Jack Higgins - Dillon 07 - The White House Connection

by The White House Connection(lit)

  What she didn't realize was that Hedley was close behind her. The sounds of pursuit faded, and she saw Thornton come out of the shrubbery in front of her and run, crouching, down to the water. He reached the wooden jetty by the boathouse, his running steps booming. He stopped at the speedboat and started to cast off the moorings, as Helen arrived.

  'Mr Thornton,' she called.

  Thornton paused, then turned, a Smith & Wesson in his hand. The image, the woman, standing in the diffused light, was enough.

  'It's you, you bitch.'

  'Yes, Mr Thornton, I'm afraid it is. Everything comes around. I believe you know what happened to my son. This is what you might call payback time.'

  'Well, fuck you.' Thornton arced and aimed his Smith & Wesson.

  Helen Lang reached in her bag to find the Colt.

  Hedley, close on her heels, slid in the darkness, over the stern rail of the speedboat, moved in behind Thornton and slipped on the wet deck. Thornton turned, raised his weapon to fire, and

  Helen shot him in the back of the head. Thornton went down on his knees and then fell forward. Hedley stood up.

  'Wait for me in the parking area. I can handle this. Just go.'

  She turned and ran.

  Hedley had examined the description of Chad Luther's estate supplied by his corporation's London office, and knew that there was a reef at the entrance of the bay that was only negotiable at high tide. Now it was low. He shoved Thornton's body over on to the stern deck, went into the wheelhouse and turned on the engine. When it was going well, he jumped to the jetty, cast off and let the speedboat go. When it hit the reef at the entrance of the bay, the force was so great that the speedboat bounced into the air and fireballed.

  There were cries of alarm from guests in the garden, shouts as Secret Servicemen called to each other. Hedley stood in the bushes as the President arrived with Blake and Dillon.

  'Oh, my God,' Cazalet called, staring out at the fire.

  Hedley faded into the shrubbery and started back, and a moment later was aware of a sudden cry, a woman's voice. Helen's voice.

  'Let me go!'

  'I need to look in your purse, ma'am.'

  It was Clancy Smith, holding her by the right wrist in the diffused light of a garden lamp.

  Hedley moved in, grabbed Clancy by the arm and pulled him away. 'You leave her be, boy.'

  Clancy said, 'Secret Service, presidential bodyguard. I'm doing my job.'

  'Not with this lady, you're not.'

  And Clancy, a Gulf War veteran, knew trouble when he saw it. He pulled a Beretta from his shoulder holster very fast indeed. To Hedley it was like grass blowing in the wind. His left arm moved with incredible speed, knocking the silenced Beretta to

  one side. It discharged with a muted cough. Clancy had never known such strength.

  Hedley twisted the arm. 'You were Special Forces, right?'

  'Hey, fuck you.'

  'You couldn't fuck your grandmother, boy. Now, me, I had three tours in 'Nam in the Marines. I made sergeant major. The Gulf War was a joyride. Now drop it.'

  Clancy Smith was a brave man, but the strength was terrible. The Beretta fell and Hedley turned him around, felt for the handcuffs Clancy carried, forced up the wrists and cuffed him. Clancy fell on his face.

  Hedley said, 'Don't take it personally. I've killed more people than you could ever imagine.' He turned to Helen. 'Let's go, ma'am.'

  They hurried away along the path. Clancy scrambled to his feet awkwardly. A moment later, two of his colleagues found him.

  Hedley handed her into the limousine, got behind the wheel

  and drove away. 'You okay?' She was catching her breath. 'Fine, Hedley. Back to the airport.

  Phone ahead. Tell them to be ready for instant departure to

  London.'

  He reached for the phone. 'You saw the President?'

  'Yes. A good man, Hedley. And a lucky one.'

  He said nothing, just made the call and replaced the phone.

  'So what was all the fuss back there? Who was that guy?'

  'That was the Connection making a very bad end. He was

  one Henry Thornton, chief of staff at the White House.' 'Good God!' He shook his head. 'That's unbelievable.' 'There's one more thing I should tell you. They know, Hedley,

  about me. The President, Blake Johnson, Dillon, Ferguson. It's

  all over.'

  He was horrified. 'But what are you going to do?'

  'We'll go back to Compton Place and review the situation.' She lit a cigarette. 'Drive on, Hedley, drive on.'

  She pulled out the coded mobile, phoned Barry and found him still in bed. 'It's me again,' she said. 'Just keeping you up to date.'

  He sat up, reached for a cigarette and managed to stay surprisingly calm. 'Good news or bad news?'

  'All bad, I'm afraid. Your Connection turned out to be a man called Thornton, the White House chief of staff. He enjoyed playing up-the-rebels because he had an uncle shot by the British after the Easter Rising, plus a girlfriend killed in a firefight in Belfast by British troops. Wrong place, wrong time.'

  'And how would you be knowing all this?'

  'Oh, he was run to earth by Sean Dillon and Blake Johnson. There was a confrontation at the party the President was attending. I happened to be in the garden at the right moment. I overheard everything.'

  'And Thornton?'

  'I shot him in the back of the head. Afterwards, he was blown to pieces in a rather large explosion. Does that sound familiar?'

  There was a long silence. 'Well, now,' Barry said. 'I guess that just leaves you and me. Where would you be now?'

  'Still in Long Island. I'm flying out almost at once to Gatwick, then home to Norfolk.'

  'Compton Place. I know about that.'

  'So I can look forward to a visit?'

  'You can depend on it. I'll come flying in.'

  'I'm so glad.'

  She put the mobile away and Hedley said, 'You're just asking for it, Lady Helen, and others could be coming looking for you, like Brigadier Ferguson.'

  'I couldn't care less, Hedley, as long as Barry finds me first.

  Just pass the flask.' He did so reluctantly. She shook a couple of pills into her palm and washed them down with whiskey. 'Good. Now get me to the airport.'

  On the terrace with the President, Blake and Dillon, Clancy told them what had happened.

  'Okay,' Blake said. 'He was big and black and he said he served in Vietnam?'

  'That's it,' Clancy said.

  Dillon turned to the President. 'It has to be Hedley Jackson. The final proof, I'd say.'

  Blake said to Clancy, 'You and the boys go looking.'

  'There's more than five hundred people here,' Clancy said.

  'Just do it.'

  Clancy went out. Cazalet said, 'What happened to Thornton — a convenient accident, wasn't it?'

  'If you say so, Mr President,' Dillon told him.

  'Except that you don't believe in accidents?'

  'Never did, Mr President.' Dillon smiled softly. 'And certainly not with this lady.'

  FOURTEEN

  Not long after Helen Lang had called Barry, Dillon spoke to Ferguson at Cavendish Square. 'I always seem to be phoning you at ridiculous hours in the morning to give you bad news.'

  'Tell me.'

  Which Dillon did.

  'What a mess,' Ferguson said. 'The chief of staff? Who'd have believed it?'

  'Doesn't matter now,' Dillon said callously. 'Cooked to a turn and I'm not sorry. He was responsible for many deaths, and in the case of Peter Lang, an atrocity of the first order. Heinrich Himmler would have been proud of him.'

  'Where is Helen Lang now?'

  'Blake's checking. I'll keep you posted. She certainly isn't here.'

  Ferguson put the phone down, thought about it, then called Hannah Bernstein. She answered astonishingly brightly, but then that was fourteen years of police work.

  'Bernstein? It's me,' Ferguson said. 'And what a tal
e I have to tell. Long Island has turned out to be the modern equivalent of a Greek tragedy. Sony, Chief Inspector, but I'm going to have to ask you to make an early start.'

  'Of course, sir.'

  'There is one thing. The Commissioner phoned me late last night from Scotland Yard.'

  'Trouble, sir?'

  'Only for some. You are now a Detective Superintendent, Special Branch.'

  'Oh dear,' Hannah said. 'The boys won't like that in the canteen.'

  'Let me be brutal,' Ferguson told her. 'Forget your Cambridge MA in psychology. To my knowledge, you've killed four times in the line of duty.'

  'Something I'm not proud of, sir.'

  'If I may stir your Hasidic conscience, Superintendent, Sword of the Lord and Gideon, those people were all worth killing. You took a bullet yourself and I'm damn proud to have had you work for me. Anyway, Kim can get scrambled eggs going and we'll wait together to hear further bad news from Dillon. I'll fill you in when you get here.'

  Blake came into the study where Dillon was talking to the President by the fire. Cazalet turned. 'Any news?'

  'On Lady Helen Lang, Mr President? Yes. She flew over here from Gatwick in one of her firm's Gulfstreams and landed at Westhampton.'

  'And?'

  'By the time I'd chased all this up, she'd taken off again just before ten.'

  'Destination?'

  'Gatwick.' Blake hesitated. 'What do you want done, Mr President?'

  'About Lady Helen?' Cazalet frowned, the tough, experienced politician in charge. 'If this comes out, the whole peace process can come toppling over. Let's be practical about this mess.

  Thornton's death can be dismissed as an unfortunate accident. A man tried to attack me, Thornton chased him, and they both died. Brady, Kelly and Cassidy already have explanations for their deaths. Tim Pat Ryan in London?'

  'A gangster,' Dillon said. 'And every other gangster in London wanted his crown.'

  'Exactly. As for Cohan -' Cazalet shrugged - 'I'm not going to shed tears over that bastard. So he'd had too much to drink and fell from the terrace of his suite.'

  Blake said, 'You mean it never happened, Mr President?'

  'Blake, it stinks, not only for the White House, but for Downing Street. We're all for peace and yet a thing like this

  'Sinks the ship,' Blake said.

  'And there's always Jack Barry.' Dillon lit a cigarette. 'The last man standing. Now, if he went down?'

  'It would be as if the whole thing really had never happened,' Blake put in.

  There was a pause before Cazalet said, 'That still leaves Lady Helen. She killed six men that we know of.'

  'I see,' Dillon said. 'You mean she must pay for sending out of this vale of tears a bunch of absolute bastards, directly responsible for many deaths and the appalling circumstances of her son's death.'

  'She broke the law and about as badly as it could be broken,' Cazalet pointed out.

  'I've killed many more in my time and sometimes for worse reasons,' Dillon told him. 'Come to think of it, you earned a few medals in 'Nam, Mr President, and Blake, too. What was the body count?'

  'Damn you, Dillon,' Cazalet said. 'Right. But it still leaves us with the problem: what do we do about her?'

  'She's out of your jurisdiction now,' Blake reminded him.

  'But she's still partly my responsibility.' Cazalet hesitated. 'Okay, get me Brigadier Ferguson.'

  A moment later, Ferguson was taking his call. 'Mr President.'

  'Dillon tells me you know the worst. The thing you don't

  know is that Lady Helen Lang has left Long Island in a Gulfstream

  for Gatwick. This is a mess, Brigadier. Let me tell you of my

  conversation just now with Dillon and Blake Johnson.'

  'So, it never happened, Mr President,' Ferguson said, his voice clear over the speaker. 'All right, I think I can work with that over here. But what about Lady Helen?'

  'I'm hoping you can think of something for that. You can speak to the Prime Minister, if you want. I'll talk to him later, but what we need is a solution from you. Tell you what. I'll send Dillon and Blake post-haste to London. I've got a plane here they can use.'

  'Leave it with me,' Ferguson told him. 'God knows what, but I'll come up with something.'

  Cazalet turned to Blake and Dillon. 'You heard. In view of what we've said, I think we can keep the lid on what happened here.'

  'I'll stay in touch,' Blake told him.

  'Minute by minute, preferably.' The President smiled. 'On your way, gentlemen.'

  The Gulfstream rose to fifty thousand feet and turned out over the Atlantic. Lady Helen Lang, an old Foreign Office hand, phoned the Ministry of Defence and asked for Brigadier Charles Ferguson, most immediate. She also remembered a code number from her husband's day. It all worked surprisingly well, and she was patched through to Ferguson at Cavendish Square. 'Who is it?' Hannah Bernstein asked.

  'Lady Helen Lang.' Helen smiled. 'Ah, I know you. That very nice lady policeman.' Hannah pressed the audio button and waved frantically to Ferguson. 'Are you there, Charles?'

  Ferguson said, 'This is not good, my love.'

  'Charles, insufferable as you are, I've always liked you, but for once, just listen. They've all paid the price. The chief of staff was a bonus. I didn't know he was the Connection. He tried to shoot me and I shot him. Not that it matters. He was blown to pieces in the end, in a rather large explosion. Your Mr Dillon was very kind. Told me it was all over. Tried to help. Such a nice man.'

  'In between killing people.'

  'My dear Charles, that's what you've been doing for years.'

  'Helen, tell me one thing. How did you know?'

  'Oh, that was poor Tony Emsworth. Riddled with guilt and dying of cancer. He had an illegal copy of the file from the SIS that told the whole story. Gave it to me just before he died. Everyone was in it. You, Mr Dillon, that nice police lady. Barry. The Sons of Erin.'

  'I see,' Ferguson said. 'So what now?'

  'Back to Compton Place. I've guests to receive, Mr Jack Barry and friends. He couldn't resist the invitation. I've spoken to him again. He's promised to come flying in to see me. I shouldn't think that means by scheduled airline.'

  Ferguson was stunned. 'You can't do this, Helen.'

  'Oh, yes, I can. He's the last one, the one who really did butcher my son. If you want to join us, Charles, you're very welcome, but if it's the last thing I do on earth, I want to face him.'

  Ferguson felt a chill. 'Why do you say that?'

  'My heart, Charles, it's not good. Amazing how whiskey and pills keep you going. Anyway, if I can't get him, I'm sure your Mr Dillon will.'

  'For God's sake, Helen.'

  'For my own sake, Charles.'

  She switched off, and Hannah said, 'What do you think, sir?'

  'Well, what do you think I should do? There isn't one fact, including the shooting of Tim Pat Ryan, which would allow us to arrest her even on suspicion.'

  'So?'

  'I'll be at Gatwick to greet her. We'll see then.'

  At Doonreigh, Docherty was having breakfast when his phone rang. Barry said, 'I've got a big payday, I want to fly to the North Norfolk coast. A village called Compton, a house called Compton Place. An in-and-out.'

  'How many?'

  'Four, maybe five. This afternoon.'

  Docherty hesitated. 'I don't know. There's military traffic in North Norfolk.'

  'Listen, you shite. There's ten thousand pounds cash in a supermarket bag for you in this. Make up your mind.'

  'Just give me time, Jack,' Docherty said. 'Let me check the charts. I'll be back.'

  'How long?'

  'An hour.'

  Barry slammed the phone down, and instead of reaching for a drink, poured a cup of tea. He lit a cigarette and stood at the window, staring out at the rain, but he wasn't angry, he was actually excited. What a woman.