Jack Higgins - Rough Justice

Published by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2008

Copyright © Jack Higgins 2008

Cover design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2008

Cover photograph © Paul Bowen/Getty Images (helicopter); Don Farrall/Getty Images (lightning)

Jack Higgins asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008124960

Ebook Edition © August 2015 ISBN: 9780007283422

Version: 2017-07-21

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright Published by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2008 Copyright © Jack Higgins 2008 Cover design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2008 Cover photograph © Paul Bowen/Getty Images (helicopter); Don Farrall/Getty Images (lightning) Jack Higgins asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins. Source ISBN: 9780008124960 Ebook Edition © August 2015 ISBN: 9780007283422 Version: 2017-07-21

Dedication For Ian Haydn Smith

Epigraph We sleep safe in our beds because rough men stand ready to visit violence on those who would do us harm. George Orwell

NANTUCKET THE PRESIDENT NANTUCKET

Chapter 1

THE VILLAGE OF BANU KOSOVO

Chapter 2

NANTUCKET LONDON

Chapter 3

THE KREMLIN LONDON

Chapter 4

BELFAST MARCH 1986

Chapter 5

LONDON WASHINGTON

Chapter 6

MOSCOW LONDON BEIRUT

Chapter 7

LONDON STOKELY

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

SCOTLAND IRELAND

Chapter 13

DRUMORE PLACE

Chapter 14

LONDON END GAME

Chapter 15

About the Author

ALSO BY JACK HIGGINS

Further Reading

About the Publisher

For Ian Haydn Smith

We sleep safe in our beds because rough

men stand ready to visit violence on

those who would do us harm.

George Orwell

There was no place President Jake Cazalet wanted to be more right now than this Nantucket beach, the sea thundering in to the shore in the strange luminous light of early evening, the wind tasting of salt.

The President had been delivered there by helicopter from the White House only an hour before, and here he was, walking with his favourite Secret Service man, Clancy Smith; his beloved flatcoat retriever, Murchison, dashing in and out of the incoming waves.

‘He’ll need a good hosing,’ Cazalet said. ‘Silly old boy. You’d think he’d have learned by now that the salt is bad for his skin.’

‘I’ll see to it, Mr President.’

‘I’ll have a cigarette now.’

Clancy offered him a Marlboro and flicked his Zippo lighter, which flared in the wind. Cazalet smiled. ‘I know, Clancy, what would the voters think? It’s the curse of old soldiers.’

‘We’ve all been there, Mr President.’

‘Harper on communications as usual?’

‘Yes. The only other person in the house is Mrs Boulder, cooking dinner.’

‘Amen to that.’ Cazalet smiled. ‘I love this place, Clancy. Iraq, Afghanistan, our friends in Moscow – if we can call them that – they could all be on another planet when I’m here.’ He sighed. ‘At least until that damned helicopter picks us up and deposits me back at the White House.’

Clancy’s cellphone rang and he answered, listened for a few moments, then turned to Cazalet. ‘Blake Johnson, Mr President. He’s arrived back from Kosovo sooner than he thought.’

‘Well, that’s great. Is he coming down?’

‘By helicopter. And he also ran into General Charles Ferguson, who was passing through Washington on his way to London after some business at the United Nations. He thought you might like to meet with him, so he’s bringing him down, too.’

‘Excellent.’ Cazalet smiled. ‘It’s always good to see Ferguson, find out what the Prime Minister’s up to. It’d be interesting to get his take on Blake’s report, too.’

They continued walking. ‘I thought Kosovo was history, Mr President,’ Clancy said.

‘Not really. After what the Serbs did to them, they want their independence. The Muslims are in the majority now, Serbs the minority. It’s still a problem. The Kosovo Protection Corps the UN set up in 2004 is still operating – troops from various countries, a British general coordinating the situation – but when you get into the back country, things happen. There’ve been reports of outside influence, rumours of the presence of Russian troops.’

‘And they were always for the Serbs,’ Clancy pointed out.

‘Exactly, which is why I decided to send in Blake to scout around and see what’s happening.’ There was the sound of a helicopter in the distance. ‘That must be them. We’d better get back.’

Cazalet called to Murchison, turned to the beach house, and Clancy followed.

Blake and Ferguson sat together on one of the leather sofas beside the open fire, the coffee table between them and the President. Clancy served drinks, whisky and branch water for both of them. Cazalet toasted them.

‘Here’s to both of you. It’s a real bonus having you here, Charles.’

Ferguson said, ‘You look well, Mr President, and you, Clancy.’

‘We get by,’ Cazalet said. ‘How is the Prime Minister?’

‘I saw him three days ago and he seemed to be coping. Iraq hasn’t helped, and Afghanistan is a major problem. There’s combat of the most savage kind there – we haven’t seen its like since the hand-to-hand fighting against the Chinese on the Hook during the Korean War. Most of our infantry and paratroops are nineteen or twenty. Boys, when you think about it. They’re winning the battles, but perhaps losing the war.’