Dark Justice

‘No, no. It’s an unrelated matter.’

‘Unrelated, huh? Which brings you hotfoot, plus the Superintendent and Dillon? Highly unlikely, I’d have thought. However, I can’t help you with this one and I’ve other things to do. I’ll be on my way.’

They left and walked to the Daimler. Ferguson paused, frowning, and said to Dillon, ‘What’s that you usually say? About making it a we-know-that-they-know-and-they-know-that-we-know situation?’

‘I’d say you mean you want Dr Ali Selim pushed a little.’

‘Exactly. I’ll leave it to you. Blake’s at the American Embassy at the moment. We’ll all catch up later.’

‘Don’t you think I should provide a police presence for Selim, sir?’ Hannah asked.

‘No. Some things require the Dillon touch, Superintendent.’

They got in and drove away. Dillon said, ‘You’ve noticed the Opel saloon trailing us?’

‘Absolutely. Don’t forget to find out who it is.’

Ferguson dropped him off. Hannah was not best pleased and Dillon leaned down to her through the open window. ‘Keep the faith, love.’

‘Well, you keep your fists in your pockets.’

The rain increased and Dillon glanced at the Opel and decided to leave it alone. He went inside the mosque and followed a sign that said Office.

In the Opel, Greta Novikova called Ashimov on his mobile. ‘They were all at this Major Roper’s place in Regency Square – Ferguson, Bernstein and Dillon. They’ve now dropped Dillon at Queen Street. Why?’

‘I should imagine because Mrs Morgan has met an untimely accident and Mr Dillon is about to speak to Selim about it.’

‘What do you mean, accident?’

‘Her wheelchair appears to have deposited her in the Thames. These things happen. Stay there and follow Dillon when he comes out.’

Dillon found the office, knocked and walked in. There was no one at reception, so he tried the next door and found his quarry working at a desk.

‘Dr Ali Selim?’

Selim recognized him at once from a computer photo Ashimov had left him.

He managed a smile. ‘Can I help?’

Dillon decided to let it all hang out. ‘Oh, I think so, me ould son.’ He lit a cigarette.

‘Not in here. It is an affront,’ Selim told him.

‘I know, a terrible vice, but we all have them. I can see you know who I am, your face twitched, but then a guy like Ashimov would be right on the ball about me and my friends. We have a video of the two of you, by the way. That would go down big at the House of Commons, don’t you think? And I notice his girlfriend, Greta Novikova, is outside.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Well, in broad terms you do, and I could fill in the rest for you. Henry Morgan walks up a Manhattan street in the rain and disappears into oblivion, his mother goes off the jetty in Chandler Street and into the Thames. A very unfortunate family.’

Selim’s face had turned pale. ‘Get out of here. I’ll call the police.’

‘Oh, I don’t think you will, not with Ashimov on your back.’ Dillon dropped his cigarette in a half-filled cup of coffee by Selim’s right hand. ‘Say your prayers, son, you’re going to need them. Oh, and good luck with the Wrath of Allah.’

It was a long shot, but the shock on Selim’s face was obvious.

Dillon went out and paused on the pavement, looking across. Greta Novikova was taking a photo and she was badly caught out when he crossed the street quickly, opened the passenger door and got in.

‘Now look here…’ she started to say.

‘Oh, cut it out, girl. I know who you are and you know who I am.’ He produced a packet of Marlboros and took two out. ‘I bet you smoke, too. Most Russians do.’

‘Bastard,’ she said. But she almost looked amused.

He lit the cigarettes and passed her one. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Go? Where to exactly?’

‘My place in Stable Mews. Don’t pretend you don’t know where that is.’

She drove away, half smiling. ‘I bet Selim was messing himself in there.’

‘Something like that. I told him we know about Ashimov and you, and who knows? Perhaps Ashimov’s boss, the mysterious Josef Belov.’

‘You’re playing with fire, Dillon,’ she said. ‘I’d be very careful.’

‘Oh, I always am.’

She paused at the end of Stable Mews. ‘Can I go now?’

‘Of course – unless you’d like to have dinner with me.’

‘The great Sean Dillon with a romantic side? I doubt it. Besides, you’ve chosen a bad night. I have a function at the Dorchester ballroom this evening on behalf of the Russian Embassy.’

Dillon got out and leaned in. ‘Oh, I’m sure I could gain admission.’

She drove back to the Embassy, turning this strange man over in her mind, and phoned Ashimov to tell him what had happened. ‘I’ve got a crazy idea he could turn up tonight.’

‘So he’s challenging us, is he? Well, we’ll challenge back. I’ll go with you. Pick me up at seven.’

After she hung up she went into her computer, into her secret GRU files, accessed Dillon and was breathless at what she discovered. This was the man who’d been responsible for the mortar bomb attack on Downing Street in ’91? A feared enforcer for the IRA for years, a killer many times over…once an actor at the National Theatre? She read, fascinated.

‘I put the fear of God into Selim,’ Dillon told Ferguson on the phone.

‘I thought you would. What’s your verdict?’

‘Well, the obvious thing is that he didn’t deny any of it – Morgan, Ashimov, the Novikova woman, the lot.’

‘Well, he wouldn’t, would he? By the way, Blake’s been in touch. He’s taken all that stuff I gave him on the Muslim situation in the UK and gone straight back to Washington.’

‘What a shame. I’d hoped to take him to the Dorchester tonight. The Russian Embassy’s got a function on in the ballroom. Get me a security pass, Charles. Novikova’s going to be there. Perhaps Ashimov will be with her. I’d like to run with it.’

‘Only if you run with me, you rogue. We’ll go together.’

‘Cocktails at seven, Charles, not black tie. The Embassy’s trying to make friends and influence people – and I understand that there might be a surprise guest or two.’

‘Are you referring to the fact that when President Putin finished at the European Union’s Paris conference this morning he decided to divert his plane to RAF Northolt for a chat with the Prime Minister this afternoon? And that he’s not due to depart until late tonight?’

‘And how would you be knowing that?’

‘Because I’ve been notified of his flight plan out of Northolt to Moscow. It’s what they pay me for, dear boy.’

‘So I’ll meet you there?’

‘And the Superintendent, too, I think. Dress things up a little. And do me a favour.’

‘Yours to command.’

‘Wear one of your better suits. We mustn’t let the side down. This should be interesting. I knew Putin rather well in the bad old days, you know, when he was a colonel in the KGB.’

‘I bet you exchanged shots across the Berlin Wall.’

‘Something like that. Meet us at the Dorchester as you say, at seven.’

‘Wouldn’t miss it.’

In the ballroom at the Dorchester the great and the good mingled with politicians and civil servants, and waiters passed through the crowd with trays loaded with vodka and the finest champagne, as the Russian Embassy did its best to impress. Yuri Ashimov and Greta stood by a pillar, drinking iced vodka.

‘It’ll be a hell of a shock for these people when Putin appears with the Prime Minister,’ Greta said.

‘It’ll be an even bigger one for you when Belov appears.’

‘Belov?’ She was bewildered. ‘But why?’

‘Because Putin wanted him. Out of all the oil magnates, Josef, my love, is the one the President trusts. They go back a long way.’ He reached for another vodka as a waiter passed. ‘I spoke to him a couple of hours ago. Brought him up to speed on the Henry Morgan affair.’

‘Does Putin know about that?’

‘Of course not. There are limits. Josef was philosophical about it, but he wasn’t happy about Ferguson and his friends.’

‘What if Dillon turns up?’

‘I hope he does. I have a friend named Harker, Charlie Harker. A crook of the first water, dabbles in everything from protection to drugs to women. Such people have their uses.’

‘What’s he going to do?’

‘I mentioned Dillon and gave him a photo. Harker has arranged for two or three of his men to, shall we say, pay special attention to him if he does show up.’

Greta said, ‘I’ve checked on Dillon, Yuri. He’s hell on wheels.’

‘Well, so am I, my love.’

‘But it isn’t you who’ll be doing it, that’s what worries me.’

‘Well, we’ll just have to see what happens. Because there he is.’

At the same moment a voice echoed over a microphone as the Russian ambassador called for attention.

‘My lords, ladies and gentlemen. I had intended a few words at this moment, but someone far more important has arrived – and with a very special guest.’

He gestured and, through the side door, President Putin appeared, the British Prime Minister at his side. The crowd broke into spontaneous applause. The two men stopped for a moment, acknowledging the crowd, then moved on, pausing to shake hands here and there. They were followed by several men, obviously security, but not all.

‘The man on the left,’ Ferguson said. ‘Black suit, steel-rimmed glasses, cropped hair. Josef Belov. Now what’s he up to?’

Belov looked to be around sixty, his face very calm, giving nothing away. Putin paused for a moment and listened as Belov whispered, ‘The man standing over there with the woman and the small man with very fair hair, his name is Ferguson. He runs the Prime Minister’s private intelligence outfit.’

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