“One of these days. We’ll see. Let’s get back to the hotel. I’ll drop you off, then go home and pack. Ireland next stop.”
His mobile sounded again on the way to the hotel and he answered. When he switched it off, he said, “My man followed our unknown to an apartment block in Georgetown. Mark Gold is his name. My secretary, Alice Quarmby, checked him on our computer, and guess what? He’s a Senior Computer Operator at the Defense Department, a very bright young man. His brother, also American, emigrated to Israel. He was killed in some Hamas rocket attack on the kibbutz where he worked.”
“So Gold is a Maccabee?” Hannah said.
“Undoubtedly.”
He pulled in under the marquee at the front of the hotel. “I’ll see you at Andrews as soon as possible.”
They got out and went in and Blake Johnson drove away with Teddy.
Gold had left his call to Judas until he reached his apartment. The bodies at the morgue had horrified him, the sickly sweet smell of corruption.
He had a brandy and made the call on the special mobile. “It’s Gold,” he said, when Judas answered. “I got access to the morgue. He’s dead all right.”
“Excellent,” Judas said. “I’ll be in touch.”
In her room, Marie de Brissac was having a rest, lying on the bed when the door opened. David Braun came in, followed by Judas in his hood. Marie sat up and swung her legs to the floor.
“What do you want?” She was alarmed but refused to show it.
“I just wanted to share some news with you.” Judas was laughing, she could tell. “Your friend Dillon was knocked off a little while ago.”
“You’re lying.”
“He’s lying in a morgue in Washington right now with two bullets in the back. He won’t be returning, Countess.”
He laughed out loud and went out and she started to cry. David Braun put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged him off.
“Go on, get out! You’re as bad as he is!”
IRELAND • LONDON • FRANCE
EASTERN MEDITERRANEAN
EIGHT
Dillon sat in front of the sink in the bathroom at Teddy’s apartment, a towel about his neck and shoulders. Teddy stood in the corner smoking a cigarette, and Mildred Atkinson was behind Dillon, looking at him in the mirror.
“Can you do something, Mildred?”
“Of course I can. Lovely face.” She nodded. “The hair, really, but I hate giving people black dye jobs. No matter how good you do it, it looks wrong. I mean, I adore this hair of yours, love,” she said to Dillon, “like pale straw. What I’ll do is crop it, crew cut really, and I’ll bronze it up just like the photo on the passport you’ve shown me. It’ll change the shape of your skull. Then the eyebrows.” She frowned. “Glasses are tinted, I see. I’ll check on what I have in my bag of tricks.”
She picked up her scissors and started. “You’re English,” Dillon said.
“That’s true, love. I’m from Camden in good old London town. Started in this game as a kid at Pinewood Studios.”
“What brought you here?”
“Love, my dear, for the biggest American bastard you ever met in your life. By the time I discovered that, I’d made my bones in the business, so I decided to stay. Anyway, stop talking and let’s get on with it.”
Dillon sat back, a different Dillon staring at him from the mirror. Teddy said in awe, “You’re a genius, Mildred. The tinted glasses are just right.”
She packed her bag. “Good luck, Mr. Dillon. The dye should be good for two weeks.”
“Let me give you something,” Teddy said.
“Nonsense, it was a pleasure.” She patted his face and smiled at Dillon. “Lovely boy, Teddy,” and went out.
At Andrews, they parted, Ferguson and Hannah Bernstein first in the Lear. Blake, Dillon, and Teddy watched them go, standing just inside the hangar out of the rain.
Teddy shook hands. “Well, it’s up to you guys now.”
Dillon started to turn away, then remembered something and produced his wallet. He took out the sketch Marie de Brissac had made for him and unfolded it.
“The President’s daughter did this for me. It’s the crest on the side of the silver lighter Judas used.”
“Looks like an army divisional flash to me,” Blake said.
“Yes, and as we know Judas served in the Yom Kippur War, it must be Israeli. A raven with lightning in its claws. Check it out, Teddy. There must be listings of Israeli Army shoulder flashes somewhere.”
“Probably in the public library.” Teddy laughed. “Okay, I’ll take care of it.”
A large black man wearing a standard airline navy blue uniform came across with an umbrella. “Sergeant Paul Kersey, gentlemen. I’m your flight attendant. I think you know the pilots, Mr. Johnson.”
“I certainly do.”
Dillon held out his hand. “Keogh – Martin Keogh.” No sense giving his real name, since he was supposed to be dead.
“A pleasure. This way, gentlemen.”
He held the umbrella over them and they crossed to the steps where the pilots waited. Johnson greeted them like old friends and made the introductions.
“Captain Tom Vernon and Lieutenant Sam Gaunt. This is Martin Keogh.”
“Nice to meet you,” Vernon said. “As you can see, we wear civilian uniform. We find it doesn’t pay to advertise. Usually this plane has a crew of four, but we manage with three. The Gulf Five is the finest private commercial airplane in the world. We can manage six hundred miles an hour and a range of six thousand five hundred.”
“So Ireland is no problem.”
“Good winds tonight. We should make Dublin in six hours.”
“So let’s get on with it,” Johnson said. “After you, gentlemen,” and he followed the pilots up the steps.
Teddy Grant, at his apartment, felt restless, unable to sit down. There was so much at stake, so damn much, and it was as if he was unable to do anything and that frustrated him. He looked at his watch. It was just nine o’clock, and then he remembered the sketch Dillon had given him. There were bookstores in Georgetown that stayed open until 10 P.M. It would give him something to do. He got his raincoat and went out.
His sedan was an automatic and had certain adaptations because of his one-armed status, and he drove expertly through the traffic to Georgetown. He parked at the side of the street, opened the glove compartment, and took out a folding umbrella. There was also a short-barrelled Colt revolver in there. He checked it and put it in his raincoat pocket. Muggings were frequent these days and it paid to be careful.
He pressed the automatic button on the umbrella and it jumped up above his head. He still had forty minutes before the stores closed and he found the area around which the bookstores clustered and went into the first one he came to.
He found the military section and browsed through it. Most of the books seemed to concentrate on the Second World War, the Nazis and the SS. Strange the obsession some people had with that. Nothing on the Israeli Army at all. On his way out, he paused at a stand where a new book was displayed on the history of Judaism. He looked at it morosely and walked out.
Although Teddy was a Christian, his grandmother on his father’s side had been Jewish and had married out of her faith, as the phrase went. Long since dead, but Teddy remembered her with affection and was proud of the Jewish roots she had given him. He’d never advertised the fact, because religion of any kind meant nothing to him, but the Jews were a great people. The religious precepts, the morality they had given the world, was second to none. It made him angry to think of people like Judas and his Maccabees soiling the very name of their own race by their actions.
He tried three more shops before he struck it lucky. A small corner place was just closing, the owner a very old white-haired man.