The White House Connection

'Certainly, sir.' She went out.

Ferguson stood up. 'There's a good canteen here, Blake. Let's get a sandwich and await events.'

They were sitting at a corner table half an hour later when Hannah came in and sat down. 'He was his usual irate self, sir. Well, almost.'

'What do you mean?' Ferguson asked.

'He seemed sort of shocked. In a way, I got the feeling he knew all about it, but he couldn't have.'

'That devious bugger could lie to the Almighty,' Dillon told her.

'I must say, he came back damn quick. Gave me Jack Barry's history and that's all, everything we already know.'

'And nothing about Washington or the Sons of Erin?' Blake turned to Dillon. 'Is Carter still Deputy Director of the Security Services?' 'Absolutely.'

'Then if he doesn't know anything…' Ferguson said to Hannah, 'Get him on your mobile.' She did so and passed it across. 'Simon,' Ferguson said. 'I must see you. The terrace at Westminster in thirty minutes.' 'Now look here, Ferguson…'

'Just finalizing a report for the Prime Minister. I'd welcome your input,' and Ferguson switched off and sat there thinking about it. Finally, he said, 'I'll take you, Blake, as the President's representative. That will impress him, and you, Dillon, because you always unbalance him.'

'If ever a man hated me, it's dear old Carter.' 'Yes, well, I like to have him on edge.' Ferguson turned to Hannah. 'You're the computer genius, my dear. Check everything that could possibly have a significance.' He stood up. 'Let's be on our way, gentlemen.'

The House of Commons, together with the House of Lords, is a remarkable institution, and not only because of its extraordinary history as the seat of government for the United Kingdom. Its location on the Thames is unique, but it is its facilities which are extraordinary. Twenty-six restaurants and bars provide not only excellent food, but some of the cheapest in London.

Even someone with Ferguson 's pull had to stand in line as the queue inched forward to be checked thoroughly by the largest policemen in London. They finally made the Central Lobby, moved in through a maze of corridors and found the entrance to the Terrace overlooking the Thames.

It was the chilly end of March weather, but sunny enough for them to have the awnings open. There were plenty of people about, members of the House of Lords at one end, members of the Commons at the other, foreign visitors and guests of every description.

'Thank God you're wearing a jacket, Dillon. Makes a change. At least you look respectable.'

Dillon waved to a waiter who had glasses of champagne on a tray. 'Are you with the Japanese delegation, sir?'

'What else?' Dillon passed a glass to Blake, another to Ferguson, who accepted with reluctance, and took one himself.

They stood at the parapet and looked down at the Thames. 'How good is the security?' Blake asked.

'Five-knot current down there,' Dillon said. 'Even a Navy SEAL would have problems.'

'But not this little bastard,' Ferguson told Blake. 'Floated in here the other year when your President and the PM were meeting, just to show Carter the security precautions were no good. Turned up as a waiter and served them canapes.'

Blake exploded into laughter. Dillon said, 'Carter was not best pleased.'

'Well, he wouldn't be, would he?' Blake said, and at that moment Carter appeared.

He made a face when he saw Dillon. 'For God's sake, Ferguson, do we have to have this little swine here?'

'God save your honour,' Dillon told him. ' ' Tis a kindness for you to see me, a grand man like yourself.'

'Dillon is here because I need him, so that's that. This is Blake Johnson, President Jake Cazalet's personal security man.'

'Yes, I know of Mr Johnson.' Carter shook hands reluctantly.

'To business,' Ferguson said. 'Chief Inspector Bernstein asked you for information relevant to Frank Barry and the Sons of Erin.'

'I told her everything I know. She's probably checked it out for herself on our computer. I know you do that.'

'And so do you. So, you know nothing about an American connection with Barry, possibly in the White House?' 'If I had, I'd have told you.'

Ferguson turned to Blake. 'You do the honours. Tell him everything.'

When Blake was finished, Carter was remarkably calm. 'Much of this could be nonsense. Why believe McGuire? Why accept what the wretched Doolin said?'

'On the other hand, when Blake was in Barry's hands, Barry said he had excellent sources,' Dillon pointed out.

'And he must have, because he was expecting me. He knew I wasn't McGuire,' Blake put in.

Carter seemed to have nothing to say and Ferguson waved to the waiter with the champagne. 'Another, gentlemen. Even you might do with one, Carter.'

'If you say so.'

'One final point. The undercover group wiped out by Jack Barry three years ago. Major Peter Lang and company? You made no mention of that to Chief Inspector Bernstein.'

'Because she didn't ask me. The facts are there on the computer for all to see. However, there has never been any suggestion that Barry and the Sons of Erin had anything to do with that affair. Trawl all you like, Ferguson, there is no such file. Now, is there anything else? I'm a busy man.'

'Not really. I'll tell the Prime Minister you've been as cooperative as usual.'

Carter frowned. 'You mean to involve the PM in this matter?'

'You, of all people, know my unique position in that respect. The Prime Minister's private army, isn't that what you call my department?'

'Damn you!' Carter exploded, and turned on his heel.

'There you go then,' Dillon grinned. 'What next?'

'I've already fixed a meet with the Prime Minister this afternoon,' Ferguson said. 'I'll take you in with me so that he can share your input, Blake. You, Dillon, will stay in the car as usual.'

Dillon smiled at Blake. 'Nothing changes and I know my place.'

Back at the Ministry of Defence, they found Hannah Bernstein still at the computer. 'Anything to report?' Ferguson asked.

'I did come across one interesting thing, sir. According to various sources, the Security Services have been less than generous over the past two yean with sensitive information having to do with Irish operations as regards our American friends. The word was that such material did seem to end up in the hands of Sinn Fein on a regular basis.'

'So what's been happening?' Ferguson asked.

'Oh, the general flow hasn't stopped, but it would seem that the quality of the material has left a great deal to be desired. Frankly, it's been the kind of stuff you could get from the political page of the better newspapers. A few titbits thrown in occasionally

Dillon cut in. 'But no more details of undercover operations?'

'So it would appear.'

'But if this was an official SIS attitude,' Blake said, 'wouldn't you have known about it?'

'I'm the last person they'd tell,' Ferguson said. 'They've always hated my privileged position with the Prime Minister. Placed every obstacle in my way, offered as little cooperation as they've been able to get away with.'

'I know the feeling,' Blake said. 'I have my own problems with the CIA and the FBI.'

'So what we're saying is that Carter and his people knew about what happened three years ago,' Dillon said. 'Maybe not straight away, but at some stage.'

'I'd say so.' Ferguson nodded and turned to Hannah. 'Put your fine Cambridge mind on it, Chief Inspector.'

'We have two facts that are certain, sir. Something made them start treating our American friends with enough suspicion to offer innocuous material and disinformation. I'd say at an earlier stage they probably heard about what happened, but decided it was simply beyond proof.'

'And the second fact?'

'That there isn't a file, at least not now. If the Deputy Director says so, I believe him.'

'Do you?' Blake asked Ferguson.

'Oh, yes, it fits. They play their own games, you see. With the peace process so important, they would decide they didn't want to give the Prime Minister a problem, because that would have involved the President and given him a problem. It would have also brought me in and involved you.'