Midnight Runner

‘At your orders, Mr President,’ Clancy told him.

‘And Clancy, if Dauncey is around, don’t take any shit. He may be a Marine Major, but as I recall, you were one of the youngest sergeant majors in the Corps.’

‘What is this?’ Quinn demanded. ‘Parris Island? You expect him to kick ass?’

Jake Cazalet laughed. ‘Would you, Clancy?’

‘Hell, no, Mr President. I’d more likely put the Major on a seven-mile run with a seventy-five-pound pack on his back.’

‘I love it,’ Quinn said. ‘All right, I’ll see you there.’ He went out, Clancy following.

‘You’ll speak to Ferguson?’ Cazalet said to Johnson.

‘First thing in the morning.’

General Charles Ferguson’s office was on the third floor of the Ministry of Defence overlooking Horse Guards Avenue. He was at his desk the next day, the red security phone in one hand, a large, untidy man with grey hair, a fawn suit and Guards tie. He put the phone down and pressed his intercom. A woman answered.

‘General?’

‘Is Dillon there?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I’ll see both of you now.’

Detective Superintendent Hannah Bernstein entered, a woman in her early thirties, young for her rank, with close-cropped red hair and horn-rimmed spectacles. Her black trouser suit was elegant, and looked more expensive than most people could afford on police pay.

The small, fair-haired man with her wore an old black flying jacket. There was a force to him, obvious the moment he entered the room. He lit a cigarette with an old Zippo lighter.

‘Feel free, Dillon,’ General Ferguson said.

‘Oh, I will, General, knowing the decent stick that you are.’

‘Shut up, Sean,’ Hannah Bernstein told him. ‘You wanted us, sir?’

‘Yes. I’ve had interesting news from Blake Johnson concerning the Countess of Loch Dhu.’

Dillon said, ‘What’s Kate been up to now?’

‘It’s more a matter of what she might be up to. There are computer printouts on the way. Hannah, would you see if they’ve arrived?’

She went out. Dillon poured a Bushmills and turned. ‘She’s back, is that it, General?’

‘She promised to get the lot of us, didn’t she, Sean? As payment for her brothers?’

‘She can try and I love her dearly.’ Dillon drained his glass and poured another. He raised it in salute. ‘God bless you, Kate, but not after what you tried to do to Hannah Bernstein. Try anything like that again and I’ll shoot you myself.’

Hannah came in with fax sheets and printouts.

Ferguson said, ‘I’ll tell you first what Blake’s told me, then you two read what’s in here.’

A little while later, they were up to date.

‘So she’s got herself a man,’ Hannah said.

Dillon looked at the printout photo of Rupert Dauncey.

‘More or less, anyway.’ He grinned.

Ferguson said, ‘I’ll tell you what disturbs me. The information Daniel Quinn’s people got about those donations: the Act of Class Warfare education programme, the Children’s Trust in Beirut.’

‘Well, she is half Arab, and the Bedu leader in Hazar,’ Dillon told him. ‘You expect her to give to Arab causes. But I agree. There’s more here than meets the eye.’

Ferguson nodded. ‘So what do we do?’

‘To find out what she’s up to?’ Dillon turned to Hannah. ‘Roper?’

She smiled and said to Ferguson, ‘Major Roper, sir?’

‘The very man,’ Ferguson said.

4 (#uccbceb1c-4d6f-589e-9ff9-d9b29d4d4aee)

Daniel Quinn was waiting by the entrance of the Hay-Adams when the limousines arrived. Clancy Smith was first out, followed by three other Secret Service men from two escort vehicles. Clancy passed Quinn and nodded as he went in. Blake got out and waited for the President, who went up the steps and shook Quinn’s hand.

‘Daniel.’

It was all for the cameras, of course. There were, as usual, two or three photographers who’d heard the President would be there. Lights flashed, photos were taken, Cazalet shaking Quinn’s hand. Clancy appeared in the entrance. The other Secret Service men flanked the President and Blake as they went in.

Blake, Cazalet, and Quinn were placed by the restaurant manager at a round table in a corner, excellent from a security point of view. All around them, enthralled diners produced a muted buzz of conversation. Clancy organized his men, who stood against the wall. Clancy himself hovered, always the dark presence.

‘Drinks, gentlemen?’ Cazalet said. ‘What about a good French wine?’ He turned to the waiter. ‘Let’s try a Sancerre.’

The waiter, his evening made, nodded eagerly. ‘Of course, Mr President.’

‘I’ll tell you, I can use a drink.’ Cazalet turned to Quinn. ‘I’ve been trying to deal with this whole energy thing we’ve been having. With the prices sky-rocketing, oil demand climbing, those damn rolling blackouts – it’s like I’m just waiting for some disaster to strike. And people are starting to notice. Did you see that poll last week? “Why doesn’t the government do something about it?” Well, I’m trying, damn it. Some people are starting to smell blood in the water – you know who I mean. If I can’t figure out a way to alleviate this mess, the midterms next year are going to be a disaster, and then I can forget about trying to get through any of my programmes. I might as well resign for all the good I could do.’

Quinn started to say something, but Cazalet just waved him off. ‘Oh, never mind me. I’m just venting. That’s not what this dinner is about.’ He smiled. ‘We’re here for a little entertainment. It’s like waiting for the start of a Broadway play.’ He glanced toward the door. ‘And I believe the curtain is about to go up.’

The Countess of Loch Dhu was at the door. The diamonds at her throat were dazzling, the black silk trouser suit a kind of art form. Beside her, Rupert Dauncey wore an elegant Brioni blazer and trousers, with a white shirt and dark tie. The blond hair was perfectly combed.

The restaurant manager was on to them in a moment and began to lead them through the tables. As they grew closer, the President said, ‘Speak to her, Blake, you’re the one who knows her.’

Blake stood up as she approached and said, ‘Kate. Well, this is serendipity.’

She paused, smiled, then reached to kiss his cheek. ‘Why, Blake, how nice.’ She turned. ‘Have you met my cousin, Rupert Dauncey? No, I don’t believe you have. You have a lot in common, you know.’

‘Oh, his reputation precedes him,’ said Blake.