Thunder Point (13 page)

“You’ll think of something, you always do, Dillon, isn’t that your special talent?”

“Jesus, but you have the most touching faith in me. All right, let’s get down to brass tacks. Baker’s death? Are you sure that was an accident?”

“Absolutely no question. There were witnesses. He simply looked the wrong way and stepped into the path of the bus. The driver, I might add, is beyond reproach.”

“All right, so what about the burglary at this Admiral Travers’ house, the bug in the telephone?”

Ferguson nodded. “A smell of stinking fish there. All the hallmarks of an opportunistic housebreaking, but the bug says otherwise.”

“Who would it be?”

“God knows, Dillon, but all my instincts tell me there’s someone out there and they’re up to no good.”

“But what?” Dillon said. “That’s the point.”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with an answer.”

“So when do you want me to go out to the Virgins?”

“I’m not sure. Two or three days, we’ll see.” Ferguson eased a pillow behind his head.

“And where do I stay while I’m hanging around in London?” Dillon enquired.

“I’ll arrange for you to stay with Admiral Travers in Lord North Street. For the moment, you can earn your keep by keeping an eye on the girl,” Ferguson told him. “Now shut up, there’s a good chap, I need a spot of shut-eye.”

He folded his arms and closed his eyes. Dillon finished his Scotch and leaned back thinking about it.

Ferguson murmured, “Oh, Dillon, just one thing.”

“And what would that be?”

“Dr. Wegner and that young fool Klaus Schmidt, the people you dealt with at Fehring? Well-intentioned amateurs, but the man you bumped into in Vienna who put you in touch with them, Farben? He was acting for me. I got him to set you up, then got someone who works for me to shop you to the Serbs.”

“Believe it or not, Brigadier, but something of the sort had occurred to me. I presume the Stinger missiles were your idea?”

“Wanted to see you behind bars, you see,” Ferguson said. “If I couldn’t get you one way . . .” He shrugged. “Mind you, this present business has got nothing to do with it. Lucky for you the situation arose.”

“Or you’d have left me to rot.”

“Not really. They’d have shot you sooner or later.”

“Ah, well, what does it matter now?” Dillon said. “You might say it’s all come out in the wash when you think about it,” and he closed his eyes and dozed himself.

At Lord North Street, just before six, it was still raining as Dillon sat at the kitchen table and watched Jenny Grant make the tea. He had only just been introduced, for Ferguson was closeted in the study with Travers.

She turned and smiled. “Would you like some toast or anything?”

“Not really. Would you mind if I smoked?”

“Not at all.” She busied herself with the tea things. “You’re Irish, but you sound different.”

“North of Ireland,” he said. “What you would call Ulster and others the six counties.”

“IRA country?”

“That’s right,” he told her calmly.

She poured the tea. “And what exactly are you doing here, Mr. Dillon? Would I be correct in assuming the Brigadier wants you to keep an eye on me?”

“And why would you think that?”

She sat opposite and sipped some of her tea. “Because you look like that kind of man.”

“And how would you be knowing that sort of person, Miss Grant?”

“Jenny,” she said, “and I used to know all sorts of men, Mr. Dillon, and they were usually the wrong kind.” She brooded for a moment. “But Henry saved me from all that.” She looked up and her eyes glistened. “And now he’s gone.”

“Another cup?” He reached for the pot. “And what do you do in St. John?”

She took a deep breath and tried hard. “I have a cafe and bar called Jenny’s Place. You must visit some time.”

“You know what?” Dillon smiled. “I might just take you up on that,” and he drank some more of his tea.

In the study Travers was aghast. “Good heavens, Charles, IRA? I’m truly shocked.”

“You can be shocked as much as you like, Garth, but I need the little bugger. I hate to admit it, but he’s very, very good. I intend to send him out to St. John once I’ve got things sorted. In the meantime he can stay here and act as your minder, just in case anything untoward happens.”

“All right,” Travers said reluctantly.

“If the girl asks I’ve told him to tell her he’s a diver I’ve brought in to help with this thing.”

“Do you think she’ll believe that? I find her rather a smart young woman.”

“I don’t see why not. He
is
a diver amongst other things.” Ferguson got up. “By the way, you had a man from my department earlier who replaced the bug in your phone and gave you a cellular telephone, didn’t he?”

“That’s right.”

Ferguson led the way out and they went in the kitchen, where Jenny and Dillon sat at the table. Ferguson said, “Right, you two, I’m off. We’ll all meet for dinner at eight. The River Room at the Savoy, I think.” He turned to Dillon. “That suit you?”

Dillon said, “A jacket-and-tie job, that, and here’s me with only the clothes I’m standing up in.”

“All right, Dillon, you can go shopping tomorrow,” Ferguson said wearily and turned to Travers. “Good thing you’re as small as he is, Garth. You can fix him up with a blazer, I’m sure. See you later.”

The front door banged behind him and Dillon smiled. “Always in a hurry, that man.”

Travers said reluctantly, “All right, you’d better come with me and I’ll show you where you’re sleeping and find you something to wear.”

He led the way out and Dillon winked at Jenny and followed him.

Not too far away the fake telephone engineer who had called himself Smith turned into an alley where an old van was parked and knocked on the rear door. It was opened by Johnson and Smith joined him inside. There were various items of recording equipment and a receiver.

“Anything?” Smith asked.

“Not a thing. It’s been on all day. Housekeeper ordering groceries, asking for a repair man for the washing machine. The Admiral phoned the London Library to order a book and the Army and Navy club about a function next month. Bit of a bore, the whole thing. What about you?”

“I was watching the house a short while ago and Ferguson turned up.”

“You sure?”

“Oh, yes, definitely him. The photos on the file Mr. Santiago has supplied are very good. He had a guy with him.”

“Any ideas?”

“No. Small, very fair hair, black leather flying jacket. He stayed, Ferguson left.”

“So what do we do now?”

“Leave the recorder on. I can do a sweep in the morning and listen to anything interesting. I’ll watch the house while you take some time off. If they go out, I’ll follow and speak to you on the car phone.”

“Okay,” Johnson said. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

They got out of the van, he locked it and they went their separate ways.

Ferguson hadn’t arrived when the Admiral, Dillon and Jenny reached the Savoy and went to the River Room. The table had been ordered, however, and the headwaiter led them to it.

“I suppose we might as well have a drink,” Travers said.

Dillon turned to the wine waiter. “Bottle of Krug, non-vintage.” He smiled amiably at Travers. “I prefer the grape mix.”

“Do you, indeed?” the Admiral said stiffly.

“Yes.” Dillon offered Jenny a cigarette. She was wearing a simple white blouse and black skirt. “You’re looking rather nice.” His voice had changed, and for the moment he was the perfect English gentleman, public-school accent and all.

“Are you ever the same for five minutes together?” she asked.

“Jesus, and wouldn’t that be a bore? Let’s dance.” He reached for her hand and led her to the floor.

“You know you’re not looking too bad yourself,” she said.

“Well the blazer fits, but I find the Navy tie a bit incongruous.”

“Ah, I see it now, you don’t like institutions?”

“Not totally true. The first time I came to the River Room, I belonged to a famous institution, the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art.”

“You’re kidding me?” she said.

“No, I was a student there for one year only and I was offered a job with the National Theatre. I played Lyngstrand in Ibsen’s ‘Lady From the Sea,’ the one who was coughing his guts up all the time.”

“And after that?”

“Oh, there were family commitments. I had to go home to Ireland.”

“What a shame. What have you been doing lately?”

He told the truth for once. “I’ve been flying medical supplies into Yugoslavia.”

“Oh, you’re a pilot.”

“Some of the time. I’ve been a lot of things. Butcher, baker, candlestick maker. Diver.”

“A diver?” She showed her surprise. “Really? You’re not having me on?”

“No, why should I?”

She leaned back as they circled the floor. “You know, I get a funny feeling about you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it may sound crazy, but if someone asked me to speculate about you, for some totally illogical reason I’d say you were a soldier.”

Dillon’s smile was slightly lopsided. “Now what gave me away?”

“I’m right then.” She was delighted with herself. “You were once a soldier.”

“I suppose you could put it that way.”

The music stopped, he took her back to the table and excused himself. “I’m just going to see what cigarettes they have in the bar.”

As he went away, the Admiral said, “Look, my dear, no sense in getting too involved with him, you know, not your sort.”

“Oh, don’t be an old snob, Admiral.” She lit a cigarette.

“He seems perfectly nice to me. He’s just been flying medical supplies into Yugoslavia and he used to be a soldier.”

Travers snorted and came right out with it. “Soldier of the bloody IRA.”

She frowned. “You can’t be serious.”

“Infamous character,” Travers said. “Worse than Carlos. They’ve been after him for years all over the place. Only reason he’s here is because Charles has done a deal with him. He’s going to help out with this thing, go to St. John, find the submarine and so on. Apparently the damned man’s also a diver.”

“I can’t believe it.”

As Dillon came out of the bar, he met Ferguson arriving and they came down to the table together.

“You’re looking well, my dear,” Ferguson said to Jenny. “The coroner’s inquest is at ten-thirty tomorrow, by the way. No need for you to go as Garth here made the formal identification.”

“But I’d prefer to be there,” she said.

“Very well, if that’s what you’d like.”

“How soon after that can we arrange cremation?”

“That
is
what you want?”

“His ashes, yes,” she said calmly. “I’m not expecting a service. Henry was an atheist.”

“Really.” Ferguson shrugged. “Well, if you’re happy to use our people, they could do it virtually straightaway.”

“Tomorrow afternoon?”

“I suppose so.”

“Good. If you would arrange that I’d be grateful. If you’re ordering I’d like caviar to start, a steak medium rare and a salad on the side.”

“Would you now?” Ferguson said.

“It’s called celebrating life.” She reached for Dillon’s hand. “And I’d like to dance again.” She smiled. “It’s not often I get the chance to do the foxtrot with an IRA gunman.”

There were no more than five or six people in the small oak-paneled court in Westminster the following morning. Jenny sat at the front bench with Travers and Ferguson, and Dillon stood at the back near the Court usher, once more in his flying jacket. There was a brief pause while one of the people sitting at the front approached the bench and received some sort of warrant from the Clerk of the Court. As he went out, Smith and Johnson came into the court and sat on a bench on the other side of the aisle from Dillon. They were both respectably dressed in jacket and tie, but one look was enough for Dillon. Twenty years of entirely the wrong kind of living had given him an instinct for such things.

The Clerk of the Court got things started. “Rise for her Majesty’s Coroner.”

The Coroner was old with very white hair and wore a gray suit. Jenny was surprised. She’d expected robes. He opened the file before him. “This is an unusual case and I have taken note of the facts placed before me and have decided that in consequence the presence of a jury is not necessary. Is Brigadier Charles Ferguson in court?”

Ferguson stood up. “Yes, sir.”

“I see you have served a D notice in this matter on behalf of the Ministry of Defence and this court accepts that there must be reasons for doing so affecting National Security. I accept the order and will have it entered into these proceedings. I will also, at this point, make it clear to any member of the press present that it is an offense punishable by a term of imprisonment to report details of any case covered by a D notice.”

“Thank you, sir.” Ferguson sat down.

“As the witnesses’ statements given to the police in this unfortunate matter seem perfectly straightforward, I only need official identification of the deceased to be able to close these proceedings.”

The Clerk of the Court nodded to Travers, who got up and went to the stand. The Coroner glanced at his papers. “You are Rear Admiral Garth Travers?”

“I am, sir.”

“And your relationship with the deceased?”

“A close friend of many years on vacation from St. John in the American Virgin Islands, staying with me at my house in Lord North Street.”

“And you made the official identification?” Travers nodded. “Is Miss Jennifer Grant in court?” She stood awkwardly and he said, “I have a power of attorney here in your name. You wish to claim the body?”

“I do, sir.”

“So be it and so ordered. My Clerk will issue the necessary warrant. You have the sympathy of the court, Miss Grant.”

“Thank you.”

As she sat, the Clerk called, “Rise for Her Majesty’s Coroner.”

They all did so and the Coroner went out. Travers turned to Jenny. “All right, my dear?”

“Fine,” she said, but her face was pale.

“Let’s go,” he said. “Charles is just getting the warrant. He’ll catch us up.”