Sean Dillon 3-Book Collection 2: Angel of Death, Drink With the Devil, The President’s Daughter. Jack Higgins
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‘Sean Dillon.’ He held out his hand and she shook it, eyeing him curiously.
‘Now, you I’ve heard a great deal about, Mr Dillon.’
‘All bad, I suppose.’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Ah well, you can’t win them all.’
She turned to Ferguson. ‘Actually, my husband’s walking on the beach.’
‘I see,’ Ferguson said. ‘Perhaps we could join him?’
‘Why not. I’ll see you in a little while.’
‘Of course.’
As they turned to go she called, ‘Brigadier?’
Ferguson paused. ‘Ma’am?’
‘I’m not happy about this.’
‘I understand, ma’am, believe me.’
She closed the door and went in. Dillon lit a cigarette. ‘A good woman, that one.’
‘Yes, I’m inclined to agree,’ Ferguson said, ‘Now let’s go and find the Senator.’
On the beach, the surf pounded in with a great roaring and it was very windy. They saw Patrick Keogh in the distance, walking towards them, occasionally stopping to throw a stick for a black dog that ran in circles around him. As he got closer, they could see he was wearing heavy corduroy trousers and an Aran sweater.
‘Brigadier Ferguson?’
‘Yes, Senator.’ Ferguson shook hands. ‘A pleasure, sir.’
‘And this must be the great Sean Dillon.’ Keogh held out his hand.
‘Jesus, Joseph and Mary, Senator, and isn’t that overdoing it?’ Dillon said.
‘Ah, but isn’t that what we Irish always do? Let’s walk awhile.’
‘Of course, sir,’ Ferguson said.
‘I’m sorry to make John Major rush you two across the Atlantic at such short notice, but with my wife being concerned that I might get my head blown off, I decided that where security was concerned I wanted the best and your Prime Minister said that was you two.’
‘Very flattering,’ Ferguson said.
Dillon cut in. ‘No false modesty needed, Brigadier. We’ll do as good a job as anyone and better than most.’ He lit a cigarette in cupped hands. ‘I’m a plain man, Senator, so one Irishman to another. Why are you doing this? Because if the wrong people got on your case you really could get your head blown off.’
‘Dillon!’ Ferguson said sharply.
‘No.’ Keogh put up a hand. ‘I’ll answer that. Jack Kennedy once said something about good men doing nothing. You know, just standing by. Well, maybe I’ve stood by on too many occasions.’
Ferguson said, ‘I remember when you made the cover of Time magazine during the Vietnam War. When Khe San was besieged you insisted on flying in on a fact-finding mission and ended up manning a heavy machine gun as I heard and took a bullet in the shoulder.’
‘There were those, especially my political opponents, who thought I was grandstanding, Brigadier. I could never compare with Bobby Kennedy. I worked closely with him. He never shirked an issue, helped guide us through the Cuban missile crisis, had the guts to stand up to the Mafia, served his country and gave his life.’
He stood gazing out to sea and Dillon said, ‘You think you should do the same?’
‘Good God, no!’ Patrick Keogh rocked with laughter. ‘Sean, my friend, just for once I want to get something absolutely right, something that I myself can respect, but I sure as hell don’t want to finish up face down doing it, which is why I want you and the Brigadier.’ He laughed again. ‘Now let’s go and have something to eat and then we can talk some more.’
They had a light meal in the kitchen – salad, salmon and new potatoes – just the four of them around the kitchen table.
Afterwards over the coffee Keogh said, ‘So let’s go over it again, Brigadier.’
‘Well, as I told the Prime Minister, it can all be very simple. You drop in at Shannon totally unexpected. I believe that for political reasons it’s essential that your appearance at the IRA conference at Ardmore House should be kept secret for as long as possible.’
‘I agree.’
‘But even arriving at Shannon in a private Gulfstream doesn’t mean you won’t be recognized. Ground staff, baggage handlers, who knows? And someone will talk, rumours will start and the media will get to hear of it.’
‘But too late to be able to do anything about it,’ Mary Keogh said.
‘Exactly.’ The Brigadier nodded. ‘It can be said afterwards that the sole reason for the stop at Shannon was that the Senator, on a sudden whim, decided he wanted to see the Keogh Chapel. At that stage no one will know about the stop-off at Ardmore House on the way back.’
‘It’s certainly slick,’ the Senator said.
‘But what about security?’ his wife said. ‘I’m concerned about that.’
‘No need to be. Dillon, myself and Detective Chief Inspector Hannah Bernstein, my aide, will be with him at all times. I need hardly stress that the usual IRA efficiency will ensure security at Ardmore House.’
‘And I know Drumgoole Abbey,’ Dillon said. ‘It’s miles from anywhere in a beautiful valley. There’s the abbey itself, and the convent with its school. Just nuns and children.’
‘It’ll work.’ Keogh patted his wife’s hand reassuringly. ‘We’ll have some more coffee on the porch, then I’ll let you gentlemen go.’
Sitting there, looking down at the beach, the sea wild beyond, Mary Keogh said, ‘I’m intrigued, Mr Dillon. My husband asked for your background. He’s told me about you, but there are things I don’t understand. You went to the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in London and acted with the National Theatre?’
‘That’s right,’ Dillon said.
‘But then you joined the IRA?’
‘I was nineteen years of age, Mrs Keogh, and living in London with my father. Nineteen seventy-one it was. He went to Belfast on a holiday and was killed by crossfire. British paratroopers and IRA. An accident.’
‘Only you didn’t see it that way?’ There was real empathy in her eyes.
‘Not at nineteen.’ Dillon lit a cigarette. ‘So I joined the glorious cause.’
‘And never looked back,’ Ferguson said. ‘On the most-wanted list for years.’
‘Is it true you tried to blow up the British War Cabinet in February, ninety-one?’ Keogh asked.
‘Now, do I look the kind of fella that would do a thing like that?’ Dillon said.
Keogh roared with laughter. ‘Yes, actually you do, my fine Irish friend.’
Mrs Keogh said, ‘I’m still puzzled. How come you changed sides?’
‘I fought for what I believed in, I’m not ashamed of that, although I never approved of the bomb as a weapon. For me that was the greatest weakness in the IRA campaign. Not just the dead, but fifty thousand ordinary people maimed or injured. Women in a shopping mall, kids.’ He shrugged. ‘In the end nothing’s worth that, not even a united Ireland. Something goes click in your head. You change.’
‘I finally caught up with him in a Serb prison,’ Ferguson said. ‘They were going to shoot him for flying medical supplies in for children. I managed to make a deal.’ He shrugged. ‘Now he works for me.’
‘And