Confessional - Jack Higgins [73]
There was a hum of activity inside, but then there would be with the Falklands affair beginning to hot up. He was surprised that she was seeing him personally. His guide led the way up the main staircase to the first floor and Ferguson followed. On the top floor, the young man knocked at a door and led the way in.
'Brigadier Ferguson, Prime Minister.'
She looked up from her desk, elegant as always in a grey tweed dress, blonde hair groomed to perfection, and laid down her pen. 'My time is limited, Brigadier. I'm sure you understand.'
'I would have thought that an understatement, Ma'am.'
'The Home Secretary has filled me in on the relevant facts. I simply want an assurance from you that you will stop this man.'
'I can give you that without the slightest hesitation, Prime Minister.'
'If there was any kind of attempt on the Pope's life while he is here, even an unsuccessful one, the consequences in political terms would be disastrous for us.'
'I understand.'
'As head of Group Four, you have special powers, direct from me. Use them, Brigadier. If there is anything else you need, do not hesitate to ask.'
'Prime Minister.'
She picked up her pen and returned to work and Ferguson went out to find the young man waiting for him. As they went downstairs, it occurred to Ferguson, not for the first time in his career, that it was his own head that was on the block as much as Cussane's.
In Moscow, Ivan Maslovsky received another summons to the office of the Minister for State Security, still occupied by Yuri Andropov, whom he found sitting at his desk considering a typed report.
He passed it across. 'Read it, Comrade.'
Maslovsky did so and his heart seemed to turn to stone. When he was finished he handed it back, hands shaking.
'Your man, Maslovsky, is now at large in England, intent on assassinating the Pope, his sole idea apparently being to embarrass us seriously. And there is nothing we can do except sit back and hope that British Intelligence will be one hundred per cent efficient in this matter.'
'Comrade, what can I say?'
'Nothing, Maslovsky. This whole sorry affair was not only ill-advised. It was adventurism of the worst kind.' Andropov pressed a button on his desk, the door opened behind Maslovsky and two young KGB captains in uniform entered. 'You will vacate your office and hand over all official keys and files to the person I designate. You will then be taken to the Lubianka to await trial for crimes against the State.'
The Lubianka, how many people had he sent there himself? Suddenly, Maslovsky found difficulty in breathing and there was a pain in both arms, his chest. He started to fall and clutched at the desk. Andropov jumped back in alarm and the two KGB officers rushed and grabbed Maslovsky's arms. He didn't bother to struggle, he had no strength, but he tried to speak as the pain got worse, tried to tell Andropov that there would be no cell in the Lubianka, no state trial. Strangely enough, the last thing he thought of was Tanya, his beloved Tanya seated at the piano playing his favourite piece, Debussy's La Mer. Then the music faded and there was only darkness.
Ferguson had a meeting with the Home Secretary, the Commander of C13, Scotland Yard's anti-terrorist squad and the Director General of the Security Services. He was tired when he got back to the flat and found Devlin sitting by the fire reading The Times.
'The Pope seems to be taking over from the Falklands at the moment,' Devlin said and folded the paper.
'Yes, well that's as maybe,' Ferguson said. 'He can't go back fast enough for me. You should have been with me at this meeting I've just attended, Liam. Home Secretary himself, Scotland Yard, the Director, and you know what?' He warmed himself, back against the fire. 'They aren't taking it all that seriously.'
'Cussane, you mean?'
'Oh, don't get me wrong. They accept his existence, if you follow me. I showed them the record and his activities in Dublin during the past few days have been bad