'And we'll return the favour to Don Solazzo.' Dillon shrugged. 'And by the way, no one "used to be" IRA. Once in, never out. I'm really bad news, son. You know why? Because I don't care whether I live or die.'
'Maybe I can do something about that.'
'The British Army and the SAS couldn't catch him in twenty years,' Blake said, 'so I doubt you'll have much luck. In fact, you're already running out of luck, aren't you, Jack? We know you front for the Solazzo empire. But you also have a personal sideline, a cheap liquor still in Brooklyn. Or at least you used to.'
'Hey,' Dillon said. 'Isn't that the place that got blown up last night? What a coincidence.' He smiled beautifully. 'Well, that isn't going to help the cash flow.'
Fox said, 'I don't know what you're talking about. That had nothing to do with me.'
'Oh, I believe it did,' Blake told him. 'And then there's all that family money you lost in the Asian banking collapse, money you didn't have the right to invest. Unless Don Marco knew and approved of it all? Which I doubt.'
Fox said calmly, 'What are you getting at
'That you're in deep shit with Don Marco unless you come up with some very considerable cash very soon.' Dillon smiled. 'And we intend to see that you don't get it.'
Fox turned to Falcone. 'Aldo, break this little bastard's right arm for me.'
Falcone moved forward, and Dillon's left foot flicked as he kicked the Sicilian under his right kneecap. At the same moment Blake took a Walther from under his jacket and laid it on the table. Falcone was down on one knee, grabbed for the table, and pulled himself up. Russo had a hand on the gun under his left shoulder.
Falcone moved forward, and Dillon's left foot flicked as he kicked the Sicilian under his right kneecap. At the same moment Blake took a Walther from under his jacket and laid it on the table. Falcone was down on one knee, grabbed for the table, and pulled himself up. Russo had a hand on the gun under his left shoulder.
'Is this what you want?' Blake asked. 'A gunfight at the OK Corral?'
'Not really,' Fox said. 'Let's leave it to a more appropriate time. Just go.'
'Our pleasure.' Blake stood up, and Dillon rose beside him.
'I have a line for you that I remember from some old movie I saw on television. To our next merry meeting in hell.' 'I look forward to it,' Fox told him.
They turned and went out.
Falcone said, 'They knew about the Depository.'
'So did a lot of people. It was an open secret. How many clubs did we deal with? A secret's only a secret when one person knows it.'
'You don't think they know about anything else?'
'No, they were just bluffing. Come on. We have to leave for London soon.' Fox drained the champagne in his glass and made a face. 'You know, that little bastard was right. This stuff is bad.'
In the bar at the Plaza, Dillon and Blake were sharing a pot of tea and Irish whiskeys when Ferguson and Hannah Bernstein appeared.
'My goodness,' Ferguson said. 'Here you two sit enjoying yourselves, when according to Captain Harry Parker somebody torched up Mr Jack Fox's illegal liquor still last night.'
'Do you tell me?' Dillon shook his head. 'Isn't that dreadful.'
Are you coming home, Dillon?'
'Why not? I think I'm done with business here for the moment.'
'I would point out that when I saved you from the Serbs and took you on board, I offered to dear your rather terrible slate.' 'So you did.'
'But, on the other hand, you still haven't learned to behave yourself.'
'That's the Irish for you.'
Ferguson said, 'Sean, you still work for me. Use your judgement, but please keep me informed.'
'Jesus, Brigadier, I won't let you down. There's only one thing.'
And what would that be?'
'I intend to totally destroy Jack Fox and the Solazzo family. In Ireland, London, Beirut wherever it takes me.' Dillon turned to Blake. 'Is that okay with you?'
'It sure as hell is. I'll see the President tomorrow and retire if I have to.'
Dillon turned and smiled at Ferguson. 'There it is, Charles.'
Ferguson smiled. 'Wonderful. Absolutely delicious.' He smiled, then didn't. 'In this case I actually approve of what you're up to. You will use Superintendent Bernstein as your connection. The full facilities of the department will be available.'
He stood up, and Dillon said, 'It's the grand man you are, Brigadier!'
'Well, I am half Irish.'
'I'll get on with it, then.'
'All the way. Finish Fox and the family.'
'Consider it done.'
'There is one thing. It's disturbing that Fox knows so much about us. What was it he said? You can access anything with the right kind of genius?'
'That's right.'
'Well, I know such a genius in London.'
Hannah Bernstein smiled. 'Roper, sir?'
'Exactly. See that the introductions are made at the right time, will you, Superintendent?'
She nodded.
'Good. Well' he stood up 'time to go. We'll see you later, Superintendent?'
They left. Dillon turned to Blake. 'You didn't figure much in that. What happens now?'
'I've got to clear myself with the President.'
'Then what?'
'Let's hit the bastard in London.'
'Sounds good to me.'
Cazalet had gone down to his old family house on Nantucket. Blake couldn't wait for his return, so he ordered a helicopter on departmental authority and flew down.
The President was walking the beach with his beloved flatcoat retriever, Murchison, followed by Clancy Smith. The surf roared, the sky was grey, a little rain drifted in, and the President read for the fifth time the fax he'd received from Harry Parker. There was a roaring in the distance. Clancy had a hand to his ear and mumbled into his mouthpiece. He looked up. 'Helicopter, Mr President. It's Blake.'
'Good. Let's go back to the house.'
They were halfway there when Blake appeared.
'Give us a little space, Clancy,' the President said.
They walked along the edge of the surf, Murchison running in and out. Cazalet said, 'Idiot. I'll have to hose him down.'
'I know. Sea water isn't good for his skin.'
Cazalet waved to Clancy, who lit a Marlboro away from the wind and handed it over.
Cazalet passed the fax to Blake. 'I'm afraid I leaned on your friend Harry Parker. I asked what was happening with this whole unhappy business.'
'And he told you.' Blake smiled. 'Well, he would. After all, I placed him under Presidential warrant. So, you know everything, Mr President.'
'Yes. A bad business. But it's wonderful that Brigadier Ferguson and Superintendent Bernstein flew over to support you.'
'And Sean Dillon.'
'As always!' Cazalet smiled. 'You know, it's a remarkable coincidence, that fire destroying Fox's warehouse like that.'
'Mr President.
'No, Blake, let me speak. You've been looking tired lately. I think you need a break. Let's see what a month does. You should travel. Get to London, Europe. See some sights. Hmmm? Any departmental facilities you need are yours.'
'What can I say, Mr President?'
Cazalet said, face hard, 'Nothing at all. If you and Dillon can take those bastards down, then it'll be better for all of us.' He smiled crookedly. 'However, it would seriously inconvenience me if you didn't return from your vacation in one piece.'
'Yes, Mr President. I'll see to it.'
'Good.' Cazalet flicked his cigarette into the surf. 'Now, come back to the house for lunch and then, on your way.'
At Don Marco's apartment at Trump Tower, the old man listened as Falcone related what had happened at the Four Seasons.
Don Marco nodded. 'What does my nephew intend?'
'We're going to London, landing at Heathrow.'
'He's using the Gulfstream?'
'Yes, Signore.' Falcone hesitated. 'You don't know this?'
'Oh, I'm sure he'll tell me when he's ready. You have my coded mobile number. Keep me informed. I wish to know what he's up to at all times.'
He held out his hand, Falcone kissed it and withdrew. Don Marco rose, went to the piano, and picked up a photo of Jack Fox, the war hero in his Marine uniform.
'What a pity,' he said softly. 'All the virtues, as well as vanity and stupidity.'
He replaced the photo on the piano and went out.
5
LONDON
The following morning, Ferguson's plane landed at Farley Field, with the usual pilots, Flight Lieutenants Lacey and Parry, in the cockpit. A Flight Sergeant Madoc had also been on board, to see to the passengers' wants.
It was March weather again, the rain driving in towards the waiting Daimler. Madoc produced an umbrella as the four of them Ferguson, Dillon, Bernstein and Johnson went down the steps and led the way. They scrambled into the Daimler, and Ferguson leaned out to the two pilots.
'It could be a busy time ahead, so don't make plans.'
They both smiled. 'Excellent, sir,' Lacey said.
'Just one thing, Lacey. I do think you should wear correct uniform.'
Lacey was staggered. 'Brigadier?'
Lacey was staggered. 'Brigadier?'
'Check the promotions list out today. I put you up for Squadron Leader, and for once the Ministry of Defence has acted sensibly. In addition, in view of recent hazardous pursuits at my behest, you've both been awarded the Air Force Cross.'
They stared at him. 'Good God, sir,' Parry said. 'Sincere thanks.'
'Nonsense. Go and have a drink on it.'
Ferguson closed the door, and the chauffeur drove away. Dillon said, 'I always knew it. At heart, you're a sentimentalist.'
'Don't be stupid, Dillon, they've earned it.' Ferguson turned to Hannah. 'We'll drop these two off at Dillon's house, then carry on to my place in Cavendish Square. I suggest you contact Roper as soon as possible to arrange a meeting.'
Blake said, 'Could someone tell me about this Roper guy?'
'Well, you recall the White House Connection and Lady Helen Grant? She wanted to know how to work the computer field in a nefarious way,'Hannah told him. 'She asked the London branch of her organization for help and they sent Roper.'
'A remarkable man,' Ferguson said. 'He was a captain in the Royal Engineers, a bomb disposal expert, awarded the Military Cross and the George Cross, and then he got careless. A silly little car bomb in Belfast ended him up in a wheelchair. Computers became a whole new career for him,and he proved to have a real genius for them. As Lady Helen Grant found out.'