Eye of the storm Page 0,48

fast if an unauthorized vehicle tries to get through.”

“And the building itself?”

“The windows have specially strengthened glass and that includes the Georgian windows. Oh, and the net curtains are definitely a miracle of modern science. They’re blast-proof.”

“You certainly have the facts.”

“Incredibly, everything I’ve told you has been reported in either a British newspaper or magazine. The British press puts its own right to publish above every other consideration. They just refuse to face up to security implications. On file at the clippings library of any major British newspaper you’ll find details of the interior of Number Ten or the Prime Minister’s country home, Chequers, or even Buckingham Palace.”

“What about getting in as ancillary staff?”

“That used to be a real loophole. Most catering for functions is done by outside firms, and some of the cleaning, but they’re very tough about security clearance for these people. There are always slipups, of course. There was a plumber working on the Chancellor of the Exchequer’s home at Number Eleven who opened a door and found himself wandering about Number Ten trying to get out.”

“It sounds like a French farce.”

“Only recently staff from one of the outside firms employed to offer cleaning services of one kind or another, staff who had security clearance, were found to be operating under false identities. Some of them had clearance for the Home Office and other Ministries.”

“Yes, but all you’re saying is mistakes occur.”

“That’s right.” She hesitated. “Have you anything particular in mind?”

“You mean potshots with a sniper’s rifle from a rooftop two hundred yards away as he comes out of the door? I don’t think so. No, I really have no firm idea at the moment, but I’ll come up with something. I always do.” The waiter brought their soup. Dillon said, “Now that smells good enough to eat. Let’s do just that.”

Afterwards, he walked her round to her door. It was snowing just a little and very cold. He said, “Must remind you of home, this weather?”

“Home?” She looked blank for a moment then laughed. “Moscow, you mean?” She shrugged. “It’s been a long time. Would you like to come up?”

“No, thanks. It’s late and I could do with the sleep. I’ll stay at the hotel tomorrow morning. Let’s say till noon. From what I saw I don’t think I could stand the thought of lunch there. I’ll be back after two, so you’ll know where I’ll be.”

“Fine,” she said.

“I’ll say good night, then.”

She closed the door, Dillon turned and walked away. It was only after he rounded the corner into the Bayswater Road that Gordon Brown moved out of the shadows of a doorway opposite and looked up at Tania’s window. The light came on. He stayed there for a while longer, then turned and walked away.

In Paris the following morning the temperature went up three or four degrees and it started to thaw. Mary and Hernu in the colonel’s black Citroën picked Brosnan up just before noon. He was waiting for them in the entrance of the Quai de Montebello apartment block. He wore his trenchcoat, and a tweed cap and carried a suitcase. The driver put the case in the trunk and Brosnan got in the rear with the other two.

“Any news?” he asked.

“Not a thing,” the colonel told him.

“Like I said, he’s probably there already. What about Ferguson?”

Mary glanced at her watch. “He’s due to see the Prime Minister now, to alert him as to the seriousness of this whole business.”

“About all he can do,” Brosnan said. “That and spread the word to the other branches of the security services.”

“And how would you handle it, my friend?” Hernu asked.

“We know he worked in London for the IRA in nineteen eighty-one. As I told Mary, he must have used underworld contacts to supply his needs. He always does and it will be the same this time. That’s why I must see my old friend Harry Flood.”

“Ah, yes, the redoubtable Mr. Flood. Captain Turner was telling me about him, but what if he can’t help?”

“There’s another way. I have a friend in Ireland just outside Dublin at Kilrea, Liam Devlin. There’s nothing he doesn’t know about IRA history in the last few years and who did what. It’s a thought.” He lit a cigarette and leaned back. “But I’ll get the bastard, one way or another. I’ll get him.”

The driver took them to the end of the Charles de Gaulle terminal where the private planes parked. The Lear was waiting on the tarmac. There was