LITMIR.BIZ

       3

      Kate Rashid went through the information her brother had supplied and it was good, detailed stuff. Aidan Bell was forty-eight years of age, had been a member of the IRA since the age of twenty, and had never served a day in prison. For years, he’d been a member of the Irish National Liberation Army, a very extremist organization. He had often been at loggerheads with the Provisional IRA but was responsible for some important hits.

      The most interesting fact was that over the years, he had also worked as a mercenary, cash on the nail, for many foreign revolutionary movements.

      Kate put the matter into the hands of her head of security at Rashid Investments, a trusted man and ex-paratrooper named Frank Kelly. Not in complete detail, however. She didn’t trust any employee that much. At this stage, all she wanted was a chance to meet Dillon as if by chance, and it came on the following Monday night.

      Kelly phoned her at the South Audley Street house, which was only five minutes up the road from the Dorchester. ‘Dillon has just gone into the Piano Bar. He seems dressed for a night out, got a dark blue suit on and a Guards tie.’

      ‘But he wasn’t in the Guards.’

      ‘Probably taking the piss, if you’ll excuse my language, ma’am. I did a lot of Irish time in One Para. I know about this guy.’

      ‘I didn’t realize you were in One Para, Kelly. Did you know my brother George?’

      ‘Yes, ma’am, though he was way above me. He was a Second Lieutenant, and I was just a Sergeant in my day.’

      ‘Fine. Have you a car there?’

      ‘One of the company Mercs.’

      ‘Drive up and get me. You can come to the Dorchester and wait. You personally, Kelly. I don’t want anyone else.’

      ‘Lady Kate, I wouldn’t dream of making it anyone else,’ Kelly told her.

      He picked her up, a well-dressed man no more than five foot eight, with a good, hard face and hair close-cropped, the Army bit that wouldn’t go away. In no time, he had dropped her at the Dorchester and parked in one of the privileged spaces.

      She went through the swinging doors, trim in a black trouser suit. As she walked into the bar, there was music, and there was Dillon playing the piano again.

      Guiliano turned up. ‘Lady Kate, what a pleasure. The usual table?’

      ‘No, the bottom left by the piano. I’d like to speak to the pianist.’

      ‘Ah, Mr Dillon. He’s good, isn’t he? Sits in before our regular comes, only now and then. Lord knows what he does the rest of the time. You know him?’

      ‘You could say that.’

      He escorted her to the table. She nodded to Dillon, ordered a glass of Krug champagne, sat down, and took out her mobile phone, which was strictly against bar rules. She called her brother George at his apartment not too far away.

      When he answered, she said, ‘I’m in the Piano Bar at the Dorchester. Dillon is here and Frank Kelly is outside. Call him on his mobile, and tell him to pick you up. I want you.’

      ‘Of course,’ George said. ‘See you soon.’

      Dillon was really very good, she decided. He was playing the old standards, the kind of things she liked. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth and he suddenly moved into ‘Our Love Is Here to Stay’, a slightly crooked grin on his face. As he came to the end, the regular pianist appeared, Dillon smiled and slid off the piano bench, and the other man took over.

      The Irishman came across to her. ‘Serendipity, isn’t that the word? This is a total and unexpected pleasured.’

      ‘Why, Mr Dillon, you’re a man of erudition.’

      ‘Well, unlike you, I didn’t go to Oxford. I had to make do with the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art.’

      ‘You were an actor?’

      ‘Oh, come off it, Kate Rashid, you know damn well what I was, all of it.’

      She smiled, and as Guiliano came up she said, ‘His personal preference used to be Krug, but I understand he’s switched to Louis Roederer Cristal. We’ll have a bottle.’

      Dillon produced a silver cigarette case, opened it and took one out. She said, ‘You might ask a lady,’ reached, took the case from him, examined it and selected a cigarette herself. ‘Art deco. A man of taste. Or perhaps a souvenir of the National Theatre?’

      ‘You are well informed,’ Dillon said. He flicked his Zippo and gave her a light as the champagne arrived. He lit his own cigarette. ‘You know, there’s coincidence, which could be this meeting, and then there’s Carl Jung.’

      ‘You mean synchronicity? A deeper motivation is intended?’ He toasted her. ‘So what are we into here?’

      At that moment, George came down the steps into the bar and joined them, Frank Kelly following. Kate said, ‘Ah, here come two freebooters, from One Para. Dillon, this one is my brother George.’

      But it was Kelly that Dillon bothered with. ‘I wouldn’t wear a shoulder holster

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