Its me. Hows Hannah?
Well, the head tests are fine, so theyre transferring her back here for continuing care. The thing is, the traumas shes had in the last two years have really dragged her down. Her heart isnt good not good at all.
Is she receiving visitors?
Her grandfather and father. Theyre being sensible, not overdoing it. Its Dillon Ive had to have words with.
Ferguson frowned. Why?
Hed be round every five minutes if Id let him. In a funny kind of way, he seems to blame himself for Hannah being in this situation.
Nonsense. If theres ever a woman who knows her own mind, its Hannah Bernstein. Shes always done the job because she wants to do the job. Its everything to her. Ill look in this evening.
He thought about it for a while, then called Roper at Regency Square. Roper was permanently confined to a wheelchair as the result of an IRA bomb several years ago, and his ground-floor apartment was designed to enable a severely handicapped person to fend for himself. Everything was state of the art, from kitchen to bathroom facilities. His computer equipment was state of the art as well, some of it highly secret and obtained by Ferguson s liberal use of muscle. Roper was at his computer bank when the General called.
So how did it go?
Ferguson told him of his talk with Cazalet. Ive got Blake with me. Hes going to stay at my place for a day or two while we see if we can make any sense out of all this.
Blakes got a point when he said its as if it never happened.
And thats what Belov International is confirming by announcing Belovs visit to Station Gorky.
Well, one thing is certain. You know this goes to the highest level in Moscow, and that includes Putin himself. The worldwide economics involved are simply too important. Whatever has happened, theres bound to be a Kremlin connection.
Then cant you find out what? Dammit, man, there must be traffic somewhere out there in cyberspace that has something to do with it.
Not that Ive seen. Have we got anyone who could nose around at Drumore, do an undercover job? Pretend to be a tourist or something?
Hmm, thats an idea. If you see Dillon, mention it to him, would you? Ill see you later.
Ferguson sat there for a moment, frowning, then went to the small bar and helped himself to a scotch. Blake said, Problem?
Bellamy at Rosedene says Dillons going through some sort of guilt feeling over Hannah. Its as if he feels responsible for her condition.
Theyve always had a strange relationship, those two.
Ferguson nodded. She could never forgive him all those years with the IRA, all those deaths. She could never accept that his slate could be wiped clean.
And Dillon?
Always saw it as a great game. Hes a walking contradiction warm and humorous, yet he kills at the drop of a hat. Theres nothing I could ask him to do that he would find too outrageous.
Everything a challenge, Blake said. Nothing too dangerous.
And on so many occasions shes been dragged along with him.
And you think thats what makes him feel guilty now?
Something like that.
And where would that leave you? After all, you give the orders, Charles.
Dont you think I know that? Ferguson swallowed his scotch down and looked at the empty glass bleakly. You know, I think Ill have the other half.
Why not? Blake said. And Ill join you. You look as if you could do with the company.
Dillon arrived at Rosedene in the middle of the afternoon, parked his Mini Cooper outside and went in. As he approached the desk, Professor Henry Bellamy came out of his office.
Now, look, Sean, shes just been moved, you know that. Give her a chance to settle in.
How is she? Dillons face was very pale.
What do you expect me to say? As well as can be expected?
How is she? Dillons face was very pale.
What do you expect me to say? As well as can be expected?
At that moment, Rabbi Julian Bernstein, Hannahs grandfather, came out of the hospitality room. He put both hands on Dillons shoulders.
Sean, you look terrible.
Bellamy eased himself away. Dillon said, This life of Hannahs, Rabbi, Ive said it before, you must hate it. You must hate us all.
My dear boy, its the life she chose. Im a practical man. Jews have to be. I accept that there are people who elect to take on the kind of work that ordinary members of society dont want to, well, soil their hands with.
Youve seen her?
Yes. Shes very tired, but I think you may say hello, show your face and then go. Room ten.
He patted Dillon on the shoulder, turned away and Dillon passed through the doors to the rear corridor.
When he went in, the room was in half darkness, the matron, Maggie Duncan, drawing the curtains. She turned and came forward. Her voice had a tinge of the Scottish Highlands about it.
Here you are again, Sean. What am I going to do with you? She patted his face. God knows, Ive patched you up enough times over the years.
You cant patch me up this time, Maggie. How is she?
They both turned and looked at Hannah Bernstein, festooned in a seemingly endless web of tubes and drips, oxygen equipment and electronic screens. Her eyes were closed, the lids almost translucent.
Maggie said, Shes very weak. Its a huge load for her heart to bear.
It would be. We expected too much from her, all of us. Especially me, Dillon said.
When she was in last year, when that Party of God terrorist shot her, we used to talk a lot and mainly about you. Shes very fond of you, Sean. Oh, she might not approve, but shes very fond.
Id like to believe that, Dillon said. But lets say I dont deserve it.
Hannahs eyelids flickered open. She said softly, Whats wrong, Sean? Feeling sorry for yourself, the hard man of the IRA?
Damn sorry, he told her, and you putting the fear of God in me.
Oh, dear, Im in the wrong again.
Maggie Duncan said, Two minutes, Sean, and Ill be back.
She went out, the door closed softly and Dillon stood at the end of the bed. Mea culpa, he said.
There you go, blaming yourself again. Its a kind of self-justification no, worse, an overindulgence. Is that some kind of Irish thing?
Damn you! he said.
No, damn you, though thats been taken care of. She frowned. What a terrible thing to say. How could I? She reached out her thin left hand, which he took, and she gripped his hand with surprising strength. Youre a good man, Sean, a good man in spite of yourself. Ive always known that.
The grip slackened, and Dillon, almost choking with emotion, let her hand go gently. The eyes closed, and when she spoke again her voice was barely more than a whisper.
Night bless, Sean.
Dillon made it out to the corridor, where he leaned against the wall, breathing deeply. A young nurse pushing a trolley approached and paused at the door, glancing at him with a frown. She was pretty enough, high cheekbones, dark eyes.
Are you all right?
Her accent was Dublin Irish. He nodded. Im fine. What are you doing?
Seeing to the Superintendents medication.
I think shes gone to sleep again.
Ah, then it can wait.
She pushed the trolley away. He paused, watching her go, then made for reception, ignoring Maggie Duncans call from behind, went down the entrance steps to the car park and headed for the Mini Cooper.
Roper, having fruitlessly tried some obvious routes through the computer, sat back frustrated. Of course, the real problem was that he didnt really know what he was looking for, but one thing was certain. There was something wrong here. What was it Blake had said? It was as if it had never happened. But it had.
Time to get back to basics, he said softly, and called Dillon on his Codex Four. Where are you?
I was with Hannah at Rosedene. Ive just parked outside Saint Pauls.
Visiting the Holy Mother again, are we? How was Hannah?
Hanging in there.
Good. Ive had a call from Ferguson. Cazalet wants answers on the whole Belov thing. Hes sent Blake Johnson over to help, but its up to us, and Ferguson wants an explanation. Im going round to see the Salters at the Dark Man, so meet me there.
As soon as I can.
Dillon had parked outside St. Pauls Church, around the corner from Harley Street, for a reason. The priest in charge was a professor of psychiatry at London University, and was much used by people operating for Ferguson who experienced mental problems. This had applied to Dillon on occasion.
He went up the steps to the entrance and entered through the small Judas gate. There was a smell of incense, candles flaring beside a statue of the Virgin and Child, a feeling of being apart, separate from everyday life, the sound of traffic outside very remote. It reminded Dillon of the church of his childhood, in County Down, which was hardly surprising, for St. Pauls Church was Anglo-Catholic, the oldest branch of the Church of England. However, it moved with the times enough to allow priests to marry and to allow a woman priest, and there she was now, a pleasant, calm woman in cassock and clerical collar who had just opened the door of the vestry and was ushering a young woman inside.
She turned and there was immediate concern on her face. Sean? she said, then turned to the young woman. Go in for me, Mary. Put the kettle on. She closed the door and said anxiously, Is it Hannah? Shes not
No. Dillon put a hand up in a strangely defensive gesture. Very poorly, but not that. The brains been cleared, so shes been returned to Rosedene, but shes not good. Bellamys worried about the cumulative effect of all her injuries in the past few years. It seems her hearts not as it should be, but then, youd expect that.
She embraced him, holding him tight for a moment. My dearest Sean. You want to see me?
As a psychiatrist or as a priest? God knows. Isnt it what the truly wicked of this world do? Try and cover their backs? His smile was cold and bleak. Anyway, youre busy. Perhaps another time.
He walked to the great door and opened the small Judas gate. Its appropriate, dont you think, especially for someone like me? Judas was a political terrorist called a Zealot, and my branch of the great game was the IRA.
She shook her head gravely. Such talk is pointless, Sean.
He said tonelessly, Ashimov ran her down like a dog, quite deliberately. As I got to her, she was trying to haul herself up by the railings, and I told her, Youre all right, just hold on to me, but there was blood on her face and I was afraid. It was different. Special in the wrong way. When I was driving back to Rosedene with her in the seat beside me, I swore Id kill Ashimov if it was the last thing I did on top of the earth.