Dillon grinned at the General.
“Right, in we go, people,” Ferguson said, and led the way.
Ferguson nodded to Dalton. “If you’d go into the other room and observe, I’d appreciate it.”
“Certainly, sir.”
Roper maneuvered his wheelchair, as Hannah and Ferguson sat down. Dillon sat on the windowsill, smoking a cigarette.
“To clarify things,” Ferguson said, “I’m responsible for the Prime Minister’s personal security system. I have no connection with the other security services. I have carte blanche on behalf of the Prime Minister to operate as I see fit. Detective Superintendent Bernstein is my assistant, on loan from Special Branch at Scotland Yard.”
“And Mr. Dillon? I know what Mr. Dillon does. He kills people.”
“And Wrath of Allah doesn’t?” Dillon asked.
“Superintendent, I appeal to you. Why am I denied a lawyer? Is this just?”
Hannah had trouble with that and it showed. She turned to Ferguson. “Sir, perhaps…”
“Perhaps nothing. Major Roper, why don’t you begin?”
Roper said, “I’ve prepared a report, Dr. Selim. It details your relationship to Henry Morgan, and, of course, his intention to assassinate the President of the United States. It outlines the suspicious death of his mother. It makes clear the basic links between these two and the Queen Street Mosque, as well as your relationship with Yuri Ashimov and, through him, Josef Belov.”
“None of this can be proven,” Selim said, but his voice was subdued.
“There’s little doubt that there has been a trade in young British Muslims, recruited for terrorist camps originally in Iraq, now in various Muslim countries. I have in my possession considerable confidential information regarding the traffic between the Belov organization and you, acting as a front man for a number of so-called charities.”
“All of it perfectly legitimate,” Selim said weakly. “Anything else is a lie.”
“Many donations to the Children’s Trust in Beirut.”
“All for charitable works, education.”
“Charitable? The Children’s Trust is a front of Hizbollah. That’s well known. Both the Marxist League and Free the People have links with Al Qa’eda. The Children’s Trust in Iraq is simply another way of saying Party of God, one of the most militant terror groups.”
“None of this can be proved.” Selim was desperate now. “All the trusts, the educational groups, any payments by me on the Belov company’s behalf were made in good faith. You can’t say otherwise. Mr. Belov paid for our building work at Queen Street, even the new school.”
“I have a list of organizations you’ve passed money to,” Roper said. “It’s a fact.”
“I’m running out of patience,” Ferguson told him. “I’m the first to agree that we stand very little chance of bringing Belov to a courtroom. He’s too rich, too powerful, and he’s covered his back too well. What I want from you are details of the camps, the lists of organizations, names and addresses. Do that properly and you’ll be let off the hook. Slate clean.”
“I can’t,” Selim said weakly.
“All right. If that’s the way it is, then I’ll have you flown back to Iraq, or Saudi Arabia, if you like. We’ll dump you, then spread the word that you talked. If you’re lucky, Belov’s people will get to you first. A bullet would be preferable to being skinned alive by your own people, don’t you think?”
Selim jumped up. “No, I beg you.”
“Think about it, Selim. Think hard. I’ll give you a little time. Come along, people,” and he led the way out.
In the other room, Ferguson said to Dalton, “Keep a close eye on him, Sergeant. Anything comes up, phone me. Otherwise we’ll speak tomorrow.”
“Fine, sir.” Dalton went out.
Ferguson said to the others, “Any questions?”
Roper said, “I’ll get back to my computers, sir. Miller can take me in the van.”
“I’ll go with you,” Dillon said. “You can drop me off.”
Hannah said, “I have to confess I still don’t find this easy, sir, his lack of legal representation.”
“You think we’re infringing on his human rights, Superintendent?”
“I suppose so.”
“Well, in the circumstances in which we find ourselves, I’m not very interested in such a viewpoint. Does this mean that you would prefer to return to your normal duties at Scotland Yard?”
She hesitated. “You make it hard for me, sir.”
“I have to. But I’ll give you an option. Tomorrow morning, when you go to Harley Street to see Merriman to have the Omega implant, I suggest you visit the Reverend Susan Haden-Taylor at St. Paul’s Church. You may recall I put Dillon in touch with her last year when I wanted his head cleared after the Rashid affair.”
“And you think she could help?”
“She’s a priest of the Church of England, as well as a top psychiatrist,” Dillon said. “But most important, she’s a truly good human being and she certainly helped me.”
Hannah took a deep breath. “Fine. I’ll do that,” and she went out.
Dillon walked behind Roper’s chair with Ferguson. “You can be a hard ould bastard, Charles.”
“It’s a hard ould world, Sean, and getting harder.”
They stood and watched Roper wheel up the ramp into the back of the van. Miller raised the ramp and closed the door and Dillon called, “Wait for me.” He turned to Ferguson. “Are we winning, Charles?”
“God knows, but as I’ve said before, we won’t if we just play patty-cake,” and Ferguson got in the Daimler and was driven away.
Dillon got in the rear of the van beside Roper’s chair. “Well?” he demanded. “What do you think?”
Roper’s eyes were dark in the ravaged, burned face. “Don’t ask me, Sean. I’m what’s left over after a car bomb.”
About ten miles from Drumore Place, Tod Murphy turned the Land Rover into a narrow lane and came to a couple of hangars, a decaying control tower and a crumbling tarmac runway. If ever a place looked rundown, it was this, but then World War Two and the days when it had been used to patrol the Irish borders had been over for a long time. A single-engine Archer stood outside one of the hangars; the doors of the other stood open, revealing a twin-engine Navajo. The door of the Nissen hut opened and a man in old black flying overalls appeared: Ted Smith, around fifty, balding slightly and, like many pilots, rather small.
“Is it yourself, Tod?”
“Who else would it be, you daft bugger? Is the Navajo up and running?”
“First class. You fancy a day out?”
“You could say that. Four of us. Me, Dermot and two of the boys, Fahy and Regan.”
“What for? A day’s fishing over the border?”
“Farther than that. That place we used to go in the old days before the bloody Peace Process. Dunkley. The one that was a Lancaster bomber station in the war.”
Smith’s face dropped. “Jesus, Tod, not that again. I thought those days were behind us.”
“You’ll do as you’re told and you’ll be well taken care of. But if you say no, Dermot is likely to take care of you permanently. You follow?” He laughed and slapped Smith on the shoulder. “Don’t look so worried. A quick one, Ted, just like the old days. In and out. You’ll be away before you know it.”
“Jesus, Tod, I don’t know. I’m getting old for that sort of jig.”
Tod took an envelope from his inside pocket and offered it to him. “Two thousand quid to seal the bargain, just to be going on with. We’ll leave early in the morning. When we want to come back, I’ll phone you. There’ll be a big, big payday at the end of it, and just for dropping us onto a very old airfield in Kent, miles from anywhere.”
As usual, greed won the day, and Smith took the envelope. “All right, I’ll do it, Tod. Seven-thirty in the morning.”
“Good man, yourself. I’ll see you then,” and Tod got back into the Land Rover.
Damn the IRA, but what could he do? Smith turned and went back into the Nissen hut.
