“That’s right.” She hesitated. “Have you anything particular in mind?”
“You mean potshots with a sniper’s rifle from a rooftop two hundred yards away as he comes out of the door? I don’t think so. No, I really have no firm idea at the moment, but I’ll come up with something. I always do.” The waiter brought their soup. Dillon said, “Now that smells good enough to eat. Let’s do just that.”
Afterwards, he walked her round to her door. It was snowing just a little and very cold. He said, “Must remind you of home, this weather?”
“Home?” She looked blank for a moment then laughed. “Moscow, you mean?” She shrugged. “It’s been a long time. Would you like to come up?”
“No, thanks. It’s late and I could do with the sleep. I’ll stay at the hotel tomorrow morning. Let’s say till noon. From what I saw I don’t think I could stand the thought of lunch there. I’ll be back after two, so you’ll know where I’ll be.”
“Fine,” she said.
“I’ll say good night, then.”
She closed the door, Dillon turned and walked away. It was only after he rounded the corner into the Bayswater Road that Gordon Brown moved out of the shadows of a doorway opposite and looked up at Tania’s window. The light came on. He stayed there for a while longer, then turned and walked away.
In Paris the following morning the temperature went up three or four degrees and it started to thaw. Mary and Hernu in the colonel’s black Citroen picked Brosnan up just before noon. He was waiting for them in the entrance of the Quai de Montebello apartment block. He wore his trenchcoat, and a tweed cap and carried a suitcase. The driver put the case in the trunk and Brosnan got in the rear with the other two.
“Any news?” he asked.
“Not a thing,” the colonel told him.
“Like I said, he’s probably there already. What about Ferguson?”
Mary glanced at her watch. “He’s due to see the Prime Minister now, to alert him as to the seriousness of this whole business.”
“About all he can do,” Brosnan said. “That and spread the word to the other branches of the security services.”
“And how would you handle it, my friend?” Hernu asked.
“We know he worked in London for the IRA in nineteen eighty-one. As I told Mary, he must have used underworld contacts to supply his needs. He always does and it will be the same this time. That’s why I must see my old friend Harry Flood.”
“Ah, yes, the redoubtable Mr. Flood. Captain Turner was telling me about him, but what if he can’t help?”
“There’s another way. I have a friend in Ireland just outside Dublin at Kilrea, Liam Devlin. There’s nothing he doesn’t know about IRA history in the last few years and who did what. It’s a thought.” He lit a cigarette and leaned back. “But I’ll get the bastard, one way or another. I’ll get him.”
The driver took them to the end of the Charles de Gaulle terminal where the private planes parked. The Lear was waiting on the tarmac. There was no formality. Everything had been arranged. The driver took their cases across to where the second pilot waited.
Hernu said, “Captain, if I may presume.” He kissed Mary lightly on both cheeks. “And you, my friend.” He held out his hand. “Always remember that when you set out on a journey with revenge at the end of it, it is necessary to first dig two graves.”
“Philosophy now?” Brosnan said. “And at your time of life? Goodbye, Colonel.”
They strapped themselves into their seats, the second pilot pulled up the stairs, locked the door and went and joined his companion in the cockpit.
“Hernu is right, you know,” Mary said.
“I know he is,” Brosnan answered. “But there’s nothing I can do about that.”
“I understand, believe me, I do,” she said as the plane rolled forward.
When Ferguson was shown into the study at Number Ten, the Prime Minister was standing at the window drinking a cup of tea. He turned and smiled. “The cup that refreshes, Brigadier.”
“They always say it was tea that got us through the war, Prime Minister.”
“Well as long as it gets me through my present schedule. We’ve a meeting of the War Cabinet at ten every morning, as you know, and all the other pressing matters to do with the Gulf.”
“And the day-to-day running of the country,” Ferguson said.
“Yes, well we do our best. No one ever said politics was easy, Brigadier.” He put down the cup. “I’ve read your latest report. You think it likely the man Dillon is here somewhere in London?”
“From what he said to Brosnan, I think we must assume that, Prime Minister.”
“You’ve alerted all branches of the security services?”
“Of course, but we can’t put a face to him, you see. Oh, there’s the description. Small, fair haired and so on, but as Brosnan says, he’ll look entirely different by now.”
“It’s been suggested to me that perhaps some press coverage might be useful.”
Ferguson said, “Well, it’s a thought, but I doubt it would achieve anything. What could they say? In furtherance of an enquiry the police would like to contact a man named Sean Dillon who isn’t called that anymore? As regards a description, we don’t know what he looks like and if we did, he wouldn’t look like that anyway.”
“My goodness, you carried that off beautifully, Brigadier.” The Prime Minister roared with laughter.
“Of course there could be more lurid headlines. IRA jackal stalks the Prime Minister.”
“No, I’m not having any of that nonsense,” the Prime Minister said firmly. “By the way, as regards the suggestion that Saddam Hussein might be behind this affair, I must tell you your other colleagues in the Intelligence Services disagree. They are firmly of the opinion this is an IRA matter, and I must tell you that is how they are pursuing it.”
“Well, if Special Branch think they’ll find him by visiting Irish pubs in Kilburn, that’s their privilege.”
There was a knock at the door, an aide came in. “We’re due at the Savoy in fifteen minutes, Prime Minister.”
John Major smiled with great charm. “Another of those interminable luncheons, Brigadier. Prawn cocktail to start…”
“And chicken salad to follow,” Ferguson said.
“Find him, Brigadier,” the Prime Minister told him. “Find him for me,” and the aide showed Ferguson out.
Tania, with good news for Dillon, knew there was no point in calling at the hotel before two, so she went to her flat. As she was looking for her key in her handbag Gordon Brown crossed the road.
“I was hoping I might catch you,” he said.
“For God’s sake, Gordon, you must be crazy.”
“And what happens when something important comes up and you need to know? Can’t wait for you to get in touch. It might be too late, so I’d better come in, hadn’t I?”
“You can’t. I’m due back at the Embassy in thirty minutes. I’ll have a drink with you, that’s all.”
She turned and walked down to the pub on the corner before he could argue. They sat in a corner of the snug pub which was empty, aware of the noise from the main bar. Brown had a beer and Tania a vodka and lime.
“What have you got for me?” she asked.
“Shouldn’t the question be the other way about?” She got up at once and he put a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry. Don’t go.”
“Then behave yourself.” She sat down again. “Now get on with it.”
“Ferguson had a meeting with the Prime Minister just before twelve. He was back in the office at twelve-thirty before I finished the first half of my shift. He dictated a report to Alice Johnson, she’s one of the confidential typists who works with me. The report was for the file.”
“Did you get a copy?”
“No, but I did the same as last time. Took it along to his office for her and read it on the way. Captain Tanner stayed in Paris with Brosnan for the funeral of a French woman.”
