The White House Connection

'Tell me.'

Which Barry did.

Thornton said, 'How would they know about your houseboat, for God's sake?'

'I don't know. All I know is that they did and I'm lucky to be getting the hell out of it.'

'And Cohan?'

'He can take his chances, as far as I'm concerned,' and Barry rang off.

Chapter Nine

Dillon,in the office at ten o'clock, woke Blake in bed at five a.m. in Washington.

'For God's sake, Sean, look at the time!'

'I'm doing you a favour, Blake. My story is better than the midnight movie. You'll come dangerously alive, go down to the kitchen in your track suit, drink fresh orange juice and contemplate a five-mile run.'

'Like hell I will.'

'Just listen.'

When Dillon was finished, Blake said, 'God help us, it gets worse.'

'Don't tell me. I'll keep in touch,' and Dillon rang off".

Lady Helen Lang jogged through Hyde Park. It was ten-thirty the following morning. She sat on a bench by the pond and rested. She wasn't breathless, she felt fine. The prospect of the evening at the Dorchester was strangely like going into battle. She was determined on her course of action, no question of that. It was fitting that Cohan should go the same way as the rest of the club. She was realistic enough to realize that the prospect of ever facing Jack Barry or the Connection just wasn't likely. However, she would have exacted a considerable amount of justice, as she saw it. It would comfort her next time she placed flowers on her son's monument.

Her name was called and she looked up and saw Hedley walking towards her. 'Thought I'd see how you were getting on.'

'That was nice of you.' She stood up and suddenly was struggling for breath. She clutched her chest, then sat down again, fumbled for the plastic bottle of pills in her pocket and dropped it.

He picked it up, and sat beside her and opened it. 'Is it bad?'

She lied, of course. 'No, no, I was just a little dizzy for a moment.' He passed her two pills in his palm. She picked them up and swallowed them down. 'That's better.'

'This ain't good, Lady Helen.'

She patted his knee. 'A nice cup of tea and I can go on for ever, Hedley. Now take me across to the cafe.'

They stood up and she took his arm.

In his office at the Ministry of Defence, Ferguson was going over the previous night's events with Hannah Bernstein and Dillon.

'What a load of male macho nonsense,' Hannah said, outraged. 'And at your age, Brigadier.'

Ferguson, who was wearing an elastic bandage on his gun hand, said, 'I stand corrected, Chief Inspector.'

'God, but you look grand when you're angry, girl,' Dillon told her. 'The eyes sparkle and there's a flush to the cheeks.'

'Oh, go to hell,' she said. 'It should have been a major anti-terrorist squad operation. If the place had been flooded with armed officers, we'd have had him. One of the most wanted Irish terrorists.'

'We'd also have been on the front page of every tabloid newspaper and I didn't want that.' Ferguson told her. 'My decision.'

At that moment, the phone rang. His secretary said, 'Reception has a call from Ulster. A Jack Barry?'

Ferguson pressed his audio button so that Dillon and Hannah could hear the conversation. 'Jack Barry. Have them trace it.'

'They can't, Brigadier, it's a coded mobile,' his secretary said.

'All right, then just put him through.'

The call was surprisingly clear. 'Is that you, Ferguson?'

'And who else would it be?'

'I just wanted to let you know I didn't drown in the Thames and I'm safe home. You're a lucky man. I thought I'd got you.'

'Well, you didn't. You shot the gun out of my hand, mind you. That was pretty good.'

'Is Dillon there?'

'Naturally.'

'To our next merry meeting in hell, Sean.' Barry laughed and the phone went dead.

Hannah Bernstein said, 'What a fiend. What's he playing at, making stupid phone calls? Now we know for sure he's alive. We didn't before.'

'It's a game to Jack, the lot of it,' Dillon told her. 'I could also idd that some say he's as mad as a hatter, that he'll never do the sensible thing, only the crazy thing.'

Hannah said, 'I suppose the only good thing is that Senator Cohan won't die on us here.'

'You really think so?' Ferguson shook his head. 'There has never been a suggestion that Barry killed the others. The only logical reason for his presence here, if Cohan was a target, would be because the Senator had become an inconvenience. No, we've deposed of one danger, at least temporarily. The other one – our mysterious second assassin – is still out there.' He picked up the phone. 'Get me Senator Michael Cohan at the Dorchester.'

He kept the audio button down. A moment later, Cohan said, "Michael Cohan. Who is this?'

'Charles Ferguson. I believe you know who I am.'

'Yes, I do, and I don't wish to speak to you.'

'Senator, believe me, I only have your best interests at heart.'

'I am a US Senator on a visit on behalf of the President,' Cohan lied. 'If you continue to harass me, I'll complain to the Prime Minister's office,' and he slammed down the phone.

'An angry man,' Dillon said. 'So what do we do now?'

'Why, we adjourn for lunch, of course.'

Giuliano, the manager of the Dorchester Piano Bar, greeted them with enthusiasm. Ferguson had been using the place for twenty years or more, Dillon comparatively recently, but he did appear on a regular basis. Hannah Bernstein, of course, was no problem. Like any Italian male, Giuliano appreciated beauty combined with brains, and Hannah certainly had that. The fact that she was also a Detective Chief Inspector of the Special Branch at Scotland Yard was a bonus. The additional fact that she had killed in the line of duty gave an extra frisson. Giuliano remembered the newspaper story. A couple of years previously, she had been passing a street on her way to Grosvenor Square when a woman had emerged screaming that an armed hold-up was taking place. As she was on American Embassy duty that day, Bernstein had been armed, and had seriously embarrassed the villains by shooting one man armed with a sawn-off shotgun, dead.

Giuliano kissed her on each cheek with style, then presented his suggestions for lunch. Homemade cannelloni with mozzarella cheese and ham stuffing. Then there was gnocchi di patate al pesto, potato dumplings in garlic and basil sauce. They made their choice, and Dillon ordered Krug non-vintage champagne.

'One thing,' Ferguson said to Giuliano. 'I understand that Senator Michael Cohan has a table reserved for one o'clock?'

'That's true,' Giuliano said, looking startled.

'Well, then, put him at the next table, there's a good chap,' Ferguson said.

Giuliano smiled. 'Here we go again, Brigadier. I should write a book. All these years. The Cold War, English public school men who were communists under the skin, and then the Irish.' He smiled at Dillon. 'Forgive me, my friend…'

'I know, I'm a terrible man,' Dillon told him.

Giuliano said, 'So the American gets the next table. I wish you joy.'

He went away, the Krug came, and Dillon insisted on pouring. He said, 'How did you know Cohan would be here?'

Ferguson grunted. 'The telephone, Dillon. It's a wonderful instrument. You should try it sometime.'

Hannah said, 'How do we handle it?'

'Head on, my dear, head on.' Ferguson raised his glass. 'To lrfe and love and happiness.'

'Well, if you add peace in Ulster, I'll drink to that,' Dillon said, and Cohan appeared at the head of the steps.

Giuliano greeted him, brought him down to the next table, took an order for a dry martini and went away.

Ferguson said, 'Senator Michael Cohan? Brigadier Charles Ferguson.'

Cohan was outraged. 'This is harassment of the worst kind. I warned you I would complain to the Prime Minister's office. I certainly will after this.'

Two things happened. He started to get up and a waiter arrived with the dry martini. It was Dillon who took over.

'I don't mind you being a politician, Senator. We have them in Ireland, too, although I remember one saying, "Don't tell my mother I'm a Senator in the Dail, she thinks I play piano in a whorehouse.'"