LITMIR.BIZ

       8

      The prime minister at the debriefing the following morning was absolutely delighted. ‘So Dillon’s done it again.’ He turned to Carter. ‘I know you don’t like him, but you must admit he gets results.’

      ‘Yes, the little swine manages that all right.’

      ‘Oh, come on, Simon,’ Rupert Lang told him. ‘It’s results that count. The Protestant terrorist movements have been dealt a crippling blow. Ferguson’s unit has not only foiled the worst bomb threat possible, a threat that would have added an entirely new dimension to the Irish problem, they’ve also got rid of one of the most dangerous leaders there was.’

      ‘And that is of crucial importance,’ the Prime Minister told them. ‘President Clinton is giving us all his support in an effort to produce a final and lasting peace in Ireland. Senator Edward Kennedy has brought his considerable influence to bear in Congress and several other prominent Irish-Americans, such as Senator Patrick Keogh and former Congressman Bruce Morrison, have been working behind the scenes for months to persuade the IRA to come to the peace table.’

      ‘I’ll believe it when it happens,’ Carter snorted. ‘I mean, how can we deal with people who’ve bombed the hell out of us for twenty-five years?’

      ‘We dealt with Kenyatta in Kenya after the Mau Mau rebellion and gave them independence,’ Ferguson told him. ‘Same thing in Cyprus with Archbishop Makarios.’

      ‘I think Ferguson’s right,’ Rupert Lang said. ‘We have to travel hopefully.’

      ‘Quite right,’ the Prime Minister said. ‘Look, gentlemen, I’m the last person to look favourably on the IRA. I don’t forget the Brighton Bombing when they almost got the entire Government, but twenty-five years is long enough. The chance for peace is overwhelming and we must seize it, but it does mean keeping the lid on the Protestant hard men. It’s the most volatile of situations. Let me put it this way. I don’t want us on the very brink of peace to see it all destroyed by the wrong kind of incident.’

      ‘I think we’re all agreed on that,’ Ferguson told him.

      ‘Now, I intend a flying visit to Washington quite soon to see President Clinton. The Irish Prime Minister, Mr Reynolds, will be joining us. This is all very hush-hush and you gentlemen will respect my confidence.’

      ‘Of course, Prime Minister,’ Carter said and they all nodded.

      ‘One other matter. You may have heard of Mr Liam Bell?’

      ‘I know him,’ Rupert Lang said. ‘Met him in Washington when he was a Senator before he gave up politics and became president of some huge electronics firm.’

      ‘He’s also Irish-American and was much involved with fund-raising for the IRA through NORAID, the Northern Ireland Aid Committee,’ Carter added.

      ‘Yes, well, he’s seen the error of his ways there. He’s genuinely committed himself to achieving peace. He’s coming over on a fact-finding mission on behalf of President Clinton on Thursday. He’ll spend one night in London at his house in Vance Square, then proceed to Belfast. He’ll be coming in by private jet.’

      ‘Do you want us to look after him, Prime Minister?’ Carter asked.

      ‘No publicity, that’s essential. As it happens there’s a Conservative Party fund raiser on Thursday night at the Dorchester. Six o’clock for drinks, you know the sort of thing? I’ll have to show my face and I’ve seen that Mr Bell has an invitation so that I can have a private word with him.’ He turned to Ferguson. ‘I’d like you to keep an eye out for him, Brigadier.’

      ‘Of course, Prime Minister.’

      John Major stood up. ‘Hard times, gentlemen, dangerous times.’ He smiled. ‘But we shall come through. We must.’

      Rupert Lang and Yuri Belov had lunch in the pub opposite Kensington Gardens – Shepherd’s Pie washed down with lager.

      ‘So civilized, London,’ Belov said. ‘You English are unique. The French say you can’t cook, but your pub grub is wonderful.’

      ‘They’ve never forgiven us for Waterloo,’ Lang said.

      Belov sat back. ‘Ferguson and Dillon are a rare combination.’

      ‘You can say that again and this Bernstein girl is pretty hot stuff, too.’

      Belov nodded. ‘So where do we stand? The Sons of Ulster destroyed, Daniel Quinn eliminated, the plutonium threat taken care of …’

      ‘And Francis Callaghan singing like a bird.’ Lang smiled. ‘So where does that leave us?’

      ‘With the prospect of peace looming up in Ireland and that doesn’t suit.’

      ‘I see. You mean you and your people would prefer another Bosnia? A civil war?’

      ‘I’ve told you before, Rupert, out of chaos comes order.’

      ‘And the kind of Ireland you’d like to see based on sound Marxist principles?’

      ‘Something like that, but the most important factor in the equation will be how well the Protestants react to the peace proposals.’

      ‘I think there’s a fair chance they might react violently,’ Lang said.

      ‘It’s essential,’ Belov told him. ‘To provoke not so much the IRA, but the Catholics.’

      ‘Yes, I see the logic in that, so what are you thinking of?’

      ‘That perhaps we should do it for them. After all, January 30 have hit the IRA before this.’

      ‘And the Prods.’

      ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s consequences that are important. For example, this Irish-American, Liam Bell, here on behalf of Clinton. What if something unpleasant happened while he was here in London?’

      ‘There’d be hell to pay.’

      ‘Exactly. I mean, never mind President Clinton – I don’t think the great American public would be pleased.’

      ‘So where is this leading to?’

      ‘What’s Grace doing at the moment?’

      ‘A Noël Coward thing, Private Lives, at the King’s Head. That’s a pub theatre. You know the sort of thing – fringe.’

      ‘What time does she go on stage?’

      ‘Eight-fifteen. I went last night.’

      ‘Excellent. Speak to her and Tom. Get them invitations for this affair at the Dorchester on Thursday. Let’s see what we can come up with.’

      When Dillon called at Ferguson’s office at the Ministry of Defence just after lunch on Thursday, the Brigadier was busy, but Hannah came to the outer office to greet him. Dillon wore a bomber jacket, navy-blue sweater and jeans.

      ‘How is he?’ he said. ‘Your message on my answer machine said urgent.’

      ‘It is. He’ll speak to you in a moment.’

      Dillon lit a cigarette and she sat down at her desk, her tan wrapover skirt opening.

      ‘I love that fashion,’ he said. ‘Lets a fella see what grand legs you’ve got.’

      ‘Well, get used to it,’ she said, ‘because that’s all you’re going to see.’

      ‘The hard woman, you are. Have we got far with Francis Callaghan?’

      ‘Oh, yes, he’s behaved himself. The trouble is most of

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