A Devil Is Waiting - Jack Higgins [52]
“No, we haven’t, thanks to this.” Roper held up what looked like a TV remote. “This is a Howler. The moment we started to chase them, I punched a button that killed the entire camera system on this floor. There’s no record of any of this happening. It’s also highly illegal, needless to say.”
“Too bad we can’t market it,” said Dillon. “We’d make a fortune.”
“I’m sure we would. Now let me call Ferguson.”
He pressed a priority button on his Codex.
Ferguson answered at once and said in a half whisper, “Not now, Major, I’m with the Prime Minister and the President. What on earth can be so urgent?”
“We’ve just experienced a serious incident involving Empire, General.”
Ferguson’s voice changed completely. During the Second World War, there had been several attempts on Winston Churchill’s life, and the term had come to refer only to matters of the highest seriousness concerning the leadership of the country at either the royal or political level.
“Just a moment,” Ferguson said, and there was a brief pause before he returned. “Meet me at once at the Cabinet Office.”
“Of course, General. What about the others? Dillon, Holley, Gideon?”
“Too many people might cause curiosity. We don’t want people talking. You fill me in, Roper. The others can go to the reception, act normal.”
Roper put his Codex away. “Rage in heaven over this one. How could it happen?”
“But we stopped it,” Sara said. “That’s all that counts.”
Dillon said, “Jesus, girl, but you really do have a lot to learn. They’re very unreasonable, politicians. The way they look at it, we should have known it was going to happen before it did happen.”
“That’s politicians for you,” she said.
“Exactly,” Holley told her. “But let’s get Roper upstairs to the Cabinet Office before they set the dogs on him, and we’ll all go on our merry way and try to pretend it didn’t happen.”
On the terrace at lunchtime, all the awnings were out, as the rain showed no sign of stopping. Members of Parliament were starting to appear, guests crowding in behind them, some in traditional dress. In spite of the rain, there was a good atmosphere, a sense of expectancy. And then Jean Talbot appeared, and stopped as she saw Dillon.
She looked remarkably attractive, astonishingly so for her age. Granted, the streaked blond hair owed a great deal to an expert hairdresser, but the black velvet jacket over a white blouse contrasted well with the vivid blue skirt. Owen Rashid paused behind her.
“Why, Mr. Dillon, still alive and kicking?” said Talbot.
“As ever was, ma’am,” Dillon told her.
“We’ll have to see if we can do something about that.”
“Well, as I’ve told you before: People have been trying to kill me for years. I’m still here. You’re welcome to try.” He offered her a visiting card, and she accepted.
“You may regret that invitation.” She smiled at Sara. “I don’t know who you are, my dear, but it’s a pity to see a charming young woman like you in such bad company.”
She turned away, and Owen, who couldn’t think of a thing to say, went after her. She took a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter and leaned against the balustrade, sipping it as Owen reached her.
“The young woman looked interesting,” she said. “I wonder who she is.”
Owen answered without thinking. “She’s an army captain, wounded and decorated in Afghanistan. A gifted linguist, I understand. Her name’s Sara Gideon.”
“Any connection with the Gideon Bank?”
“She inherited it some years ago when her parents were killed in a bomb attack in Israel. Her grandfather sits in for her as chairman.”
“So what is she doing with Dillon and Holley?”
There was no way round it except to tell the truth. “I believe Charles Ferguson has recruited her for his team.”
“You seem very well informed.”
“Well, you know how it is these days. It pays to keep up, and there’s not much that can’t be found on a computer.”
There was more to it, she knew that, but she shied away from perhaps learning