Sean Dillon 3-Book Collection 2: Angel of Death, Drink With the Devil, The President’s Daughter

‘But why didn’t she shoot you?’ Hannah asked.

It was the following morning and she and Dillon were working in one of the side offices of Ferguson’s suite at the Ministry of Defence.

‘Try this for size,’ Ferguson said from the doorway. ‘Many assassins stick to the target and don’t deviate. Many psychological profiles agree on that.’

‘He’s right,’ Dillon told her. ‘If you take underworld killings, a professional hit man only goes for his target because that’s all he’s paid for.’

‘Unless you happen to get in his way,’ Hannah said.

‘Of course.’

Ferguson said, ‘I’ll leave you two to sort it out, I’ve got other fish to fry. Check the letter file on my desk, Chief Inspector, and send them out. I’m due at the Home Office.’

The door closed and Hannah said, ‘The fact is she could have killed you and didn’t.’

‘Even more interesting, she could have let me die in Belfast but saved my life instead, that’s the real puzzle.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, wrap your fine police brain around this. There is only one possible explanation for Belfast. She was protecting me.’

‘So?’

‘But there’s more than one possible explanation for her action last night.’

‘We’ve just agreed you weren’t the target. What else do you suggest?’

‘To start with I don’t buy the Muslim woman act – it’s too up front – but let’s say she wanted me to see her in that guise. And calling to me in that Pakistani voice would reinforce the whole idea. Without me we wouldn’t have known that the assassin was apparently a Muslim.’

‘Except for Father Tom.’

‘And he was an accident.’

‘Exactly.’

She sighed. ‘I’ll have to go and see to the Brigadier’s mail.’ She went to the door. ‘What about you?’

‘I’m going to start with that first hit in Wapping, the Arab. Go through the others step by step. See if there’s a pattern.’

‘They did all that at Scotland Yard. They even allowed the FBI to go through the files after that CIA man was killed. None of them came up with a thing.’

‘When ordinary men have failed, the great Dillon may achieve much. On your way, woman.’

She started to laugh helplessly and went out.

It was just before lunch when she returned. Dillon was surrounded by files and working away at the computer keyboard.

‘How are you getting on?’

‘I’m treating the whole thing as if nothing’s been done, punching in the facts from each case as I see them, picking out items which seem strange or unnatural to me and asking the computer to comment:’

‘And?’

‘Oh, nothing yet. I’ll wait until everything is there before putting it into the search pattern.’

‘Anything strike you particularly?’

‘Well, in a general way the randomness of it all. No apparent pattern.’ He reached for a cigarette. ‘The first hit on the waterfront here was Wapping. That was when the Beretta was first used. The victim, Hamid, was a known Arab terrorist. The following day, it was Colonel Boris Ashimov, who our people knew was Head of Station, KGB London.’

‘I can’t see any connection there.’

‘I think there must have been. I think the two hits were too close together not to be related. I don’t believe in coincidence.’

‘I see what you mean.’

‘Then there were two Provisional IRA men, not important, just foot soldiers, killed in Belfast and with the same Beretta. Now I find that particularly strange.’

‘Why?’

‘Two reasons. First of all the fact that they weren’t important. I mean, if January 30 wanted to make a statement why not do somebody of significance in the IRA framework? Secondly, how come the gun turns up in Belfast when it was last used in London?’

Hannah sat on the window seat. ‘What are you getting at exactly?’

‘To get from London to Belfast you either fly or go by ferry. In either case there’s strict security to pass through. No way of carrying a gun. Every alarm in the place would go off. No terrorist I can think of, whether IRA or anything else, would try it.’

‘If we’re talking about our woman of mystery, maybe she just decided to take a chance.’

‘Not this woman. It would be like committing suicide.’

‘So what’s the answer?’

‘Maybe whoever took the Beretta through had a right to. Lots of people are licensed to carry in Northern Ireland. Prominent civil servants, members of the Judiciary, Members of Parliament.’

‘Plus serving members of the armed forces.’ She shook her head. ‘That’s a large assumption. Someone like Carter might think it just a little crazy.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Think of that Greek outfit, November 17. It’s an open secret in Athens that the members are doctors, lawyers, politicians. They’ve killed as ruthlessly as January 30 in the last few years and never been caught.’

‘An interesting idea.’

‘Well, never mind that now. The fact that January 30 means Bloody Sunday has no significance. We know from information the IRA have passed over that they’re not a known Irish Republican group. They not only killed those two Provos in Belfast, they did the two IRA bombers released on a technicality by the courts here in London.’

‘Yes, their operations do appear to be totally random.’

‘You can say that again. They’ve killed Arabs, Prods, a CIA man, two KGB men here in London and a well-known East End gangster and now an ex-American Senator.’

‘Yes, random it certainly is.’

Dillon nodded. ‘But only in the sense that they’ll do anybody.’