Jack Higgins - Rough Justice

‘Gallant freedom fighters gunned down without mercy?’

‘That’s right. So Miller left the Army four years ago, becomes an MP, helps the Prime Minister get Ian Paisley and Martin McGuinness running the government together. A decent job there, actually. I’m not sure I can help you too much, Roper. I left the Provos in eighty-nine to do my own thing.’

‘Which included the mortar attack on John Major’s war cabinet at Downing Street in February ninety-one.’

‘Never proved.’ Dillon shook his head.

‘Bugger off, Sean, it was a hell of a payday for you, but never mind. Is there anything you can add to Miller’s story?’

‘Not a word.’

‘All right, then. I’ll send it straight to Ferguson. We’ll see what he makes of it.’

After breakfast at the beach house on Nantucket, Clancy passed round the coffee, and Cazalet said, ‘So, what do you have for me, Charles?’

‘Something so extraordinary I’m surprised my laptop didn’t catch fire, Mr President.’

‘I see.’ Cazalet stirred his coffee. ‘So tell us.’

Ferguson started to do just that.

When he was finished, there was silence and then the President turned to Clancy, ‘Well?’

‘That’s one hell of a soldier.’

Blake said, ‘I knew there was something special about him the moment we met.’

‘And you, Charles?’ Cazalet asked.

‘Obviously, I knew a certain amount about him,’ Ferguson answered. ‘But I’m stunned to hear the full story.’

‘It would certainly shock his father-in-law, Senator Hunt. Very old-fashioned conservative guy, Hunt.’

‘So, how do you want to handle this, Mr President?’

‘I think I’d like to meet Miller. He could be a useful recruit on certain missions for you and me, Charles. Discuss it with the Prime Minister and Miller first, of course. What do you think, Blake?’

‘I think that could be beneficial to all parties, Mr President.’

‘Excellent. Now why don’t we all go for a walk on the beach, take the sea air? The surf is particularly fine this morning.’

The Saturday-night performance of Private Lives was another triumph for Olivia Hunt, and she drove down in the Mercedes afterwards to Stokely with Harry and Monica, and Miller’s usual driver, Ellis Vaughan, who had provided a hamper, sandwiches, some caviar and a couple of bottles of champagne.

‘You’ve excelled yourself, Ellis,’ Monica told him.

‘We do our best, my lady,’ he told her.

The truth was that as an ex-paratrooper, he enjoyed working for Miller. During these overnight stops at Stokely, he stayed in the spare bedroom at the Grants’ cottage.

Olivia was on a high. Miller, on the other hand, felt strangely lifeless, a reaction to his trip, he told himself. They didn’t arrive until one thirty in the morning, and went to bed almost at once, where Miller spent a disturbed night.

They had a family breakfast on Sunday morning, with Aunt Mary later than usual. She was eighty-two now, whitehaired, but with a healthy glow to her cheeks, and her vagueness was, in a way, quite charming.

‘Don’t mind me, you three. Go for a walk, if you like. I always read the Mail on Sunday at this time.’

Mrs Grant brought it in. ‘There you are, Madam. I’ll clear the table if you’re all finished.’

Miller was wearing a sweater, jeans and a pair of ankle boots. ‘I feel like a gallop round the paddock. I asked Fergus to saddle Doubtfire.’

Olivia said, ‘Are you sure, darling? You look tired.’

‘Nonsense.’ He was restless and impatient, a nerviness there.

Monica said, ‘Off you go. Be a good boy. We’ll watch, you can’t complain about that.’

He hesitated, then forced a smile. ‘Of course not.’

He went out through the French windows and it was Aunt Mary who put it in perspective. ‘I think it must have been a difficult trip. He looks tired and he’s not himself.’

‘Well, you would know,’ Monica said. ‘You’ve known him long enough.’

They took their time walking down to the paddock and he was already in the saddle when they got there, Fergus standing by the stables, watching.

Miller cantered around for a while and then started taking the hedge jumps. He was angry with himself for allowing things to get on top of him, realizing now that what had happened in Kosovo had really touched a nerve and he was damned if he was going to allow that to happen.

He urged Doubtfire over several of the jumps, then swung the plucky little mare round and, on an impulse, urged her towards the rear fence’s forbiddingly tall five-barred gate.

‘Good girl,’ he said. ‘We can do it,’ and he pushed her into a gallop.

His wife cried out, ‘No, Harry, no!’

But Doubtfire sailed over into the meadow, and just as she caught her breath in relief, Miller galloped a few yards on the other side, swung Doubtfire round and once again tackled the gate.

Olivia’s voice raised in a scream, ‘No, Harry!’ Monica flung an arm around her shoulders. Miller took the jump perfectly, however, cantered over to Fergus and dismounted. ‘Give her a good rubdown and oats. She’s earned it.’

Fergus took the reins and said, ‘If you’ll excuse me, Major, but I’ve the right to say after all these years that –’

‘I know, Fergus, it was bloody stupid. Just get on with it.’

He walked towards the two women, and Olivia said, ‘Damn you, Harry Miller, damn you for frightening me like that. It will take some forgiving. I’m going in.’

She walked away. Monica stood looking at him, then produced a cigarette case from her handbag, offered him one and took one herself. She gave him a light from her Zippo.

He inhaled with conscious pleasure. ‘We’re not supposed to do this these days.’

She said, ‘Harry, I’ve known you for forty years, you are my dearly loved brother, but sometimes I feel I don’t know you at all. What you did just now was an act of utter madness.’

‘You’re quite right.’

‘You used to do things like that a lot when you were in the Army, but for the last four years, working for the Prime Minister, you’ve seemed different. Something’s happened to you, hasn’t it? Kosovo, that trip there?’ She nodded. ‘What was it? Come on, Harry, I know Kosovo is a hell of a place. People were butchered in the thousands there.’

‘That was then, this is now, Monica, my love.’ He suddenly gave her the Harry smile and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’m tired, a bit wound up, that’s all. Now be a good girl, come up to the house and help me with Olivia.’

And so she went, reluctantly, but she went.

There was a hint of sleet in the rain falling in Moscow as Max Chekov’s limousine transported him from his hotel to the Kremlin. It was a miserable day, and to be perfectly frank, he’d have preferred to have stayed in Monaco, where one of the best clinics in Europe had been providing him with essential therapy to his seriously damaged left leg. But when you received a call demanding your appearance at the Kremlin from General Ivan Volkov, the personal security adviser to the President of the Russian Federation, you hardly said no.

The limousine swept past the massive entrance to the Kremlin, and negotiated the side streets and checkpoints until they reached an obscure rear entrance. Chekov got out and mounted a flight of stone steps with some difficulty, making heavy use of the walking stick in his left hand. His approach was obviously under scrutiny, for the door opened just before he reached it.

A tough-looking young man in the uniform of a lieutenant in the GRU greeted him. ‘Do you require assistance?’

‘I’m all right if we stay on the ground floor.’