“Mr. Rupert Lang,” she said.
“Ah, yes, we put Mr. Lang in the main parlor. We’ve had visitors most of the afternoon. Let me show you.”
He led the way along a dark corridor, doors open, and inside she could see coffins banked with flowers.
“These are our normal chapels of rest,” he said. “But Mr. Lang being a special case, he was put in the main parlor. As I said, we’ve had a lot of visitors to see him. There were three gentlemen and a lady a little while ago, but they must have gone.”
He opened the door and led her into a large room. It was a place of shadows, just a little subdued lighting, flowers banked everywhere and the coffin at the far end on a plinth.
“I’ll leave you now, Sister.” He closed the door and went away.
She stood beside the coffin and looked down. Only Rupert Lang’s head and shoulders showed. He wore a navy-blue suit and a Guards tie. His face was very calm, not Rupert at all, more like a wax mask.
“My poor Rupert,” she said aloud. “I let you down, I’m afraid. It all went wrong,” and she leaned over the coffin and kissed the cold mouth.
There was a movement at the other end of the room and as she turned, Ferguson, Dillon, Hannah Bernstein, and Yuri Belov moved out of the shadows.
“We’ve been waiting for you, Miss Browning,” Charles Ferguson said.
She looked at them and smiled. “So you made your choice, Yuri?”
“No option, Grace,” he told her.
“And now what?” She smiled again, at Hannah Bernstein this time. “Now you really do get a chance to read me my rights, Chief Inspector.”
“I’m afraid so,” Hannah said.
Grace Browning reached into her shoulder bag and took out the Beretta. She worked the slider and Hannah pulled a Walther from her bag and did the same.
“Please, Miss Browning, be sensible.”
It was Sean Dillon who took two paces toward her. “This isn’t Stage Six at MGM, Grace, it’s for real. It’s not a script any longer.”
“Oh, yes it is – it’s my script.”
Her hand came up and she took deliberate aim at him. Hannah Bernstein fired twice very fast and Grace Browning was thrown back against the plinth on which the coffin stood and slid to the floor.
“Oh, my God!” Belov said and Dillon knelt beside her.
Hannah Bernstein stood there holding the gun at her side, totally shocked. “Is she dead?”
“With two in the heart she would be,” Dillon told her and picked up the Beretta. Suddenly there was a frown on his face. He examined the gun and worked the slider, then he held it up. “Empty.”
“It can’t be,” Hannah said.
“Her way out, my dear,” Ferguson told her. “She spoke to Colonel Belov, told him she intended to be here and knew he’d tell us. She’d nowhere else to go, you see.”
“Damn her!” Hannah Bernstein said. “Damn her! Damn her! Damn her for making me do that.”
Dillon went and took the Walther from her. He put an arm around her. “Hush, girl dear, it isn’t on you, this thing,” and he held her close.
Behind them Ferguson was using his Cellnet phone. He punched out the number and a calm, detached voice said, “Yes?”
“ Ferguson. I have a disposal. Total priority and utmost discretion. Seaton and Sons, Great George Street. I’ll wait.”
“Twenty minutes, Brigadier.”
Ferguson put his phone away and turned. “All for the best. She’ll be picked up in twenty minutes. A few hours and she’ll be five or six pounds of gray ash.”
“But you can’t do that,” Hannah Bernstein said.
“Oh, yes I can,” Charles Ferguson said calmly. “As far as the papers and the media are concerned, her body was discovered downriver. There will be no problem with the inquest, I’ll see to that. She had no relatives, remember?”
“Terrible,” Hannah Bernstein said. “Terrible.”
“It’s the business we’re in,” Ferguson said and nodded to Dillon. “Take her home. Colonel Belov and I will wait here.”
It was Friday of that week that the Cortege wound its way through Highgate Cemetery. It stopped at the designated place and two members of the funeral firm involved carried the cask containing her ashes to the grave. It was raining heavily.
“Jesus,” Dillon said, “I’ve never seen so many umbrellas.”
“An impressive turnout,” Ferguson said. “Sir John Gielgud over there, Kenneth Branagh and Emma Thompson, Ian Richardson. The great and the good.”
They were standing well away from the throng, Ferguson, Hannah Bernstein, and Dillon. Hannah said, “Isn’t it extraordinary – all those people and not one of them knows the truth.”
The priest’s voice was faint through the rain. Dillon said, “Right to the end she always played to a full house, you have to give her that.” He put an arm around Hannah’s shoulders. “Come on, girl dear, let’s go,” and they walked away, Ferguson following.
About Jack Higgins
Jack Higgins was a soldier and then a teacher before becoming a full-time writer. The Eagle Has Landed turned him into an international bestselling author and his novels have since sold over 250 million copies and been translated into fifty-five languages. Many of them have also been made into successful films.
