Sean Dillon 3-Book Collection 1: Eye of the Storm, Thunder Point, On Dangerous Ground

Rashid smiled. ‘He’s right. The British are probably the best in the world at covert operations. The success of their Special Air Service Regiment speaks for itself, but in other areas …’ He shook his head.

‘Their first problem is bureaucracy,’ Dillon told them. ‘The British Security Service operates in two main sections. What most people still call MI5 and MI6. MI5, or DI5 to be pedantic, specialises in counter-espionage in Great Britain. The other lot operates abroad. Then you have Special Branch at Scotland Yard who have to be brought into the act to make any actual arrests. The Yard also has an anti-terrorist squad. Then there’s army intelligence units galore. All life is there and they’re all at each other’s throats and that, gentlemen, is when mistakes begin to creep in.’

Rashid poured some more champagne into his glass. ‘And you are saying that makes for bad security with their leaders? The Queen, for example?’

‘Come on,’ Dillon said. ‘It’s not all that many years ago that the Queen woke up in Buckingham Palace and found an intruder sitting on the bed. How long ago, six years, since the IRA almost got Margaret Thatcher and the entire British Cabinet at a Brighton hotel during the Tory Party Conference?’ He put down his glass and lit another cigarette. ‘The Brits are very old-fashioned. They like a policeman to wear a uniform so they know who he is and they don’t like being told what to do and that applies to Cabinet Ministers who think nothing of strolling through the streets from their houses in Westminster to Parliament.’

‘Fortunate for the rest of us,’ Makeev said.

‘Exactly,’ Dillon said. ‘They even have to go softly-softly on terrorists, up to a degree anyway, not like French intelligence. Jesus, if the lads in Action Service got their hands on me they’d have me spread out and my bollocks wired up for electricity before I knew what was happening. Mind you, even they are prone to the occasional error.’

‘What do you mean?’ Makeev demanded.

‘Have you got a copy of the evening paper handy?’

‘Certainly, I’ve been reading it,’ Aroun said. ‘Ali, on my desk.’

Rashid returned with a copy of Paris Soir. Dillon said, ‘Page two. Read it out. You’ll find it interesting.’

He helped himself to more champagne while Rashid read the item aloud. ‘Mrs Margaret Thatcher, until recently Prime Minister of Britain, is staying overnight at Choisy as a guest of President Mitterrand. They are to have further talks in the morning. She leaves at two o’clock for an air force emergency field at Valenton where an RAF plane returns her to England. Incredible, isn’t it, that they could have allowed such a press release, but I guarantee the main London newspapers will carry that story also.’

There was a heavy silence and then Aroun said, ‘You’re not suggesting … ?’

Dillon said to Rashid, ‘You must have some road maps handy. Get them.’

Rashid went out quickly. Makeev said, ‘Good God, Sean, not even you …’

‘Why not?’ Dillon asked calmly and turned to Aroun. ‘I mean, you want something big, a major coup? Would Margaret Thatcher do or are we just playing games here?’

Before Aroun could reply, Rashid came back with two or three road maps. He opened one out on the table and they looked at it, all except Makeev who stayed by the fire.

‘There we are, Choisy,’ Rashid said. ‘Thirty miles from Paris and here is the air force field at Valenton only seven miles away.’

‘Have you got a map of larger scale?’

‘Yes.’ Rashid unfolded one of the others.

‘Good,’ Dillon said. ‘It’s perfectly clear that only one country road links Choisy to Valenton and here, about three miles before the airfield, there’s a railway crossing. Perfect.’

‘For what?’ Aroun demanded.

‘An ambush. Look, I know how these things operate. There’ll be one car, two at the most, and an escort. Maybe half a dozen CRS police on motorbikes.’

‘My God!’ Aroun whispered.

‘Yes, well. He’s got very little to do with it. It could work. Fast, very simple. What the Brits call a piece of cake.’

Aroun turned in appeal to Makeev who shrugged. ‘He means it, Michael. You said this was what you wanted so make up your mind.’

Aroun took a deep breath and turned back to Dillon. ‘All right.’

‘Good,’ Dillon said calmly. He reached for a pad and pencil on the table and wrote on it quickly. ‘Those are the details of my numbered bank account in Zurich. You’ll transfer one million pounds to it first thing in the morning.’

‘In advance?’ Rashid said. ‘Isn’t that expecting rather a lot?’

‘No, my old son, it’s you people who are expecting rather a lot and the rules have changed. On successful completion, I’ll expect a further million.’

‘Now look here,’ Rashid started, but Aroun held up a hand.

‘Fine, Mr Dillon, and cheap at the price. Now what can we do for you?’

‘I need operating money. I presume a man like you keeps large supplies of the filthy stuff around the house?’

‘Very large,’ Aroun smiled. ‘How much?’

‘Can you manage dollars? Say twenty thousand?’

‘Of course.’ Aroun nodded to Rashid who went to the far end of the room, swung a large oil painting to one side disclosing a wall safe which he started to open.

Makeev said, ‘And what can I do?’

‘The old warehouse in rue de Helier, the one we’ve used before. You’ve still got a key?’

‘Of course.’

‘Good. I’ve got most things I need stored there, but for this job I’d like a light machine gun. A tripod job. A Heckler & Koch or an M60. Anything like that will do.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Eight o’clock. I’d like it there by ten. All right?’

‘Of course,’ Makeev said again.

Rashid came back with a small briefcase. ‘Twenty thousand. Hundred-dollar bills, I’m afraid.’

‘Is there any way they could be traced?’ Dillon asked.

‘Impossible,’ Aroun told him.

‘Good. And I’ll take the maps.’

He walked to the door, opened it and started down the curving staircase to the hall. Aroun, Rashid and Makeev followed him.

‘But is this all, Mr Dillon?’ Aroun said. ‘Is there nothing more we can do for you? Won’t you need help?’

‘When I do, it comes from the criminal classes,’ Dillon said. ‘Honest crooks who do things for cash are usually more reliable than politically motivated zealots. Not always, but most of the time. Don’t worry, you’ll hear from me, one way or another. I’ll be on my way then.’

Rashid got the door open. Rain and sleet drifted in and Dillon pulled on his cap. ‘A dirty old night for it.’

‘One thing, Mr Dillon,’ Rashid said. ‘What happens if things go wrong? I mean, you’ll have your million in advance and we’ll –’

‘Have nothing? Don’t give it a thought, me old son. I’ll provide an alternative target. There’s always the new British Prime Minister, this John Major. I presume his head on a plate would serve your boss back in Baghdad just as well.’