Rough Justice

‘Fuck them, Major, the bastards who did that to you.’

‘Nicely put, Luther, but alas, there’s no possibility of that with anyone, so I’ll settle for an invigorating shower in the wet room and would welcome your assistance.’

‘My pleasure, sir,’ and as Henderson wheeled him out, he added, ‘as to your question about Major Miller, sir, no, I never did come across him over there.’

There was no sign of Roper when Sean Dillon arrived at Holland Park. He wore black velvet cords and a black bomber jacket; a small man, his hair pale as straw. Once a feared enforcer for the IRA, he was now Ferguson’s strong right hand. He was sitting in one of the swivel chairs examining Roper’s screens when Henderson entered.

‘Where’s the Major?’ Dillon asked.

‘I just helped him shower in the wet room, and now he’s dressing. He’ll be along directly.’ He nodded to Olivia Hunt on the screen. ‘A lovely lady. Know who she is?’

Roper entered in his wheelchair. ‘Of course he does. Mr Dillon was involved with the theatre himself once upon a time. Who is she, Sean?’

‘Olivia Hunt. Born in Boston and she’s illuminated the British stage for years. That’s her in Chekhov’s Three Sisters. A National Theatre production a year ago.’

‘Told you,’ said Roper. ‘We’ll have a pot of tea, Luther,’ and Henderson went out.

‘What’s she doing there?’

‘I’m investigating her husband for Ferguson. Harry Miller, he works out of the Cabinet Office, a kind of troubleshooter for the Prime Minister. Used to be Army Intelligence. A headquarters man only, supposedly, but now it seems there’s been more to him for some time.’ Henderson came in with the tea. Roper said, ‘Leave us, Luther, I’ll call you if I need you.’

Henderson went out. Dillon said, ‘What kind of more?’

‘Have a hefty swig of that tea, Sean. I think you’re going to be interested in what I’ve found out about Major Harry Miller.’

When he was finished, Dillon said, ‘And after that, I think I could do with something stronger.’

‘You can pour one for me while you’re at it.’

‘So you say Ferguson wants this for breakfast, American time, with Cazalet?’

‘That’s it.’

‘Jesus and Mary.’ Dillon poured the drinks. ‘It must have been a hell of a thing, he and Blake together.’

‘You can say that again. Come on, do you have any input?’

‘I heard whispers about Titan, but I don’t think anyone in the movement took it too seriously, or Unit 16. We had enough to deal with. You were there, Roper, you know what I’m talking about. So many people got killed, far more than the dear old British public ever realized. I remember the River Street affair, though. It’s true the Chief of Staff put it out as an SAS atrocity.’

‘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.’