entrance and pausing. Ashimov waved for the limousine.
"I'm sorry, Josef."
"Then do something about it. I have hugely important matters in hand. Our future in Iraq and southern Arabia are on the line. Where Ferguson and his people are concerned, I give you a free hand."
"I've something special lined up for Dillon tonight."
"Good. Just get on with it." Ashimov held the door open for him. Belov got in and put the window down. "I'll be at the Rashid house on South Audley Street for the next three days, then I'm flying to the castle."
"And then Iraq?"
"No, Moscow. I've got to keep the President on our side."
The limousine drove away, and Greta said, "The castle?"
" Drumore Place . It's in CountyLouth in the IrishRepublic. His latest acquisition. A couple of hundred acres, and whatever you want a castle to be, that's what it is. One advantage for him is that the area is a hotbed of Irish nationalism. In that area, the IRA has no idea that the war is over, especially the local commander, one Dermot Kelly."
"Isn't that a problem?"
"For Josef with all his wealth? For a man with no love of the British? The locals have embraced him like one of their own. He goes back a long way with Kelly."
"And you? Do they embrace you as well?"
"Of course. My natural charm."
She smiled. "Now what?"
"I'll give you a nice dinner."
"And Dillon?"
"Oh, he'll be well taken care of." He waved for a passing taxi.
Chapter 5.
At the bar at the Dorchester Ballroom, they were finishing the champagne. Hannah said, "You were a bit heavy, sir."
"Oh, I intended to be. Luhzkov hung himself. Now we all know where we are, which is how I prefer it."
"You ould devil. What you're looking for is a reaction," Dillon said.
"Something like that. I spoke to Roper earlier. Told him to compute a report on Belov. Everything there is. I expect you two to read it thoroughly."
"Of course, sir," Hannah said.
"Good. On our way, then."
They paused at the cloakroom to get coats, and it had started to rain slightly when they went out on the pavement and the Daimler coasted in.
"I'll drop you off," Ferguson said.
"Not me, if you don't mind," Dillon told him. "I feel like the walk."
"In the rain, dear boy?" Ferguson opened the door for Hannah. "You'll have to excuse him, Superintendent. It's an Irish thing, the rain."
"Sure, and your sainted mother, being a Cork woman, would have agreed with you."
"Take care, you rogue, and stay out of trouble."
"Always do, General."
Dillon watched the Daimler drive off, then walked away, his collar up against the rain. He went across the entrance of the hotel and made his way down through Mayfair in the general direction of Shepherd's Market.
That he was being followed had been obvious since leaving the ballroom. Two men, one in a reefer coat and knitted cap, the other in an anorak and baseball cap. Stupid, really, and they'd stuck out like a sore thumb among the kind of people leaving the Dorchester.
Just before reaching Shepherd's Market, he paused on a corner to light a cigarette, then turned into a narrow side street of old town houses, fronted by Victorian spiked railings, with steps leading down to basement areas. He quickened his pace, then dashed down a flight of steps and waited in the darkness.
There was a sound of running steps. A voice said, "Where's he gone, for Christ's sake?"
Dillon came up the steps and stood behind them, hands in the pockets of his raincoat.
"So there you are, lads," he said. "I was beginning to give up on you."
"Why, you little squirt." The man in the reefer coat turned to his friend. "Leave this to me."
He took a length of lead pipe from one pocket. Dillon said, "Very old-fashioned."
"Is that so?"
The man made a sudden rush, arm raised to strike down. Dillon swayed to one side, stamped against the side of one of the man's knees so that he lurched past him, head down, and Dillon put a foot to his backside and sent him headfirst down the steps to the basement.
The man in the
"I'm sorry, Josef."
"Then do something about it. I have hugely important matters in hand. Our future in Iraq and southern Arabia are on the line. Where Ferguson and his people are concerned, I give you a free hand."
"I've something special lined up for Dillon tonight."
"Good. Just get on with it." Ashimov held the door open for him. Belov got in and put the window down. "I'll be at the Rashid house on South Audley Street for the next three days, then I'm flying to the castle."
"And then Iraq?"
"No, Moscow. I've got to keep the President on our side."
The limousine drove away, and Greta said, "The castle?"
" Drumore Place . It's in CountyLouth in the IrishRepublic. His latest acquisition. A couple of hundred acres, and whatever you want a castle to be, that's what it is. One advantage for him is that the area is a hotbed of Irish nationalism. In that area, the IRA has no idea that the war is over, especially the local commander, one Dermot Kelly."
"Isn't that a problem?"
"For Josef with all his wealth? For a man with no love of the British? The locals have embraced him like one of their own. He goes back a long way with Kelly."
"And you? Do they embrace you as well?"
"Of course. My natural charm."
She smiled. "Now what?"
"I'll give you a nice dinner."
"And Dillon?"
"Oh, he'll be well taken care of." He waved for a passing taxi.
Chapter 5.
At the bar at the Dorchester Ballroom, they were finishing the champagne. Hannah said, "You were a bit heavy, sir."
"Oh, I intended to be. Luhzkov hung himself. Now we all know where we are, which is how I prefer it."
"You ould devil. What you're looking for is a reaction," Dillon said.
"Something like that. I spoke to Roper earlier. Told him to compute a report on Belov. Everything there is. I expect you two to read it thoroughly."
"Of course, sir," Hannah said.
"Good. On our way, then."
They paused at the cloakroom to get coats, and it had started to rain slightly when they went out on the pavement and the Daimler coasted in.
"I'll drop you off," Ferguson said.
"Not me, if you don't mind," Dillon told him. "I feel like the walk."
"In the rain, dear boy?" Ferguson opened the door for Hannah. "You'll have to excuse him, Superintendent. It's an Irish thing, the rain."
"Sure, and your sainted mother, being a Cork woman, would have agreed with you."
"Take care, you rogue, and stay out of trouble."
"Always do, General."
Dillon watched the Daimler drive off, then walked away, his collar up against the rain. He went across the entrance of the hotel and made his way down through Mayfair in the general direction of Shepherd's Market.
That he was being followed had been obvious since leaving the ballroom. Two men, one in a reefer coat and knitted cap, the other in an anorak and baseball cap. Stupid, really, and they'd stuck out like a sore thumb among the kind of people leaving the Dorchester.
Just before reaching Shepherd's Market, he paused on a corner to light a cigarette, then turned into a narrow side street of old town houses, fronted by Victorian spiked railings, with steps leading down to basement areas. He quickened his pace, then dashed down a flight of steps and waited in the darkness.
There was a sound of running steps. A voice said, "Where's he gone, for Christ's sake?"
Dillon came up the steps and stood behind them, hands in the pockets of his raincoat.
"So there you are, lads," he said. "I was beginning to give up on you."
"Why, you little squirt." The man in the reefer coat turned to his friend. "Leave this to me."
He took a length of lead pipe from one pocket. Dillon said, "Very old-fashioned."
"Is that so?"
The man made a sudden rush, arm raised to strike down. Dillon swayed to one side, stamped against the side of one of the man's knees so that he lurched past him, head down, and Dillon put a foot to his backside and sent him headfirst down the steps to the basement.
The man in the
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