Dark Justice

‘Something else Roper discovered.’

‘Everything about us is on some sort of record these days,’ the President said. ‘So, General Ferguson tipped you off.’

‘No, there was more to it than that. Ferguson found Roper’s discovery interesting enough to check it out a little on his side. He sent his assistant, Detective Superintendent Hannah Bernstein of Special Branch at Scotland Yard, to visit Morgan’s home address in London. She discovered that the mother was in a wheelchair after a bad automobile accident that had killed the father five years ago. Bernstein posed as a welfare officer to gain her confidence. Discovered many interesting things.’

‘Such as?’

‘The mother had been disowned by her family for marrying out of the Muslim faith. Her son had been raised a Christian. After the accident, however, she rediscovered her faith and her son would take her to the local mosque, where she was received well. And the truly interesting thing was that she said her son had discovered Islam himself, and embraced it.’

Cazalet was looking grim. ‘So it all begins to fit.’

‘Especially when she said he’d gone to New York on vacation.’

‘Has Ferguson taken it any further?’

‘No, he’s waiting to hear from us.’

Cazalet nodded. ‘So Morgan obviously arrived on somebody’s orders.’

‘Exactly. An organization in the UK with some sort of contacts in New York.’

‘Why didn’t you arrest him the minute you got the story from London?’

‘I wanted to see where it would lead, and Charles Ferguson agreed. It was highly unlikely he was just a deranged loner, so there was a chance he could lead us to his New York contacts.’

‘Only he didn’t.’

‘The few days he was here, he didn’t meet a soul. I had two old FBI hands follow him when we found that the address he’d given Icon Security was false. He was staying in a small hotel; they discreetly gained access to his room and found nothing. No ID on him, no passport at his death. I’d say they’d all been destroyed, probably on orders from his handlers in London.’

‘They obviously were hanging him out to dry.’

‘Exactly, and the cyanide tooth indicates the equivalent of a suicide bombing. He wasn’t meant to survive.’

Cazalet said, ‘Okay, I know there’s a lot of supposition here, but I admit it makes a hell of a lot of sense. It still leaves the question of the AK. Where did that come from?’

‘It certainly wasn’t in his hotel room,’ Clancy said. ‘We figure it was probably left in some locker, maybe a train or bus station.’

‘By his unknown contacts in New York,’ Blake put in. ‘By pre-arrangement. He’d have been given the location, supplied with a key. Again, it’s supposition, but I’d say he didn’t pick that bag up until he was on his way to work.’

‘Yes, it makes sense, all of it,’ Cazalet said. ‘He would have made an interesting prisoner, but now he’s dead, which leaves us with a dead end.’ He frowned. ‘Except for Ferguson and his people.’

‘Exactly what I was thinking, Mr President. Maybe we can find out more from the English end.’

‘The mother,’ Cazalet said. ‘Maybe she knows something.’

‘I don’t know. A handicapped, ageing lady in a wheelchair is hardly the sort of person that al-Qaeda would be recruiting,’ Blake said. ‘But she and her son were welcomed warmly at the local mosque.’

‘Which is where we should look.’ Cazalet nodded. ‘Ferguson’s the man to handle it.’ He smiled. ‘It’s London next stop for you, Blake. I’ll speak to Ferguson myself and promise him every assistance.’

‘What about me, Mr President?’ Clancy said.

‘No way. I need you to watch my back. You took a bullet for me once, Clancy. You’re my good luck charm.’

‘As you wish, Mr President.’

Blake said, ‘I’d like to keep a low profile on this one. I’ll fly over in one of our private planes, with your permission, and use Farley Field outside London, Ferguson’s base for special operations.’

‘By all means. As soon as you can.’ He hesitated. ‘When you asked me to cancel dinner with Senator Black, you didn’t tell me much, and I hesitated. Thank God I had enough faith in you.’

‘Just doing my job, Mr President.’

Blake went and opened the door and Cazalet called, ‘And Blake…’

‘Mr President?’

‘Take them down. Whoever they are, take them down.’

‘You can count on it, Mr President,’ and Blake went out.

LONDON (#ub95bf77b-a78a-5c2a-aa24-2f5a1588f9eb)

3 (#ub95bf77b-a78a-5c2a-aa24-2f5a1588f9eb)

The Gulfstream came in to Farley Field right on time and Blake thanked the crew, alighted and walked across the tarmac, pausing to look around him. A lot of water under the bridge at this place, and not just the struggles with the Rashid empire.

A voice called, ‘Hey, Blake. Over here.’

Blake turned and saw a Daimler by the control tower, parked close to the entrance of the operations room. The man standing beside it was no more than five feet five with hair so fair it was almost white. He wore an old black leather bomber jacket and jeans, and a cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth. The man was Sean Dillon, once a feared enforcer for the IRA and now Ferguson’s right hand.

Blake shook hands. ‘How are you, my fine Irish friend?’

‘All the better for seeing you. The right royal treatment you’re getting, Ferguson sending the Daimler.’

They climbed in the back and the chauffeur drove away. Blake said, ‘So, how are things?’

‘Pretty warm since Ferguson heard from the President. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Blake, but that was a close call.’

‘You know how it is, Sean, you’ve been there. I remember how you saved President Clinton and Prime Minister Major on the Thames riverboat years back, and took a knife in the back for your trouble.’

‘From Norah Bell, the original bitch and worse than any man, and it took a decent woman like Hannah Bernstein to shoot her dead.’

‘How is Hannah?’

‘Wonderful, as usual. If she didn’t work for Ferguson, I think she’d have been Chief Superintendent by now or even Commander at Scotland Yard.’

‘But she loves you all too much to move on?’

‘Blake, she’s still trying to reform the lot of us. You know her grandfather is a rabbi. It’s that moral perception of hers. She’s been shot to bits, had her life shortened in any number of ways, and still hangs in there trying to keep Ferguson and me in check.’