The President’s Daughter Read online

  There was a fire in the main room and they sat round it while Dillon delivered the bad news. When he was finished, the President seemed shocked but also incredulous.

  “Let me get this straight. This Judas creature insists that he has access to our main computer systems. CIA at Langley, FBI, Department of Defense?”

  “That’s correct, Mr. President.”

  “So that if we make any inquiry, attempt to discover who he and his people are, he will kill my daughter.”

  “Yes, that’s about the size of it,” Dillon said. “He takes a hard line. They not only killed Hakim and his men in Sicily, they killed the old couple and the girl.”

  “And probably the prison guard, Jackson, in London,” Ferguson put in.

  “And if I don’t sign Nemesis, he’ll kill her anyway?”

  “I’m afraid so.” Dillon took the mobile phone Judas had given him and put it on the coffee table. “That’s what he gave me. Two chances to prove him right or wrong.”

  “As we told you, Mr. President,” Ferguson said, “my check for any information on the Maccabees through British intelligence computer sources in London drew an almost instant response.”

  “So now you want to try the Defense Department’s system.”

  Ferguson nodded. “If we get the same response, we’ll know exactly where we are.”

  It was Hannah Bernstein who interrupted. “I wonder if you mind my asking you something, Mr. President. It’s the policeman’s mind, I’m afraid. In my job you develop a nose for things, just a hunch with nothing to back it up.”

  “And you have one now, Chief Inspector?” Cazalet asked her. “Okay, fire ahead.”

  “The Basement, who knows about it? Is it as secret as they say?”

  The President turned to Blake Johnson. “You have my permission.”

  Blake said, “Officially, I’m the General Affairs Department, and that’s all people know. I have a secretary named Alice Quarmby, a widow and entirely trustworthy, and that’s it: no other staff. People imagine I’ve something to do with White House administration.”

  “Then how do you manage?”

  “Rather like Judas. I have a circle of people in other employment, former FBI, for example, scientists, university professors, whom I call on for a specific job. Always totally reliable people.”

  “Are you saying the Secretary of Defense or the National Security Advisor, people like that, don’t realize the true nature of the Basement?” Ferguson asked.

  “Teddy knows, but then Teddy knows everything.” The President managed a grin. “Let me explain. Several Presidents ago, and I won’t say which one, there were a series of scandals to do with Communist infiltration of the CIA and the Defense Department. You may recall the legend of the Russian mole in the Pentagon.”

  “I do indeed, Mr. President.”

  “The President of the day, on his own initiative, charged an old personal friend, an ex-CIA man, to set up the General Affairs Department, which meant that he had someone totally trustworthy to rely on. It worked very well, and when his successor took office, the President spoke to him privately on the matter and the Basement carried on.”

  “And still does,” Blake Johnson said. “Of course, there have been a few whispers over the years, but nothing concrete enough to invade our secrecy. Our only connection abroad has been with you, Charles, and that’s a special relationship.”

  “Indeed it is,” Ferguson said and turned to Hannah. “What are you driving at, Chief Inspector?”

  “Listening to what Dillon had to say, it would seem that Judas mentioned his connections with the main security services, but he never mentioned the Basement.”

  “My God, girl, you’re right,” Dillon said. “There’s a grand copper’s mind for you.”

  “I would have thought he would, particularly in a matter so personal to the President.”

  “What you’re saying is that he doesn’t know about the existence of the Basement,” Ferguson said.

  She nodded. “And we can prove it one way or the other.” She turned to Blake. “I presume that because of the extreme secrecy of your activities you have your own computer bank?”

  “I sure do. I can access Langley, FBI, the Defense Department, but mine is locked up tight with our own security codes.”

  “Good. He told Dillon he could make another security computer inquiry after London to prove his power. Let’s not access the other security services, let’s put our question to the Basement’s computer bank.”

  There was a short pause, and it was Teddy who said, “I always did say we should have more women policemen. It’s the devious minds women have.”

  “We’ll give it a try,” Blake said. “I’ll use the control room, Mr. President.”

  He got up and went out and Jake Cazalet stood up. Murchison, lying on the floor, got up also and the President said, “No, lie down.”

  Instead, Murchison went to Hannah and she stroked his ears. Dillon said, “If it works, it changes a lot of things.”

  “We’ll see,” Ferguson said.

  Johnson came back. “I asked for any terrorist group known as the Maccabees and an individual known as Judas Maccabeus. The response was negative. Nothing known.”

  “So now we wait,” the President said. “But for how long?”

  “He was on to us on the instant in London,” Ferguson said.

  “Well, I tell you what,” Jake Cazalet told them. “This is one of the worst scenarios in my life, but a man must eat and I believe a light meal’s been organized in the kitchen. Let’s go in for an hour and see what happens.”

  “I told Mrs. Boulder to go early,” Teddy said, when they went into the kitchen. “It’s all ready. I’ll serve. She left the potatoes in the oven on a low heat and everything else is cold.”

  Hannah helped him and the President opened two bottles of ice-cold Sancerre. They had cold salmon, new potatoes, salad, and crusty bread, but the conversation was episodic. Everyone had eyes only for the mobile phone that Judas had given to Dillon and which lay on the table.

  Teddy said, “I’ll make some coffee.”

  Dillon glanced at his watch. “It’s been an hour. What the hell. I say we access the Defense Department’s computer and ask the same question. Let’s get on with it.”

  Blake Johnson glanced at the President, and Jake Cazalet said, “Go for broke, Blake.”

  Blake got up and went out. Dillon said, “Right, let’s clear the table and you do the coffee, Teddy, though I’d rather have a teabag myself.”

  He and Hannah cleared and had barely finished when Blake returned. “I accessed on the joint plan Langley, FBI, and the Defense Department. Totally negative response on Judas and the Maccabees.”

  “So now we wait,” Ferguson said.

  Teddy produced the coffee and Dillon’s tea, and they all sat down again at the kitchen table. It was quiet, very quiet and Jake Cazalet said, “It’s no good, nothing’s happening.”

  The phone rang.

  Judas said to Dillon, “Hey, old buddy, you tried me out and didn’t find me wanting. Just like London, you access those computer systems looking for me and my people and I’ll know.”

  “Stuff you, you’re a bloody sadist.” Dillon deliberately made himself sound outraged and frustrated.

  “Don’t lose your cool, old buddy. Just tell the President that now he knows the score. If he tries to involve security forces in this, his daughter dies instantly. If he refuses to sign Nemesis, she dies.”

  “You’re crazy,” Dillon said.

  “No, just practical. Give the President my best.”

  Judas switched off and Dillon turned to Hannah. “You’re a bloody genius. He doesn’t know the Basement exists. What’s just happened is proof.”

  “Okay,” Blake Johnson said. “So the situation is something like this. The Basement computer is clear, although there’s no information on him. If we try the other main security services, he knows, and knows very quickly.”

  “And we’ve
had our two goes,” Dillon said. “If we try to involve any of the other security services, he’ll kill Marie.”

  “And you believe that?” the President said.

  “I’ve never been more certain.”

  “But he can’t access our telephone systems, and that includes mobiles if we persist in using Codex Four systems,” Hannah said. “So at least we can have closed communication.”

  “That’s true,” Ferguson agreed.

  “But any whiff on any regular communication circuit and we’ve had it,” Blake Johnson said. “Frankly, Mr. President, the fact that when I accessed such sensitive areas as those security computers, he knew in less than half an hour, really does show the power of the Maccabee organization. I believe that if we do try to involve the CIA and other institutions, the odds are that he will know.”

  “But what can I do?” the President demanded. “I’m already breaking every damn rule in the book, all protocol, by not informing the Secretary of State and the Joint Chiefs, not to say the heads of the CIA and FBI.”

  “Exactly,” Blake said, “which is why one of your predecessors invented the Basement. We can’t trust anyone, that’s the point.”

  “Fine, but there is another point. I’ll hit Arab terrorists hard if they merit it and if I have to, but I can’t in all conscience sign Nemesis when the Committee meets next week. I mean, what do I do?”

  There was stillness and, for some reason, it was Dillon they turned to. He said, “There could be a way forward if we move fast, but the next step is me catching my death, according to Judas. I think that’s rather a good idea.”

  “What on earth do you mean?” Ferguson asked.

  “I’ll take my chances when we get back to Washington. I’ll wear a bullet-proof vest.”

  “Not much good if the shooter goes for a headshot,” Johnson said.

  “Well, you take a chance every day of your life.”

  “Then what, Mr. Dillon?” Cazalet asked.

  “I used to be a student at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in London, Mr. President. I even acted with the National Theatre. I’ve always had an ability to change and not just with makeup. Let me show you. Here, give me your glasses, Teddy.”

  Teddy handed them over and Dillon went out and closed the door. When it opened again, he shuffled in, limping heavily on the right leg, his head slightly down, a look of pain on his face, but it wasn’t just that, not only the glasses. His body language had changed. It was as if he had become another person.

  “Good God,” the President said. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

  “The Man of a Thousand Faces he was called in international intelligence circles,” Ferguson said. “On the run in Ireland twenty years with the IRA and we never touched his collar once.”

  “Once I’m officially dead in Washington, I’ll change,” Dillon said, “dye my hair a different color, tinted glasses, perhaps cheek pouches, we’ll see. Another passport, of course, but no problem. I always carry two or three with me, and makeup according to the photo on whichever I choose.”

  “If you need help, I have a friend who lives in my apartment block,” Teddy said. “Mildred Atkinson. She does makeup for a lot of the big stars. She was telling me she did DeNiro last week.”

  “Is she safe?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Well, I’ll see.”

  Hannah said, “As regards general security, we only have five days anyway before the Future Projects Committee meets.”

  “So what happens?” the President said.

  “The heart of the problem is quite simple,” Dillon told him. “Where is she being held? All I know definitely is that it’s within twelve hours by boat from Sicily.”

  “Yes, but you can’t account for those twelve hours,” Ferguson said. “It could be less than that.”

  “Yes, but if we accept twelve hours maximum, within the range could be Corsica if we went west, the Tunisian or Egyptian coasts, Italy, Greece, Turkey.”

  “Have you missed anything?” Johnson said ironically.

  “God knows. Marie told me that when David Braun kidnapped her in Corfu, he said she was going for a little plane ride.”

  There was a pause. The President said, “Okay, you end up dead, you change your identity. Then what?”

  “The Brigadier and the Chief Inspector go home in the Lear, grieving. I’ll go to Ireland and run down Riley. I’ll bring him to London and he can identify the lawyer for us from the Wandsworth Prison surveillance tapes.”

  Johnson said, “You actually think you can find Riley?”

  “I believe so. I think he’ll head straight for his cousin’s farm in Tullamore. He had the Irish passport the Brigadier got him, he had my operating money. There would be no sense in him not going back to Ireland. He’s safe there.”

  The President nodded. “Yes, it makes sense.” He turned to Blake. “It seems to me what Mr. Dillon needs is instant transportation. He doesn’t want to have to hang around wasting time wherever it is he goes.”

  “No problem, Mr. President. I have the new Gulfstream Five private jet on hand, flown in it several times lately. It’s a hell of a plane.”

  The President turned to Dillon. “You could fly to Ireland in not much more than six hours in the Gulfstream.” He nodded to Blake Johnson. “I’d like you to go with him. Teddy can hold the fort here.”

  “At your orders, Mr. President,” Blake said.

  Cazalet nodded. “That’s it, then. All I can say is get to it. Is the helicopter ready, Teddy?”

  “Standing by.”

  “You go with them. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Dillon said, “Just one thing. I like your daughter and I don’t like Judas and I’ll do anything to get her back, even if it means playing public executioner again. Is that all right with you?”

  “It sure as hell is,” Jake Cazalet said, his face white with passion.

  In his car along the street from the Charlton Hotel, Mark Gold tapped away at his laptop. He gave a sigh of satisfaction as the screen disclosed what he wanted. He had accessed the traffic information section at Andrews Air Force Base and it was all there. The time the British-registered Lear had landed, names of passengers. The Air Force helicopter used by the President was logged out ten minutes later for Nantucket. Passenger details were always classified on that one, but no prizes for guessing who they were. The helicopter was due to land again at Andrews in half an hour. He got out and looked up the street. There was no sign of Harker and he got back into the car, fuming impatiently as a downpour started.

  Marie sat at the window in front of the easel painting. The door opened and David Braun came in with coffee and cookies on a tray. He placed it on the table.

  “Working away, I see.”

  “What do you expect me to do, make out my last will and testament?”

  “Marie, please, I hate all this. I care for you. I’d do anything for you.”

  “Well, that’s good. Go and shoot Judas, then. That really would help.”

  His shoulders sagged, he went out, and the key turned in the door.

  At Andrews, they all packed into Blake Johnson’s limousine. As they drove down into Washington, he said, “Sean, I’ve been thinking. Why put yourself at risk? You know, setting yourself up as a target? Why not simply change identity as planned and clear off to Ireland?”

  “Because Judas might smell a rat, whereas if I’m officially dead he’ll be much happier. Anyway, the first thing you do is find us a cab and the Brigadier and the Chief Inspector and I will transfer. That’s so we’ll be seen arriving at the hotel on our own.”

  “And what do I do?”

  “Drop Teddy off, no sense in putting him in harm’s way.”

  “And screw you too, Mr. Dillon,” Teddy said.

  “All right, have it your own way.”

  “What about a life preserver?” Johnson asked.

  “I’ve got a nylon and titanium vest in my suitcase, I always ca
rry one. Anyway, as you’ll be watching my back, this is how it goes.”

  The cab deposited the Brigadier, Hannah Bernstein, and Dillon at the steps leading up to the Charlton. The concierge came out with an umbrella and porters hurried to get the luggage.

  “Shit!” Mark Gold said. “Where are you, Harker?”

  At that moment there was a tap on the window. He glanced out and saw Harker peering down at him. Gold got the window down.

  “Where in the hell have you been?”

  “Stealing a car, you dummy. You didn’t imagine we’d drive into the garage in yours so somebody could take your number if we have to move fast? It’s down the street.”

  Gold got out, locked the car, and followed him.

  At the same moment, Blake Johnson and Teddy Grant drove into the hotel’s underground garage, which was reasonably full. Blake found a space well surrounded by other vehicles and parked. He switched off, opened the glove compartment, took out a Beretta with a silencer already in place, and checked it.

  “Loaded for bear,” Teddy said.

  “You better believe it,” Johnson told him grimly.

  A moment later, a limousine drove in and parked near at hand. They eased down as a white-haired, rather portly man got out and walked to the elevator.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Blake said.

  Two or three minutes later, a sand-colored sedan moved in. Blake had a quick flash of Gold at the wheel and Harker.

  “Down, Teddy,” he said urgently, and they went low in their seats. “I think this is it. Hard-looking black man with dreadlocks and a guy in a Brooks Brothers suit at the wheel. It doesn’t fit.”

  The sedan parked between a couple of panel trucks near the elevator and its lights went out. “Keep down, Teddy.” Blake raised his head cautiously. “They’re just sitting there. Call the Brigadier on your mobile.”

  In his suite, Dillon had stripped to the waist to put on the nylon and titanium vest, Hannah Bernstein watching anxiously. He pulled on a polo sweater in navy blue silk, then his jacket.

  “You’re sure you want to do this?” Ferguson said.