his desk, signing one document after another.
He looked up. “Ah, there you are, Brigadier.”
“You asked to see me, Prime Minister?”
“Yes, I’ve had the Deputy Director of the Security Services and Sir Francis on my back about this Virgin Islands affair. Is it true what they tell me, that you’ve taken on this man Dillon to handle things?”
“Yes,” Ferguson said calmly.
“A man with his record? Can you tell me why?”
“Because he’s right for the job, sir. Believe me, I find nothing admirable in Dillon’s past. His work some years ago for the IRA is known to us although nothing has ever been proven against him. The same applies to his activities on the international scene. He’s a gun for hire, Prime Minister. Even the Israelis have used him when it suited them.”
“I can’t say I like it. I think Carter has a point of view.”
“I can pull him out if that is what you wish.”
“But you’d rather not?”
“I think he’s the man for this particular job. To be frank, it’s a dirty one and it has already become apparent since we last spoke that there are people he will have to deal with who play very dirty indeed.”
“I see.” The Prime Minister sighed. “Very well, Brigadier, I leave it to your own good judgment, but do try and make your peace with Carter.”
“I will, Prime Minister,” Ferguson said and withdrew.
Jack Lane was waiting in the Daimler. As it drove away he said, “And what was that all about?”
Ferguson told him. “He’s got a point, of course.”
“You know how I feel, sir, I was always against it. I wouldn’t trust Dillon an inch.”
“Interesting thing about Dillon,” Ferguson said. “One of the things he’s always been known for is a kind of twisted sense of honor. If he gives his word he sticks to it and expects others to do the same.”
“I find that hard to believe, sir.”
“Yes, I suppose most people would.”
Ferguson picked up the car phone and rang through to Simon Carter’s office. He wasn’t there, he was meeting with Pamer at the House of Commons.
“Get a message through to him now,” Ferguson told Carter’s secretary. “Tell him I need to see them both urgently. I’ll meet them on the Terrace at the House in fifteen minutes.” He replaced the phone. “You can come with me, Jack, you’ve never been on the Terrace, have you?”
“What’s going on, sir?”
“Wait and see, Jack, wait and see.”
Rain drifted across the Thames in a fine spray, clearing the Terrace of people. Except for a few who stood under the awnings, drink in hand, everyone else had taken to the bars and cafes. Ferguson stood by the wall holding a large golfer’s umbrella his chauffeur had given him, Lane sheltering with him.
“Doesn’t it fill you with a sense of majesty and awe, Jack, the Mother of Parliaments and all that sort of thing?” Ferguson asked.
“Not with rain pouring down my neck, sir.”
“Ah, there you are.” They turned and saw Carter and Pamer standing in the main entrance to the Terrace. Carter was carrying a black umbrella, which he put up, and he and Pamer joined them.
Ferguson said, “Isn’t this cozy?”
“I’m not in the mood for your feeble attempts at humor, Ferguson, now what do you want?” Carter demanded.
“I’ve just been to see the P.M. I understand you’ve been complaining again, old boy? Didn’t do you any good. He’s told me to carry on and use my judgment.”
Carter was furious, but he managed to control himself and glanced at Lane. “Who’s this?”
“My present assistant, Detective Inspector Jack Lane. I’ve borrowed him from Special Branch.”
“That’s against regulations, you can’t do it.”
“That’s as may be, but I’m not a deckhand on your ship. I run my own and, as my time is limited, let’s get down to facts. Dillon arrived in St. John around five o’clock in the evening their time yesterday. He was attacked by two crew members of Santiago’s boat, the
“My God!” Pamer said in horror.
Carter frowned. “Is he all right?”
“Oh, yes, a rubber ball our Dillon, always bounces back. Personally I think they were trying it on, hassling him. Of course the interesting thing is how come they knew who he was and knew he was there?”
“Now look here,” Pamer began, “I trust you’re not suggesting any lack of security on our part?”
Carter said, “Shut up, Francis, he’s got a valid point. This Santiago man is far too well informed.” He turned to Ferguson. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Actually, I was thinking of taking a brief holiday,” Ferguson told him. “You know, sun, sea and sand, swaying palms? They tell me the Virgins are lovely at this time of the year.”
Carter nodded. “You’ll stay in touch?”
“Of course, dear old boy.” Ferguson smiled and turned to Lane. “Let’s go, Jack, we’ve lots to do.”
On the way back to the Ministry Ferguson told his chauffeur to pull in beside a mobile sandwich bar on Victoria Embankment. “This man does the best cup of tea in London, Jack.”
The owner greeted him as an old friend. “Rotten day, Brigadier.”
“It was worse on the Hook, Fred,” the Brigadier said and walked with his cup of tea to the wall overlooking the Thames.
As Lane received his cup of tea he said to Fred, “What did he mean, the Hook?”
“That was a really bad place that was, worst position in the whole of Korea. So many dead bodies that every time you dug another trench, arms and legs came out.”
“You knew the Brigadier then?”
“Knew him? I was a platoon sergeant when he was a second lieutenant. He won his first Military Cross carrying me on his back under fire.” Fred grinned. “That’s why I never charge for the tea.”
Lane, impressed, joined Ferguson and leaned on the parapet under the umbrella. “You’ve got a fan there, sir.”
“Fred? Old soldier’s tales. Don’t listen. I’m going to need the Learjet. Direct flight to St. Thomas should be possible.”
“I believe the work on those new tanks the RAF did has extended the range to at least four thousand miles, sir.”
“There you are then.” Ferguson glanced at his watch. “Just after ten. I want that Learjet ready to leave Gatwick no later than one o’clock, Jack. Top priority. Allowing for the time difference, I could be in St. Thomas somewhere between five or six o’clock their time.”
“Do you want me with you, sir?”
“No, you’ll have to hold the fort.”
“You’ll need accommodation, sir. I’ll see to that.”
Ferguson shook his head. “I’ve reserved it at this Caneel place where I booked Dillon in.”
“You mean you were expecting what happened to happen?”
“Something like that.”
“Look, sir,” said Lane in exasperation, “exactly what is going on?”
“When you find out, tell me, Jack.” Ferguson emptied his cup, went and put it on the counter. “Thanks, Fred.” He turned to Lane. “Come on, Jack, must get moving, lots to do before I leave,” and he got into the rear of the Daimler.
Santiago was up early, even went for a swim in the sea, and was seated at the table in the stern enjoying his
