The White House Connection

"Okay, so what is it you want?'

"It's quite simple. As I said, you butchered my son in Ulster three years ago. I'm going to butcher you.'

He felt a sudden touch of fear again. 'No way. You're crazy, lady!'

'At least I can talk to you when I want on this very useful bone. We could even arrange a meeting. I'll be in touch.'

'Anytime, you bitch. You got a time and place, just name it,' but she had already rung off.

Lady Helen said, 'Pass me the flask, Hedley.' He did so. She took a swallow and passed it back. 'Excellent. I feel great.' She got out her silver case, lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. ' Marvellous. Drive round for a while. The Palace, Pall Mall.'

The rain had increased again, the wipers clicked backwards and forwards. Hedley cruised the traffic carefully.

'I like driving in the rain,' she said. 'It's a safe, enclosed feeling. It's as if the rest of the world doesn't exist. Do you like the rain, Hedley?'

'Rain?' He laughed out loud. 'Lady Helen, I saw too much of it in ' Nam. Patrolling in the swamps of the Mekong Delta, leeches applying themselves to your more important bits and those monsoon rains sluicing down.'

'Just hearing about it makes me shiver. Find a pub. I feel like a drink.'

Which he did, a very respectable place called the Grenadier close to St James's Place. They'd used it before. The landlord, Sam Hardaker, was an old Grenadier Guards sergeant and knew Hedley from his days at the Embassy.

'A real pleasure, Lady Helen.'

'Nice to see you, Sam. I don't expect you have such a thing as a bottle of champagne?'

'One in the fridge. Non-vintage, but Bollinger. Promised to a Grenadier Guards officer at the Palace, but he'll have to do without.'

She and Hedley sat in a corner booth, Sam brought the Bollinger in a bucket and produced two glasses. He uncorked and poured. Lady Helen tasted it.

'Heavenly.' She smiled as Sam filled the glasses. 'They say that if you're tired of champagne, you're tired of life.'

'I wouldn't know,' Sam said. 'Being a beer man myself.'

He retired and she lit another cigarette. 'All right, Hedley?'

He nodded. 'Just fine, Lady Helen.'

She raised a glass. 'To us, then. To love and life and the pursuit of happiness.' He raised his glass and they touched. 'And damnation to Jack Barry and the Connection.'

Hedley drank some of his champagne and put the glass down. 'You wouldn't really try to meet that bastard?'

She lit another cigarette, frowning, considering the point. 'The only way to see him, Hedley, would be somehow to bring him to me.'

Hedley nodded. 'Okay, so let's say you brought him down just like the others. What then? That still leaves the Connection, and you'll never know who he is – none of them did.'

'Pour me another glass of champagne and let's take a philosophical viewpoint to all this.' She leaned back. 'Politics, Hedley, are responsible for so many ills. Take the situation we are so involved with. Forget about the Sons of Erin and the Connection. The whole thing starts with governments having a dialogue. Events couldn't have proceeded without dialogue between the British and American governments, the Prime Minister and the President and their cosy chats on the telephone.'

'So?' Hedley said.

'If they hadn't agreed to pool information, there wouldn't have been all that juicy stuff from the Intelligence Services for the Connection to poach.' She reached for the bottle and poured him another glass. 'So, where does ultimate responsibility lie?'

'I don't know what you mean.'

'Ultimate power, Hedley, holds the final responsibility in this case. If the White House was involved, ultimate power lies with the President himself.' She glanced at her watch. 'Oh, it's late. Let's go.'

Hedley handed her into the Mercedes, went round and got behind the wheel. As he drove away he said, 'For God's sake, what are you saying?'

'I've secured an invitation to Chad Luther's party at his Long Island estate next week. The President is the guest of honour, I understand.'

Hedley swerved. 'My God, you wouldn't!'

She frowned, and then laughed. 'Oh, good heavens, Hedley, do you think I mean to assassinate him? Oh dear, oh dear, what must you think of me?' She shook her head. 'I haven't gone over the edge, Hedley. No, I meant that I could always discuss it with him.'

'Discuss it? You mean, lay the whole thing on the table, everything you've done? The killings? Hell, he'd have you arrested.'

'You don't see it, do you?' She lit a cigarette. 'It's his White House, so it's his mess. He doesn't want it out in the open any more than I do. This whole White House Connection business would be an enormous scandal. It could imperil his presidency. It would certainly damage the peace process in Ireland that he's worked so hard for. He has to unmask the Connection.' She gazed at Hedley. 'Or who knows what might leak to the press?'

Hedley was aghast. 'You mean, you'd blackmail the President? You'd be willing to go that far?' He shook his head. 'You've got the bad guys, Lady Helen. Let it go. Just let it be.'

'I can't,' she said. 'I'm on borrowed time, Hedley, much more so than you realize, and this is too important. So Long Island it is. If you're not happy with that, then don't come.'

'Hey, I don't deserve that.'

'I know you don't. You've been solid as a rock. My truest friend.'

'I don't need a snow job, that's all I'm saying.'

'So you'll come?'

He sighed. 'Where else would I go?' He changed gears. 'You're not still going to carry that Colt in your purse, are you?'

'Of course I am,' she said. 'Who knows.' She smiled. 'I might meet the Connection.'

Blake listened to what Dillon had to say. When the Irishman was finished, Blake said, 'Takes me back to my FBI days and the most-wanted list. The kind of killers who are obsessive.'

'So, you think the same person got Cohan as got the others?'

'Of course I do. I believe in coincidence as much as you do.'

'So that means the woman?' Dillon said.

'I suppose it does.'

'How does that fit in with FBI or CIA statistics? I mean, we know of women involved in terrorist movements in the past -the Baader-Meinhof gang in Germany, the IRA, the Palestinians – but it's still a minority classification.'

'So?'

'If we accept the idea, it means that a single woman is responsible for the total demise of the Sons of Erin. She's killed five people.'

'Sean, my friend,' Blake said, 'have you got a better suggestion?'

'Actually, no, but I think it would be useful if you put some more work in with your police friend, Captain Parker.'

'Such as?'

'I haven't the slightest idea, but cops are cops. They smell things other people don't. If he sniffs around what's left of the good Senator, there might be some useful information.'

'Okay, leave it with me.'

Blake rang off, sat there thinking about it and phoned the President. 'You've heard about Cohan?'

'I could hardly avoid it,' Cazalet said. 'It's all over CNN.'

'Can I see you?'

'Come straight up.'

The President sat at his desk in the Oval Office in shirt sleeves signing papers passed to him by the chief of staff. Thornton, also in shirt sleeves, looked up and grinned lopsidedly. 'You look glum, Blake, and no wonder.'

Cazalet leaned back. 'We'll finish these later. So, what now, Blake?'

'God knows,' Blake told him.

'You do think he was pushed?' Thornton asked.

'Of course he was pushed, or else he panicked and jumped.' Blake was exasperated. 'Come on, gentlemen, you know the background, you know the score. Do you really believe this was an accident, Cohan simply leaning too far out over his balcony?'

Cazalet said, 'So let's simplify it. There's somebody out there who's killed the five American members of this Sons of Erin.'

'Closed it down, I'd say,' Thornton put in.

'So what's left?' Cazalet asked.

'Jack Barry hiding out in Ulster, and the Connection here in Washington.'

Thornton said, 'But is this of any importance in view of what's happened?'