The President's Daughter (14 page)

Teddy said, “I’ll make some coffee.”

Dillon glanced at his watch. “It’s been an hour. What the hell. I say we access the Defense Department’s
computer and ask the same question. Let’s get on with it.”

Blake Johnson glanced at the President, and Jake Cazalet said, “Go for broke, Blake.”

Blake got up and went out. Dillon said, “Right, let’s clear the table and you do the coffee, Teddy, though I’d rather have a teabag myself.”

He and Hannah cleared and had barely finished when Blake returned. “I accessed on the joint plan Langley, FBI, and the Defense Department. Totally negative response on Judas and the Maccabees.”

“So now we wait,” Ferguson said.

Teddy produced the coffee and Dillon’s tea, and they all sat down again at the kitchen table. It was quiet, very quiet and Jake Cazalet said, “It’s no good, nothing’s happening.”

The phone rang.

Judas said to Dillon, “Hey, old buddy, you tried me out and didn’t find me wanting. Just like London, you access those computer systems looking for me and my people and I’ll know.”

“Stuff you, you’re a bloody sadist.” Dillon deliberately made himself sound outraged and frustrated.

“Don’t lose your cool, old buddy. Just tell the President that now he knows the score. If he tries to involve security forces in this, his daughter dies instantly. If he refuses to sign Nemesis, she dies.”

“You’re crazy,” Dillon said.

“No, just practical. Give the President my best.”

Judas switched off and Dillon turned to Hannah. “You’re a bloody genius. He doesn’t know the Basement exists. What’s just happened is proof.”

“Okay,” Blake Johnson said. “So the situation is something like this. The Basement computer is clear,
although there’s no information on him. If we try the other main security services, he knows, and knows very quickly.”

“And we’ve had our two goes,” Dillon said. “If we try to involve any of the other security services, he’ll kill Marie.”

“And you believe that?” the President said.

“I’ve never been more certain.”

“But he can’t access our telephone systems, and that includes mobiles if we persist in using Codex Four systems,” Hannah said. “So at least we can have closed communication.”

“That’s true,” Ferguson agreed.

“But any whiff on any regular communication circuit and we’ve had it,” Blake Johnson said. “Frankly, Mr. President, the fact that when I accessed such sensitive areas as those security computers, he knew in less than half an hour, really does show the power of the Maccabee organization. I believe that if we do try to involve the CIA and other institutions, the odds are that he will know.”

“But what can I do?” the President demanded. “I’m already breaking every damn rule in the book, all protocol, by not informing the Secretary of State and the Joint Chiefs, not to say the heads of the CIA and FBI.”

“Exactly,” Blake said, “which is why one of your predecessors invented the Basement. We can’t trust anyone, that’s the point.”

“Fine, but there is another point. I’ll hit Arab terrorists hard if they merit it and if I have to, but I can’t in all conscience sign Nemesis when the Committee meets next week. I mean, what do I do?”

There was stillness and, for some reason, it was Dillon they turned to. He said, “There could be a way forward
if we move fast, but the next step is me catching my death, according to Judas. I think that’s rather a good idea.”

“What on earth do you mean?” Ferguson asked.

“I’ll take my chances when we get back to Washington. I’ll wear a bullet-proof vest.”

“Not much good if the shooter goes for a headshot,” Johnson said.

“Well, you take a chance every day of your life.”

“Then what, Mr. Dillon?” Cazalet asked.

“I used to be a student at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in London, Mr. President. I even acted with the National Theatre. I’ve always had an ability to change and not just with makeup. Let me show you. Here, give me your glasses, Teddy.”

Teddy handed them over and Dillon went out and closed the door. When it opened again, he shuffled in, limping heavily on the right leg, his head slightly down, a look of pain on his face, but it wasn’t just that, not only the glasses. His body language had changed. It was as if he had become another person.

“Good God,” the President said. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

“The Man of a Thousand Faces he was called in international intelligence circles,” Ferguson said. “On the run in Ireland twenty years with the IRA and we never touched his collar once.”

“Once I’m officially dead in Washington, I’ll change,” Dillon said, “dye my hair a different color, tinted glasses, perhaps cheek pouches, we’ll see. Another passport, of course, but no problem. I always carry two or three with me, and makeup according to the photo on whichever I choose.”

“If you need help, I have a friend who lives in my apartment block,” Teddy said. “Mildred Atkinson. She
does makeup for a lot of the big stars. She was telling me she did DeNiro last week.”

“Is she safe?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, I’ll see.”

Hannah said, “As regards general security, we only have five days anyway before the Future Projects Committee meets.”

“So what happens?” the President said.

“The heart of the problem is quite simple,” Dillon told him. “Where is she being held? All I know definitely is that it’s within twelve hours by boat from Sicily.”

“Yes, but you can’t account for those twelve hours,” Ferguson said. “It could be less than that.”

“Yes, but if we accept twelve hours maximum, within the range could be Corsica if we went west, the Tunisian or Egyptian coasts, Italy, Greece, Turkey.”

“Have you missed anything?” Johnson said ironically.

“God knows. Marie told me that when David Braun kidnapped her in Corfu, he said she was going for a little plane ride.”

There was a pause. The President said, “Okay, you end up dead, you change your identity. Then what?”

“The Brigadier and the Chief Inspector go home in the Lear, grieving. I’ll go to Ireland and run down Riley. I’ll bring him to London and he can identify the lawyer for us from the Wandsworth Prison surveillance tapes.”

Johnson said, “You actually think you can find Riley?”

“I believe so. I think he’ll head straight for his cousin’s farm in Tullamore. He had the Irish passport the Brigadier got him, he had my operating money. There would be no sense in him not going back to Ireland. He’s safe there.”

The President nodded. “Yes, it makes sense.” He turned to Blake. “It seems to me what Mr. Dillon needs
is instant transportation. He doesn’t want to have to hang around wasting time wherever it is he goes.”

“No problem, Mr. President. I have the new Gulfstream Five private jet on hand, flown in it several times lately. It’s a hell of a plane.”

The President turned to Dillon. “You could fly to Ireland in not much more than six hours in the Gulfstream.” He nodded to Blake Johnson. “I’d like you to go with him. Teddy can hold the fort here.”

“At your orders, Mr. President,” Blake said.

Cazalet nodded. “That’s it, then. All I can say is get to it. Is the helicopter ready, Teddy?”

“Standing by.”

“You go with them. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Dillon said, “Just one thing. I like your daughter and I don’t like Judas and I’ll do anything to get her back, even if it means playing public executioner again. Is that all right with you?”

“It sure as hell is,” Jake Cazalet said, his face white with passion.

In his car along the street from the Charlton Hotel, Mark Gold tapped away at his laptop. He gave a sigh of satisfaction as the screen disclosed what he wanted. He had accessed the traffic information section at Andrews Air Force Base and it was all there. The time the British-registered Lear had landed, names of passengers. The Air Force helicopter used by the President was logged out ten minutes later for Nantucket. Passenger details were always classified on that one, but no prizes for guessing who they were. The helicopter was due to land again at Andrews in half an hour. He got out and looked up the street. There was no sign of Harker and he got back into the car, fuming impatiently as a downpour started.

• • •

Marie sat at the window in front of the easel painting. The door opened and David Braun came in with coffee and cookies on a tray. He placed it on the table.

“Working away, I see.”

“What do you expect me to do, make out my last will and testament?”

“Marie, please, I hate all this. I care for you. I’d do anything for you.”

“Well, that’s good. Go and shoot Judas, then. That really would help.”

His shoulders sagged, he went out, and the key turned in the door.

At Andrews, they all packed into Blake Johnson’s limousine. As they drove down into Washington, he said, “Sean, I’ve been thinking. Why put yourself at risk? You know, setting yourself up as a target? Why not simply change identity as planned and clear off to Ireland?”

“Because Judas might smell a rat, whereas if I’m officially dead he’ll be much happier. Anyway, the first thing you do is find us a cab and the Brigadier and the Chief Inspector and I will transfer. That’s so we’ll be seen arriving at the hotel on our own.”

“And what do I do?”

“Drop Teddy off, no sense in putting him in harm’s way.”

“And screw you too, Mr. Dillon,” Teddy said.

“All right, have it your own way.”

“What about a life preserver?” Johnson asked.

“I’ve got a nylon and titanium vest in my suitcase, I always carry one. Anyway, as you’ll be watching my back, this is how it goes.”

• • •

The cab deposited the Brigadier, Hannah Bernstein, and Dillon at the steps leading up to the Charlton. The concierge came out with an umbrella and porters hurried to get the luggage.

“Shit!” Mark Gold said. “Where are you, Harker?”

At that moment there was a tap on the window. He glanced out and saw Harker peering down at him. Gold got the window down.

“Where in the hell have you been?”

“Stealing a car, you dummy. You didn’t imagine we’d drive into the garage in yours so somebody could take your number if we have to move fast? It’s down the street.”

Gold got out, locked the car, and followed him.

At the same moment, Blake Johnson and Teddy Grant drove into the hotel’s underground garage, which was reasonably full. Blake found a space well surrounded by other vehicles and parked. He switched off, opened the glove compartment, took out a Beretta with a silencer already in place, and checked it.

“Loaded for bear,” Teddy said.

“You better believe it,” Johnson told him grimly.

A moment later, a limousine drove in and parked near at hand. They eased down as a white-haired, rather portly man got out and walked to the elevator.

“No, I don’t think so,” Blake said.

Two or three minutes later, a sand-colored sedan moved in. Blake had a quick flash of Gold at the wheel and Harker.

“Down, Teddy,” he said urgently, and they went low in their seats. “I think this is it. Hard-looking black man with dreadlocks and a guy in a Brooks Brothers suit at the wheel. It doesn’t fit.”

The sedan parked between a couple of panel trucks near the elevator and its lights went out. “Keep down, Teddy.” Blake raised his head cautiously. “They’re just sitting there. Call the Brigadier on your mobile.”

In his suite, Dillon had stripped to the waist to put on the nylon and titanium vest, Hannah Bernstein watching anxiously. He pulled on a polo sweater in navy blue silk, then his jacket.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” Ferguson said.

“He wants me dead, he said so. He also said underground garages like the hotel’s were dangerous places.”

“I think it’s madness,” Hannah said.

“But that’s only because you love me, girl dear.”

“For God’s sake, Dillon, can’t you take anything seriously?”

“Could never see the point.” He smiled. “I’ve seen the President, and Judas knows that, so now he wants me out of his hair. A fatal error, not for me, but for him.”

Ferguson’s mobile phone rang and he picked it up, listened, and nodded. “Right.”

He turned to Dillon. “Sand-colored sedan by the elevator. Two men, one black, the other white and he has the wheel. Johnson says: When you’re ready.”

Dillon took out his Walther, checked it, and stuck it in his waistband at the back. He kissed Hannah on the cheek. “We who are about to die and all that good old Roman rubbish. Just stick to the plan. It will work. The great Dillon is never wrong.”

“Oh, get out of here, damn you!” she said angrily, and he did just that.

Harker and Gold waited in silence. After a while, Harker said, “How long are we going to give this guy before I
go upstairs? We could be here all night. You got the number of his suite?”

“Sure, I tipped a porter.”

At that moment, the elevator door opened and Dillon stepped out. He moved into the open between rows of cars and lit a cigarette, taking his time.

“It’s him,” Gold said excitedly.

“I’ve got eyes, haven’t I? I seen his picture.” Harker took out a Colt automatic and screwed on a silencer. “Here goes. It’s kiss-of-death time.”

He opened the door, stepped out, and immediately took aim, shooting Dillon in the back twice. Dillon, driven forward, went down on his knees and fell on his face, the back of his jacket smouldering where the bullets had entered.

Blake Johnson jumped from his limousine. “What’s going on there?” he shouted.

Harker fired at him twice, but Blake was already ducking, and Harker leapt into the sedan. “Move it!” he snarled, and Gold gunned the engine, swung out into the aisle, and made for the entrance.

There was total silence and Teddy was already leaning over Dillon, beating out the tiny flames. “Sean, speak to me, for God’s sake.”

“I’m trying to get my bloody breath first.” Dillon got to his knees.

Johnson was on his mobile. He switched it off. “You okay, Sean?”