“And still does,” Blake Johnson said. “Of course, there have been a few whispers over the years, but nothing concrete enough to invade our secrecy. Our only connection abroad has been with you, Charles, and that’s a special relationship.”
“Indeed it is,” Ferguson said and turned to Hannah. “What are you driving at, Chief Inspector?”
“Listening to what Dillon had to say, it would seem that Judas mentioned his connections with the main security services, but he never mentioned the Basement.”
“My God, girl, you’re right,” Dillon said. “There’s a grand copper’s mind for you.”
“I would have thought he would, particularly in a matter so personal to the President.”
“What you’re saying is that he doesn’t know about the existence of the Basement,” Ferguson said.
She nodded. “And we can prove it one way or the other.” She turned to Blake. “I presume that because of the extreme secrecy of your activities you have your own computer bank?”
“I sure do. I can access Langley, FBI, the Defense Department, but mine is locked up tight with our own security codes.”
“Good. He told Dillon he could make another security computer inquiry after London to prove his power. Let’s not access the other security services, let’s put our question to the Basement’s computer bank.”
There was a short pause, and it was Teddy who said, “I always did say we should have more women policemen. It’s the devious minds women have.”
“We’ll give it a try,” Blake said. “I’ll use the control room, Mr. President.”
He got up and went out and Jake Cazalet stood up. Murchison, lying on the floor, got up also and the President said, “No, lie down.”
Instead, Murchison went to Hannah and she stroked his ears. Dillon said, “If it works, it changes a lot of things.”
“We’ll see,” Ferguson said.
Johnson came back. “I asked for any terrorist group known as the Maccabees and an individual known as Judas Maccabeus. The response was negative. Nothing known.”
“So now we wait,” the President said. “But for how long?”
“He was on to us on the instant in London,” Ferguson said.
“Well, I tell you what,” Jake Cazalet told them. “This is one of the worst scenarios in my life, but a man must eat and I believe a light meal’s been organized in the kitchen. Let’s go in for an hour and see what happens.”
“I told Mrs. Boulder to go early,” Teddy said, when they went into the kitchen. “It’s all ready. I’ll serve. She left the potatoes in the oven on a low heat and everything else is cold.”
Hannah helped him and the President opened two bottles of ice-cold Sancerre. They had cold salmon, new potatoes, salad, and crusty bread, but the conversation was episodic. Everyone had eyes only for the mobile phone that Judas had given to Dillon and which lay on the table.
Teddy said, “I’ll make some coffee.”
Dillon glanced at his watch. “It’s been an hour. What the hell. I say we access the Defense Department’s computer and ask the same question. Let’s get on with it.”
Blake Johnson glanced at the President, and Jake Cazalet said, “Go for broke, Blake.”
Blake got up and went out. Dillon said, “Right, let’s clear the table and you do the coffee, Teddy, though I’d rather have a teabag myself.”
He and Hannah cleared and had barely finished when Blake returned. “I accessed on the joint plan Langley, FBI, and the Defense Department. Totally negative response on Judas and the Maccabees.”
“So now we wait,” Ferguson said.
Teddy produced the coffee and Dillon’s tea, and they all sat down again at the kitchen table. It was quiet, very quiet and Jake Cazalet said, “It’s no good, nothing’s happening.”
The phone rang.
Judas said to Dillon, “Hey, old buddy, you tried me out and didn’t find me wanting. Just like London, you access those computer systems looking for me and my people and I’ll know.”
“Stuff you, you’re a bloody sadist.” Dillon deliberately made himself sound outraged and frustrated.
“Don’t lose your cool, old buddy. Just tell the President that now he knows the score. If he tries to involve security forces in this, his daughter dies instantly. If he refuses to sign Nemesis, she dies.”
“You’re crazy,” Dillon said.
“No, just practical. Give the President my best.”
Judas switched off and Dillon turned to Hannah. “You’re a bloody genius. He doesn’t know the Basement exists. What’s just happened is proof.”
“Okay,” Blake Johnson said. “So the situation is something like this. The Basement computer is clear, although there’s no information on him. If we try the other main security services, he knows, and knows very quickly.”
“And we’ve had our two goes,” Dillon said. “If we try to involve any of the other security services, he’ll kill Marie.”
“And you believe that?” the President said.
“I’ve never been more certain.”
“But he can’t access our telephone systems, and that includes mobiles if we persist in using Codex Four systems,” Hannah said. “So at least we can have closed communication.”
“That’s true,” Ferguson agreed.
“But any whiff on any regular communication circuit and we’ve had it,” Blake Johnson said. “Frankly, Mr. President, the fact that when I accessed such sensitive areas as those security computers, he knew in less than half an hour, really does show the power of the Maccabee organization. I believe that if we do try to involve the CIA and other institutions, the odds are that he will know.”
“But what can I do?” the President demanded. “I’m already breaking every damn rule in the book, all protocol, by not informing the Secretary of State and the Joint Chiefs, not to say the heads of the CIA and FBI.”
“Exactly,” Blake said, “which is why one of your predecessors invented the Basement. We can’t trust anyone, that’s the point.”
“Fine, but there is another point. I’ll hit Arab terrorists hard if they merit it and if I have to, but I can’t in all conscience sign Nemesis when the Committee meets next week. I mean, what do I do?”
There was stillness and, for some reason, it was Dillon they turned to. He said, “There could be a way forward if we move fast, but the next step is me catching my death, according to Judas. I think that’s rather a good idea.”
“What on earth do you mean?” Ferguson asked.
“I’ll take my chances when we get back to Washington. I’ll wear a bullet-proof vest.”
“Not much good if the shooter goes for a headshot,” Johnson said.
“Well, you take a chance every day of your life.”
“Then what, Mr. Dillon?” Cazalet asked.
“I used to be a student at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in London, Mr. President. I even acted with the National Theatre. I’ve always had an ability to change and not just with makeup. Let me show you. Here, give me your glasses, Teddy.”
Teddy handed them over and Dillon went out and closed the door. When it opened again, he shuffled in, limping heavily on the right leg, his head slightly down, a look of pain on his face, but it wasn’t just that, not only the glasses. His body language had changed. It was as if he had become another person.
“Good God,” the President said. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”
“The Man of a Thousand Faces he was called in international intelligence circles,” Ferguson said. “On the run in Ireland twenty years with the IRA and we never touched his collar once.”
“Once I’m officially dead in Washington, I’ll change,” Dillon said, “dye my hair a different color, tinted glasses, perhaps cheek pouches, we’ll see. Another passport, of course, but no problem. I always carry two or three with me, and makeup according to the photo on whichever I choose.”