The police captain said, 'He's in charge, I'm only here to help in any way I can. I'm as much at the mercy of that presidential warrant as you are.'
'I guarantee that your identity will be mentioned to no one,' Blake said. 'I will tell only the facts of this affair, even to the President, but you have my solemn oath that your name will never be mentioned.'
'How about him?' She nodded to Parker.
'Tell her, Harry,' Blake said.
'Don't know what you're talking about, honey,' Harry Parker told her. 'Never seen you before.'
The two men got up. 'With luck, I won't need to speak to you again, Miss Wiley.' He turned and hesitated. 'Just one thing. What did she sound like?'
'Oh, a lady, a real lady, like I said. You know the kind of person? Almost English.'
'Are you saying she could be English?' Parker said.
'Oh, no, just blue-blooded American, that kind of accent.'
'You mean you could have bumped into her going round the designer rooms at Bergdorf Goodman?' Parker asked.
'Or Harrods in London.' She shrugged. 'She was an upper-class lady, what more can I say?'
'Good.' Parker nodded. 'Don't forget to get the restaurant to book you a cab next time,' and he led the way out.
They stood there in the rain. Blake said, 'What do you think?'
'It's the damnedest thing I ever heard of, Blake. You've got some angelic elderly lady out there like the President's mother, knocking off two lowlife rapists like she's an ageing Dirty Harry.'
'Just like she did Tim Pat Ryan in London.'
'And Brady, Kelly and Cassidy in New York, and probably Cohan in London. I told you, Blake, every policeman's instinct tells me this whole thing is very personal.'
'I agree.'
'I think there's more there to do with the Sons of Erin than you realize, but that isn't my problem, it's yours. According to your presidential warrant our lunch with the Wiley girl never happened.' He glanced at his watch. 'Got to go. I've got a meeting with the Commissioner and you know what's so frustrating? I can't tell him what great work I've done on this case.'
He went off like a strong wind, hailing a cab. Blake watched him go, then turned and walked away.
He caught the shuttle back to Washington, thought about things, then called Alice Quarmby and told her to set up a meeting with the President.
'Did you get anywhere?' She was guarded, as usual.
'It's a highly unusual story, Alice,' he said. 'But I'll tell you later.'
As luck would have it, he was alone, the next seat vacant. He lay back, tilted his seat, closed his eyes, and started right at the beginning, allowing one event to flow into another, trying to make sense of it all. The only trouble was that he became so relaxed he fell asleep, and was only aroused by the touch of a hand on his shoulder as they landed at Washington.
Alice had coffee waiting, hot and strong, and he sat behind his desk, sipped it and looked at the in-tray. 'Looks like a lot to me, Alice.'
'I can handle most of it. Just needs a signature. What happened?'
He told her, everything that had taken place, everything Jean Wiley had said, though he didn't disclose her name.
'I think Captain Parker is right,' she said, when he was finished. 'It's something personal we're missing, something to do with those Sons of Erin bastards.'
'Why, Alice, bad language at your age.'
'Don't be funny.' She looked at her watch. 'If you're interested, you've got six minutes to get up to see the President. Try the pool first.'
'Thanks very much.' He pushed his chair back and jumped up. 'I'll do you a favour sometime, Alice,' and he hurried out.
TWELVE
Jake Cazalet was in the White House swimming pool, flailing up and down, one length after another, watched by two Marine sergeants, immaculate in white track suits, who acted as lifeguards. He swam to the side and looked up at Blake.
'Anything productive?'
'You could say that, Mr President.'
'Okay, we can't talk now. I'll shower and change and see you upstairs, but I don't have long. Got a pile of work to do.'
When Blake went into the Oval Office, Henry Thornton was arranging a stack of papers on the desk.
'How did it go?'
'Well, let's say I learned a lot, but not enough.'
Thornton raised a hand. 'Don't tell me. Let's wait for the great man himself. I always prefer to share bad news with others. It detracts from any feeling of personal responsibility.'
'Are you getting anywhere with your background checks?' Blake asked.
'Not so far,' Thornton said.
The President breezed in, his hair still damp and tousled. 'Okay, Blake, let's hear the worst.'
When Blake was finished, both his listeners looked serious. Thornton said, 'Well, there's one thing, Mr President. At least we know this mystery woman Dillon mentioned exists.'
'More than that. It would appear she's been responsible for
all the killings, and that really is incredible,' Cazalet said. 'But why?'
'Some sort of vendetta,' Blake told him. 'It's the only explanation.'
'And this girl, whose name you won't give us,' Thornton said, 'she wasn't able to help in any other way?'
'As I've told you, she described the woman, for what it's worth.'
'And what a description,' Thornton said. 'Sixties, white-haired, blue-blood accent. We seem to be talking High Society here. Come on, Blake, this girl, can't she come up with more?'
Cazalet raised a hand. 'No, what Blake got is all there is. I accept that, just as I accept Blake's integrity in holding to his word, both to that young woman and to Captain Parker for backing him to the hilt in this matter.'
'Fine, Mr President,' Thornton said. 'But where does it leave us? No further forward.'
'Have you got anywhere with your own investigation?'
Thornton said, 'I'm afraid not.'
Cazalet nodded, frowning. 'I suggest you speak to Brigadier Ferguson, Blake, bring him up to date. Is there anything else you can do?'
'I've been wondering whether any of the premises near the alley where the two shootings took place might have anything on their security videos for the time in question.'
'That would show the woman?'
'Perhaps. A long shot.'
'Okay, pursue that, and as I say, bring Ferguson up to date.' Cazalet nodded. 'Perhaps it might even be an idea to have Dillon over.'
'But how would that help, Mr President?' Thornton asked.
'Well, he did catch sight of the mystery woman in Wapping after the Tim Pat Ryan shooting.'
'A glimpse only,' Blake pointed out.
'Yes, but the same glimpse on a security video could match up. What else have we got?'
'Not very much, Mr President.'
'So, to other matters. This party of Chad Luther's day after tomorrow in Quogue.' He turned to Thornton. 'Any special problems, Henry?'
'None, Mr President.' He turned to Blake. 'Good old Chad is our biggest fund-raiser and he'll have all the world and his wife there.'
'Will you use Air Force One, sir?' Blake asked.
'No. I'll go down in one of the Gulfstreams.' The President nodded. 'Pursue your inquiries, but I want you to join up with the security arrangements, too, and come to Long Island. Take the helicopter.'
'Forgive me, Mr President, but I'll have Sean Dillon here by then.'
'Bring him with you, by all means. I'd appreciate seeing him again.' Cazalet smiled. 'But now, I really must get on. Good old Henry here will be breathing fire and smoke before I know where I am.'
Thornton laughed appreciatively, and Blake withdrew.
Back in his office, he spoke to Harry Parker and raised the question of security videos. Parker said, 'That's a good point. Thinking about things after you left, it occurred to me, too. I'll check.'
'That's that, then,' Blake said. 'I saw the President, told him everything about our talk with the girl. He said he appreciated your help, Harry.'
'Hey, don't fuck with me.'
'It's the truth, Harry. I'll keep you posted.'
Harry Parker sat there at his desk, frowning, thinking about what Blake had said. Then his phone rang again, and a woman's voice said, 'Captain Parker?'
'Who is this?'
'I have the President for you.'
Parker sat there in total astonishment, gripping the phone, and the President said, 'Harry Parker? Jake Cazalet.'
Parker managed to mumble, 'Mr President?'
'Just wanted to thank you for your efforts. Blake Johnson has filled me in. I know the fact of a presidential warrant must have given you a problem. It goes against the grain of all your service experience. But I'm personally immensely grateful for the help you've given without hesitation in a most serious and confidential matter.'
'Mr President, I am yours to command.'
'Blake handles a very special unit on my behalf, Captain, and frankly, there are more demands on its services all the time. I know it would be asking a lot to ask a long-serving NYPD captain to make a move at this time in his career, but I wonder if you'd be interested?'
Parker managed to stay calm. 'I said yours to command, Mr President, and I meant that.'
'Excellent. Not right away, but you'll be hearing from Blake in the future.'
The phone clicked off. Harry Parker sat staring at his own and then replaced it. He got up, went to the window, and looked out at New York in the rain. A whole new life beckoned, at a time when other guys were thinking about retirement.
He went back to his desk, opened the second drawer and took out a highly illegal Romeo y Julietta Cuban cigar, bit off the end, lit it and sat down.
'Well, now.' He was grinning all over his face. 'Well, now.'
It was evening in London when Blake spoke to Ferguson. He gave the Brigadier a total resume of what had happened, the interview with the Wiley girl, what the President had said.
Ferguson listened, then said, 'So, as regards hunting down our mystery woman, we're left with the slim chance that some Park Avenue security video might feature her?'
'I'm waiting to hear. The President feels it might be worth having Dillon here. He's the only one who's ever glimpsed this woman. Perhaps he could match it to a glimpse on video.'
'I doubt it, but I'll have him on his way on the next available flight.'
'I appreciate that, sir.'
'Good, stay in touch.'
Ferguson put the phone down, thought about it, then rang transportation at the Ministry of Defence. 'Brigadier Ferguson here. What's the quickest flight to Washington?'
'Concorde in the morning, sir.'
'Well, Her Majesty's government will just have to spring for it, I suppose. Book Dillon on it. If it's full, throw someone off'
Next he phoned Stable Mews. There was no reply. He tried Dillon's mobile and did better. The Irishman's voice was clear against a background of voices and music.
'And who is this disturbing my early evening?' Dillon demanded.
'Me, you silly bastard. Where are you?'
'Mulligan's.'
Ferguson hesitated, then gave in. 'Well, the oysters are appealing, even if you aren't, Dillon. I'll be there in twenty minutes.'
Dillon sat in the upstairs bar of Mulligan's Irish restaurant in Cork Street, not too far from the Ritz Hotel, and devoured a dozen oysters and a bottle of Cristal champagne to help things
along. Ferguson came up the stain and pushed through the crowd.
'So there you are.' He picked up the Cristal bottle. 'What happened to the Krug?'
A young Irish girl appeared. 'Is there a problem?' she asked Dillon in Irish.
'A decent girl from Cork who understands me,' Dillon told him, and smiled at the girl as he replied in Irish. 'Don't be put off, my love. He looks like the kind of English lord who'd put his boot to you, but his sainted mother was from Cork. Give him a dozen oysters and a pint of Guinness.'
She gave him a smile and vanished to the kitchen. Ferguson said, 'I didn't understand a word, but you're going to feed me?'
'Of course. Now what's up?'
'You, at dawn, then it's Heathrow for the Concorde to Washington.'
Dillon still smiled, but the grey eyes didn't. 'Tell me.'
Forty minutes later, the Brigadier swallowed his last oyster, an expression of ecstasy on his face. 'Superb! Only an Irish bar could do oysters like this. So, Dillon, what do you think?'
