LITMIR.BIZ

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goddam English,’ said Lodge. ‘You think you can still act like you had an Empire. Where I come from, the CIA do that sort of thing, not the goddam bankers…’ He trailed off, still shaking his head.

      Kupferbach seemed to be way ahead of him. ‘I see, Charles. You have been doing much preparation for this meeting. May I ask, therefore, why you needed to include us?’

      ‘For the first step, Oswald, the first step. Getting to Selassie. I think I know how to do it. We still have one card to play. Supposing he is still alive, supposing the Ethiopians make him sign the documents, supposing they are dated for just two days before we receive them, I still do not believe we would have to comply. We could argue that the signature must have been produced under duress, since it is clearly contrary to everything the Emperor has expressed in the past. I think we could make such a refusal stand up in a court of law. Of course, it would not do to let things go on that far. As you say, Oswald, the publicity would be catastrophic. But likewise, they would not get their money.

      ‘I think we can pre-empt a crisis. We tell them that signature under duress would not be acceptable, quoting UN Human Rights legislation. I also think I could suggest a way around the difficulty: I will propose that the signature be made in the presence either of the bankers concerned or of their duly appointed representatives, in a situation in which the Emperor could be seen – for that particular day, at least – to be in good health and not the object of undue pressure, physical or psychological.

      ‘That, gentlemen, is how we gain access.’

      ‘Hold on there a tiny minute,’ broke in Lodge, ‘you’re losing me. You mean this has to be done for real? We have to go and meet the Emperor?’

      ‘Well, not we necessarily, but yes, there has to be a meeting between our people and the Emperor. And there are, of course, a number of other implications. The Emperor will have to be in a fit state to hold such a meeting. But then, presumably, he has to be in a fit state to sign the documents at all, so it shouldn’t be too much of a problem to produce him in a reasonable state of health.

      ‘A further implication – and this is where I need you – is that the documents for signature have to be genuine. Only in that way can we guarantee access. We have to see what the Ethiopians want from Selassie, and we have to agree to them in advance. And Selassie will agree.’

      ‘Yeah?’ said Lodge, sceptically. ‘Tell me why.’

      ‘One good reason – only with our co-operation can he assure the financial future of his family abroad. I’ve already had the family on my back several times. It is clear that, in a year or two, they will not be able to support themselves in the manner to which they have become accustomed. There are several children and countless grandchildren. All will need financial help, which they will not receive unless Selassie signs what will become, in effect, his last will and testament, one that must also be agreed with the Ethiopian government and ourselves. Everything must be prepared in secret, but as if it was for real.

      ‘Thereafter, our duty to ourselves is clear: we cannot allow Selassie actually to sign the papers.’

      Collins arrived in London early on Monday evening, parked his Range Rover in a garage off Berkeley Square and strolled round to Brown’s hotel in Dover Street. He just had time for a bath, and a whisky and water in his room, when the internal phone went to announce the arrival in reception of Charlie Cromer.

      The two dined at the Vendôme, where sole may be had in twenty-four different styles. It took Cromer two courses and most of a very dry Chablis to bring Collins up to date.

      ‘And now,’ he said over coffee, ‘before I make you any propositions, I want to know how you’re fixed. How’s the business?’

      ‘You’ve seen the books, even if you don’t remember them. The profits are there. But there’s a problem with the management.’

      ‘Fire him.’

      ‘It’s me, Charlie. It was a joke.’ Cromer shrugged an apology. ‘I’m bored. I’ve been thinking about getting out, taking off somewhere for a year.’

      ‘Not a woman, is it?’

      ‘No. I have to keep my nose clean around home – get a reputation for dipping your wick and business can suffer.’

      ‘So do I take it my call was timely?’

      ‘Indeed.’

      ‘Good. You can see what I need: a team of hit men, as our American friends say. We’ll have to work out the details together, but, for a start, we need two more like you, men who like danger, who like a challenge, cool and experienced.’

      ‘What are you offering in return?’

      ‘To you? Freedom. I’ll arrange a purchaser for the company and turn any profits over to you. I would imagine you will come out of it with, say, £100,000 in cash. In addition, $100,000 to be deposited in your name in New York and a similar sum to be placed in a numbered account in Switzerland.’

      ‘That sounds generous.’

      ‘Fair. I have colleagues who are interested in the successful outcome of this particular operation.’

      Collins had decided to take up the offer in any case. ‘Yes. I’m on. I still have a few contacts in the Regiment. I can think of a couple of chaps who may be interested.’

      ‘There’s another thing,’ said Cromer. ‘You will all have to act the part of bankers. For obvious reasons, I can’t go. Wish I could.’

      ‘No, you don’t, Charlie. It’s far too risky.’

      ‘You’ll be handing me a white feather next.’

      ‘For us, Charlie. Kidnapping an Emperor is quite enough for one job. Spare us looking after you.’

       Tuesday, 23 March

      Back in the Oxfordshire countryside, Collins had only a few routine matters to attend to. He had to confirm a couple of sales, vet a US Army jeep that would eventually fetch at least £3500, and say ‘yes’ with a willing smile when the village’s up-and-coming young equestrienne, Caroline Sinclair, wanted some poles for a jump. But most of his attention was given to tracking down Halloran and Rourke.

      It took several calls and several hours to get to Halloran. He learned of Halloran’s rapid exit from the SAS, and of his re-emergence in Ireland. A contact in Military Intelligence, Belfast, looked up the files. Halloran had blown it: he was never to be used again. For them, Halloran had turned out more dangerous than an unexploded bomb. There had been reprimands for taking him on in the first place. A couple of his Irish contacts were also on file.

      ‘What’s this for, old boy?’ the voice at the end of the line asked. ‘Nothing too fishy, I hope?’

      Collins knew what this meant. ‘Nothing to do with the Specials, the Army, the UDA, the IRA or the SAS. Something far, far away.’

      ‘Good. In that case, you better move fast. The Yard knows he’s in London. Looks like the Garda tipped them the wink. Could be a bit embarrassing for us if they handle it wrong. Do what you can.’

      Collins made three more calls, this time to the Republic – one to a bar in Dundalk and one to each of the contacts on MI’s file. At each number he left a message that an old friend was trying to contact Pete Halloran with an offer of work. He left his number.

      At lunch-time, the phone rang. A call-box: the pips cut off as the money went in. A voice heavily muffled through a handkerchief asked for Collins’s identity. Then: ‘It’s about Halloran.’

      ‘I’ll make it short,’ said Collins. ‘Tell Pete the Yard are on to him and that I may have an offer. Tell him to move quickly.’

      ‘I’ll let him know.’

      The phone clicked off. It could have been Halloran, probably was, but he had to be allowed to handle things his own way.

      An

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