of a friend particularly damned him.”
“And Kate Rashid?”
“I’d seen the GPS as we went down in the sea, so I knew where she was. Ferguson gave the job to the Royal Marine Special Boat Squadron. We went in an old fishing boat.”
“You chose to go?”
“That’s right. Found her in the cabin at ninety feet.”
“You saw her?”
“I pulled her out. Went up with her on the line. You have to do that slowly from ninety feet.”
“It must have been quite an experience.”
“You could say that.” He lit another cigarette. “Going through it all again, has it helped? I don’t feel particularly cathartic. What’s that make me? Psychotic?”
She said calmly, “There’s a quotation: ‘There are men of a rough persuasion who are willing to take care of the kinds of situations that ordinary people can’t. They’re called soldiers.’”
“I know that one, and you couldn’t have paid me a greater compliment. If that’s all, I’ll be on my way. Thanks, love.”
“Take care, Dillon.”
He turned away, paused and turned back. “Look, sometimes I get this dream. I’m going down to the plane and I reach it and hang on and look inside and she isn’t there. Does that make any kind of sense?”
“Perfectly.” She shook her head. “My poor Dillon, such a good man in spite of everything, and yet you are what you are.”
“You’re a great comfort.”
“Watch your back, my friend. Isn’t that what they say in Belfast?”
He went and she turned, went up to the altar and knelt in prayer. Behind her, Marco Rossi tiptoed out.
The Baron was using the Rashid house in South Audley Street not far from Park Lane. He sat by the fire in the Georgian living room and listened intently. When Marco was finished, the old man took a deep breath.
“Get me a brandy, Marco. We always suspected this, but it’s still a shock.”
Marco went and got the drink, gave it to him and offered a cigarette from a silver case. “So what do you want me to do?”
“Nothing yet. We’ll see what the Prime Minister has to say tomorrow.”
“And then?”
“Marco, you didn’t meet Kate Rashid. It was just before you came into my life, and our business dealings, of their very nature, had to be private, but one thing is a fact. I am only sitting here now because of her. I can only pay her back in one way. What she failed to achieve, I will achieve for her.”
Marco looked taken aback. “What? You don’t mean – Cazalet?”
“Oh, I have something in mind for the President, all right, but we’ll take it slowly. Ferguson and Dillon come first. Yes, first we’ll deal with them. I’m sure you’ll be up for that, Marco, won’t you?”
At Downing Street the following morning, the Baron and Marco Rossi were admitted and shown to the Cabinet Room, where they found Ferguson and Blake Johnson waiting, standing on either side of the Prime Minister, who sat in his usual center chair.
“Baron,” he said. “Please be seated. This won’t take long.”
The Baron sat and Rossi stood behind him. “I appreciate your frankness. What is the problem, Prime Minister?”
“Berger International was already giving us problems. Your dealings with Iraq, for example, are not acceptable.”
“It’s a free market.”
“Not when it comes to arms-dealing. Now we hear of your connection with Rashid and your control over the oil market. It won’t do, not in the context of terrorism, and the Middle East and Southern Arabia. To be frank, my government will place every obstacle we can think of in your way.”
“Excellent.” The Baron stood up. “So now we know where we stand. Good morning, Prime Minister,” and he walked out, followed by Rossi.
The Prime Minister turned to Ferguson. “Keep an eye on him, General. I don’t trust that man one bit.”
Outside Number Ten, the Baron was still sitting in his Rolls-Royce, the door open, Rossi standing beside it, as Ferguson approached.
“Was there something else,
“And Kate Rashid?”
“I’d seen the GPS as we went down in the sea, so I knew where she was. Ferguson gave the job to the Royal Marine Special Boat Squadron. We went in an old fishing boat.”
“You chose to go?”
“That’s right. Found her in the cabin at ninety feet.”
“You saw her?”
“I pulled her out. Went up with her on the line. You have to do that slowly from ninety feet.”
“It must have been quite an experience.”
“You could say that.” He lit another cigarette. “Going through it all again, has it helped? I don’t feel particularly cathartic. What’s that make me? Psychotic?”
She said calmly, “There’s a quotation: ‘There are men of a rough persuasion who are willing to take care of the kinds of situations that ordinary people can’t. They’re called soldiers.’”
“I know that one, and you couldn’t have paid me a greater compliment. If that’s all, I’ll be on my way. Thanks, love.”
“Take care, Dillon.”
He turned away, paused and turned back. “Look, sometimes I get this dream. I’m going down to the plane and I reach it and hang on and look inside and she isn’t there. Does that make any kind of sense?”
“Perfectly.” She shook her head. “My poor Dillon, such a good man in spite of everything, and yet you are what you are.”
“You’re a great comfort.”
“Watch your back, my friend. Isn’t that what they say in Belfast?”
He went and she turned, went up to the altar and knelt in prayer. Behind her, Marco Rossi tiptoed out.
The Baron was using the Rashid house in South Audley Street not far from Park Lane. He sat by the fire in the Georgian living room and listened intently. When Marco was finished, the old man took a deep breath.
“Get me a brandy, Marco. We always suspected this, but it’s still a shock.”
Marco went and got the drink, gave it to him and offered a cigarette from a silver case. “So what do you want me to do?”
“Nothing yet. We’ll see what the Prime Minister has to say tomorrow.”
“And then?”
“Marco, you didn’t meet Kate Rashid. It was just before you came into my life, and our business dealings, of their very nature, had to be private, but one thing is a fact. I am only sitting here now because of her. I can only pay her back in one way. What she failed to achieve, I will achieve for her.”
Marco looked taken aback. “What? You don’t mean – Cazalet?”
“Oh, I have something in mind for the President, all right, but we’ll take it slowly. Ferguson and Dillon come first. Yes, first we’ll deal with them. I’m sure you’ll be up for that, Marco, won’t you?”
At Downing Street the following morning, the Baron and Marco Rossi were admitted and shown to the Cabinet Room, where they found Ferguson and Blake Johnson waiting, standing on either side of the Prime Minister, who sat in his usual center chair.
“Baron,” he said. “Please be seated. This won’t take long.”
The Baron sat and Rossi stood behind him. “I appreciate your frankness. What is the problem, Prime Minister?”
“Berger International was already giving us problems. Your dealings with Iraq, for example, are not acceptable.”
“It’s a free market.”
“Not when it comes to arms-dealing. Now we hear of your connection with Rashid and your control over the oil market. It won’t do, not in the context of terrorism, and the Middle East and Southern Arabia. To be frank, my government will place every obstacle we can think of in your way.”
“Excellent.” The Baron stood up. “So now we know where we stand. Good morning, Prime Minister,” and he walked out, followed by Rossi.
The Prime Minister turned to Ferguson. “Keep an eye on him, General. I don’t trust that man one bit.”
Outside Number Ten, the Baron was still sitting in his Rolls-Royce, the door open, Rossi standing beside it, as Ferguson approached.
“Was there something else,
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