Blake shook hands. How are you, my fine Irish friend?
All the better for seeing you. The right royal treatment youre getting, Ferguson sending the Daimler.
They climbed in the back and the chauffeur drove away. Blake said, So how are things?
Pretty warm since Ferguson heard from the President. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Blake, but that was a close call.
You know how it is, Sean, youve been there. I remember how you saved President Clinton and Prime Minister Major on that Thames riverboat years back, and took a knife in the back for your trouble.
From Norah Bell, the original bitch and worse than any man, and it took a decent woman like Hannah Bernstein to shoot her dead.
How is Hannah?
Wonderful, as usual. If she didnt work for Ferguson, I think shed have been Chief Superintendent by now or even Commander at Scotland Yard.
But she loves you all too much to move on?
Blake, shes still trying to reform the lot of us. You know her grandfather is a rabbi. Its that moral perception of hers. Shes been shot to bits, had her life shortened in any number of ways, and still hangs in there trying to keep Ferguson and me in check.
And fails in that respect. It was a statement, not a question.
Dillon said, Blake, the worlds gone to hell in a handbasket. Terrorism, Al Qaeda, all that stuff since nine-eleven, has changed everything. It cant be combated by the old-fashioned rules of war. It isnt like that.
I agree. Blake shrugged. A few years ago, Id never have said that, in spite of what I had to do during my time in Vietnam. I believed in the decencies, the rule of law, justice, all that stuff. But the people we have to deal with these days there are no rules as far as theyre concerned, so there are no rules as far as Im concerned. Ill take them down any way I can.
Good man yourself, I couldnt agree more. Dillon lit another cigarette. I speak Arabic, you know that, and Ive spent my share of time in the Middle East. Even worked for the PLO in the old days when I was a naughty boy, and I think I know the Arab mind a bit. Most Muslims in the States or the UK are decent people, interested only in making a living and raising their families, but theres a few of them who have a different political agenda, and its dealing with them thats the problem.
Take Morgan. English father, Muslim mother, raised a Christian, Blake said. I know what happened to his parents, his mother returning to the Islamic faith and Morgan finding that same faith himself. But what turned him into the assassin who tried to take out the President?
Well, thats what youre here to find out, Dillon told him. And Ferguson, Hannah and Roper are waiting at Cavendish Place to discuss it with you.
The Embassy of the Russian Federation is situated in Kensington Palace Gardens and it was typical November weather, rain falling, when Greta Novikova emerged through the main gates and paused at the edge of the pavement, waiting for the traffic to pass.
She was a small girl, unmistakably Slavic, with black hair to her shoulders, dark intense eyes, and high cheekbones, and she wore an ankle-length coat in soft black leather over a black Armani suit. She would have made heads turn anywhere. She was a commercial attaché at the embassy and had the degree to prove it, but in fact, at thirty-five years old she was a major in the GRU, Russian Military Intelligence.
She crossed the road during a break in the traffic and entered the pub opposite. Early lunchtime it wasnt very busy, but the man she was seeking was at the far end of the bar in the window seat reading the London Times.
He was a couple of inches short of six feet, and wore a fawn raincoat over a dark wool suit. His hair was close-cropped, and a scar ran from the bottom of his left eye to the corner of his mouth. The eyes were cold and watchful, and the face powerful. The face of a soldier, which in a way he had been. A man of forty-five who had joined the KGB at twenty and had made major when he had moved on to other things. Afghanistan, Chechnya, Iraq in the old days hed seen it all. His name was Yuri Ashimov.
He stood up and kissed her on both cheeks and spoke to her in Russian. Greta, more lovely than usual. A drink?
Ill have a vodka with you.
He went to the bar, ordered two, brought them back, sat down, took out a pack of Russian cigarettes and lit one.
So, as nothing incredibly shocking has happened in New York, you must have a story for me.
Not a thing, she said.
Come on, Greta, GRU handles all things Arabic and Muslim. There has to be something.
Thats the point. There isnt. The President didnt keep his damned appointment with Senator Black. After the function at the Pierre, he went straight to Washington.
And Morgan?
Certainly went to Gould amp; Co. as usual. One of our New York associates confirmed this. The only unusual activity was some sort of paramedic ambulance going down into the underground parking lot. It left half an hour later.
Did our associate follow?
He deemed it unwise.
I should bloody well think so. It stinks.
Do you think they got him?
Sounds likely. But if they have, they wont let on, and it wont affect us anyway. There were no direct contacts.
Greta nodded. I think theyd want him alive to see what he had to say. On the other hand, our American friends are a lot lighter on the trigger these days and he did have the cyanide tooth.
Alive or dead, they wont advertise the fact. What about the mother?
I called yesterday, as you suggested. Brought flowers and a basket of fruit, supposedly from friends at the mosque.
How was she?
Faded slightly confused as usual. She told me everyone at the mosque was so kind, Dr. Selim was fantastic. And she mentioned that someone from the Council Welfare Department had visited her. A woman, apparently.
Ashimov frowned. Why would the Welfare Department visit her?
Because shes handicapped?
Rubbish. Her sons well enough off. Why would Welfare visit? He shook his head. I dont like it. Did she say if they would visit again?
I dont know.
Be there, Greta. Just in case. If somebody turns up, I want a photo. I get an instinct for things.
Which is why youre still here, my love.
True. But something here isnt right. Lets try and find out what it is.
At Cavendish Place, Dillon and Blake were admitted by Kim, the Generals Ghurka manservant, and found Ferguson, Hannah Bernstein and Roper in the drawing room. Ferguson was in his sixties, a large, untidy man in a crumpled suit and a Guards tie. Hannah Bernstein was in her early thirties, with close-cropped red hair and horn-rimmed spectacles. Her Armani trouser suit was certainly more expensive than most people could afford on police pay. Major Roper sat in a state-of-the-art electric wheelchair, wearing a reefer coat, hair down to his shoulders, his face a taut mask of the kind of scar tissue that comes from burns, the explosion that had ended his career.
Here he is, the man of the moment, Dillon said. Im sure hell give it to us in graphic detail, which Blake did, everything that had happened in Manhattan.
Afterward, Blake said, So there it is. For the disposal system, Im indebted to you, General. Were fighting a new kind of war these days, although I can understand Hannahs moral principles being bruised a bit.
Bruised or not, the Superintendent works for this department under the Official Secrets Act. Isnt that right? Ferguson glanced at her.
Hannah didnt look easy, but said, Of course, sir.
Good. Tell us about Mrs. Morgan, then.
Shes sixty-five and looks much older. I managed to get hold of her hospital records, and its bad. The automobile accident that killed her husband almost finished her off. She narrowly avoided being a paraplegic, but she has money. Her husband owned a pharmacy, which was sold after his death, and there was insurance, so shes well-fixed.
Go on.
Her family disowned her when she married a Christian, but now shes returned to Islam, as you know. Her son started taking her to the Queen Street Mosque in her wheelchair. It used to be a Methodist chapel.
And he turned, too?
Apparently.
Blake said, That really interests me, the idea of a highly educated man, ostensibly English for thirty years of his life, a university academic, turning to a faith hed never accepted before in his life.
And then ending up in Manhattan with the intention of killing the President, Dillon said.
Which makes me wonder what goes on at the Queen Street Mosque, Blake said. Some of these places are hotbeds of intrigue, pump out the wrong ideas. Sure, we finally captured Saddam in Iraq. But how long ago was that and how many terrorist attacks have there been since?
Ferguson said, In his last message, Bin Laden spoke of his young extremists as being soldiers of God, and what concerns us is that young men from this country could be among them. It makes places like the Queen Street Mosque of special interest.
Hannah said, If youre looking for suicide bombers, though, it doesnt seem like the place. She opened a file and passed it across. Dr. Ali Selim, the imam. Forty-five, born in London, father a doctor from Iraq who sent the boy to St. Paul s School, one of our better establishments. Selim went to Cambridge, studied Arabic, and later took a doctorate in comparative theology.
Blake looked at the file, particularly the photo. Impressive. I like the beard. He passed the file to the others.
Hannah said, Hes a member of the Muslim Council, the Mayor of Londons Interfaith Committee, and any number of government boards. Everyone I speak to tells me hes a wonderful man.
Maybe hes too wonderful, Dillon said.
Ive checked with the local police. Not a hint of trouble at the Queen Street Mosque.
There was a pause, and Ferguson turned to Roper. Have you any thoughts, Major?
I can only process facts, opinions, suppositions. Unless I have something to go on, I cant help.
Well, Ill give you something, Blake said. And its been intriguing the hell out of me. Does the Wrath of Allah mean anything to you?
Should it?
When Clancy and I faced Morgan, in the moment before he bit on the cyanide tooth, Morgan said, Beware the Wrath of Allah.