Jack Higgins - Dark Justice

“Jewish zealots in biblical times used the same tactics on the Romans,” Ferguson put in.

Hannah said, “It can derive from a feeling of deep frustration, Mr. President. It was Lenin who said the purpose of terrorism is to terrorize. It’s the only way a small country can fight against an empire.”

“That was one of Michael Collins’s favorite sayings when he led the IRA back in 1920 against the British,” Ferguson said.

Cazalet nodded. “All very interesting, but how does it explain Morgan?”

“I don’t know any religion on earth that doesn’t have its extremists,” Hannah said. “Right through history, and usually those extremists are the kind of people who are extremely good at brainwashing others, particularly young people.”

“Into becoming assassins, suicide bombers?” Cazalet shook his head.

“Of course, the religious leaders who spread the word are usually reluctant to put themselves on the line.”

“Understandably.” Cazalet got up. “I arranged a light lunch with cook and gave her the afternoon off. I wanted us to have privacy. It’s waiting for us in the kitchen. Lead the way, Clancy. You’ll join us, of course.”

The conversation over lunch was much more social and pleasant, ranging from what was worth seeing on the West End stage to Cazalet and Hannah comparing student days at Harvard and Cambridge.

Cazalet turned to Ferguson. “Did you go to university, General?”

“Too busy. I always intended to, but we had conscription then. After two years in the army, I got a taste for it, I suppose. I was eighteen and Communist Arabs were shooting at me, so when they offered me a commission…” He shrugged. “It seemed the natural thing to do.”

“All those rotten little wars,” Hannah couldn’t help saying. “You couldn’t get enough.”

“Ah, there speaks the psychologist,” Ferguson said cheerfully. “But not my rotten little wars, my dear. All the way through, and that includes Northern Ireland, Bosnia, Kosovo and the two Gulf Wars, I was a member of that happy band of brothers called soldiers who take care of those things from which the general public turns its face. I’ve always liked to think it an honorable profession.” He smiled at Cazalet and Clancy. “Of course, I do not include the marines in that sentiment.”

“We thank the General,” Clancy said, and they all laughed, but Hannah was uncomfortable and it showed. The trouble was that she was changing inside herself and her head and she didn’t know what to do about it.

Cazalet, sensing something wasn’t right, smiled at her reassuringly and stood up. “Okay, folks, to work,” and he led them back to the sitting room.

So, if I’m getting this right,” he said a while later, “this Dr. Ali Selim, sensing personal disaster, has fled to Iraq. We’re aware that he has been controlled by this Major Yuri Ashimov, who is head of security for the Belov organization. Which I assume means a plentiful source of financial support for Muslim extremist groups.”

“There’s no possibility of proving that in a court of law, Mr. President,” Hannah said.

“It’s just about impossible to touch Josef Belov,” Ferguson said. “He’s far too powerful, one of the richest men in the world, and a friend of Putin.”

“Even if it was revealed that he’d donated money to some of these Muslim organizations,” Hannah said, “it would be impossible to prove that he’d acted except in good faith.”

“So where does that leave us?” Cazalet asked.

“The most worrying aspect is the recruitment of young British Muslims to join militant groups in the Middle East,” Ferguson said. “To be trained in camps in Syria or Iraq, even in southern Arabia, and then returned to Britain and America, often as sleepers, to lead apparently normal lives until their special abilities are required. Cannon fodder for Al Qa’eda.”

“You think Wrath of Allah is part of that?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me. We know a great deal about them and a great deal about Belov, as you’ve read. Don’t forget that when he was with the KGB, he was totally dedicated to helping the downfall of all Western values. A kind of old-fashioned Bolshevik. He’s got all the money in the world, so money is only a means to an end.”

“But what’s the point?” Cazalet demanded. “Why behave as he does?”

“The game, Mr. President,” Hannah said. “The game is the thing. The ultimate power of being able to move his way around the chessboard and laugh at us all, be untouchable.”

“So what do we do about it?” Cazalet asked.

Ferguson said, “Sending that GRU major, Novikova, on Selim’s trail to Baghdad probably means the worst. That Selim’s served his purpose and knows too much. I imagine they’ll finish him off if they can, though I’m not completely sure of that.”

“Which is why you’ve sent Dillon. To save him?”

“Dillon will do what seems appropriate in the circumstances. If that means saving him, fine, and if that means making sure Selim meets a bad end, so be it. If Selim can be retrieved, there’s always the possibility of squeezing more information out of him about the Belov connection.” He shrugged. “If not, he’s dispensable.”

Cazalet said, “Whichever way it goes, it’s going to get very nasty.”

“Exactly, Mr. President, but that’s what my organization was set up for all those years ago. We’re responsible only to the Prime Minister. Nobody else can touch us – the Security Services, the Ministry of Defence, even Parliament.”

“A license to kill,” Cazalet said.

“If that’s what it takes. We’re dealing with global terrorism. It’s a whole new threat, and we can’t cope with it by playing according to the rule book.”

“I totally agree, Mr. President,” Blake said.

“The Prime Minister’s made it plain that I’m in charge and that I’m to take any steps that seem appropriate. That, in effect, is why I’m here. He wanted to make it clear to you that such an attitude will reflect our policy in the future.”

“So you’ll forget the legal system, the courts and everything that goes with it?”

“Desperate times call for desperate remedies.”

Cazalet turned to Hannah. “From what I’ve come to know about you, Superintendent, I’d say such an attitude might give you a moral problem.”

“It does, sir. In a troubled world, it seems to me that if we don’t have the law, a justice system, we have nothing.”

“Which is exactly what our enemies count on,” Ferguson replied. “It’s a question of survival. We either fight back or go under. Anyway, that will be our plan of action from now on. The Prime Minister wanted you to know.”

Cazalet turned to Blake. “You agree with all this?”

“I’m afraid so, sir. Everything we stand for, all our values, are on the line these days. As the General says, we fight back, or go under.”

“I thought you’d say that.” Cazalet sighed. “Okay, General, anything we can do.”

“We’re together on this, Mr. President?”

“We always have been.”

“And Belov?” Blake put in. “He’s pretty untouchable.”

“Nobody is untouchable.” Cazalet wasn’t smiling now. “Take him down, gentlemen, whatever it takes.”

Three hours later, rising up from Andrews Air Force Base in the Citation and leveling at fifty thousand feet, Ferguson unfastened his seat belt and smiled at the pretty young RAF sergeant standing over him.

“I’ll have a large Scotch, my dear.” He turned to Hannah on the other side of the aisle. “What about you, Superintendent?”

“I don’t think so, sir. I’m having difficulty enough keeping my head straight.”

“Right now, Superintendent, even as we speak, Dillon and young Billy Salter are out there in harm’s way dealing with some very nasty people.”