somehow to bring him to me.'
Hedley nodded. 'Okay, so let's say you brought him down just like the others. What then? That still leaves the Connection, and you'll never know who he is - none of them did.'
'Pour me another glass of champagne and let's take a philosophical viewpoint to all this.' She leaned back. 'Politics, Hedley, are responsible for so many ills. Take the situation we are so involved with. Forget about the Sons of Erin and the Connection. The whole thing starts with governments having a dialogue. Events couldn't have proceeded without dialogue between the British and American governments, the Prime Minister and the President and their cosy chats on the telephone.'
'So?' Hedley said.
'If they hadn't agreed to pool information, there wouldn't have been all that juicy stuff from the Intelligence Services for the Connection to poach.' She reached for the bottle and poured him another glass. 'So, where does ultimate responsibility lie?'
'I don't know what you mean.'
'Ultimate power, Hedley, holds the final responsibility in this case. If the White House was involved, ultimate power lies with the President himself.' She glanced at her watch. 'Oh, it's late. Let's go.'
Hedley handed her into the Mercedes, went round and got behind the wheel. As he drove away he said, 'For God's sake, what are you saying?'
'I've secured an invitation to Chad Luther's party at his Long
Island estate next week. The President is the guest of honour, I understand.'
Hedley swerved. 'My God, you wou
ldn't!'
She frowned, and then laughed. 'Oh, good heavens, Hedley, do you think I mean to assassinate him? Oh dear, oh dear, what must you think of me?' She shook her head. 'I haven't gone over the edge, Hedley. No, I meant that I could always discuss it with him.'
Jack Higgins - Dillon 07 - The White House Connection Page 15