Jack Higgins - Dillon 07 - The White House Connection

by The White House Connection(lit)

  The President's plane lifted off at Westhampton. As always, Dillon was surprised at the luxury. The enormous club chairs, the maplewood tables. The flight attendant was Air Force, a Sergeant Paul. He brought coffee for Blake, a Bushmills for Dillon, and then the portable phone.

  'For you, Mr Dillon. A Brigadier Ferguson.'

  'Early breakfast, Brigadier?'

  'Shut up and listen,' Ferguson told him. 'I've had her on the phone.'

  'And?'

  'She found out about the whole thing from Tony Emsworth before he died. He had an illegal file. Had all of us in it, including you. The whole rotten details of her son's death, kept under wraps by the Secret Intelligence Service. Told me she shot Thornton before the explosion. She's told Barry she's going to Compton Place. She's pulling him in.'

  Dillon nodded. 'Yes, she would do that. He's the last, you see. Thornton was a bonus. Is she serious?'

  'She's told me she's got a bad heart,' Ferguson said. 'Pills and whiskey keeping her going, she said. She's hanging in there, Dillon. A marvellous woman like her taking on that swine.'

  'Hey, take it easy.'

  'You know what she said? "If I can't get him, I'm sure your Mr Dillon will."'

  'Really?' Dillon said, ice cold.

  'God knows what I'll do at Gatwick.'

  'I can tell you now,' Dillon said. 'Nothing, because she won't be there. Put the Chief Inspector on.'

  'All right, Superintendent now.'

  Dillon said to Hannah, 'You finally made it. If I said good for you, you'd say I was being patronizing.'

  'Get on with it, Dillon.'

  'I checked with the weather people at Westhampton before we left. Weather for the UK was poor. Big front, fog, Gatwick not too good. That's why I just told the boss she won't be there, but then I don't think she intended to. I think she'll land elsewhere.'

  'Right, I'll check on that.' 'You do. We'll speak later.'

  Docherty, on the phone to Barry, said, 'Okay, I can do it. The Chieftain again. Just like the guy we used last time. I've a connection in North Norfolk called Clarke. Ran a flying school at a place called Shankley Down, an old World War Two feeder station. The flying school went kaput. He's been doing illegal flights to Holland in a Cessna 310.'

  'I don't give a stuff if he flies to Mars. Is it on?'

  'Yes, I've spoken to him. Shankley Down is an hour at the most to Compton Place.'

  'Good. You're on. I'll be there in two hours.'

  Barry slammed the phone down, picked it up again and dialled a number. A voice said, 'Quinn here.'

  'Barry. I've got a hot one on, private flight into Norfolk and out again.'

  'For God's sake, Jack, Norfolk?'

  'What are you doing? Lying there like a gorilla in your own shite because the great days are gone? A two-hour flight to a very deserted airfield and two hours back.'

  'And in between?'

  'We do what we do best.'

  Quinn was excited now. 'How many?'

  'You, me, Dolan, Mullen, McGee. Are you with me?'

  'By Christ, I am.'

  'Meet me at Docherty's place in Doonreigh in two hours. If the boys can't make it, we'll do it together. ArmaLites and handguns.'

  'We'll be therejack, all of us, I swear. Up with the Sons ofErin.'

  He rang off and Barry said morosely, 'Right up,' and this time, he did pour a whiskey instead of a cup of tea.

  On the Gulfstream, Helen Lang listened to the second pilot's

  account of weather conditions in the UK. 'So, not good,' she

  said.

  'Oh, we can scrape into Gatwick, Lady Helen. Rather a lot

  of fog creeping across the country, but we can make it.' 'What about East Midlands Airport, is it clearer there?' He nodded. 'It would certainly be better than Gatwick.' It had been her intended destination all along, but she smiled.

  'Then let's land there. I'm going to Norfolk anyway. It would

  be quite convenient.' 'Whatever you say.' 'Radio ahead and order a limousine. We won't need a driver.

  Hedley can take care of things.'

  The pilot departed. Hedley said, 'You had it all worked out.' 'Of course.' She took out a cigarette. 'Light, please.' He gave

  her one. She sat back. 'I've only one regret. I'm not giving you

  a choice.'

  'Haven't had a choice since the day I met you.' He smiled.

  'Let me get you a cup of tea.'

  At Doonreigh, Barry arrived to find Quinn and the others already there. They were crowded into Docherty's office, checking ArmaLites and handguns and Docherty looked distinctly unhappy. There was a stir of excitement as Barry appeared, much backslapping and laughter.

  'What's it about, Jack?' Quinn demanded.

  Barry, as always, knew exactly how to handle the situation. What he was faced with was a group of men who would not have disgraced the Mafia, but as with so many terrorists in Ireland on both sides of the coin, they needed to believe they were gallant freedom fighters.

  'Comrades, we've fought shoulder-to-shoulder for an ideal of Irish freedom, and many of us have fallen by the wayside, and

  often it's been due to treachery and dishonesty. You never knew this, but I had a branch of the Sons of Erin in New York, a member in London. Four of them shot dead.' They were silent now. 'The person responsible was a woman. It's that woman we're visiting in Norfolk. Retribution, that's what it's about. We take care of her and fly straight back. Anyone wants out, say so.'

  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

  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