The White House Connection

Chapter Nine

Dillon,in the office at ten o'clock, woke Blake in bed at five a.m. in Washington.

'For God's sake, Sean, look at the time!'

'I'm doing you a favour, Blake. My story is better than the midnight movie. You'll come dangerously alive, go down to the kitchen in your track suit, drink fresh orange juice and contemplate a five-mile run.'

'Like hell I will.'

'Just listen.'

When Dillon was finished, Blake said, 'God help us, it gets worse.'

'Don't tell me. I'll keep in touch,' and Dillon rang off".

Lady Helen Lang jogged through Hyde Park. It was ten-thirty the following morning. She sat on a bench by the pond and rested. She wasn't breathless, she felt fine. The prospect of the evening at the Dorchester was strangely like going into battle. She was determined on her course of action, no question of that. It was fitting that Cohan should go the same way as the rest of the club. She was realistic enough to realize that the prospect of ever facing Jack Barry or the Connection just wasn't likely. However, she would have exacted a considerable amount of justice, as she saw it. It would comfort her next time she placed flowers on her son's monument.

Her name was called and she looked up and saw Hedley walking towards her. 'Thought I'd see how you were getting on.'

'That was nice of you.' She stood up and suddenly was struggling for breath. She clutched her chest, then sat down again, fumbled for the plastic bottle of pills in her pocket and dropped it.

He picked it up, and sat beside her and opened it. 'Is it bad?'

She lied, of course. 'No, no, I was just a little dizzy for a moment.' He passed her two pills in his palm. She picked them up and swallowed them down. 'That's better.'

'This ain't good, Lady Helen.'

She patted his knee. 'A nice cup of tea and I can go on for ever, Hedley. Now take me across to the cafe.'

They stood up and she took his arm.

In his office at the Ministry of Defence, Ferguson was going over the previous night's events with Hannah Bernstein and Dillon.

'What a load of male macho nonsense,' Hannah said, outraged. 'And at your age, Brigadier.'

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.'

'Ah, you're thinking of my son,' she smiled, very calm. 'If you work for Charles, you'll know my background, but as a great writer once said, the past is a foreign country, Mr Dillon. No, we should never dwell on the past. We must manage with what we've got.'

'A thought,' Dillon said. 'But not much of a comfort.'

At that moment, an ageing lady approached. 'My dear Helen, so nice to see you.'

They touched cheeks and Helen Lang said, 'You two won't know each other. The Duchess of Stevely, Sean Dillon.'

'A considerable pleasure.' Dillon kissed her hand.

'Oh, I do like the Irish,' the Duchess said. 'Such rogues. Are you a rogue, Mr Dillon?'

Helen said, 'Well, he works for Charles Ferguson.'

'There you are then,' the Duchess said.

'I'll love you and leave you.' Dillon withdrew.

He saw Ferguson talking to a Cabinet minister, Hannah waiting discreetly close at hand. She came across to him.

' Cohan just came in. He's talking to the American Ambassador in the corner over there. It's difficult to keep track in a crowd like this.'

'Girl, dear, whatever else, no one is going to do anything very dramatic to him at an affair like this.'

'You think he's going to be all right?' She shook her head. 'The Brigadier seems so certain.'

'He's older than you are, that means he's got it right more often. On the other hand, how often has he been wrong?'

'I'd rather it didn't happen on our patch if it is going to happen,' she said.

At that moment, there was a flurry of movement at the entrance and the Prime Minister came in with a small entourage.

'Come on,' Hannah said, and moved through the crowd to Ferguson, Dillon at her back.

The three of them stood together, watching the Prime Minister's progress as he shook the occasional hand or paused for a few words. Finally, he reached the American Ambassador, Cohan still with him. There were smiles all round. In fact, it was the first time Dillon had seen the Senator smiling.

'He seems happy enough now,' Ferguson said.

'For the moment, sir,' Hannah observed. 'Only for the moment.'

The emcee, resplendent in a scarlet coat, called, 'Ladies and Gentlemen, the Prime Minister.'

All conversation died instantly as the Prime Minister moved to the microphone. 'Your Grace, my lords, ladies and gentlemen. We live in exciting times. Peace in Ireland is literally within our grasp and what I want to say to you is this

He finished to considerable applause and was away in an instant, glad-handing his way to the door with his people.

'Now what, sir?' Hannah asked.

'From the look of that splendid buffet, I'd say eating time is here,' Ferguson told her. 'So let's get to it.'

'What about Cohan, sir?'

'You two take turns dogging his footsteps.'

'Although if anything was going to happen, it wouldn't happen here?' Dillon said. 'Is that your drift?'

'Exactly.'

Hannah said, 'I'm not so hungry, so I'll take first watch.'

'As you like, my dear. I see he's still with the American Ambassador.'

She turned and started to push her way through the crowd.

Cohan stood with the Ambassador and a number of people in the corner, which was some sort of protection against the crowd. He was drinking too much and sweating, all down to stress, of course. He felt awful and the truth was he was frightened. He hadn't said a word to the Ambassador about his present situation. After all, how could he? He'd noticed Ferguson, Dillon and Hannah Bernstein earlier and in a sense, their presence made things worse. He reached for another glass of champagne, as a waiter hovered and jolted a rather pleasant-looking woman standing close by.

'I'm terribly sorry.'

'That's quite all right,' Helen Lang told him.

At that moment, Cohan saw Hannah Bernstein pushing her way through the crowd and was conscious of immense irritation. Why in the hell wouldn't they leave him alone?

The Ambassador put a hand on his shoulder. 'Are you okay, Michael? You're sweating.'

'Oh, sure,' Cohan said. 'I started a cold on the flight over.' Suddenly, he realized that, for the moment at least, he had to get out of there. 'I'll just run up to my suite and swallow some aspirin.'

Helen Lang, close enough to hear, turned at once and worked her way through the crowd. She paused at the door to check in her purse for the passkey that Hedley had given her, then walked out.

Cohan finished his champagne, saw Hannah standing close by at one of the bars, a glass in her hand, and his irritation turned to anger. He started to push through the crowd, reached the ballroom entrance, paused briefly to check behind him, aware that she also was on the move, then made for the men's room and went in. It was busy enough for him to have to wait. He really was sweating now, and found himself checking faces in the mirror. He clashed water on his face, took a hand towel from the attendant and dried himself.

There were several men going out together in a rather boisterous crowd. He moved out behind them, was aware of Hannah Bernstein glancing the other way towards the ballroom. He took his chance, dashed away and made it to the lounge. His irritation was immediately eased. It was as if he'd won a victory, small perhaps, but a victory. He reached the foyer, went to the elevators and punched the button.

Hannah gave it ten minutes, and was still standing there against the wall when Dillon arrived. 'I was looking for you. Where's our friend?'

'In there.' She nodded at the door. 'I saw him go in, but he hasn't come out.'

Dillon smiled. 'Some things are still beyond the powers of even politically correct coppers. Leave it to me.'

She waited, watching the crowd, swollen now by late arrivals. Finally, Dillon emerged, pausing only to light a cigarette. 'Not a sign.'

'That's strange, he definitely went in.' She was aware of a sudden touch of anxiety. 'Let's see if he's in the ballroom,' and she led the way back.

Helen Lang's passkey worked perfectly. She was into Cohan's suite instantly and closed the door. It was very luxurious. An excellent bedroom and bathroom, a shower room and a superb panelled sitting room. The maid had drawn the curtains. Helen slipped through, slid back the French windows and stepped on to the terrace. Hyde Park was opposite, the lights of the city beyond. Down below, Park Lane was crowded with traffic. She felt strangely nostalgic standing there. It was raining slightly and she moved under the canopy, lit a cigarette and waited.

Cohan got out of the elevator and hurried along the corridor, his heart pounding. Christ, what's happening to me? he thought. I need a drink. He reached his suite, got the door open and moved inside. He opened the doors of the Chinese lacquered bar unit, poured a large Scotch, his hands shaking. He took it down, then poured another. What in the hell was he going to do? He'd never felt like this ever. Everything was falling apart. It occurred to him then that the one person who could possibly tell him what to do was Barry, so he went into the bedroom, got his mobile from his travelling bag, returned to the sitting room and phoned him.

Barry, still at the safe house in County Down, said, 'Who is this?'

' Cohan. For God's sake, what's going on?'

'What do you mean?'

'Look, I spoke to the Connection. I know all about your escapade in London last night. I've had Brigadier Charles Ferguson and this Dillon guy on my back and they told me.'

'And what did they say?'

Cohan told him everything he could remember. 'The Connection said you were here to protect my back.'

'So I was.'

'Dillon said you were here to knock me off.'

'Who do you believe?' Barry asked. 'Your friends or that little Taig shite? We're in this together. We'll sort it together. When are you due back in New York?'

'Tomorrow.'

'Excellent,' Barry lied with his usual smoothness. 'There are things happening that you don't know about, but all your doubts will be resolved, I promise you.'

'Okay, okay,' Cohan nodded. Til stay in touch.'

'You do that.'

Barry thought about it, then phoned the Connection. 'I've just had Cohan on the line from London.'

'And?'

'He's coming apart. You've got to do something.'

'Such as?'

'Couldn't you arrange for him to be hit by a truck when he gets back to New York?'

'I'll give it my consideration,' Thornton told him, and rang off.

Cohan put the mobile phone down and picked up his glass. 'Why in the hell did I ever get mixed up in all this?' he whispered. He put the glass to his lips, the curtains opened, and Lady Helen Lang entered, the Colt. 25 in her right hand, the silencer in place.