“It’s only money, Derry, and money is only a medium of exchange. No, the game’s the thing.”
“That sounds like Shakespeare.”
“Close. But it’s what you and me are all about, as well as Dillon, Ferguson, even the Salters. It’s the game that makes you feel alive. It’s worth everything.”
As soon as he got back to London, Ferguson requested a meeting with the Prime Minister, on a one-to-one basis, no other security people present, not even Scotland Yard. When he was ushered into the Prime Minister’s study, he found him signing various documents for the Foreign Secretary, who had never approved of Ferguson.
“I’ve heard a rumor you’ve been up to some kind of nonsense again, General,” he said.
“Me, Foreign Secretary? Can’t imagine what. I’ve been up to my neck in things at the Ministry of Defence for the past few days.”
“Really?” the Foreign Secretary said dryly.
The Prime Minister passed across the documents. “There you go. No feuding, you two, you’re both far too important.”
“Pax,” Ferguson said. The Foreign Secretary smiled reluctantly and departed.
The Prime Minister said, “Right, General, you’d better sit down and tell me the worst.”
Afterward he said, “That’s the deepest black operation I’ve ever heard of. No wonder you didn’t want anyone else present. There are rumors, of course, already. God help us if this kind of thing ever reached the ears of the public.”
“It’s too fantastic. No one would believe it.”
The Prime Minister nodded. “When I won my election and was presented with knowledge of your department, a secret passed from one PM to another about an organization responding only to the PM’s will. It made me feel uneasy, and yet on so many occasions, you, Dillon and company have saved the day. The peace process in Northern Ireland is in tatters, but we’re still trying. If the Red Hand of Ulster had got hold of the Mona Lisa’s weaponry, it could have been civil war.”
“Exactly, sir.”
“So, a good job well done. There’s only one thing that bothers me. Dillon and young Salter, I can understand, but you, Charles? Exchanging shot for shot at your age? It’s not only undignified, it’s also damned dangerous. You’ve got your medals, Charles. No more sorties going into harm’s way, all right?”
“I promise, Prime Minister.”
“Yes, well, I think I’m going to make sure. You know about the Omega Program, don’t you, Charles?”
“Yes, sir, it’s an implant containing a computer chip that tracks a person’s whereabouts.”
“Exactly. I’ve got one. So do the cabinet ministers. And I’ve decided you should have it, too.”
“Must I, Prime Minister?”
“Yes, Charles, you’re too valuable to lose.” He picked up a card and handed it over. “Professor Henry Merriman, Harley Street. Be there at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. It only takes half an hour or so. Doesn’t hurt.”
“Would Dillon be a candidate?”
“No. It’s only for very senior political figures – and frankly, Charles, I don’t think I want to know where Dillon is all the time.”
“Two American presidents owe him their lives.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“And yet Dillon has no medals at all.”
“Yes, life can be a bitch, General.”
Ferguson was silent. “Yes, well, I will, of course, present myself at the Harley Street clinic, as you wish, Prime Minister.”
He moved to the door, and the Prime Minister said, “And von Berger, Charles, don’t forget von Berger.”
Ferguson turned and said, “Sir?”
“Can’t have him threatening the President and me. It won’t do. Bring him down, Charles, any way it takes.”
“Of course, sir.” Ferguson brushed past the aide, went downstairs and out to the Daimler, where Dillon and Hannah waited.
Dillon moved to one of the jump seats and closed the glass partition. “How did it go?”
Ferguson told them, and Hannah said, “I think Omega is a good idea and you are important.”
“A damn sight more important than most of the half-baked cabinet ministers around at the moment,” Dillon said.
“Why, thank you, Dillon.”
“It’s a fact of life. I won’t remind you of how many years you’ve been around in the intelligence game, but I can’t think of anyone else in the Western world with your experience.”
“You should be my press agent.”
“Glad to. So, von Berger – did he come up?”
“The PM was explicit. Bring him down.”
“Easier said than done. Unless you’d like me to shoot him for you?”
Hannah said, “For God’s sake, Dillon.”
He opened the side window and lit a cigarette. “As I’ve said before, the Almighty has got little to do with it. I could take out Rossi quite cheerfully. Would that be okay?”
“You’re being stupid.”
Ferguson said, “Cut it out, you two. What about Rossi’s movements, Superintendent?”
“He left Belfast this morning.”
Ferguson turned to Dillon. “Call Roper. See if he’s got anything.”
Roper had, of course. “Landed at Gatwick, one pilot, two passengers.”
“You need two pilots for those things, it’s the law.”
“Of course, but Marco Rossi’s fully rated, he was the other one.”
“Who was the passenger?”
“One Charles Mackenzie, carrying a U.K. Northern Irish passport, an accountant apparently.”
“Apparently?”
“I went into the new visual system they have at check-in now and had a look at him. Derry Gibson.”
“I might have known.”
“You don’t know anything, Sean. What he’s doing here, for instance. Neither of them have any reason to be pleased with you.”
“So I should be looking over my shoulder?”
“He is Red Hand of Ulster, old son.”
“I’m frightened to death, Roper,” Dillon said. “Goodbye.”
“What was that all about?” Ferguson asked.
Dillon told him.
“Hmm,” Ferguson said. “You know, I’ve been thinking. Blowing up that ship was good, but why should we wait for them to make the next move? Why not stay on the offensive? We should know more about von Berger’s setup in Germany. Schloss Adler, Neustadt, the Darker Place, whatever the hell they call it.” He turned to Hannah. “Have a word with Roper, ask him to do a quick computer analysis of the area. See if we’ve got any intelligence sources there. Tell him to meet us at that restaurant of Salter’s, Harry’s Place. We’ll have a meal and listen to what he has to say. We’ll call at The Dark Man first.”
Two car lengths back, Newton and Cook followed.
It was early evening, The Dark Man quiet, Salter and Billy as usual in the corner booth, Joe Baxter and Sam Hall hanging around, when Ferguson and the others walked in.
Harry said, “This is a nice surprise, General, sit down, all of you.” He said to Dillon, “And you listened to me – brought Billy back in one piece.”
“After covering himself with glory.”
“No, that was the general,” Billy said.
Harry turned to Dillon. “And you, of course, did the usual.”
“More or less.”
“So what gives?”
“Rossi flew in from Belfast this morning, with a passenger named Charles Mackenzie on his passport.”
“But in fact, Derry Gibson, according to Roper,” Hannah put in.
Harry said, “And what would that bastard be doing here?”
“Yes, that’s the thing,” Ferguson said.
“Well, I’d say it’s bleeding obvious,” Billy put in. “He’s out for you, Dillon.”
Dillon lit a cigarette. “He could be out for any one of us.”
“Well, just let him try,” Harry said. “He sank my boat. I’ll have him for that.”
“The important thing is to find out what the Baron and Rossi plan to do next,” said Ferguson. “I’ve got Roper doing one of his searches on von Berger’s place in Germany. I suggested he meet us at your restaurant, Harry, if that suits you.”