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

‘And Ireland in his way. Like most of us, he thinks it’s gone on too long.’

‘Good.’ Keogh nodded and turned to Clinton. ‘Mr President, I’ve agreed to go, but these are my terms. I want Ferguson and this man Dillon taking care of me when I’m there.’

Clinton glanced at Major and the Prime Minister nodded. ‘No problem.’

‘To that end I’d like to meet them as soon as possible. Can you have them over here fast?’

‘Would tomorrow suit?’ John Major asked and they all started to laugh.

In London, Charles Ferguson sat in his office and listened to the Prime Minister on the secure phone as he crossed the Atlantic.

‘Of course, Prime Minister,’ he said. ‘I’ll take care of it.’

He put the phone down and sat there frowning for a moment. Finally he picked up the internal phone and spoke to Hannah Bernstein. ‘Get in here and bring Dillon.’

He got up, went to the map wall, fiddled around until he was finally able to pull down a large-scale map of Ireland. He was examining it when Hannah Bernstein and Dillon entered.

‘Do you know where Drumgoole Abbey is?’ Ferguson asked Dillon.

‘And what decent Catholic doesn’t?’ Dillon moved beside him and pointed. ‘Have you taken to religion, Brigadier? Little Sisters of Pity there. Very holy.’

Ferguson ignored him. ‘Ardmore House.’

Dillon frowned slightly. ‘Naughty, Brigadier, very naughty. The Provisional IRA have been known to meet there on more than one occasion.’

‘And will again, only this time they’ll have a special guest whose welfare we’ll be responsible for.’

‘May I ask who that might be, sir?’ Hannah Bernstein asked.

‘Of course you may, my dear. It’s Senator Patrick Keogh,’ he told her.

11 (#ulink_c8fc2ddf-9cf8-52f6-a637-76f4e7076523)

The following morning Ferguson reported for a breakfast meeting at Downing Street. When he was shown into the study the Prime Minister, Carter and Rupert Lang were having coffee.

‘Ah, there you are, Brigadier. I’ve already filled in the Deputy Director and Mr Lang on my discussions with the President and Senator Keogh.’

‘I see,’ Ferguson said gravely. ‘I would remind you that you stressed absolute secrecy in this business. As I understood you, both the President and Senator Keogh were adamant about that.’

‘I can assure you that no one else outside of this room will know about the affair,’ the Prime Minister said. ‘To be frank, I’m not mentioning it to the Cabinet, not even to the Secretary of State for Northern Ireland. That may seem strange considering the fact that I’ve informed Mr Lang, but he, after all, is here in another capacity as a member of this rather special committee.’

‘Don’t you trust us, Ferguson?’ Carter demanded belligerently.

‘Silly questions don’t need an answer,’ Ferguson said. ‘But as I see it, Senator Keogh’s offered to put his head into the mouth of the lion. That shows considerable courage. I want to make sure he has every chance of taking it out again.’

‘You really do think he could be in danger?’ Rupert Lang asked.

Ferguson sat there frowning. The Prime Minister said, ‘Brigadier?’

‘Well, let’s look at it this way, Prime Minister. Say you were a Protestant terrorist group who didn’t want the peace initiative to work, can you think of a better way of ruining it than killing Patrick Keogh, one of the Kennedy old guard, perhaps the most respected Senator in Washington?’

Simon Carter nodded. It was almost with reluctance that he said, ‘He’s right, and it wouldn’t just be the IRA up in arms, but the entire Irish nation.’

Rupert Lang said, ‘I’d have thought the same argument would apply where IRA extremists are concerned.’

‘Explain,’ the Prime Minister said.

‘I’ve seen the reports, we all have. There are plenty of hardliners in the IRA who don’t agree with Gerry Adams and his supporters politicizing the struggle. There are plenty who still want to go down the path of the gun and the bomb. There might well be amongst them people who would see the advantage in killing Keogh.’

‘And why would that be?’ John Major asked.

‘Because the automatic assumption would be that the Protestants were responsible,’ Ferguson said. ‘I think you’ll find all negotiations would break down and pretty permanently.’

‘I’m afraid he’s right,’ Carter said.

The Prime Minister nodded thoughtfully. ‘Then we’ll just have to see that it doesn’t happen and that’s your department, Brigadier.’

Carter interrupted. ‘The Security Services would be happy to help. We do have considerable expertise on the ground in Ireland, I hardly need to stress that.’

‘But not in the Republic,’ John Major said and smiled slightly. ‘That would be illegal, wouldn’t it?’

‘A technicality, as you know, Prime Minister. MI6 operates there all the time.’

‘Not on this occasion. Senator Keogh has been specific about his security, as I told you.’ He turned to Ferguson. ‘Does the assignment give you any problems?’

‘Not at all, Prime Minister. Senator Keogh arrives out of the blue at Shannon. Helicopter trip to Drumgoole, where the Mother Superior won’t even know he’s coming until he’s on the way. Let’s say half an hour on site, then on to Ardmore House, where only Gerry Adams will be expecting him.’

‘And what about security there?’ Rupert Lang demanded.

‘General security will be as good as you want,’ Ferguson said. ‘The IRA run a tight ship at these affairs. All the delegates will be shocked out of their socks when Adams produces him. He’ll have finished his speech before they have time to recover, and back to Shannon and away.’

‘Put that way it all sounds terribly simple,’ the Prime Minister said.

‘It could be,’ Ferguson told him, ‘but with one proviso. Total secrecy. Nobody must know he’s coming; at any point in the trip, Shannon, Drumgoole, Ardmore. Nobody must know.’

‘And just you and Dillon guarding him?’

‘No, I’ll take Chief Inspector Bernstein as well. The three of us should suffice.’

The Prime Minister nodded. ‘Right, let’s pray it works.’ He turned to the other two. ‘This meeting at Ardmore should take place in a matter of days. I’ll notify you, of course, but for now, we’ll adjourn. The Brigadier is due in Washington.’ He shook Ferguson’s hand. ‘Good luck, Brigadier. You’ve never handled anything of greater importance.’

The Lear jet left Gatwick at ten-thirty with the usual two RAF pilots, Ferguson and Dillon in the rear. The Brigadier worked his way through two newspapers for half an hour while Dillon read a magazine. Later, as they crossed the Welsh coast and moved out to sea, the Irishman made tea.

‘Plenty of sandwiches in here, Brigadier, if you feel peckish.’

‘Not now, later. Chief Inspector Bernstein didn’t seem too happy.’

‘She feels left out of things.’