Jack Higgins - Dark Justice

“Does Putin know about that?”

“Of course not. There are limits. Josef was philosophical about it, but he wasn’t happy about Ferguson and his friends.”

“What do we do if Dillon turns up?”

“I hope he does. I have a friend named Harker, Charlie Harker. A crook of the first water, dabbles in everything from protection to drugs to women. Such people have their uses.”

“What’s he going to do?”

“I mentioned Dillon and gave him a photo. Harker has arranged for two or three of his men to, shall we say, pay special attention to him if he does show up.”

Greta said, “I’ve checked on Dillon, Yuri. He’s hell on wheels.”

“Well, so am I, my love.”

“But it isn’t you who’ll be doing it. That’s what worries me.”

“Well, we’ll just have to see what happens. Because there he is.”

At the same moment, a voice echoed over a microphone as the Russian ambassador called for attention.

“My lords, ladies and gentlemen. I had intended a few words at this moment, but someone far more important has arrived – and with a very special guest.”

He gestured and, through the side door, President Putin appeared, the British Prime Minister at his side. The crowd broke into spontaneous applause. The two men stopped for a moment, acknowledging the crowd, then moved on, pausing to shake hands here and there. They were followed by several men, obviously security, but not all.

“The man on the left,” Ferguson said. “Black suit, steel-rimmed glasses, cropped hair. Josef Belov. Now, what’s he up to?”

Belov looked to be around sixty, his face very calm, giving nothing away. Putin paused for a moment and listened as Belov whispered, “The man standing over there with the woman and the small man with very fair hair, his name is Ferguson. He runs the Prime Minister’s private intelligence outfit.”

“I know very well who he is, we’re old adversaries from the Cold War. What is he to you?”

“No friend.”

“Josef,” Putin said, “I don’t know what you get up to these days and I don’t want to know. You are useful to the State. Your billions, and your importance to the oil industry from Iraq to southern Arabia, speaks for itself. However, no one is indispensable, so I’d advise you to be discreet.”

“Of course, Mr. President.”

Belov faded away and Putin moved on, the crowd parting. He reached Ferguson and smiled.

“It’s good to meet old friends. General Ferguson now. I like that. You at last outrank me.”

“I believe so, Colonel.”

Putin smiled and held out his hand, which Ferguson took. “I’m glad you remembered.”

“That we swapped shots?”

Putin shrugged. “A long time ago.”

“Yes, sir.”

Putin turned to walk away, then paused and turned back, his face enigmatic. “And Charles?”

“Sir?”

“I’d take care if I were you – great care.”

“Oh, I will, sir, you may depend on it.”

Putin moved on.

Hannah said, “What was all that about, sir? It was as if he was warning you.”

“Yes, Superintendent. I do believe he was. Now where’s Belov gone?”

“Over by the bar with Ashimov and Greta Novikova,” Dillon pointed out.

“Well, let’s join them.” Ferguson smiled. “Could be interesting.”

“They’re coming,” Ashimov said. “Perhaps you’d better go.”

“Why on earth should I?” Belov said. “This champagne is so good, I’d like another glass. Don’t let’s pretend with them. I doubt if they will.” He turned and smiled. “General Ferguson. A long-overdue pleasure.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Ferguson said. “I think you know who my friends are, I certainly know yours.” He nodded to Greta. “A pleasure, Major,” took her hand and kissed it. “Mind you, the GRU always had style.” He turned to Ashimov. “Unlike the KGB.”

Ashimov didn’t react, and it was Belov who said, “Which would include me, General. There is an English phrase about people in glass houses throwing stones, isn’t there? Especially when you have a man like Mr. Dillon at your side, although you, Superintendent, are a credit to Scotland Yard.” He emptied his glass, toasting her. “Shall we all have another?”

“An excellent idea,” Ferguson said. “I see we have no secrets.”

“Especially about you,” Dillon said. “And especially about Henry Morgan in Manhattan, and his mother’s unfortunate accident.” A waiter passed, and they all took glasses of champagne from his tray. “The only thing that confuses me is what one of the richest men in the world would be doing with a bruiser like Ashimov here and a loser like Ali Selim.”

“Ah, you don’t understand the bigger picture, Dillon,” Ferguson said. “Money isn’t everything. You’re a good case in point. You’re rich, but-”

“But he likes to play the game,” Belov said.

“Exactly. Being wealthy is like having everything and nothing at the same time, and a man needs more. I remember interrogating a man named Luhzkov years ago. He lectured in economics at London University. A deep-cover agent for the KGB. He often spoke with sincere admiration of a Colonel Belov who headed Department Three of the KGB. Belov’s main task was to create chaos in the Western world – chaos, fear and uncertainty, until the cracks showed and governments toppled.”

Belov seemed to stay very calm, though his lips tightened, as did his grip on the champagne glass, and it was Dillon who said, “Just as in Iraq.” He shook his head. “All those wonderful oil fields up for grabs, and since Saddam ended up in a cell, who knows where they’ll end up?”

Belov put his glass on the bar. “I’ve heard enough stupidity for one evening. We’ll be moving on.”

He nodded to Ashimov and Greta and walked away, moving out through the 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 County Louth in the Irish Republic. 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.

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.”