SICILY • LONDON
WASHINGTON
1997
SIX
“Now that’s one hell of a story,” Dillon said.
She nodded. “Remember how he swept into power?”
“Have you seen him since?”
“Once, the Paris visit last year, just after he was elected. I was a guest at the Presidential Ball. Very unsatisfactory. A few moments only, all very formal, but Teddy spent time with me. Dear Teddy. My father has created a special post for him. Principal Secretary. He has more power in the White House than the rest of the staff combined. He’d kill for my father.”
“But all this leaves us with an unanswered question,” Dillon told her.
“And what’s that?”
“If Judas knows who you are, how did he find out? You, your father, and Teddy Grant are the only people who knew.”
“I know. That bothers me, too.”
“You mentioned your family lawyer, this Michael Rocard. Could he have known?”
“Definitely not. When my mother was dying and we were discussing the whole business, she made it plain that he knew nothing.”
Dillon helped himself to one of her cigarettes and gave her one. “Now listen to me. I’m on your side in all this, whatever happens. He’ll send for us soon, I’m sure of it, and then we’ll know the game plan. I’m telling you now that I’ll go along with anything he wants. No choice really, but whatever happens, my only concern will be to get you out of here eventually. Do you believe me?”
“Yes, Mr. Dillon, I do.”
“Good. Now there’s one thing you can do for me, you being an artist. Judas has an old silver lighter with a crest on the side, some sort of black bird, a hawk maybe, with lightning in its claws. Do you have any charcoal pencils?”
She went to the easel, opened her paint box, and returned to the table with a piece of cartridge paper. “Show me.” Dillon did his clumsy best. “So, wholly black with wings spread,” she said and took the charcoal pencil and sketched. “Was the head and the beak like that, because that’s a hawk?”
“No, the beak was a sort of yellow.”
She rubbed out the head and started again. “That’s it,” Dillon said.
She laughed. “A raven, Mr. Dillon,” and she went to the box again and got two crayons, one black, the other yellow, and finished the bird off.
“Red lightning in its claws,” Dillon told her.
When it was finished, she sat back. “Not bad.”
“Bloody marvelous.” Dillon folded it and put it in his pocket.
“Is it important?”
“I think it’s some sort of military crest. It might be a lead.”
At that moment, the door opened and David Braun and Aaron came in. “This way, if you please,” Aaron said. “Both of you.”
Braun led the way, Aaron following, and they found themselves standing before Judas again in his study.
“So there you are,” he said. “Had a nice chat?”
“All right,” Dillon said. “Let’s get on with it.”
“Okay, old buddy, this is how it goes. Nemesis comes up before the Future Projects Committee next week, and this time the President signs it.”
“Why should he?”
“Because if he doesn’t, I’ll execute his daughter here.”
There was a long pause before Dillon said, “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t fuck with me, Dillon, I know who she is.”
“And how could you?”
“I told you, I have Maccabees everywhere. MI5 in London, the CIA. Make a computer inquiry about me, for example, and one of my people will know. Anybody in intelligence will tell you it isn’t the big people you have to worry about, it’s the invisible people. The computer operators, filing clerks, secretaries.” He laughed. “So I know who she is and don’t ask me how.”
Marie de Brissac said, “My father will never sign this insanity.”
“Oh, I think he might be tempted. Cazalet has a lot of emotions wrapped up in you, Marie – love, guilt, a profound sense of loss, and missed opportunities. You are no ordinary hostage. And he can always invent a provocation by the Arabs. The CIA is good at that kind of thing, and we’ll be glad to help, of course. No, I think we can expect him to cooperate, after he thinks about it.”
Dillon said, “Now what?”
“You’ll be returned to Salinas. London and Ferguson next stop.” He opened a drawer and took out a mobile phone. “Latest model, old buddy, satellite-linked and untraceable. You can’t phone me, but I’ll phone you.”
“And why would you do that?”
“To prove my power. Let me explain. It would be understandable, once you’ve spoken to Ferguson, if he decided to check through British Secret Intelligence Service computer files for any reference to a terrorist group known as the Maccabees. If he does, I’ll know quicker than you can imagine, and I’ll phone to tell you. If Cazalet does the same through CIA records, I’ll know, and again I’ll phone you. This is just to demonstrate the power of the Maccabee organization. They’re everywhere, my invisible people. By the way, both inquiries will be a waste of time. There is no information about me or my organization anywhere.”
“So what’s the point of the exercise?”
“It demonstrates my total power in this matter, but let me get down to brass tacks. You’re going back in one piece. We’ll drop you in at Salinas. You’ll return to Ferguson and tell him that if Jake Cazalet does not sign Nemesis at the coming meeting of the Future Projects Committee, I shall execute his daughter.”
“You’re mad,” Marie de Brissac said.
“Tell Ferguson I don’t think it would be helpful for the Prime Minister to know this. You and he will proceed to the White House in Washington, where Ferguson should have no difficulty in obtaining an audience with the President.”
“I see,” Dillon said. “And we convey the message to the President?”
“Exactly, with this in addition. If any approach is made to involve the CIA or FBI or any military special forces, I will know, and – again – the countess will be executed at once. I’ve people everywhere, Dillon, as your inquiries and my phone calls to you will demonstrate.”
Dillon took a deep breath. “So what it comes down to is simple. Either Cazalet signs to put Nemesis into operation or she dies.”
“Exactly, old buddy, couldn’t have put it better myself.”
“But he won’t do it.”
“That’s too bad – too bad for the countess here.”
“You bastard!” Marie de Brissac told him.
Judas nodded to David Braun. “Get her out of here and back to her room.”
“Good-bye, Mr. Dillon, and God bless you. We won’t be seeing each other again. My father will never sign such a document,” Marie de Brissac said.
“Keep the faith, girl dear,” Dillon told her, and David Braun eased her out.
Dillon walked to the desk, helped himself to a cigarette, picked up Judas’s ornate lighter and flicked it on. He blew out smoke. “You might as well kill her now. Cazalet won’t sign. It’s too big.”
“Then you’d better persuade him.” Judas turned to Aaron. “Get Mr. Dillon on his way. Salinas next stop.”
Aaron spoke quickly in Hebrew. “He’s trouble, this one. You’ve seen his record.”
“Not for long. I’ll have him shot after he’s seen the President in Washington. It’s all arranged. A nice professional job. A street crime. You know Washington? People get mugged and shot all the time. I know the hotel where Ferguson always stays. The Charlton. Very unsafe, underground parking lots these days.”
“And Ferguson?”
“No, not him. Too important, and he could be useful.”
“And what’s that all about?” Dillon asked, having fully understood. “Have you changed your mind? Do I go over the side of the boat with twenty pounds of chain around my ankles?”
“I just love your imagination, old buddy. Now on your way.”
He put a cigar in his mouth and Aaron took the special mobile phone from the desk and ushered Dillon out.