Prime Minister of the century, several of them. In fact, the eyes seemed to follow him about. It was as if Major was watching him.
“And I’ve got my eye on you, too, fella,” Dillon said softly.
The things that intrigued him were the constant daily meetings of the British War Cabinet at Number Ten. All those bastards, all together in the same spot. What a target. Brighton all over again, and that affair had come close to taking out the entire British Government. But Number Ten as a target? That didn’t seem possible. Fortress Thatcher it had been dubbed by some after that redoubtable lady’s security improvements. There were footsteps on the deck overhead. He opened a drawer in the table casually revealing a Smith amp; Wesson.38 revolver, closed it again as Makeev came in.
“I could have telephoned, but I thought I’d speak to you personally,” the Russian said.
“What now?”
“I’ve brought you some photos we’ve had taken of Brosnan as he is now. Oh, and that’s the girlfriend, Anne- Marie Audin.”
“Good. Anything else?”
“I’ve heard from Tania Novikova again. It seems Brigadier Ferguson and his aide, a Captain Mary Tanner, have flown over. They were due out of Gatwick at eleven.” He glanced at his watch. “I’d say they’ll be with Hernu right now.”
“To what end?”
“The real purpose of the trip is to see Brosnan. Try and persuade him to help actively in the search for you.”
“Really?” Dillon smiled coldly. “Martin’s becoming a serious inconvenience. I might have to do something about that.”
Makeev nodded at the clippings on the walls. “Your own private gallery?”
“I’m just getting to know the man,” Dillon said. “Do you want a drink?”
“No, thanks.” Suddenly Makeev felt uncomfortable. “I’ve things to do. I’ll be in touch.”
He went up the companionway. Dillon poured himself a little more champagne, sipped a little, then stopped, walked into the kitchen and poured the whole bottle down the sink. Conspicuous waste, but he felt like it. He went back into the stateroom, lit a cigarette and looked at the clippings again, but all he could think about was Martin Brosnan. He picked up the photos Makeev had brought and pinned them up beside the clippings.
Anne-Marie was in the kitchen at the Quai de Montebello, Brosnan going over a lecture at the table, when the doorbell rang. She hurried out, wiping her hands on a cloth.
“That will be them,” she said. “I’ll get it. Now don’t forget your promise.”
She touched the back of his neck briefly and went out. There was a sound of voices in the hall and she returned with Ferguson, Hernu and Mary Tanner.
“I’ll make some coffee,” Anne-Marie said and went into the kitchen.
“My dear Martin.” Ferguson held out his hand. “It’s been too long.”
“Amazing,” Brosnan said. “We only ever meet when you want something.”
“Someone you haven’t met, my aide, Captain Mary Tanner.”
Brosnan looked her over quickly, the small, dark girl with the scar on the left cheek, and liked what he saw. “Couldn’t you find a better class of work than what this old sod has to offer?” he demanded.
Odd that she should feel slightly breathless faced with this forty-five-year-old man with the ridiculously long hair and the face that had seen rather too much of the worst of life.
“There’s a recession on. You have to take what’s going these days,” she said, her hand light in his.
“Right. We’ve had the cabaret act, so let’s get down to business,” Ferguson said. Hernu went to the window, Ferguson and Mary took the sofa opposite Brosnan.
“Max tells me he spoke to you last night after the murder of the Jobert brothers?”
Anne-Marie came in with coffee on a tray. Brosnan said, “That’s right.”
“He tells me you’ve refused to help us?”
“That’s putting it a bit strongly. What I said was that I’d do anything I could except become actively involved myself, and if you’ve come to attempt to change my mind, you’re wasting your time.”
Anne-Marie poured coffee. Ferguson said, “You agree with him, Miss Audin?”
“Martin slipped out of that life a long time ago, Brigadier,” she said carefully. “I would not care to see him step back in for whatever reason.”
“But surely you can see that a man like Dillon must be stopped?”
“Then others must do the stopping. Why Martin, for God’s sake?” She was distressed now and angry. “It’s your job, people like you. This sort of thing is how you make your living.”
Max Hernu came across and picked up a cup of coffee. “But Professor Brosnan is in a special position as regards this business, you must see that, mademoiselle. He knew Dillon intimately, worked with him for years. He could be of great help to us.”
“I don’t want to see him with a gun in his hand,” she said, “and that’s what it would come down to. Once his foot is on that road again, it can only have one end.”
She was very distressed, turned and went through into the kitchen. Mary Tanner went after her and closed the door. Anne-Marie was leaning against the sink, arms folded as if holding herself in, agony on her face.
“They don’t see, do they? They don’t understand what I mean.”
“I do,” Mary said simply. “I understand exactly what you mean,” and as Anne-Marie started to sob quietly, went and put her arms around her.
Brosnan opened the French windows and stood on the terrace by the scaffolding taking in lungfuls of cold air. Ferguson joined him. “I’m sorry for the distress we’ve caused her.”
“No, you’re not, you only see the end in view. You always did.”
“He’s a bad one, Martin.”
“I know,” Brosnan nodded. “A real can of worms the little bastard has opened this time. I must get a smoke.”
He went inside. Hernu was sitting by the fire. Brosnan found a packet of cigarettes, hesitated, then opened the kitchen door. Anne-Marie and Mary were sitting opposite each other, holding hands across the table.
Mary turned. “She’ll be fine. Just leave us for a while.”
Brosnan went back to the terrace. He lit a cigarette and leaned against the balustrade. “She seems quite a lady, that aide of yours. That scar on her left cheek. Shrapnel. What’s her story?”
“She was doing a tour of duty as a lieutenant with the Military Police in Londonderry. Some IRA chap was delivering a car bomb when the engine failed. He left it at the curb and did a runner. Unfortunately, it was outside an old folks’ home. Mary was driving past in a Land-Rover when a civilian alerted her. She got in the car, released the brake and managed to freewheel down the hill on to some wasteland. It exploded as she made a run for it.”
“Good God!”
“Yes, I’d agree, on that occasion. When she came out of hospital she received a severe reprimand for breaking standing orders and the George Medal for the gallantry of her action. I took her on after that.”
“A lot of still waters there.” Brosnan sighed and tossed his cigarette out into space as Mary Tanner joined them.
“She’s gone to lie down in the bedroom.”
“All right,” Brosnan said. “Let’s go back in.” They went and sat down again and he lit another cigarette. “Let’s get this over with. What did you want to say?”
Ferguson turned to Mary. “Your turn, my dear.”
“I’ve been through the files, checked out everything the computer can tell us.” She opened her brown handbag and took out a photo. “The only likeness of Dillon we can find. It’s from a group photo taken at RADA twenty years ago. We had an expert in the department blow it up.”
There was a lack of definition, the texture grainy and the face was totally anonymous. Just another young boy.
Brosnan gave it back. “Useless. I didn’t even recognize him myself.”
