Ferguson, who was wearing an elastic bandage on his gun hand, said, 'I stand corrected, Chief Inspector.'
'God, but you look grand when you're angry, girl,' Dillon told her. 'The eyes sparkle and there's a flush to the cheeks.'
'Oh, go to hell,' she said. 'It should have been a major anti-terrorist squad operation. If the place had been flooded with armed officers, we'd have had him. One of the most wanted Irish terrorists.'
'We'd also have been on the front page of every tabloid newspaper and I didn't want that.' Ferguson told her. 'My decision.'
At that moment, the phone rang. His secretary said, 'Reception has a call from Ulster. A Jack Barry?'
Ferguson pressed his audio button so that Dillon and Hannah could hear the conversation. 'Jack Barry. Have them trace it.'
'They can't, Brigadier, it's a coded mobile,' his secretary said.
'All right, then just put him through.'
The call was surprisingly clear. 'Is that you, Ferguson?'
'And who else would it be?'
'I just wanted to let you know I didn't drown in the Thames and I'm safe home. You're a lucky man. I thought I'd got you.'
'Well, you didn't. You shot the gun out of my hand, mind you. That was pretty good.'
'Is Dillon there?'
'Naturally.'
'To our next merry meeting in hell, Sean.' Barry laughed and the phone went dead.
Hannah Bernstein said, 'What a fiend. What's he playing at, making stupid phone calls? Now we know for sure he's alive. We didn't before.'
'It's a game to Jack, the lot of it,' Dillon told her. 'I could also idd that some say he's as mad as a hatter, that he'll never do the sensible thing, only the crazy thing.'
Hannah said, 'I suppose the only good thing is that Senator Cohan won't die on us here.'
'You really think so?' Ferguson shook his head. 'There has never been a suggestion that Barry killed the others. The only logical reason for his presence here, if Cohan was a target, would be because the Senator had become an inconvenience. No, we've deposed of one danger, at least temporarily. The other one — our mysterious second assassin - is still out there.' He picked up the phone. 'Get me Senator Michael Cohan at the Dorchester.'
He kept the audio button down. A moment later, Cohan said, "Michael Cohan. Who is this?'
'Charles Ferguson. I believe you know who I am.'
'Yes, I do, and I don't wish to speak to you.'
'Senator, believe me, I only have your best interests at heart.'
'I am a US Senator on a visit on behalf of the President,' Cohan lied. 'If you continue to harass me, I'll complain to the Prime Minister's office,' and he slammed down the phone.
'An angry man,' Dillon said. 'So what do we do now?'
'Why, we adjourn for lunch, of course.'
Giuliano, the manager of the Dorchester Piano Bar, greeted them with enthusiasm. Ferguson had been using the place for twenty years or more, Dillon comparatively recently, but he did appear on a regular basis. Hannah Bernstein, of course, was no problem. Like any Italian male, Giuliano appreciated beauty combined with brains, and Hannah certainly had that. The fact that she was also a Detective Chief Inspector of the Special Branch at Scotland Yard was a bonus. The additional fact that she had killed in the line of duty gave an extra frisson. Giuliano remembered the newspaper story. A couple of years previously, she had been passing a street on her way to Grosvenor Square when a woman had emerged screaming that an armed hold-up was taking place. As she was on American Embassy duty that day, Bernstein had been armed, and had seriously embarrassed the villains by shooting one man armed with a sawn-off shotgun, dead.
Giuliano kissed her on each cheek with style, then presented his suggestions for lunch. Homemade cannelloni with mozzarella cheese and ham stuffing. Then there was gnocchi di patate al pesto, potato dumplings in garlic and basil sauce. They made their choice, and Dillon ordered Krug non-vintage champagne.
'One thing,' Ferguson said to Giuliano. 'I understand that Senator Michael Cohan has a table reserved for one o'clock?'
'That's true,' Giuliano said, looking startled.
'Well, then, put him at the next table, there's a good chap,' Ferguson said.
Giuliano smiled. 'Here we go again, Brigadier. I should write a book. All these years. The Cold War, English public school men who were communists under the skin, and then the Irish.' He smiled at Dillon. 'Forgive me, my friend...'
'I know, I'm a terrible man,' Dillon told him.
Giuliano said, 'So the American gets the next table. I wish you joy.'
He went away, the Krug came, and Dillon insisted on pouring. He said, 'How did you know Cohan would be here?'
Ferguson grunted. 'The telephone, Dillon. It's a wonderful instrument. You should try it sometime.'
Hannah said, 'How do we handle it?'
'Head on, my dear, head on.' Ferguson raised his glass. 'To lrfe and love and happiness.'
'Well, if you add peace in Ulster, I'll drink to that,' Dillon said, and Cohan appeared at the head of the steps.
Giuliano greeted him, brought him down to the next table, took an order for a dry martini and went away.
Ferguson said, 'Senator Michael Cohan? Brigadier Charles Ferguson.'
Cohan was outraged. 'This is harassment of the worst kind. I warned you I would complain to the Prime Minister's office. I certainly will after this.'
Two things happened. He started to get up and a waiter arrived with the dry martini. It was Dillon who took over.
'I don't mind you being a politician, Senator. We have them in Ireland, too, although I remember one saying, "Don't tell my mother I'm a Senator in the Dail, she thinks I play piano in a whorehouse.'"
'How dare you!'
"Oh, shut your face,' Dillon said. 'Try not to be stupid, because that's what you're being. Now if you want to live, listen to the man.'
Ferguson said, 'Just hear me, Senator. Let's discuss the Sons of Erin and see if you can make any Connection' — he emphasized the word — 'with your own experience.'
When he was finished, Cohan sat there, very pale. 'This has nothing to do with me.'
'Listen, you shite,' Dillon told him. 'Jack Barry was here in London last night, and why? To pick the meat off your bones.'
Cohan was really worried now, but tried to bluster. 'I know nothing of this.'
'The Sons of Erin are all dead, Senator. Now, maybe somebody just doesn't like dining clubs,' Dillon said. 'But our theory is that Jack Barry came over on a hasty trip to tidy things up, which meant stiffing you.'
It was Hannah who put in, 'But that still leaves, somewhere out there, the individual who got rid of your friends.'
'Nonsense,' Cohan told her. 'It's all rubbish. Now I demand that you leave me alone!' He swallowed the dry martini.
Ferguson said, 'So you won't cooperate. All right, Senator, have it your way. The Prime Minister and the President will be so informed. However, my instructions are to keep you alive if possible while you're in London, so we'll be there tonight at the Forum for Irish Peace doing our best to achieve that aim, whether you cooperate or not.'
'Go to hell.' Cohan got up and walked out.
Their pasta arrived. Hannah said, 'What now, sir?'
'Why, we enjoy this delicious light luncheon, return this evening and try to keep the bastard in one piece.'
'You think there could be a problem?'
'I've never been more certain of anything in my life.' Ferguson picked up a fork and turned to Dillon. 'Black tie, dear boy, do try to look civilized.'
With nowhere else to go, Cohan phoned the Connection on the coded mobile phone number and poured out everything, all his doubts, all his fears.
When he was finished, Thornton said, 'Can't you see what they're doing to you? I had an arrangement with Barry. He flew over to protect you, so they found out he was there, and he got out by the skin of his teeth, from what you say.'
'You told me I'd be safe in London.'
'You will be. I was just making doubly sure by sending Barry. Everything will be fine.'
'You said Barry would be taking care of whoever was behind the killings.'
'There's a lot going on you don't know about. Just trust me.'
'It's my hide if something goes wrong.'
'Senator, Senator — nothing will go wrong. Okay? So just calm down, relax, enjoy the party. I'll be in touch.'
Thornton hung up and immediately phoned Barry.
'I've had Cohan on in a hell of a state. He's had Ferguson and Dillon on his back. Why didn't you tell me how badly things went?'
'Because it only happened last night and I was busy getting out of England in one piece.'
'Let me hear your version.'
So Barry did, staying reasonably close to the truth. When he was finished, he said, 'It was just one of those things. How Dillon found me, I don't know.'
'A considerable nuisance, that man.'
'The army said that for twenty years and the IRA have been saying it ever since. Anyway, what about Cohan?'
'I'll have to leave him to do his own thing, I'll think of something when he returns to the States. I'll be in touch,' and he put down his phone.
In the house in South Audley Street, Lady Helen Lang went through her wardrobe and finally selected a superb evening suit in black crepe. She held the jacket against her as she stood in front of the mirror. There was a knock on the door and Hedley entered with a cup of tea.
'What do you think?' she asked.
'Looks good to me.'
She hung the black suit inside the wardrobe. 'Fine.' She sipped some of her tea. 'I've a hair appointment at Daniel Galvin's in forty-five minutes.'
'You look okay to me, Lady Helen.'
'All the world and his wife will be there tonight, Hedley.'
'Including Cohan?'
She smiled. 'I must look my best. Now go and get ready. I'll be with you in a quarter of an hour.'
The Forum for Irish Peace in the Dorchester ballroom was a splendid black tie affair. The Prime Minister had not yet arrived, but several members of the Cabinet had. The guest list certainly included the great and the good, and Dillon, surprised as always at the people pulled in for such a thing, reached for a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. He was wearing an evening suit with raw silk lapels.
Hannah, in a dull red silk suit by Versace, said, 'Take it easy, Dillon, it's a long night ahead.'
'You look grand, girl,' he told her. 'Fit for a three-page spread in Vogue magazine.'
'Flattery really will get you nowhere.'
'I know, and isn't that the terrible shame?'
Ferguson approached. 'Everything all right?'
'Jesus, Brigadier,' Dillon said. 'When I was a wee boy in Belfast, my grandmother would take me to the lounge in the old Grand Central for afternoon tea. The grandeur of it. She
loved that. The head waiter wore a dinner suit just like yours.'
'Sticks and stones, Dillon,' Ferguson said. 'And my patience, as usual, is wearing dangerously thin.' He frowned. 'Good God, it's Lady Helen Lang,' and he turned from Dillon as she came through the crowd.
They embraced. 'So nice to see you, Charles.' She turned and saw Dillon. 'Why, it's Mr Dillon, isn't it?'
Dillon took her hand. 'A great pleasure to meet you again, Lady Helen.'
'I couldn't resist coming. I live in South Audley Street just round the corner. Terribly convenient. Every time I feel like a cocktail, I walk down to the Piano Bar.'
At that moment, there was a buzz over by the main door. Hannah appeared. 'The Prime Minister, Brigadier.'
Ferguson said, 'So sorry, Helen.' He nodded to Dillon. 'Get Lady Helen another glass of champagne, there's a good chap. With me, Chief Inspector.'
They walked away. Lady Helen said, 'You sometimes appear to be on the dangerous edge of things, Mr Dillon.'
'How very astute.' He grabbed two glasses from a passing tray and gave her one. 'There you are.' He glanced around. 'A grand bunch of people.'
'Who you despise totally.'
He raised his glass. 'To you, Lady Helen, and me, the only two people in a world gone mad.'
She smiled as she returned his toast, and for some reason, he was aware of a coldness, a terrible unease. Now why should that be?
'Forum for Irish peace.' He shook his head. 'Seven hundred years coming and too late for some.' He took a deep breath. 'God save us, but I'm sorry.'
