“I still say you’re bluffing, Edward.” Asquith snapped, and stood up.
The pod docked, and the door slid back. “Goodbye, Oliver,” Edward Levenson-Jones said, allowed Dillon to step out onto the platform, and then followed him. Within seconds they’d both been swallowed by the crowds.
Asquith was trembling, he got up from the seat and slowly walked out of the cabin. Oblivious to the throngs of people waiting on the platform to get on the London Eye, pushing past them, and making his way down to the embankment. He walked along the path, away from the crowds and the constant noise, and sat down on a quiet bench and gazed out across the river, his thoughts a million light years away. He didn’t notice, or even hear, the tall ruggedly good looking man dressed in a dark city suit, come and sit down almost beside him.
Asquith, looked around to his left, and his eyes widened in recognition, “Dillon, fancy meeting you here. What do you want?”
“That’s not a very friendly greeting, your Lordship.” Dillon shifted himself on the wooden bench to face Asquith. “And there was I thinking you were a gentleman.” Dillon said amiably. “However, the first time I met you at the House of Lords I immediately thought that you were not to be trusted. And unremarkably, you’ve proved my instincts correct.”
“So what of it. What does it matter what you think, Dillon. After all, you’re only the hired help, the blunt instrument.” Asquith said vehemently, shrugged his shoulders, and then pushed his hands deep into his jacket pockets. “Hugo was particularly sloppy where you were concerned. He should have taken care of you, permanently.” Asquith said, with a kind of snorting sound that emanated from somewhere up his nose. He’d almost forgotten about the tiny pistol, that he was now gripping tightly around the ivory butt.
“Malakoff’s henchman, Kurt, tried on a number of occasions.” Dillon said, and deliberately let the lapel of his jacket fall to one side, just enough for Asquith to clearly see that he was carrying the Glock in a side holster. “Now if you know what’s good for you, Asquith. You’ll pack your bags and take a very long holiday. I’m told that you own a villa in the Bahamas. I can think of worse places to be exiled to, as I’m sure you can. I’m to tell you that you’re not to return, ever! I hope that you fully understand the part about not returning?”
Asquith hesitated, completely ignored what Dillon was saying, and said, “Well, he obviously didn’t try hard enough.” And with one quick spirituous movement, he’d pulled the pistol out of his pocket, and was jabbing the end of the barrel hard into Dillon’s ribs.
Dillon glanced down at the delicate pistol in Asquith’s hand. “If your Lordship’s intention is to kill me in broad daylight with that pea-shooter, then you’d better get on with it.” Dillon smiled at the other man, all the time eyeballing him. “I’m guessing that you’ve never murdered anyone in cold blood before. And if I’m right in my assumption, then you’re about to find out that it’s not as easy as it looks, especially when you’re up close up and personal like this.”
“Shut up. You’re just like your boss, a smug arrogant bastard.” Asquith said, and jabbed at Dillon’s ribs again. Only this time harder and with more forethought of position. “My whole world is slowly crashing down around me, and it’s all because of you. I assure you that pulling this hair trigger will be easy, Dillon. But, not before you’ve answered my question. What do you want from me?”
Dillon remained perfectly still, but continued to hold Asquith’s gaze. “If you’re going to kill someone. Do it, don’t just talk about it.”
The silenced .25 calibre single shot weapon, that Dillon had strapped to the underside of his forearm, and concealed up the sleeve of his jacket, coughed once. All it took was a slight flexing of his muscle, and Asquith’s heart stopped beating instantly as the tiny bullet pierced his clothing and entered his chest cavity. Dillon immediately, but with no haste, stood up and walked off along the embankment towards Westminster Bridge.
The entry point was so small that it was barely noticeable, except for the tiny trickle of blood that was starting to stain the tweed jacket just below the breast pocket. Asquith’s unseeing eyes continued to gaze over the Thames; no one paid any attention to the well dressed older man sitting on the bench. And by the time someone noticed that he was dead, Dillon was long gone and forgotten about.
Ten minutes later, Dillon was coming up the steps onto Westminster Bridge, just as the dark green Bentley pulled up at the kerbside. Sir Lucius Stagg was sitting in the rear seat as Dillon got in and joined him. “Everything okay, Dillon?” Sir Lucius asked.
“Yes, Sir Lucius. It’s taken care of.” Dillon said gravely.
“A difficult decision, but the appropriate conclusion.” “It’s a part of the job, I suppose. To kill people. But, it doesn’t mean I have to enjoy doing it, and it’s nothing to be particularly proud of. But I agree, if we hadn’t, then someone else would have. If only to save this whole sorry mess, from ever getting into the public domain.”
“Quite.” The next moment, the Bentley pulled over to the kerb, and Dillon knew that this was his cue to get out. “Good bye, Mr Dillon.”
“Sir Lucius.” Dillon stood on the pavement, and watched as the luxury car pulled back out into the traffic. A moment later he was walking in the opposite direction, just another anonymous soul in a vast city of people.
LJ was shown into the Home Secretary’s outer office some ten minutes before the appointed time of the meeting. Someone came in and asked if he’d like a cup of tea or coffee and, at the same time, one of the Home Secretary’s personal assistants walked along the austere corridors and entered the room. “Ah, there you are, Mr Levenson-Jones.”
LJ turned around to be confronted by a young man in his mid twenties, wearing a pair of old fashioned horn rimmed spectacles that probably cost a small fortune, even by today’s standard.
“Please forgive me, I’m a little early.” LJ replied. “Oh, that’s not a problem. The Home Secretary is on his way back from Downing Street, and will be about five minutes. Apparently, Simon Digby is already in the building and on his way up. By the way, the ledgers are with you, I presume?” He said, pushing the glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose.
“It’s foolhardy to presume anything in this day and age, young man. But yes, they’re in my briefcase.” LJ’s patronising comment, made the young assistant flinch, just for a second or two.
“Good, well I’d be grateful if you would allow me to take a look at them prior to the meeting.” He immediately saw the wary look on LJ’s face, and added, “I speed read, Mr Levenson-Jones. That’s one of the reasons why the Home Secretary employs me. He will expect me to brief him the minute he enters the building. And, to give him a full appraisal of what exactly is contained within their pages.”
LJ handed over the blue leather bound books, and the assistant went and sat behind a desk located in the corner of the spacious room. A few moments later there was a knock at the door, and Simon Digby was shown in by a uniformed security guard.
“Edward,” Digby said formally as he entered the room.
The young assistant looked up from his reading, acknowledged Digby with a nod, and then stood up. He gathered up the four blue books, and with them tucked under his arm, left through a doorway on the far side of the room. Five minutes later he reappeared. “Please come this way, gentlemen.”
The Home Secretary was sitting at his desk, one of the ledgers open in front of him. As the two men were ushered into the office, he glanced up from the page that he was reading. “Take a seat, gentlemen. I won’t be a moment.”