They were all comfortably seated at a round dining table in a large windowed bay. This was the small dining room that overlooked the kitchen gardens. Luncheon had been efficiently served and was being cleared. A few luncheon plates remained on the carved mahogany table, but they were quickly being replaced with pads and pens at each place, crystal pitchers full of iced water, tumblers for seven, and the red leather portfolio containing the two death threats discovered by the Prince of Wales.
Seated at a small desk located at a discreet distance behind the Prince was his private secretary, Sir Hugh Raleigh, a thin, balding fellow in a shapeless tweed jacket, quietly taking notes. Hawke watched him, realizing that this unremarkable amanuensis was in reality the true keeper of the gate. And, thus, the source of enormous power.
Conversation during luncheon had naturally consisted of events surrounding the ambush of Hawke and Congreve on the road earlier. Next to nil had been said about the topic that had brought them all together. The room went silent as the door was opened by a footman and a beautiful black-haired woman in a severely tailored pink Chanel suit appeared, striding purposefully toward the table.
'Sorry to be late, sir,' she said with a shy smile and a little bob of a curtsy to the Prince of Wales.
Charles got to his feet and walked across the room to greet her.
'Sahira Karim,' he said. 'We're so glad you're here, Doctor Karim. Welcome to Highgrove.'
She bowed her head slightly and said, 'A great honor to meet you, Your Royal Highness.'
'Come sit down and have a bite to eat. You're not too late and you must be starving. You know most everyone here, I assume. Have you met my dear friend Lord Hawke and Chief Inspector Ambrose Congreve?'
'Lord Hawke and I are old friends,' Sahira said, going over and shaking his hand. 'But I've not had the pleasure of meeting the famous Chief Inspector Congreve. It's a great honor, sir,' she said extending her hand and smiling warmly.
Without being asked, a liveried steward put a fresh place setting on the table for the new arrival. Hawke suddenly found himself seated next to Lord Malmsey's MI5 assistant, this youngish, extraordinarily attractive Indian woman who had been engaged to one of Hawke's closest friends.
Anthony Soames-Taylor had been at Fettes with Hawke and they'd shared a common love of shooting and foxhunting while at school and then later in life. Tony had been tragically killed in the terror holocaust at Heathrow the year prior and Hawke had not seen his fiancee since.
He'd forgotten what an extraordinarily good-looking woman she was. He'd always been slightly mesmerized by her lambent beauty.
'Miss Karim,' Prince Charles said, 'I wonder if you could update us on your findings at the scene of the ambush this morning?'
'Yes, sir. Five of the six attackers escaped in the Jaguar sedan. We've got police checkpoints on all roads leading out of Gloucestershire, but we imagine they've ditched their clothing and the original car and are now driving a stolen vehicle, possibly two. I think they may have slipped the noose, unfortunately, otherwise we'd almost certainly have them by now.'
'Sorry to interrupt,' Hawke said, 'but you should reduce the number you're looking for from five to four. I shot one in the Jaguar during the chase.'
'Dead?'
'Very.'
'Thank you, makes our job a bit easier. On the other hand, there is some very good news. We managed to get the vehicle ident number off the burned Rover. We've already run it against MI5's national terror database. Belongs to a man named Sean Fahey, one of the assassins involved in the recent murder of the two British Army soldiers in Northern Ireland.
'We now know for certain that the attack on Lord Hawke and Chief Inspector Congreve was an IRA operation. We've no idea how they learned of this meeting, but clearly the attack was meant as a warning shot across our bow. We know who the attackers were, and our investigation is thus off to a flying start, I'm happy to report.'
Hawke and Congreve looked at each other across the table. Hawke, astounded, mouthed the letters IRA? and Congreve nodded. If the IRA knew about this most secret of meetings, one had to wonder just how far up the political ladder this treachery went. Still, he reminded himself, there could easily be a horse groom or trainer here at Highgrove who was an IRA sympathizer and paid informant. Anything was possible at this point.
'Excellent, Sahira,' Charles said. 'Good work! Now please don't let good manners spoil good food. The lamb is marvelous, I think you'll find.'
The table fell back into general conversation and, after Hawke whispered his thanks to the beautiful Indian MI5 officer, they began discussing the ambush in great detail. It was the first real conversation he'd had with an attractive woman in over a year, and he found himself oddly ill at ease.
'Alex,' she said softly, 'I've never thanked you for the incredibly kind phone call you made after Tony's death that night at Heathrow. Your funny stories and memories of your school days together touched me deeply.'
'I'm still sorry for your loss, Sahira. One never gets over these things, I'm afraid.'
She looked at him and placed her hand over his. 'Alex, I never wrote to you after your own devastating loss. I couldn't find words to express my sympathy, I'm afraid. I do hope you'll forgive me someday.'
Alex had no reply.
Always difficult, talking to a beautiful woman, to be sure, but he noticed her eyes still lingering on him, a few seconds too long, and it was disquieting. Luckily, the conversation was soon cut short.
Judging by the set of Prince Charles's jaw, Hawke knew they would clearly be getting down to business. Charles rose to his feet.
'Time to attend to matters at hand, I'm afraid. I would ask one thing. Please let's do keep this discussion informal. As of this moment we are all simply colleagues, not Royals and subjects. Consider me one of the team and do not hesitate to pose any question to me at all. I will do the same. Do we all agree?'
Everyone nodded heads, answering in the affirmative.
'Obviously,' Charles continued, 'my family have borne threats of greater magnitude before. In September 1940, a German Dornier bomber was moments from destroying Buckingham Palace. But RAF Fighter Command pilot Ray Holmes, whose Hurricane's eight guns had just run out of ammo, had other ideas.
'He deliberately rammed the German bomber in mid-air at 400 mph, taking off its tail section. Holmes parachuted to safety. The stricken Nazi bomber missed the palace entirely and slammed into the ground near Victoria Station with such force that it was embedded in the soil.'
Charles paused a beat, looked around the table, and added, 'My stalwart grandmother, who remained in London throughout the Blitz, was, needless to say, stirred, but not shaken.'
There were polite chuckles and smiles all round and the Prince continued.
'However, I can assure you that my family find this present circumstance most unpleasant. The Queen herself is sanguine. I am not. I am convinced that these past and recent threats to the Monarchy are real. And that the IRA killers behind them are keen, determined, and fully capable of achieving their ends. Witness this morning's atrocity on the road to Tetbury. We are extraordinarily lucky to have Chief Inspector Congreve and Lord Alex Hawke here with us today.'
There were quiet murmurs of approval around the table.
'The first question I have is for you, Chief Inspector Congreve. You were part of the on-site team that investigated Lord Mountbatten's murder in Ireland, were you not?'
'I was, sir.'
'And were you satisfied with the outcome of that investigation? An IRA operation?'
'At the time, in the main, I would have to say yes, sir. We all were. However, subsequent events, the note you found in Lord Mountbatten's book, for instance, might lead me to rethink our conclusions.'
Charles said, 'The two men charged with the murder were both IRA Provisionals, of course.'
'Yes, sir.'
'But only one went to prison. McMahon. Odd, isn't it?'
'Thomas McMahon, yes, sir.'
'And the other suspect?'
'The prosecution was unable to build a strong enough case against the second suspect, a man named McGirl, Your Highness.'
Charles smiled at the inadvertent use of his title. He was accustomed to it. 'But, still and all, your team were
