Nemesis was the right word. It hadn't needed her on this occasion. Cohan had paid an inevitable price. Everything came around, a law of life. She hadn't needed to do it herself, only that it should be done. It was enough. She saw a great deal of movement down at the main door, caught a glimpse of Ferguson and Dillon and then was aware of a pain in her chest. She found her pill box, swallowed two with a gulp of champagne and walked towards the ballroom entrance.
'Perhaps he's gone up to his suite,' Dillon said as they finished their search of the ballroom, and then there was the sound of horns from outside the ballroom, a considerable disturbance. Hannah said to Ferguson, 'I'd better see what the trouble is, sir.' The traffic had slowed noticeably, and Hannah immediately saw the cause of it. There were people on the pavement surrounding a body, and a single motorcycle cop was standing beside his machine and calling it in. Hannah flashed her ID.
'Chief Inspector Bernstein, Special Branch. What happened?'
'I was just passing, guv. He fell from up the top, nearly hit a passing couple. The woman is in shock over there. I've called an ambulance and backup.'
Hannah leaned down and recognized Cohan at once. She straightened. 'I know this man, Constable, he's a guest at the hotel. You stay shtum, no answers to any questions, not to the press, not to anyone. This is a red alert. You know what that means?'
'Of course I do, guv.'
'I'm going inside, but I'll be back.'
They checked out Cohan's suite, the three of them, with a decidedly shaken duty manager. Hannah said, 'Not a thing, no sign of a struggle.'
'I agree, Chief Inspector,' Ferguson said. 'But did he fall or was he pushed?' He turned to Dillon. "What do you think?'
'Oh, come on, Brigadier, who believes in coincidence in our business?'
'Yes, I agree.' Ferguson nodded. 'She must be one hell of a woman.'
'I'm inclined to agree,' Dillon nodded.
Ferguson said to the duty manager, 'Keep this suite locked and secure. You'll have police here to do forensic tests quite soon.'
'Of course, Brigadier.'
Ferguson turned to Dillon. 'You break the bad news to Blake, and obviously through him, to the President. I'll handle the Prime Minister.'
'The great pity it is, your knighthood going down the drain like this,' Dillon said.
Ferguson smiled. 'I always knew you were on my side, Dillon.'
In spite of the close proximity of the house in South Audley Street, Lady Helen had arranged for Hedley to wait for her in Park Lane in the Mercedes. She pushed her way out through the curious onlookers, passing what was left of Senator Michael Cohan. Hedley saw her coming, jumped out and got the rear door open. She got in, he climbed behind the wheel and drove away.
'Just drive around, Hedley, it's been a heavy night.' She lit a cigarette.
'What happened?'
She told him everything. 'So, Cohan's gone and I'm actually left with a link with Jack Barry.' She held up the mobile. 'I'll try him again, shall I?'
Barry grabbed at the phone when it rang. 'Who is this?'
'Nemesis,' she said. 'But first, some hot news. Senator Michael Cohan took a fall from the seventh floor of the Dorchester in Park Lane. I'm using his mobile.'
More than at any time before in his life, Jack Barry was shaken rigid. 'What are you telling me?'
'That Senator Michael Cohan is lying on the pavement in Park Lane outside the Dorchester Hotel. It's like a bad Saturday night in Belfast. Police, ambulances, onlookers, but then you know about this kind of thing.'
Strangely enough, Barry wasn't angry. He actually knew a kind of fear. 'Who in the hell are you?'
'Brady, Kelly, Cassidy in New York, Tim Pat Ryan in London, and now Senator Michael Cohan. That's who I am.' She laughed. 'That just leaves you and the Connection.'
Barry took a deep breath. 'Okay, so who are you? Loyalist freedom fighters? Red Hand of Ulster? Protestant scum?'
'Actually, it may surprise you to know that I'm a Roman Catholic, Mr Barry. Religion doesn't come into it and I'm surprised you say Protestant scum. You're a Protestant yourself.
So was Wolfe Tone, who invented Irish Republicanism; so was Parnell, who came close to achieving a United Ireland.' She was enjoying herself now. 'Then there was Oscar Wilde, George Bernard Shaw, Sean O'Casey, all Prods.'
He cut in, angry now. 'What kind of shite is this? I don't need a fugging history lesson. What's it about? Who are you?'
'The woman who is going to execute you, just like I executed the others. Justice, Mr Barry, is what it's about, a rare commodity these days, but I intend to have it.'
He listened to her soft, measured voice, entirely the wrong kind of voice for what he was hearing. His anger increased. You're mad.'
'Not really. You butchered my son in Ulster three years ago, and executed his friends, four of them, including a woman. You wouldn't remember, Mr Barry, I'm sure. You've got so much blood on your hands, it's hard to remember which corpse is which.' She was giving him too much information, but it was all right. A plan was forming in her mind.
Barry had never felt so frustrated. 'Look, Cohan's mobile is to use to you. It's coded. Any calls are untraceable.'
"Yes, but I can at least speak to you.'
"Okay, so what is it you want?'
"It's quite simple. As I said, you butchered my son in Ulster three years ago. I'm going to butcher you.'
He felt a sudden touch of fear again. 'No way. You're crazy,
lady!'
east I can talk to you when I want on this very useful bone. We could even arrange a meeting. I'll be in touch.'
'Anytime, you bitch. You got a time and place, just name it,' but she had already rung off.
Lady Helen said, 'Pass me the flask, Hedley.' He did so. She took a swallow and passed it back. 'Excellent. I feel great.' She got
out her silver case, lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. 'Marvellous. Drive round for a while. The Palace, Pall Mall.'
The rain had increased again, the wipers clicked backwards and forwards. Hedley cruised the traffic carefully.
'I like driving in the rain,' she said. 'It's a safe, enclosed feeling. It's as if the rest of the world doesn't exist. Do you like the rain, Hedley?'
'Rain?' He laughed out loud. 'Lady Helen, I saw too much of it in 'Nam. Patrolling in the swamps of the Mekong Delta, leeches applying themselves to your more important bits and those monsoon rains sluicing down.'
'Just hearing about it makes me shiver. Find a pub. I feel like a drink.'
Which he did, a very respectable place called the Grenadier close to St James's Place. They'd used it before. The landlord, Sam Hardaker, was an old Grenadier Guards sergeant and knew Hedley from his days at the Embassy.
'A real pleasure, Lady Helen.'
'Nice to see you, Sam. I don't expect you have such a thing as a bottle of champagne?'
'One in the fridge. Non-vintage, but Bollinger. Promised to a Grenadier Guards officer at the Palace, but he'll have to do without.'
She and Hedley sat in a corner booth, Sam brought the Bollinger in a bucket and produced two glasses. He uncorked and poured. Lady Helen tasted it.
'Heavenly.' She smiled as Sam filled the glasses. 'They say that if you're tired of champagne, you're tired of life.'
'I wouldn't know,' Sam said. 'Being a beer man myself.'
He retired and she lit another cigarette. 'All right, Hedley?'
He nodded. 'Just fine, Lady Helen.'
She raised a glass. 'To us, then. To love and life and the
pursuit of happiness.' He raised his glass and they touched. 'And damnation to Jack Barry and the Connection.'
Hedley drank some of his champagne and put the glass down. 'You wouldn't really try to meet that bastard?'
She lit another cigarette, frowning, considering the point. 'The only way to see him, Hedley, would be somehow to bring him to me.'
Hedley nodded. 'Okay, so let's say you brought him down just like the others. What then? That still leaves the Connection, and you'll never know who he is - none of them did.'
'Pour me another glass of champagne and let's take a philosophical viewpoint to all this.' She leaned back. 'Politics, Hedley, are responsible for so many ills. Take the situation we are so involved with. Forget about the Sons of Erin and the Connection. The whole thing starts with governments having a dialogue. Events couldn't have proceeded without dialogue between the British and American governments, the Prime Minister and the President and their cosy chats on the telephone.'
'So?' Hedley said.
'If they hadn't agreed to pool information, there wouldn't have been all that juicy stuff from the Intelligence Services for the Connection to poach.' She reached for the bottle and poured him another glass. 'So, where does ultimate responsibility lie?'
'I don't know what you mean.'
'Ultimate power, Hedley, holds the final responsibility in this case. If the White House was involved, ultimate power lies with the President himself.' She glanced at her watch. 'Oh, it's late. Let's go.'
Hedley handed her into the Mercedes, went round and got behind the wheel. As he drove away he said, 'For God's sake, what are you saying?'
'I've secured an invitation to Chad Luther's party at his Long
Island estate next week. The President is the guest of honour, I understand.'
Hedley swerved. 'My God, you wouldn't!'
She frowned, and then laughed. 'Oh, good heavens, Hedley, do you think I mean to assassinate him? Oh dear, oh dear, what must you think of me?' She shook her head. 'I haven't gone over the edge, Hedley. No, I meant that I could always discuss it with him.'
'Discuss it? You mean, lay the whole thing on the table, everything you've done? The killings? Hell, he'd have you arrested.'
'You don't see it, do you?' She lit a cigarette. 'It's his White House, so it's his mess. He doesn't want it out in the open any more than I do. This whole White House Connection business would be an enormous scandal. It could imperil his presidency. It would certainly damage the peace process in Ireland that he's worked so hard for. He has to unmask the Connection.' She gazed at Hedley. 'Or who knows what might leak to the press?'
Hedley was aghast. 'You mean, you'd blackmail the President? You'd be willing to go that far?' He shook his head. 'You've got the bad guys, Lady Helen. Let it go. Just let it be.'
'I can't,' she said. 'I'm on borrowed time, Hedley, much more so than you realize, and this is too important. So Long Island it is. If you're not happy with that, then don't come.'
'Hey, I don't deserve that.'
'I know you don't. You've been solid as a rock. My truest friend.'
'I don't need a snow job, that's all I'm saying.'
'So you'll come?'
He sighed. 'Where else would I go?' He changed gears. 'You're not still going to carry that Colt in your purse, are you?'
'Of course I am,' she said. 'Who knows.' She smiled. 'I might meet the Connection.'
Blake listened to what Dillon had to say. When the Irishman was finished, Blake said, 'Takes me back to my FBI days and the most-wanted list. The kind of killers who are obsessive.'
'So, you think the same person got Cohan as got the others?'
'Of course I do. I believe in coincidence as much as you do.'
'So that means the woman?' Dillon said.
'I suppose it does.'
'How does that fit in with FBI or CIA statistics? I mean, we know of women involved in terrorist movements in the past -the Baader-Meinhof gang in Germany, the IRA, the Palestinians - but it's still a minority classification.'
'So?'
'If we accept the idea, it means that a single woman is responsible for the total demise of the Sons of Erin. She's killed five people.'
'Sean, my friend,' Blake said, 'have you got a better suggestion?'
'Actually, no, but I think it would be useful if you put some more work in with your police friend, Captain Parker.'
'Such as?'
'I haven't the slightest idea, but cops are cops. They smell things other people don't. If he sniffs around what's left of the good Senator, there might be some useful information.'
'Okay, leave it with me.'
Blake rang off, sat there thinking about it and phoned the President. 'You've heard about Cohan?'
'I could hardly avoid it,' Cazalet said. 'It's all over CNN.'
'Can I see you?'
