after that. Sir Joseph, he used to come back, but that was years ago when the resort was first built.”
“And Sir Francis Pamer?” Ferguson asked.
“Little Francis?” Jackson laughed. “He growed up real fine. I’ve seen him here many times. Can we go now, gents?”
“Of course,” Ferguson said.
Jackson drove away, Dillon took out a cigarette and no one said a word until they reached the front entrance. Ferguson produced his wallet, extracted a ten-pound note and passed it to Jackson. “My thanks.”
“And I thank you,” Jackson told him. “I’ll be ready for you gents when you want to go back.”
The three of them paused at the bottom of the steps. Dillon said, “So now we know how Santiago comes to be so well informed.”
“God in heaven,” Ferguson said. “A Minister of the Crown and one of the oldest families in England.”
“A lot of those people thought Hitler had the right ideas during the nineteen-thirties,” Dillon said. “It fits, Brigadier, it all fits. What about Carter?”
“The British Secret Service was unfortunate enough to employ dear old Kim Philby, Burgess, MacLean, all of whom also worked for the KGB and sold us down the river to Communism without a moment’s hesitation. Since then, there was Blunt, rumours of a fifth man, a sixth.” Ferguson sighed. “In spite of the fact that I don’t care a jot for Simon Carter, I must tell you that I believe he’s an old-fashioned patriot and honest as the day is long.”
Carlos Prieto appeared at the top of the steps. “Brigadier Ferguson, what a pleasure. Senor Santiago is waiting for you in the bar. He’s just come over from the
The lounge bar was busy with the rich and the good as one would expect in such a place. People tended to be older rather than younger, the men especially, mostly American, being rather obviously close to the end of their working lives. There was a preponderance of trousers in fake Scottish plaid swelling over ample bellies, white tuxedos.
“God save me,” Dillon said, “I’ve never seen so many men who resembled dance-band leaders in their prime.”
Ferguson laughed out loud and Santiago, who was seated in a booth by the bar, Algaro bending over him, turned to look at them. He stood up and reached out a hand urbanely. “My dear Brigadier Ferguson, such a pleasure.”
“Senor Santiago,” Ferguson said formally. “I’ve long looked forward to this meeting.” He pointed briefly at Algaro with his Malacca cane. “But do we really have to have this creature present? I mean couldn’t he go and feed the fish or something?”
Algaro looked as if he would have liked to kill him on the spot, but Santiago laughed out loud. “Poor Algaro, an acquired taste, I fear.”
“The little devil.” Dillon wagged a finger at Algaro.
“Now go and chew a bone or something, there’s a good boy.”
Santiago turned and said to Algaro in Spanish, “Your turn will come, go and do as I have told you.”
Algaro went out and Ferguson said, “So, here we are. What now?”
“A little champagne perhaps, a pleasant dinner?” Santiago waved to Prieto, who snapped his fingers at a waiter and escorted him with a bottle of Krug in an ice bucket. “One can be civilized, can’t one?”
“Isn’t that a fact?” Dillon checked the label. “Eighty-three. Not bad, Senor.”
“I bow to your judgment.” The waiter filled the glasses and Santiago raised his. “To you, Brigadier Ferguson, to the playing fields of Eton and the continued success of Group Four.”
“You
“And you, Captain Carney, what a truly remarkable fellow you are. War hero, sea captain, diver of legendary proportions. Who on earth could they get to play you in the movie?”
“I suppose I’d just have to do it myself,” Carney told him.
“And Mr. Dillon. What can I say to a man whose only rival in his chosen profession has been Carlos.”
“So you know all about us,” Ferguson said. “Very impressive. You must need what’s in that U-boat very badly indeed.”
“Let’s lay our cards on the table, Brigadier. You want what should still be in the captain’s quarters, Bormann’s briefcase containing his personal authorization from the Fuhrer, the Blue Book and the Windsor Protocol.”
There was a pause and it was Carney who said, “Interesting, you didn’t call him Hitler, you said the Fuhrer.”
Santiago’s face was hard. “A great man, a very great man who had a vision of the world as it should be, not as it has turned out.”
“Really?” Ferguson commented. “I’d always understood that if you counted Jews, Gypsies, Russians and war dead from various countries, around twenty-five million people died to prove him wrong.”
“We both want the same thing, you and I,” Santiago said. “The contents of that case. You don’t want them to fall into the wrong hands. The old scandal affecting so many people, the Duke of Windsor, putting the Royal Family in the eye of the storm again. The media would have a field day. As I say, we both want the same thing. I don’t want all that to come out either.”
“So the work continues,” Ferguson said. “The Kamaraden? How many names are on that list, famous names, old names who have prospered since the War in industry and business, all on the back of Nazi money?”
“Jesus,” Dillon said. “It makes the Mafia look like small beer.”
“Come now,” Santiago told him. “Is any of this important after all these years?”
“It sure as hell must be, either to you or close friends,” Carney said, “otherwise why would you go to such trouble?”
“But it is important, Mr. Carney,” Ferguson said. “That’s the point. If the network continues over the years, if sons become involved, grandsons, people in higher places, politicians, for example.” He drank some more champagne. “Imagine, as I say, just for example, having someone high in Government. How useful that would be and then, after so many years, the kind of scandal that could bring everything down around your ears.”
Santiago waved for the waiter to pour more champagne. “I thought you might be sensible, but I see not. I don’t need you, Brigadier, or you, Mr. Carney. I have my own divers.”
“Finding it is not enough,” Carney said. “You’ve got to get into that tin can and that requires expertise.”
“I have divers, Mr. Carney, an ample supply of C4, is that the name of the explosive? I only employ people who know what they are doing.” He smiled. “But this is not getting us anywhere.” He stood up. “At least we can eat like civilized men. Please, gentlemen, join me.”
The Ford station wagon slowed to a halt at the side of the air strip, Algaro sitting in the rear behind Joseph Jackson. “Is this where you wanted, mister?”
“I guess so,” Algaro said. “Those people you brought in from the plane, what were they like?”
“Nice gentlemen,” Jackson said.
“No, what I mean is, were they curious? Did they ask questions?”
Jackson began to feel uncomfortable. “What kind of questions you mean, mister?”
“Let’s put it this way,” Algaro told him. “They talked and you talked. Now what about?”
“Well the English gentleman, he was interested in the old days. I told him how I was caretaker here in the Herbert place during the big War with my wife.”
“And what else did you tell him?”
“Nothing, mister, I swear.” Jackson was frightened now.
Algaro put a hand on the back of his neck and squeezed. “Tell me, damn you!”
“It was nothing much, mister.” Jackson struggled to get away. “About the Pamers.”
“The Pamers?”
“Yes, Lady Pamer and how she came here at the end of the War.”
“Tell me,” Algaro said. “Tell me everything.” He patted him on the side of the face. “It’s all right, just tell the truth.”
Which Jackson did and when he was finished, Algaro said, “There, that wasn’t too bad, was it?”
He slid an arm across Jackson’s throat, put his other hand on top of his head and twisted, breaking the neck so
