Jack Higgins - The White House Connection

'What's it about, Jack?' Quinn demanded.

Barry, as always, knew exactly how to handle the situation. What he was faced with was a group of men who would not have disgraced the Mafia, but as with so many terrorists in Ireland on both sides of the coin, they needed to believe they were gallant freedom fighters.

'Comrades, we've fought shoulder-to-shoulder for an ideal of Irish freedom, and many of us have fallen by the wayside, and often it's been due to treachery and dishonesty. You never knew this, but I had a branch of the Sons of Erin in New York, a member in London. Four of them shot dead.' They were silent now. 'The person responsible was a woman. It's that woman we're visiting in Norfolk. Retribution, that's what it's about. We take care of her and fly straight back. Anyone wants out, say so.'

It was Quinn who spoke. 'We're with you, Jack, you know that.'

Barry slapped him on the shoulder. 'Good man yourself. Now let's get to it,' and he led the way out.

The front advanced across England like a plague, fog drifting everywhere. At Gatwick, Ferguson and Hannah waited in a special security lounge.

Ferguson looked out of the window. 'It's gone rather silent.'

Hannah said, 'I'll check.' She went out, returned a few minutes later and made a face. 'All traffic cancelled at the moment, sir.'

'Damnation. Is anywhere open?'

'Oh, yes. Manchester and East Midlands.'

'Check them out. See if she's diverted.'

Hannah left, and a moment later, the phone rang. The switchboard operator said, 'Call for you, Brigadier.'

Helen Lang sounded good. 'Dear Charles, sorry I missed you. Filthy weather. I just landed at East Midlands. Lucky to get in. On our way to Norfolk. Scattered fog but not too bad. Hedley is such a good driver.'

'This is madness, Helen. Look, Dillon and Blake Johnson are hard after you. Leave it to us, Helen.'

'God bless you, Charles.' She rang off.

Hedley said, 'What happens now?'

'That depends on Mr Barry.'

'He won't get anywhere near Norfolk, not in weather like this.'

'I wouldn't depend on that, Hedley. He's a man of infinite resources and guilt.' She shook out a couple of pills. 'The flask, please.'

He passed it across. 'You'll kill yourself

'As long as I kill Barry first, I'll be happy.'

It was late afternoon as the Chieftain crossed the English coast over Morecambe. It was raining hard, fog swirling, but Docherty kept below the overcast. Barry sat beside him.

'Are we going to make it?'

'It isn't good, but I think so. We can always turn back.'

'You do and you're a dead man when we land.' Barry's smile was terrible. 'You see, this meeting I'm going to is the most important in my life.'

Docherty was terrified. 'Jesus, Jack, it'll be fine. Just give me a chance,' and he concentrated on the flying.

Sergeant Paul came in with the portable phone. 'Brigadier Ferguson , Mr Dillon.'

Dillon said, 'Here I am.'

'Bad weather, fog. She's landed at East Midlands. On her way to Norfolk by road.'

'So?'

'Listen. She told me Barry said he'd be flying in. Now that would mean by some highly illegal means, presumably direct to Norfolk.'

'You mean, you think she could be on her own at Compton Place when he arrived?'

'Something like that.'

'You could always ring the Chief Constable of Norfolk and…'

'Don't be stupid, Dillon. For once forget that Irish propensity for gallows humour and be serious.'

'Well, she needs backup,' Dillon said. 'She's got good old Hedley with a great record in ' Nam, but that was years ago. If Barry arrives, he won't come alone. I've known him long enough to know that.'

'Dillon, North Norfolk is one of the last truly rural parts of England. It would take us hours to get there by road and she's determined to do this thing. I mean, what can we do?'

'First of all, you check whether we can land at Farley Field. Then you call in Flight Lieutenants Lacey and Parry and tell them we're going to war.'

'What in the hell do you mean?'

'I know something of the North Norfolk coast. It's got broad beaches, especially when the tide's out. They can take me in and drop me by parachute. We've done it before. Leave it to Lacey to work out.'

'For God's sake, Dillon.'

'He's got nothing to do with it. I'll have Blake order our pilot to divert to Farley. I'll call you back.'

Blake said, 'Farley?'

'Come on, Blake, you remember Farley, the RAF proving ground outside London. The department has a regular Lear jet operating out of there, piloted by Flight Lieutenants Lacey and Parry. We've had some interesting moments together. Now, we have another problem.'

'And that would be?'

'Lady Helen Lang wants the last man standing in this whole rotten mess, Jack Barry. So she's drawn him out. He can't resist, so he's told her he would fly in. She could be in a bad situation at Compton Place. It's miles from anywhere in the depths of the English countryside. So, we land at Farley. They have an armourer there, full facilities. Just listen and learn.'

He phoned Ferguson again. 'Tell Lacey to find me a suitable beach near Compton Place. As I said, I'll drop in by parachute.

At least she'll have backup. Just have the necessary equipment and weaponry ready.'

Blake reached over. 'Excuse me. Make that for two.'

Dillon laughed and said to Ferguson, 'Hey, I've got this crazy middle-aged American who's decided to come along for the drop. He's a kind of war reporter for the President.'

'You're mad, the both of you,' Ferguson said.

'Of course we are, so get on with it,' and Dillon rang off.

The Chieftain landed on the old decaying bomber runway at Shankley Down and rolled to a halt by the decrepit hangars and the Nissen hut with the chimney smoking. There was a Cessna 310 parked on the apron, an old Ford Transit beside it, a man standing there in a flying jacket.

They all got out. Docherty said, 'Hey, Clarke, you look good.'

'Where's my money?' Clarke said.

Docherty produced a fat envelope. 'Two grand in cash.' Clarke fingered it and Barry punched him in the shoulder. 'Okay?'

Clarke looked at the Irishman and his friends, and discretion, as always, was the better part.

'Sure, fine, anything you want. Key's in the Transit.' Barry patted his face. 'Good boy. We'll be back.' He nodded to his men. They got in the Transit, Quinn at the wheel, and drove away.

The Gulfstream landed at Farley, rolled to a halt and Dillon and Blake got out. Ferguson and Hannah were standing there, Lacey and Parry behind them.

'Everything organized?' Dillon asked.

'Let's go in and discuss it,' Ferguson told him.

Inside, they had a room to themselves. There was a trestle table with parachutes, two AK47 assault rifles and two Brownings with silencers.

Dillon said, 'I see you remember my preference.' He turned to Lacey. 'What's the score?'

'Let me show you on the chart, sir.' Lacey led the way to the table. 'Ordnance Survey map, large scale. Compton Place, so close to the sea it makes no difference. Here is Horseshoe Bay. Very wide when the tide's out and it's turning tonight. We could wait until it's really out, but…'

'No way. If we leave now, how long?'

'Forty minutes.'

'I should say we're coming with you,' Ferguson said. 'We can drop you, then there's an RAF feeder station at Bramley twenty minutes flying time away. We'll come on by road.'

'Terribly good of you.' Dillon looked at the chart again and turned to Blake. 'That's it, then, Horseshoe Bay.'

He and Blake put themselves in the hands of the armourer, an ageing sergeant major who went over the equipment with professional competence. They took only one parachute, no reserve, an AK each, a Browning plus magazines.

Dillon said, 'Look, Blake, Vietnam was a long time ago.'