Dillon looked back through the night sight. “U180 went further.” He put the night sight in the locker under the instrument panel. “He did say they were carrying explosives, remember?”
Carney said, “We should go back, perhaps there are survivors.”
“You really think so after that?” Dillon said gently. “St. John’s that way.”
Carney switched on the engines, and as they plowed forward into the night Dillon went down the ladder to the deckhouse. He took off his diving suit, pulled on his tracksuit, found a pack of cigarettes, went to the rail.
Ferguson came down the ladder and joined him. “My God!” he said softly.
“I don’t think he had much to do with it, Brigadier,” Dillon said and he lit a cigarette, the Zippo flaring.
It was just after ten the following morning when a nurse showed the three of them into the private room at the St. Thomas Hospital. Dillon was wearing the black cord slacks, the denim shirt and the black flying jacket he’d arrived in on the first day, Ferguson supremely elegant as usual in his Panama, blazer and Guards tie. Jenny was propped up against pillows, her head swathed in white bandages.
Mary, sitting beside her, knitting, got up. “I’ll leave you to it, but don’t you gentlemen overtire her.”
She went out and Jenny managed a weak smile. “My three musketeers.”
“Now that’s kind of fanciful.” Bob Carney took her hand. “How are you?”
“I don’t feel I’m here half the time.”
“That will pass, my dear,” Ferguson said. “I’ve had a word with the Superintendent. Anything you want, any treatment you need, you get. It’s all taken care of.”
“Thank you, Brigadier.”
She turned to Dillon, looked up at him without speaking. Bob Carney said, “I’ll be back, honey, you take care.”
He turned to Ferguson, who nodded, and they went out.
Dillon sat on the bed and took her hand. “You look terrible.”
“I know. How are you?”
“I’m fine.”
“How did it all go?”
“We’ve got the Bormann briefcase. The Brigadier has his Learjet waiting at the airport. We’re taking it back to London.”
“The way you put it, you make it sound as if it was easy.”
“It could have been worse. Don’t go on about it, Jenny, there’s no point. Santiago and his friends, that animal, Algaro, they’ll never bother you again.”
“Can you be certain of that?”
“As a coffin lid closing,” he said bleakly.
There was a kind of pain on her face. She closed her eyes briefly, opened them again. “People don’t really change, do they?”
“I am what I am, Jenny,” he said simply. “But then you knew that.”
“Will I see you again?”
“I don’t think that’s likely.” He kissed her hand, got up, went to the door and opened it.
“Dillon,” she called.
He turned. “Yes, Jenny?”
“God bless and take care of yourself.”
The door closed softly, she closed her eyes and drifted into sleep.
They allowed Carney to walk out across the tarmac to the Lear with them, a porter pushing a trolley with the luggage. One of the two pilots met them and helped the porter stow the luggage while Dillon, Ferguson and Carney stood at the bottom of the steps.
The Brigadier held up the briefcase. “Thanks for this, Captain Carney. If you ever need help or I can do you a good turn.” He shook hands. “Take care, my friend,” and he went up the steps.
Carney said, “What happens now, in London, I mean?”
“That’s up to the Prime Minister,” Dillon said. “Depends what he wants to do with those documents.”
“It was a long time ago,” Carney said.
“A legitimate point of view.”
Carney hesitated, then said, “This Pamer guy, what about him?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it,” Dillon said calmly.
“Oh, yes you have.” Carney shook his head. “God help you, Dillon, because you’ll never change,” and he turned and walked away across the tarmac.
Dillon joined Ferguson inside and strapped himself in. “A good man that,” Ferguson said.
Dillon nodded. “The best.”
The second pilot pulled up the steps and closed the door, went and joined his colleague in the cockpit. After a while, the engines fired and they moved forward. A few moments later, they were climbing high and out over the sea.
Ferguson looked out. “St. John over there.”
“Yes,” Dillon said.
Ferguson sighed. “I suppose we should discuss what happens when we get back.”
“Not now, Brigadier.” Dillon closed his eyes. “I’m tired. Let’s leave it till later.”
The house at Chocolate Hole had never seemed so empty when Bob Carney entered it. He walked slightly aimlessly from room to room, then went in the kitchen and got a beer from the icebox. As he went to the living room the phone rang.
It was his wife, Karye. “Hi, honey, how are you?”
“I’m fine, just fine. How about the kids?”
“Oh, lively as usual. They miss you. This is an impulse call. We’re at a gas station near Orlando. I just stopped to fill up.”
“I’m sure looking forward to you coming back.”
“It won’t be long now,” she said. “I know it’s been lonely for you. Anything interesting happened?”
A slow smile spread across Carney’s face and he took a deep breath. “Not that I can think of. Same old routine.”
“Bye, honey, I’ll have to go.”
He put the phone down, drank some of his beer, went out on the porch. It was a fine, clear afternoon and he could see the islands on the other side of Pillsbury Sound and beyond. A long way, but not as far as Max Santiago had gone.
16
It was just before six o’clock the following evening in Ferguson’s office at the Ministry of Defence and Simon Carter sat on the other side of the desk, white-faced and shaken as Ferguson finished talking.
“So what’s to be done about the good Sir Francis?” Ferguson asked. “A Minister of the Crown, behaving not only dishonourably but in what can only be described as a criminal way.”
Dillon, standing by the window in a blue Burberry trenchcoat, lit a cigarette and Carter said, “Does
“Nobody knows more of this affair than Dillon, can’t keep him out of it now.”
Carter picked up the Blue Book file, hesitated, then put it down and unfolded the Windsor Protocol to read it again. “I can’t believe this is genuine.”
“Perhaps not, but the rest of it is.” Ferguson reached across for the documents, replaced them in the briefcase and closed it. “The Prime Minister will see us at Downing Street at eight. Naturally I haven’t invited Sir Francis. I’ll
