Rough Justice. Jack Higgins
could find. Around ten o’clock, Luther Henderson, the day sergeant, came in.
‘Tony told me you’d been at it all night, Major. I asked him if it was anything special and he suddenly turned into Mr Mystery.’
‘You’ll find out at the right time, Luther. What’s new?’
‘Levin, Chomsky and Major Novikova have all begun that induction course at Kingsmere Hall now, trying to turn MI6 agents into good little Russians.’
‘With all their years in Russian Military Intelligence, if anybody can do it, they can.’ He shook his head. ‘Still – they’re supposed to be down at Kingsmere for a month, which means we don’t have them. I hope Ferguson doesn’t regret saying yes when Simon Carter asked.’
‘It’s difficult to say no to Mr Carter, Major, especially when he had the Prime Minister’s backing.’
‘I suppose.’ Simon Carter was not popular with many people, but he was, unfortunately, Deputy Director of the Security Services, and that was difficult to argue with.
‘Is Mr Dillon in, by any chance?’
‘He called about an hour ago, sir, from Stable Mews. Said he’d be in later.’ He glanced at the main screen. ‘What a lovely lady, sir, who might she be?’
‘That’s Olivia Hunt, the actress,’ Roper told him. ‘She’s married to Major Harry Miller, who works out of the Cabinet Office for the Prime Minister.’
‘Is that a fact, sir?’
‘Tell me something. Did you ever come across him, maybe in Belfast or somewhere like that? You did enough Irish time.’
‘Five tours. Nothing like you, Major. You were never out of the bloody place. God, but you saved some lives. And that big one at the Grand Hotel in Belfast? Six bloody hours on your own. No wonder they gave you the George Cross.’
‘Yes, I was rather good, wasn’t I? Peed myself several times because there was nowhere else to go.’ Roper was mocking the whole business now. ‘King of the castle until the little red Toyota turned up with the supermarket bag on the passenger seat. No big deal, only it was and here I am. Whisky and cigarettes, but no wild, wild women like the song said.’
‘Fuck them, Major, the bastards who did that to you.’
‘Nicely put, Luther, but alas, there’s no possibility of that with anyone, so I’ll settle for an invigorating shower in the wet room and would welcome your assistance.’
‘My pleasure, sir,’ and as Henderson wheeled him out, he added, ‘as to your question about Major Miller, sir, no, I never did come across him over there.’
There was no sign of Roper when Sean Dillon arrived at Holland Park. He wore black velvet cords and a black bomber jacket; a small man, his hair pale as straw. Once a feared enforcer for the IRA, he was now Ferguson’s strong right hand. He was sitting in one of the swivel chairs examining Roper’s screens when Henderson entered.
‘Where’s the Major?’ Dillon asked.
‘I just helped him shower in the wet room, and now he’s dressing. He’ll be along directly.’ He nodded to Olivia Hunt on the screen. ‘A lovely lady. Know who she is?’
Roper entered in his wheelchair. ‘Of course he does. Mr Dillon was involved with the theatre himself once upon a time. Who is she, Sean?’
‘Olivia Hunt. Born in Boston and she’s illuminated the British stage for years. That’s her in Chekhov’s Three Sisters. A National Theatre production a year ago.’
‘Told you,’ said Roper. ‘We’ll have a pot of tea, Luther,’ and Henderson went out.
‘What’s she doing there?’
‘I’m investigating her husband for Ferguson. Harry Miller, he works out of the Cabinet Office, a kind of troubleshooter for the Prime Minister. Used to be Army Intelligence. A headquarters man only, supposedly, but now it seems there’s been more to him for some time.’ Henderson came in with the tea. Roper said, ‘Leave us, Luther, I’ll call you if I need you.’
Henderson went out. Dillon said, ‘What kind of more?’
‘Have a hefty swig of that tea, Sean. I think you’re going to be interested in what I’ve found out about Major Harry Miller.’
When he was finished, Dillon said, ‘And after that, I think I could do with something stronger.’
‘You can pour one for me while you’re at it.’
‘So you say Ferguson wants this for breakfast, American time, with Cazalet?’
‘That’s it.’
‘Jesus and Mary.’ Dillon poured the drinks. ‘It must have been a hell of a thing, he and Blake together.’
‘You can say that again. Come on, do you have any input?’
‘I heard whispers about Titan, but I don’t think anyone in the movement took it too seriously, or Unit 16. We had enough to deal with. You were there, Roper, you know what I’m talking about. So many people got killed, far more than the dear old British public ever realized. I remember the River Street affair, though. It’s true the Chief of Staff put it out as an SAS atrocity.’
‘Gallant freedom fighters gunned down without mercy?’
‘That’s right. So Miller left the Army four years ago, becomes an MP, helps the Prime Minister get Ian Paisley and Martin McGuinness running the government together. A decent job there, actually. I’m not sure I can help you too much, Roper. I left the Provos in eighty-nine to do my own thing.’
‘Which included the mortar attack on John Major’s war cabinet at Downing Street in February ninety-one.’
‘Never proved.’ Dillon shook his head.
‘Bugger off, Sean, it was a hell of a payday for you, but never mind. Is there anything you can add to Miller’s story?’
‘Not a word.’
‘All right, then. I’ll send it straight to Ferguson. We’ll see what he makes of it.’
After breakfast at the beach house on Nantucket, Clancy passed round the coffee, and Cazalet said, ‘So, what do you have for me, Charles?’
‘Something so extraordinary I’m surprised my laptop didn’t catch fire, Mr President.’
‘I see.’ Cazalet stirred his coffee. ‘So tell us.’
Ferguson started to do just that.
When he was finished, there was silence and then the President turned to Clancy, ‘Well?’
‘That’s one hell of a soldier.’
Blake said, ‘I knew there was something special about him the moment we met.’
‘And you, Charles?’ Cazalet asked.
‘Obviously, I knew a certain amount about him,’ Ferguson answered. ‘But I’m stunned to hear the full story.’
‘It would certainly shock his father-in-law, Senator Hunt. Very old-fashioned conservative guy, Hunt.’
‘So, how do you want to handle this, Mr President?’
‘I think I’d like to meet Miller. He could be a useful recruit on certain missions for you and me, Charles. Discuss it with the Prime Minister and Miller first, of course. What do you think, Blake?’
‘I think that could be beneficial to all parties, Mr President.’
‘Excellent. Now why don’t we all go for a walk on the beach, take the sea air? The surf is particularly fine this morning.’
The Saturday-night performance of Private Lives was another triumph for Olivia Hunt, and she drove down in the Mercedes afterwards to Stokely