The President’s Daughter. Jack Higgins

you ever been inside Wandsworth, Dillon? If you had, you’d know why. Hell on earth, and Riley’s had six months to sample it and has another fourteen and a half years to go, so let’s see what he’s got to say.’

      ‘And you want me?’ Dillon said.

      ‘Of course. After all, you knew the damn man. You, Chief Inspector, I’d like your input.’ He pushed back his chair and stood. ‘The Daimler is waiting, so let’s be off,’ and he led the way out.

      They waited in the interview room at Wandsworth, and after a while, the door opened and Jackson pushed Riley into the room and closed the door.

      Riley said. ‘Sean, is that you?’

      ‘As ever was, Dermot.’ Dillon lit a cigarette, inhaled and passed it to him.

      Riley grinned. ‘You used to do that in the old days in Derry. Remember when we ran rings round the Brits?’

      ‘We did indeed, old son, but times change.’

      ‘Well, you’ve certainly changed,’ Riley said. ‘And from one side to the other.’

      ‘All right,’ Ferguson broke in. ‘So you’ve had the old-pals act. Now let’s get down to business. What do you want, Riley?’

      ‘Out, Brigadier.’ Riley sat on one of the chairs at the table. ‘Six months is enough. I can’t face any more, I’d rather be dead.’

      ‘Like all those people you killed,’ Hannah said.

      ‘And who might you be?’

      ‘A DCI from Special Branch,’ Dillon told him, ‘so mind your manners.’

      ‘I was fighting a war, woman,’ Riley began, and Ferguson cut in.

      ‘And now you’ve had enough of the glorious cause,’ Ferguson said. ‘So what have you got for me?’

      Riley appeared to hesitate and Dillon said, ‘Hard as nails this old bugger, Dermot, but very old-fashioned. A man of honour, so tell him.’

      ‘All right.’ Riley raised a hand. ‘You people always thought there were three Active Service Units operating in London. There was a fourth and a different kind of set-up. Nice house in Holland Park. Three guys and a woman, all with good jobs in the City. Another thing – all handpicked because they’d been born in England or raised here. Perfect for deep cover.’

      ‘Names?’ Ferguson demanded.

      ‘It won’t do you any good. Not one of them has a police record of any kind, but here goes.’

      He rattled off four names, which Hannah Bernstein wrote down in her notebook. Dillon watched impassively.

      Ferguson said, ‘Address?’

      ‘Park Villa, Palace Square. It’s on old Victoria Place in a nice garden.’

      ‘So you had dealings with them?’ Dillon asked.

      ‘No, but a friend of mine, Ed Murphy, was their supplier. He got a little indiscreet one night. You know how it is with the drink taken. Anyway, he told me all about them.’

      ‘And where’s Murphy now?’

      ‘Rotated back to Ireland last year.’

      Dillon turned to Ferguson and shrugged. ‘If it was me, I’d be long gone, especially after Dermot was lifted.’

      ‘But why?’ Hannah demanded. ‘There’s no connection.’

      ‘But there always is,’ Dillon said.

      ‘Stop this bickering,’ Ferguson told them. ‘It’s worth a try.’

      He banged on the door, and when it opened and Jackson appeared, took an envelope from his pocket. ‘Take that to the governor and get it countersigned. It’s a warrant for this man’s release into my custody. Afterwards, take him back to his cell to collect his things. We’ll be waiting in my Daimler in the courtyard.’

      ‘Very well, Brigadier.’ Jackson stamped his booted feet as if back on the parade ground and stood to one side as they filed past.

      A number of people were waiting in the rain outside the main gate for prisoners on release. Among them was the lawyer who had called himself George Brown, standing beside a London black cab, an umbrella over his head. The driver looked like your average London cabbie, which he was, a very special breed, dark curly hair flecked with grey, a nose that had at some stage been broken.

      ‘Do you think it’s going to work?’ he asked.

      At that moment, the gates opened and several men emerged, the Daimler following.

      ‘I do now,’ Brown said.

      As the Daimler passed, Riley, sitting beside Dillon and opposite Ferguson and Hannah, glanced out and recognized Brown at once. He looked away.

      Brown waved to a Ford saloon on the other side of the road and pointed as it moved away from the kerb and went after the Daimler.

      Brown got into the cab. ‘Now what?’ the driver asked.

      ‘They’ll follow them. Ferguson’s got to keep him somewhere.’

      ‘A safe house?’

      ‘Perhaps, but what would be safer than having him stay at Dillon’s place in Stable Mews, very convenient for Ferguson’s flat just round the corner in Cavendish Square. That’s why I’ve made the arrangements I have. We’ll see if I’m right. In the meantime, we wait here. I chose visiting day because I was just one of two or three hundred people and no one at reception will remember me, but the prison officer who took me to Riley will. Jackson is his name.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘The present shift should have just finished. We’ll wait and see if he comes out.’

      Which Jackson did twenty minutes later, and hurried away along the street to the nearest tube station. A keen snooker player, he was in a tournament at the British Legion that evening and wanted to get home to shower and change.

      The tube was as busy as usual, and as he entered the station the black cab pulled in at the kerb and Brown got out and went after him. Jackson went down the escalator and hurried along the tunnel, Brown close behind but keeping a few people between them. The platform was crowded and Jackson pushed his way through and waited on the edge. There was the sound of the train in the distance and Brown slipped in closer as the crowd surged forward. There was a rush of air, a roaring now as the train appeared, and Jackson was aware of a hand against his back, the last thing he remembered in this life as he plunged headfirst on to the track and directly into the path of the train.

      Outside, the black-cab driver was waiting anxiously. He’d already had to turn down several fares, was sweating a little and then Brown emerged from the station entrance, hurried along the pavement and got in the back.

      ‘Taken care of?’ the driver asked, as he switched on his engine.

      ‘As the coffin lid closing,’ Brown told him, and they drove away.

      Ferguson said, ‘You’ll stay with Dillon at his place. Only five minutes’ walk from my flat.’

      ‘Very convenient,’ Riley said.

      ‘And try and be sensible, there’s a good chap. Don’t try playing silly buggers and making a run for it.’

      ‘And why would I do that?’ Riley said. ‘I want to walk away from this clean, Brigadier. I don’t want to have to look over my shoulder for the rest of my life.’

      ‘Good man.’

      At that moment, the Daimler turned into Stable Mews, negotiating a grey BT van parked on the pavement, a manhole cover raised behind a small barrier. A telephone engineer wearing a hard hat and a distinctive yellow oilskin jacket with the BT logo printed across the back worked in the manhole.

      Ferguson said, ‘Right, out you get, you two.