Dark Justice (16 page)

He said formally, "You are Dr. Ali Selim?"

"That's right." Selim seemed quite calm now.

Ferguson turned and said to Hannah, "Superintendent?"

There was a reluctance to her, but she said, "Under the Anti-Terrorism Act, you may be held indefinitely. Under the Official Secrets Act, you may not speak of it or why you are here."

"Am I not entitled to a lawyer?" Selim asked.

"No." Ferguson turned to the staff sergeants. "Deliver him to the safe house. Treat him well. Give him a change of clothes and whatever food he wants. Remember that he's a Muslim."

Hannah said, "I'd like to go with him, sir."

The military police were putting Selim in the rear of the Land Rover, and Ferguson took Hannah to one side. "I know you don't approve, my dear, but desperate situations require desperate remedies. However, we're not the Gestapo. We won't mistreat him. Now, off you go. I'll see you later."

She turned to Dillon, obviously unhappy. "Good to see you back, Sean."

Dillon felt sorry for her, but it was Billy who said, "Don't waste your sympathy, Superintendent. They'd have killed us, and they tried hard enough--even wanted to kill Selim. People like you, your conscience, your morality. Nothing's ever enough, is it?"

Dillon said, "Leave it, son," and she turned and got in the Land Rover and was driven away.

The rain suddenly increased. Billy said, "To hell with it. It's me for the Dark Man and a full English breakfast."

"An excellent idea." Ferguson turned to Lacey and Parry. "My thanks, gentlemen. We'll be seeing each other soon, I'm sure."

He got in the Daimler with Dillon and Billy and was driven away.

The Dark Man, like most London pubs these days, offered breakfast. Dora was on duty, greeted them with enthusiasm and vanished into the kitchen. The place was quiet, and they settled in a booth, and five minutes later, Harry burst in with Joe Baxter and Sam Hall. He embraced Billy in a bear hug.

"Jesus, that was quick."

"The way it happened, Harry," Dillon said.

Salter turned to his nephew. "What was it like, Baghdad?"

"Well, it wasn't like a Sinbad movie. It was pissing with rain most of the time. To be honest, Harry, I feel sorry for them."

"So you got Selim?"

Dillon glanced at Ferguson, who nodded. "You might as well tell him."

Which Dillon did, as Dora arrived with the breakfasts.

Afterward, Harry put an arm around Billy. "You young bastard, you've done it again."

"We were lucky this time," Billy told him. "Or at least Dillon was. If it hadn't been for Novikova, he'd have been a dead man. That Makeev creep was a bad sod."

"So what happens now?" Harry demanded.

"We'll put Selim into a safe house," Ferguson said. "We'll see what he's got to say."

"So you won't be standing him up at the Old Bailey?" Harry said. "For conspiracy in Mrs. Morgan's death?"

"It's pointless. We wouldn't get anywhere. What's far more important is information about what Selim's been up to with the Wrath of Allah."

"And how are you going to get that? This isn't the Algerian War and the French Foreign Legion. You're not going to wire up his bits and pieces to a car battery."

"There are more subtle ways."

"The Superintendent wasn't very happy," Billy said. "With all that Anti-Terrorism Act stuff and the fact that he doesn't get a lawyer."

"It can't be helped. As I said earlier, we live in difficult times. It is war to the knife. Things have changed. Speaking of which--you know about the Omega Program, Dillon?"

Harry said, "And what would that be?"

"It's an implant containing a computer chip that tracks a person's whereabouts. The Prime Minister and cabinet ministers each have one. He insisted I had it done last year. At the time, he didn't want it spread any further, but he's changed his mind since the attempt on Cazalet. He wants us to use every tool at our disposal, and he's authorized me to include anyone I think appropriate. So I'm insisting that you, Dillon and the Superintendent get it also. Major Roper's already got one." He gave Dillon a card. "Professor Henry Merriman,
Harley Street
. Nine o'clock tomorrow morning."

"Christ," Billy said. "Bionic man."

Harry burst into laughter. Ferguson said, "Not so fast, Billy. You've gotten yourself up to your neck in my affairs for some time now, and this particular situation is bad and getting worse. So under the circumstances, I think you'd better have one implanted, too."

It was Dillon's turn to laugh. "There goes your love life, Billy."

Billy did not look amused.

Ashimov was still at
Drumore Place
and arranged for a company car to pick Novikova up at BelfastAirport. Then he phoned Belov in Moscow and broke the bad news. Belov took it badly.

"Here I am up to my neck in difficult negotiations, and this kind of thing happens. It won't do, Yuri. I put you in charge, gave you unlimited discretion, total resources, unlimited money . . ."

"I'm sorry, Josef. Makeev and Zorin came highly recommended, they did good work in the past."

"And now they're dead, along with this Sharif and his four friends. The only one who comes out of it with any credit is Novikova. Dillon and this Salter boy are serious business."

"I agree."

"Then
deal
with them seriously. Enough messing about. You tell me Kelly and Murphy knew him in the IRA? Fine. That means they'll know how he works. Tell them to get a crew together and to sort Ferguson's people out once and for all. Just get it done. I'm coming to Belfast myself. I had planned to return to London, but under the circumstances I think it's best I stay away, let them do their work. Don't fail me, Yuri."

Greta arrived soon afterward, and Yuri greeted her warmly. "Did you manage to get any sleep?"

"I had a couple of vodkas and crashed out for most of the trip."

"Good. We're driving down to the Royal George for lunch. I want you to meet Dermot Kelly and Tod Murphy."

They went out to the car. "What about Belov?"

"I've spoken to him."

"And?"

"He wants us to go to war. I'll explain as we go."

At the Royal George, they sat in a corner booth with Kelly and Murphy, enjoyed a shepherd's pie with Guinness and Greta gave her version of the events at Ramalla.

They found the whole thing very amusing, and it occurred to her, and not for the first time, that the Irish were not like other people. They never seemed to take anything seriously. It made her think of Dillon, and in a way that didn't sit comfortably with her.

"Jesus, but Sean's the one," Kelly said. "You've got to give it to the bastard."

"Mind you, this Billy Salter's close behind him," Tod Murphy said. "Maybe his mother was a Cork woman."

"No, that was Ferguson," Kelly said. "She was a Cork woman. It's a known fact."

It was Greta, exasperated, who said, "Well, if you've finished exploring the niceties of Irish family relationships, could we decide exactly what you intend to do?"

"Oh, Tod's the planning genius when you can get his nose out of a book," Kelly told her.

"We'll get together some of the old outfit," Tod said. "Me and Dermot and two others. That will be enough."

"For Dillon and Salter? I wonder."

"How will you travel?" Ashimov asked.

"There's a fella I know called Smith who runs air taxis, not far from here. He's been doing illegal flights for years. Goes in under six hundred feet, so he's not on the radar. Has a Navajo twin-engine job that'll do six. There are still old World War Two airstrips here and there, where the local farmer looks the other way if there's enough money in the envelope. Saves going through security, and we can take the right hardware."

"And where will you stay, in Kilburn?" Ashimov asked, naming the most Irish borough in London, virtually a ghetto.

"If there's ever a hint of IRA trouble, Scotland Yard makes straight for Kilburn," Kelly said. "We've got contacts that could help, but it's best to keep out of there. In fact, we'll try Indian territory." He glanced at Murphy. "ChinaWharf?"

"Perfect."

"That's in Wapping," Kelly said. "It's an old tea warehouse owned by Tod's aunt Molly. She married an Englishman named Harris. Special Branch never knew about her. She turned it into a lodging house years ago. We used to use it as a bolt-hole in London."

"She's a widow lady of eighty-three," Tod said. "Can't be bothered anymore, so she lives on the ground floor and leaves the other rooms empty."

"Sounds good to me." Ashimov got up. "You sort it all out. Move when you want to. Meanwhile, Greta will research where Ferguson keeps his safe houses."

"Fine by us," Kelly said.

"Good."

Afterward, Yuri and Greta walked down toward the pier. "It's beautiful," she said, as they looked over the tiny harbor.

"There's not much going on these days. Only half a dozen fishing boats, and they're out at the moment. The boat at the end of the pier is Dermot's, the
Kathleen.
He's had her for years. She's his pride and joy."

It was a thirty-foot cabin cruiser, shabby, with paint peeling, and Greta said, "It doesn't look like much."

"It sn't meant to, but it's got twin screws, radar, automatic steering and a depth sounder. Everything you need for an illegal passage by night, plus thirty knots."

He lit a cigarette. "Come on. I'll show you the rest of the estate and then it's back to London."

Jake Cazalet was sitting at his desk in the Oval Office signing papers when Blake Johnson came in.

"I've just had Charles Ferguson on the line, Mr. President. Dillon seems to have come through big-time."

"Tell me."

Blake did, and afterward, the President said, "The man never ceases to amaze me. So what happens now?"

"Ferguson will squeeze Selim dry if he can. Any leads they can prise out of him could prove invaluable."

"You don't need to tell me."

"Naturally, they'll pass all the relevant information on to us."

"I'd expect them to. In this, Blake, we must rely on Ferguson. Selim is a British citizen." He sighed and shook his head. "My God, the times we live in." He smiled suddenly. "I shouldn't think Josef Belov's too happy about all this."

"I shouldn't imagine he is, sir," and Blake went out.

On a quiet side road in HollandPark stood an Edwardian town house in the middle of about an acre of gardens surrounded by high walls. A sign at the electronic gate said PINE GROVES NURSING HOME. It was, in fact, Ferguson's safe house.

Hannah, Miller and Dillon delivered Selim there, and were admitted by military police wearing a kind of uniform of navy blue blazers and flannel slacks.

Selim said, "Nursing home?"

"We have medical facilities," said Dillon. "So it's not a total lie. Don't be deceived by appearances. Security is everything here. The police may not be in army uniform, but they're all armed. There are no bars, but the windows are electrically wired. This is a fortress, Doctor Selim. Resign yourself to that. Now Sergeant Dalton will show you to your room. We'll talk later."

Selim was amazed at his treatment. The room was decent, with a window overlooking the garden. A selection of clothes was available in the drawers and a closet. He showered and changed, then Miller took him down to a sitting room of sorts with a table, chairs, a gas fire and a mirror.

Dalton said, "We're aware of your food requirements, so the chef has prepared a special meal." The door opened and Miller came in with a tray, which he placed on the table. "If there's anything unsatisfactory, please say so, sir."

"No, this is fine." Selim sat down and started to eat. "I would appreciate some tea."

Which was provided and he continued to eat, and on the other side of the mirror, Ferguson, Dillon, Hannah and Roper watched, waiting until he had finished. Miller reappeared and took away the tray. Dalton waited, watchful.

Selim raised his voice. "If you are there behind the mirror, General Ferguson, do come in now. Whatever else I may be, I'm not a fool."

Dillon grinned at the General.

"Right, in we go, people," Ferguson said, and led the way.

Ferguson nodded to Dalton. "If you'd go into the other room and observe, I'd appreciate it."

"Certainly, sir."

Roper maneuvered his wheelchair, as Hannah and Ferguson sat down. Dillon sat on the windowsill, smoking a cigarette.

"To clarify things," Ferguson said, "I'm responsible for the Prime Minister's personal security system. I have no connection with the other security services. I have carte blanche on behalf of the Prime Minister to operate as I see fit. Detective Superintendent Bernstein is my assistant, on loan from Special Branch at Scotland Yard."

"And Mr. Dillon? I know what Mr. Dillon does. He kills people."