Jack Higgins - The White House Connection

'A big explosion?' Parker asked.

'No, sort of a muted sound.'

'A silencer.' He nodded. 'And the other?'

'He tried to use me as a shield, he had a knife, but she shot him in the head over my shoulder.'

Parker turned to Blake. 'I'll tell you one thing, she must be good to risk a shot like that. And then there's the silencer. You were right, Blake. A pro in a way I hadn't realized.'

Blake said, 'Tell me about her.'

'That was the strange thing. She was a real lady. Could have been late sixties. She wore a rain hat, a trenchcoat, carried an umbrella. Her hair, what I could see of it, was white.'

'Her face?'

'Don't ask me to go through the photos. It would be a waste of time. I didn't see enough of her to make a positive identification, and I wouldn't.'

'That's okay,' Blake said. 'I wouldn't ask you to. There's a lot to this that you'll never know, matters of national security. This is not a case that ever comes to court. The two guys she shot are just two more on a list of New York street killings never solved.'

'So I won't be pulled in or anything?'

'Absolutely not.' He turned to Parker. 'Please confirm that.'

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.

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.'