“So when do you want me to go out to the Virgins?”
“I’m not sure. Two or three days, we’ll see.” Ferguson eased a pillow behind his head.
“And where do I stay while I’m hanging around in London?” Dillon enquired.
“I’ll arrange for you to stay with Admiral Travers in Lord North Street. For the moment, you can earn your keep by keeping an eye on the girl,” Ferguson told him. “Now shut up, there’s a good chap, I need a spot of shut- eye.”
He folded his arms and closed his eyes. Dillon finished his Scotch and leaned back thinking about it.
Ferguson murmured, “Oh, Dillon, just one thing.”
“And what would that be?”
“Dr. Wegner and that young fool Klaus Schmidt, the people you dealt with at Fehring? Well-intentioned amateurs, but the man you bumped into in Vienna who put you in touch with them, Farben? He was acting for me. I got him to set you up, then got someone who works for me to shop you to the Serbs.”
“Believe it or not, Brigadier, but something of the sort had occurred to me. I presume the Stinger missiles were your idea?”
“Wanted to see you behind bars, you see,” Ferguson said. “If I couldn’t get you one way…” He shrugged. “Mind you, this present business has got nothing to do with it. Lucky for you the situation arose.”
“Or you’d have left me to rot.”
“Not really. They’d have shot you sooner or later.”
“Ah, well, what does it matter now?” Dillon said. “You might say it’s all come out in the wash when you think about it,” and he closed his eyes and dozed himself.
At Lord North Street, just before six, it was still raining as Dillon sat at the kitchen table and watched Jenny Grant make the tea. He had only just been introduced, for Ferguson was closeted in the study with Travers.
She turned and smiled. “Would you like some toast or anything?”
“Not really. Would you mind if I smoked?”
“Not at all.” She busied herself with the tea things. “You’re Irish, but you sound different.”
“North of Ireland,” he said. “What you would call Ulster and others the six counties.”
“IRA country?”
“That’s right,” he told her calmly.
She poured the tea. “And what exactly are you doing here, Mr. Dillon? Would I be correct in assuming the Brigadier wants you to keep an eye on me?”
“And why would you think that?”
She sat opposite and sipped some of her tea. “Because you look like that kind of man.”
“And how would you be knowing that sort of person, Miss Grant?”
“Jenny,” she said, “and I used to know all sorts of men, Mr. Dillon, and they were usually the wrong kind.” She brooded for a moment. “But Henry saved me from all that.” She looked up and her eyes glistened. “And now he’s gone.”
“Another cup?” He reached for the pot. “And what do you do in St. John?”
She took a deep breath and tried hard. “I have a cafe and bar called Jenny’s Place. You must visit some time.”
“You know what?” Dillon smiled. “I might just take you up on that,” and he drank some more of his tea.
In the study Travers was aghast. “Good heavens, Charles, IRA? I’m truly shocked.”
“You can be shocked as much as you like, Garth, but I need the little bugger. I hate to admit it, but he’s very, very good. I intend to send him out to St. John once I’ve got things sorted. In the meantime he can stay here and act as your minder, just in case anything untoward happens.”
“All right,” Travers said reluctantly.
“If the girl asks I’ve told him to tell her he’s a diver I’ve brought in to help with this thing.”
“Do you think she’ll believe that? I find her rather a smart young woman.”
“I don’t see why not. He
“That’s right.”
Ferguson led the way out and they went in the kitchen, where Jenny and Dillon sat at the table. Ferguson said, “Right, you two, I’m off. We’ll all meet for dinner at eight. The River Room at the Savoy, I think.” He turned to Dillon. “That suit you?”
Dillon said, “A jacket-and-tie job, that, and here’s me with only the clothes I’m standing up in.”
“All right, Dillon, you can go shopping tomorrow,” Ferguson said wearily and turned to Travers. “Good thing you’re as small as he is, Garth. You can fix him up with a blazer, I’m sure. See you later.”
The front door banged behind him and Dillon smiled. “Always in a hurry, that man.”
Travers said reluctantly, “All right, you’d better come with me and I’ll show you where you’re sleeping and find you something to wear.”
He led the way out and Dillon winked at Jenny and followed him.
Not too far away the fake telephone engineer who had called himself Smith turned into an alley where an old van was parked and knocked on the rear door. It was opened by Johnson and Smith joined him inside. There were various items of recording equipment and a receiver.
“Anything?” Smith asked.
“Not a thing. It’s been on all day. Housekeeper ordering groceries, asking for a repair man for the washing machine. The Admiral phoned the London Library to order a book and the Army and Navy club about a function next month. Bit of a bore, the whole thing. What about you?”
“I was watching the house a short while ago and Ferguson turned up.”
“You sure?”
“Oh, yes, definitely him. The photos on the file Mr. Santiago has supplied are very good. He had a guy with him.”
“Any ideas?”
“No. Small, very fair hair, black leather flying jacket. He stayed, Ferguson left.”
“So what do we do now?”
“Leave the recorder on. I can do a sweep in the morning and listen to anything interesting. I’ll watch the house while you take some time off. If they go out, I’ll follow and speak to you on the car phone.”
“Okay,” Johnson said. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
They got out of the van, he locked it and they went their separate ways.
Ferguson hadn’t arrived when the Admiral, Dillon and Jenny reached the Savoy and went to the River Room. The table had been ordered, however, and the headwaiter led them to it.
“I suppose we might as well have a drink,” Travers said.
Dillon turned to the wine waiter. “Bottle of Krug, non-vintage.” He smiled amiably at Travers. “I prefer the grape mix.”
“Do you, indeed?” the Admiral said stiffly.
“Yes.” Dillon offered Jenny a cigarette. She was wearing a simple white blouse and black skirt. “You’re looking rather nice.” His voice had changed, and for the moment he was the perfect English gentleman, public-school accent and all.
“Are you ever the same for five minutes together?” she asked.
“Jesus, and wouldn’t that be a bore? Let’s dance.” He reached for her hand and led her to the floor.
“You know you’re not looking too bad yourself,” she said.
“Well the blazer fits, but I find the Navy tie a bit incongruous.”
“Ah, I see it now, you don’t like institutions?”
“Not totally true. The first time I came to the River Room, I belonged to a famous institution, the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art.”
