Hannah Bernstein handed him a cup of tea. “Dillon thinks he’s come up with something to do with the January 30 inquiry, sir.”
“Oh, and what’s that?”
“Colonel Yuri Belov.” Dillon indicated the printout. “Do you know anything about him?”
“Senior Cultural Attaché at their Embassy. I’ve seen him around on the Embassy party circuit.”
“It says here he may be Head of Station, GRU.”
“That suggestion has been mooted, but never proved, and we’ve never been involved with the GRU over here in any kind of a conflict of interest. Our dealings with the KGB, of course, have been very different.” Ferguson sipped some of his tea. “But what is this, anyway?”
“I’ve only seen him once, but it was an important once.” He turned to Hannah. “Remember when we were at the Europa? I told you I spoke to Grace Browning, the actress, and a Professor Curry?”
“So?”
“I saw them at the Dorchester the night Liam Bell was killed. She and Curry were at the champagne bar. Rupert Lang appeared, all very affectionate. Old friends kissing, that sort of thing.”
“Good heavens, man, so Rupert Lang is a friend of hers, so what?” Ferguson demanded.
Dillon held up the printout. “This man joined them, Colonel Yuri Belov, possibly Head of Station GRU. Now you must admit that would make a grand scandalous plot for the Sunday papers, a Minister of the Crown and a Russian agent.”
“But I’ve told you I’ve seen the man myself on the Embassy party circuit. These people are always around.” Ferguson put down his cup. “Politicians are constantly invited to such affairs. They meet everybody, Dillon.”
Dillon said, “Just hear me out, then you can give me the sack if you want.” He turned to Hannah. “And you use your fine policewoman’s mind on it, too.”
“All right,” Ferguson said. “Come into my office and get on with it.”
He sat behind the desk. Dillon said, “I was talking to Hannah about coincidences the other night. It got a little academic, what with Carl Jung being mentioned, but what I was really getting at was that I don’t believe in them.”
Ferguson was interested now. “Go on.”
“As I said to Hannah, all those hits with the Beretta in the January 30 murders, that’s no coincidence. Four IRA men stiffed and that’s no coincidence. Two Heads of Station KGB London knocked off. Was that chance? I think not, and that’s why I asked for a computer printout on all staff at the Soviet Embassy.” He smiled. “Which brings us to Yuri Belov at the champagne bar at the Dorchester.” Dillon turned to Hannah. “I’ve always heard a good copper develops a nose for crime that has nothing to do with facts. Are you beginning to smell something unusual here, Chief Inspector?”
She turned to Ferguson. “I’d like to hear more, sir.”
“There is more,” Ferguson said. “I too can smell it. Carry on, Dillon.”
“My meeting with Daley that night in Belfast, the Sons of Ulster business. My supposed meeting with Daniel Quinn when they set me up. Who knew about it? Hannah, though she didn’t know where I was to meet them. You, Brigadier, the Prime Minister, Simon Carter, and Rupert Lang.” He turned to Hannah. “Let’s hear what a brilliant detective has to offer on this one.”
She glanced at Ferguson and he nodded gravely. “Carry on, my dear.”
“Right, sir. Let’s accept that January 30 knew Dillon was having a meet and didn’t know where, but the mystery woman knew enough to follow him and was armed and ready for action. My question would be, how did she know it was all going to happen?”
“And what is your conclusion, Chief Inspector?”
“You can discount yourself, Brigadier, me, Dillon.” She smiled. “Now we come to the Prime Minister, Simon Carter, and Rupert Lang.”
“We can hardly imagine the Prime Minister to be the source of the leak,” Ferguson said. “And the idea that the Deputy Director of the Security Services would seems inconceivable.”
“Which leaves us with only one probable source, sir.”
“It doesn’t seem possible.” He shook his head. “A Minister of the Crown, an Under Secretary of State at the Northern Ireland Office.” He shook his head. “ Rupert Lang served in my regiment, the Grenadier Guards. After that, One Para. He received a Military Cross in Ireland, was wounded.”
“Just bear with me,” Dillon said. “The Liam Bell killing. The whole thing was kept under wraps, his stop-off in London, I mean. We knew and as usual, you, the PM, and the Deputy Director and Lang.”
There was a pause. “They were ready for Bell’s presence at the Dorchester that night, Brigadier, ready enough to be able to wait ahead of him in ambush in that cemetery in Vance Square.”
Dillon was full of energy and very insistent. Ferguson raised a hand. “Enough, you’ve made your point.” He turned to Hannah. “What’s the police view, Chief Inspector?”
“Not strong enough to make a case, sir, but worth pursuing inquiries.”
“And you, Dillon?”
“At this point in time I’d say your little ad hoc committee of you, Carter, and Lang should cease functioning. There should be no further opportunity of Lang’s receiving secret and valuable information until we sort this out. For example, he knows about the Keogh affair.”
“But doesn’t at this moment know when Keogh will be arriving at Shannon or the time of the IRA meet at Ardmore,” Hannah said. “I’d say it should remain that way, sir.”
“But what on earth can I say to the Prime Minister?” Ferguson asked.
“Oh, come on, you old sod,” Dillon said impatiently. “You’ve been lying beautifully for years. Why stop now?”
“Dear God!” Charles Ferguson said. “But you’re right, of course,” and he reached for the red phone.
The Prime Minister in his study at Downing Street said, “I’ve just heard from President Clinton that the IRA meeting at Ardmore is scheduled for two o’clock on Sunday afternoon. I presumed you would be coming round to fill me in on your meeting with Senator Keogh.”
“Something of supreme importance has happened, Prime Minister, a question of a leak of vital information.”
“Serious?” John Major asked.
“I’m afraid so, and it could have a bearing on Senator Keogh’s visit. As you know, secrecy is of the essence there.”
“Well of course it is, we all accept that.”
“Then may I very earnestly beg you to take my advice on this, Prime Minister. I know of the Sunday meeting because President Clinton has told me just as he has told you. Dillon and Chief Inspector Bernstein know because they must. Will you leave it at that for the moment?”
“You mean don’t tell the Deputy Director and Rupert Lang? Are you suggesting this leak you mention comes from one of them?” There was total astonishment in the Prime Minister’s voice. “Surely that’s inconceivable?”
“Prime Minister, be advised by me in this matter. It’s a question of checking all avenues. Give me a few hours only.”
There was a pause and John Major said, “Of course. I’m disturbed, Brigadier, because you’re usually right and this time I don’t want you to be, but carry on and speak to me at your soonest.”
When Ferguson went into Dillon’s office the computer was humming, Dillon and Hannah beside it. Ferguson was full of energy now, brisk and businesslike.
“All right, what are we up to?”
“We’re just checking on Tom Curry,” Hannah said.
Ferguson nodded. “You know that name is familiar. There’s a Professor Curry from London University who sits on a number of Government Committees.”
The printer started to eject paper and Dillon tore it out and laid it on the desk. Tom Curry’s picture stared up at them. The details from the data bank did not only mention his academic qualifications but, as usual with those engaged in Government work, referred to his private life in intimate detail.
“ Cambridge,” Ferguson said and frowned. “Good God, Moscow University, researching a Ph.D.”