The White House Connection

Chapter Fourteen

Not long after Helen Lang had called Barry, Dillon spoke to Ferguson at Cavendish Square. 'I always seem to be phoning you at ridiculous hours in the morning to give you bad news.'

'Tell me.'

Which Dillon did.

'What a mess,' Ferguson said. 'The chief of staff? Who'd have believed it?'

'Doesn't matter now,' Dillon said callously. 'Cooked to a turn and I'm not sorry. He was responsible for many deaths, and in the case of Peter Lang, an atrocity of the first order. Heinrich Himmler would have been proud of him.'

'Where is Helen Lang now?'

'Blake's checking. I'll keep you posted. She certainly isn't here.'

Ferguson put the phone down, thought about it, then called Hannah Bernstein. She answered astonishingly brightly, but then that was fourteen years of police work.

'Bernstein? It's me,' Ferguson said. 'And what a tale I have to tell. Long Island has turned out to be the modern equivalent of a Greek tragedy. Sony, Chief Inspector, but I'm going to have to ask you to make an early start.'

'Of course, sir.'

'There is one thing. The Commissioner phoned me late last night from Scotland Yard.'

'Trouble, sir?'

'Only for some. You are now a Detective Superintendent, Special Branch.'

'Oh dear,' Hannah said. 'The boys won't like that in the canteen.'

'Let me be brutal,' Ferguson told her. 'Forget your Cambridge MA in psychology. To my knowledge, you've killed four times in the line of duty.'

'Something I'm not proud of, sir.'

'If I may stir your Hasidic conscience, Superintendent, Sword of the Lord and Gideon, those people were all worth killing. You took a bullet yourself and I'm damn proud to have had you work for me. Anyway, Kim can get scrambled eggs going and we'll wait together to hear further bad news from Dillon. I'll fill you in when you get here.'

Blake came into the study where Dillon was talking to the President by the fire. Cazalet turned. 'Any news?'

'On Lady Helen Lang, Mr President? Yes. She flew over here from Gatwick in one of her firm's Gulfstreams and landed at Westhampton.'

'And?'

'By the time I'd chased all this up, she'd taken off again just before ten.'

'Destination?'

'Gatwick.' Blake hesitated. 'What do you want done, Mr President?'

'About Lady Helen?' Cazalet frowned, the tough, experienced politician in charge. 'If this comes out, the whole peace process can come toppling over. Let's be practical about this mess.

Thornton 's death can be dismissed as an unfortunate accident. A man tried to attack me, Thornton chased him, and they both died. Brady, Kelly and Cassidy already have explanations for their deaths. Tim Pat Ryan in London?'

'A gangster,' Dillon said. 'And every other gangster in London wanted his crown.'

'Exactly. As for Cohan -' Cazalet shrugged – 'I'm not going to shed tears over that bastard. So he'd had too much to drink and fell from the terrace of his suite.'

Blake said, 'You mean it never happened, Mr President?'

'Blake, it stinks, not only for the White House, but for Downing Street. We're all for peace and yet a thing like this

'Sinks the ship,' Blake said.

'And there's always Jack Barry.' Dillon lit a cigarette. 'The last man standing. Now, if he went down?'

'It would be as if the whole thing really had never happened,' Blake put in.

There was a pause before Cazalet said, 'That still leaves Lady Helen. She killed six men that we know of.'

'I see,' Dillon said. 'You mean she must pay for sending out of this vale of tears a bunch of absolute bastards, directly responsible for many deaths and the appalling circumstances of her son's death.'

'She broke the law and about as badly as it could be broken,' Cazalet pointed out.

'I've killed many more in my time and sometimes for worse reasons,' Dillon told him. 'Come to think of it, you earned a few medals in ' Nam, Mr President, and Blake, too. What was the body count?'

'Damn you, Dillon,' Cazalet said. 'Right. But it still leaves us with the problem: what do we do about her?'

'She's out of your jurisdiction now,' Blake reminded him.

'But she's still partly my responsibility.' Cazalet hesitated. 'Okay, get me Brigadier Ferguson.'

A moment later, Ferguson was taking his call. ' Mr President.'

'Dillon tells me you know the worst. The thing you don't know is that Lady Helen Lang has left Long Island in a Gulfstream for Gatwick. This is a mess, Brigadier. Let me tell you of my conversation just now with Dillon and Blake Johnson.'

'So, it never happened, Mr President,' Ferguson said, his voice clear over the speaker. 'All right, I think I can work with that over here. But what about Lady Helen?'

'I'm hoping you can think of something for that. You can speak to the Prime Minister, if you want. I'll talk to him later, but what we need is a solution from you. Tell you what. I'll send Dillon and Blake post-haste to London. I've got a plane here they can use.'

'Leave it with me,' Ferguson told him. 'God knows what, but I'll come up with something.'

Cazalet turned to Blake and Dillon. 'You heard. In view of what we've said, I think we can keep the lid on what happened here.'

'I'll stay in touch,' Blake told him.

'Minute by minute, preferably.' The President smiled. 'On your way, gentlemen.'

The Gulfstream rose to fifty thousand feet and turned out over the Atlantic. Lady Helen Lang, an old Foreign Office hand, phoned the Ministry of Defence and asked for Brigadier Charles Ferguson, most immediate. She also remembered a code number from her husband's day. It all worked surprisingly well, and she was patched through to Ferguson at Cavendish Square. 'Who is it?' Hannah Bernstein asked.

'Lady Helen Lang.' Helen smiled. 'Ah, I know you. That very nice lady policeman.' Hannah pressed the audio button and waved frantically to Ferguson. 'Are you there, Charles?'

Ferguson said, 'This is not good, my love.'

'Charles, insufferable as you are, I've always liked you, but for once, just listen. They've all paid the price. The chief of staff was a bonus. I didn't know he was the Connection. He tried to shoot me and I shot him. Not that it matters. He was blown to pieces in the end, in a rather large explosion. Your Mr Dillon was very kind. Told me it was all over. Tried to help. Such a nice man.'

'In between killing people.'

'My dear Charles, that's what you've been doing for years.'

'Helen, tell me one thing. How did you know?'

'Oh, that was poor Tony Emsworth. Riddled with guilt and dying of cancer. He had an illegal copy of the file from the SIS that told the whole story. Gave it to me just before he died. Everyone was in it. You, Mr Dillon, that nice police lady. Barry. The Sons of Erin.'

'I see,' Ferguson said. 'So what now?'

'Back to Compton Place. I've guests to receive, Mr Jack Barry and friends. He couldn't resist the invitation. I've spoken to him again. He's promised to come flying in to see me. I shouldn't think that means by scheduled airline.'

Ferguson was stunned. 'You can't do this, Helen.'

'Oh, yes, I can. He's the last one, the one who really did butcher my son. If you want to join us, Charles, you're very welcome, but if it's the last thing I do on earth, I want to face him.'

Ferguson felt a chill. 'Why do you say that?'

'My heart, Charles, it's not good. Amazing how whiskey and pills keep you going. Anyway, if I can't get him, I'm sure your Mr Dillon will.'

'For God's sake, Helen.'

'For my own sake, Charles.'

She switched off, and Hannah said, 'What do you think, sir?'

'Well, what do you think I should do? There isn't one fact, including the shooting of Tim Pat Ryan, which would allow us to arrest her even on suspicion.'

'So?'

'I'll be at Gatwick to greet her. We'll see then.'

At Doonreigh, Docherty was having breakfast when his phone rang. Barry said, 'I've got a big payday, I want to fly to the North Norfolk coast. A village called Compton, a house called Compton Place. An in-and-out.'

'How many?'

'Four, maybe five. This afternoon.'

Docherty hesitated. 'I don't know. There's military traffic in North Norfolk.'

'Listen, you shite. There's ten thousand pounds cash in a supermarket bag for you in this. Make up your mind.'

'Just give me time, Jack,' Docherty said. 'Let me check the charts. I'll be back.'

'How long?'

'An hour.'

Barry slammed the phone down, and instead of reaching for a drink, poured a cup of tea. He lit a cigarette and stood at the window, staring out at the rain, but he wasn't angry, he was actually excited. What a woman.

The President's plane lifted off at Westhampton. As always, Dillon was surprised at the luxury. The enormous club chairs, the maplewood tables. The flight attendant was Air Force, a Sergeant Paul. He brought coffee for Blake, a Bushmills for Dillon, and then the portable phone.

'For you, Mr Dillon. A Brigadier Ferguson.'

'Early breakfast, Brigadier?'

'Shut up and listen,' Ferguson told him. 'I've had her on the phone.'

'And?'

'She found out about the whole thing from Tony Emsworth before he died. He had an illegal file. Had all of us in it, including you. The whole rotten details of her son's death, kept under wraps by the Secret Intelligence Service. Told me she shot Thornton before the explosion. She's told Barry she's going to Compton Place. She's pulling him in.'

Dillon nodded. 'Yes, she would do that. He's the last, you see. Thornton was a bonus. Is she serious?'

'She's told me she's got a bad heart,' Ferguson said. 'Pills and whiskey keeping her going, she said. She's hanging in there, Dillon. A marvellous woman like her taking on that swine.'

'Hey, take it easy.'

'You know what she said? "If I can't get him, I'm sure your Mr Dillon will."'

'Really?' Dillon said, ice cold.

'God knows what I'll do at Gatwick.'

'I can tell you now,' Dillon said. 'Nothing, because she won't be there. Put the Chief Inspector on.'

'All right, Superintendent now.'

Dillon said to Hannah, 'You finally made it. If I said good for you, you'd say I was being patronizing.'

'Get on with it, Dillon.'

'I checked with the weather people at Westhampton before we left. Weather for the UK was poor. Big front, fog, Gatwick not too good. That's why I just told the boss she won't be there, but then I don't think she intended to. I think she'll land elsewhere.'

'Right, I'll check on that.' 'You do. We'll speak later.'

Docherty, on the phone to Barry, said, 'Okay, I can do it. The Chieftain again. Just like the guy we used last time. I've a connection in North Norfolk called Clarke. Ran a flying school at a place called Shankley Down, an old World War Two feeder station. The flying school went kaput. He's been doing illegal flights to Holland in a Cessna 310.'

'I don't give a stuff if he flies to Mars. Is it on?'

'Yes, I've spoken to him. Shankley Down is an hour at the most to Compton Place.'

'Good. You're on. I'll be there in two hours.'

Barry slammed the phone down, picked it up again and dialled a number. A voice said, 'Quinn here.'

'Barry. I've got a hot one on, private flight into Norfolk and out again.'

'For God's sake, Jack, Norfolk?'

'What are you doing? Lying there like a gorilla in your own shite because the great days are gone? A two-hour flight to a very deserted airfield and two hours back.'

'And in between?'

'We do what we do best.'

Quinn was excited now. 'How many?'

'You, me, Dolan, Mullen, McGee. Are you with me?'

'By Christ, I am.'

'Meet me at Docherty's place in Doonreigh in two hours. If the boys can't make it, we'll do it together. ArmaLites and handguns.'

'We'll be therejack, all of us, I swear. Up with the Sons ofErin .'

He rang off and Barry said morosely, 'Right up,' and this time, he did pour a whiskey instead of a cup of tea.

On the Gulfstream, Helen Lang listened to the second pilot's account of weather conditions in the UK. 'So, not good,' she said.

'Oh, we can scrape into Gatwick, Lady Helen. Rather a lot of fog creeping across the country, but we can make it.' 'What about East Midlands Airport, is it clearer there?' He nodded. 'It would certainly be better than Gatwick.' It had been her intended destination all along, but she smiled.

'Then let's land there. I'm going to Norfolk anyway. It would be quite convenient.' 'Whatever you say.' 'Radio ahead and order a limousine. We won't need a driver.

Hedley can take care of things.'

The pilot departed. Hedley said, 'You had it all worked out.' 'Of course.' She took out a cigarette. 'Light, please.' He gave her one. She sat back. 'I've only one regret. I'm not giving you a choice.'

'Haven't had a choice since the day I met you.' He smiled.

'Let me get you a cup of tea.'

At Doonreigh, Barry arrived to find Quinn and the others already there. They were crowded into Docherty's office, checking ArmaLites and handguns and Docherty looked distinctly unhappy. There was a stir of excitement as Barry appeared, much backslapping and laughter.

'What's it about, Jack?' Quinn demanded.

Barry, as always, knew exactly how to handle the situation. What he was faced with was a group of men who would not have disgraced the Mafia, but as with so many terrorists in Ireland on both sides of the coin, they needed to believe they were gallant freedom fighters.

'Comrades, we've fought shoulder-to-shoulder for an ideal of Irish freedom, and many of us have fallen by the wayside, and often it's been due to treachery and dishonesty. You never knew this, but I had a branch of the Sons of Erin in New York, a member in London. Four of them shot dead.' They were silent now. 'The person responsible was a woman. It's that woman we're visiting in Norfolk. Retribution, that's what it's about. We take care of her and fly straight back. Anyone wants out, say so.'

It was Quinn who spoke. 'We're with you, Jack, you know that.'

Barry slapped him on the shoulder. 'Good man yourself. Now let's get to it,' and he led the way out.

The front advanced across England like a plague, fog drifting everywhere. At Gatwick, Ferguson and Hannah waited in a special security lounge.

Ferguson looked out of the window. 'It's gone rather silent.'

Hannah said, 'I'll check.' She went out, returned a few minutes later and made a face. 'All traffic cancelled at the moment, sir.'

'Damnation. Is anywhere open?'

'Oh, yes. Manchester and East Midlands.'

'Check them out. See if she's diverted.'

Hannah left, and a moment later, the phone rang. The switchboard operator said, 'Call for you, Brigadier.'

Helen Lang sounded good. 'Dear Charles, sorry I missed you. Filthy weather. I just landed at East Midlands. Lucky to get in. On our way to Norfolk. Scattered fog but not too bad. Hedley is such a good driver.'

'This is madness, Helen. Look, Dillon and Blake Johnson are hard after you. Leave it to us, Helen.'

'God bless you, Charles.' She rang off.

Hedley said, 'What happens now?'

'That depends on Mr Barry.'

'He won't get anywhere near Norfolk, not in weather like this.'

'I wouldn't depend on that, Hedley. He's a man of infinite resources and guilt.' She shook out a couple of pills. 'The flask, please.'

He passed it across. 'You'll kill yourself

'As long as I kill Barry first, I'll be happy.'

It was late afternoon as the Chieftain crossed the English coast over Morecambe. It was raining hard, fog swirling, but Docherty kept below the overcast. Barry sat beside him.

'Are we going to make it?'

'It isn't good, but I think so. We can always turn back.'

'You do and you're a dead man when we land.' Barry's smile was terrible. 'You see, this meeting I'm going to is the most important in my life.'

Docherty was terrified. 'Jesus, Jack, it'll be fine. Just give me a chance,' and he concentrated on the flying.

Sergeant Paul came in with the portable phone. 'Brigadier Ferguson , Mr Dillon.'

Dillon said, 'Here I am.'

'Bad weather, fog. She's landed at East Midlands. On her way to Norfolk by road.'

'So?'

'Listen. She told me Barry said he'd be flying in. Now that would mean by some highly illegal means, presumably direct to Norfolk.'

'You mean, you think she could be on her own at Compton Place when he arrived?'

'Something like that.'

'You could always ring the Chief Constable of Norfolk and…'

'Don't be stupid, Dillon. For once forget that Irish propensity for gallows humour and be serious.'

'Well, she needs backup,' Dillon said. 'She's got good old Hedley with a great record in ' Nam, but that was years ago. If Barry arrives, he won't come alone. I've known him long enough to know that.'

'Dillon, North Norfolk is one of the last truly rural parts of England. It would take us hours to get there by road and she's determined to do this thing. I mean, what can we do?'

'First of all, you check whether we can land at Farley Field. Then you call in Flight Lieutenants Lacey and Parry and tell them we're going to war.'

'What in the hell do you mean?'

'I know something of the North Norfolk coast. It's got broad beaches, especially when the tide's out. They can take me in and drop me by parachute. We've done it before. Leave it to Lacey to work out.'

'For God's sake, Dillon.'

'He's got nothing to do with it. I'll have Blake order our pilot to divert to Farley. I'll call you back.'

Blake said, 'Farley?'

'Come on, Blake, you remember Farley, the RAF proving ground outside London. The department has a regular Lear jet operating out of there, piloted by Flight Lieutenants Lacey and Parry. We've had some interesting moments together. Now, we have another problem.'

'And that would be?'

'Lady Helen Lang wants the last man standing in this whole rotten mess, Jack Barry. So she's drawn him out. He can't resist, so he's told her he would fly in. She could be in a bad situation at Compton Place. It's miles from anywhere in the depths of the English countryside. So, we land at Farley. They have an armourer there, full facilities. Just listen and learn.'

He phoned Ferguson again. 'Tell Lacey to find me a suitable beach near Compton Place. As I said, I'll drop in by parachute.

At least she'll have backup. Just have the necessary equipment and weaponry ready.'

Blake reached over. 'Excuse me. Make that for two.'

Dillon laughed and said to Ferguson, 'Hey, I've got this crazy middle-aged American who's decided to come along for the drop. He's a kind of war reporter for the President.'

'You're mad, the both of you,' Ferguson said.

'Of course we are, so get on with it,' and Dillon rang off.

The Chieftain landed on the old decaying bomber runway at Shankley Down and rolled to a halt by the decrepit hangars and the Nissen hut with the chimney smoking. There was a Cessna 310 parked on the apron, an old Ford Transit beside it, a man standing there in a flying jacket.

They all got out. Docherty said, 'Hey, Clarke, you look good.'

'Where's my money?' Clarke said.

Docherty produced a fat envelope. 'Two grand in cash.' Clarke fingered it and Barry punched him in the shoulder. 'Okay?'

Clarke looked at the Irishman and his friends, and discretion, as always, was the better part.

'Sure, fine, anything you want. Key's in the Transit.' Barry patted his face. 'Good boy. We'll be back.' He nodded to his men. They got in the Transit, Quinn at the wheel, and drove away.

The Gulfstream landed at Farley, rolled to a halt and Dillon and Blake got out. Ferguson and Hannah were standing there, Lacey and Parry behind them.

'Everything organized?' Dillon asked.

'Let's go in and discuss it,' Ferguson told him.

Inside, they had a room to themselves. There was a trestle table with parachutes, two AK47 assault rifles and two Brownings with silencers.

Dillon said, 'I see you remember my preference.' He turned to Lacey. 'What's the score?'

'Let me show you on the chart, sir.' Lacey led the way to the table. 'Ordnance Survey map, large scale. Compton Place, so close to the sea it makes no difference. Here is Horseshoe Bay. Very wide when the tide's out and it's turning tonight. We could wait until it's really out, but…'

'No way. If we leave now, how long?'

'Forty minutes.'

'I should say we're coming with you,' Ferguson said. 'We can drop you, then there's an RAF feeder station at Bramley twenty minutes flying time away. We'll come on by road.'

'Terribly good of you.' Dillon looked at the chart again and turned to Blake. 'That's it, then, Horseshoe Bay.'

He and Blake put themselves in the hands of the armourer, an ageing sergeant major who went over the equipment with professional competence. They took only one parachute, no reserve, an AK each, a Browning plus magazines.

Dillon said, 'Look, Blake, Vietnam was a long time ago.'

'Stuff you, Dillon, okay?' Blake told him.

'Hey, I'm with you.'

They dressed in jump suits, shoulder holsters for the Brownings, and checked the AKs. Ferguson and Hannah came in. 'Lacey says still sporadic fog, but worse for you at Horseshoe Bay. Not too bad at Bramley for our landing.'

'Well, good for you, Brigadier.' Dillon grinned at Blake. 'Let's do it.'

'Why not?' Blake said, picked up his parachute and walked out.

Norfolk, Ulster