“Taken care of, Tommy?”
“That’s right, taken care of permanently. You see, Julian, I think that someone helped Dillon to break into your safe. And when I find out who it was, I’m going to make his final time on this planet extremely uncomfortable.”
Latimer did not like Trevelyan’s assumption that his safe had been broken into, in spite of his denial. He could not see the point of any of this.
“Do you want the stuff moved to another location?”
Trevelyan smiled for the first time. “Now you’re talking. But that is up to Hammer. Let’s be absolutely sure first. My lads have been searching high and low for Dillon. And although they’ve not been lucky so far, there are not enough places for him to hide forever. He’s around somewhere; we’ll find him and his lawyer girlfriend who’s also done a bloody disappearing act. I’ll get him though. And when I do, he’ll wish he’d never stuck his nose into our business.”
Dillon stood in front of the mirror, putting the finishing touches to his new identity. He’d completely changed the way he looked by using the latex prostheses and make-up that Vince had given him before he’d left London. A new nose, slightly bigger ears, and bags under the eyes. In all he’d added twenty years onto his forty odd years. He adjusted the sandy-coloured hairpiece, making certain that it was firmly attached to his own hair underneath, and then also checked that the false moustache was securely fixed in place. He then went back into the master bedroom, pulled on a pair of brown corduroy trousers, a blue shirt, and a tweed jacket. He put on a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles and, glancing across the room at a full-length mirror on the wall, was pleased with the ever so slightly eccentric Home Office boffin who now looked back at him. He finished packing everything back into the canvas holdall and then went round the apartment checking that all the windows and doors were locked. He left the building and headed away from Lilliput in the direction of London and Dunstan Havelock’s home address.
Arriving there a little after 9.30 p.m.. Rachel answered the door — gorgeous Rachel who had tried to kill herself with drugs and booze, and whom Dillon had saved from doing so. Ever since that time they had become firm friends and had a deep rooted affection for one another that even with the passing of time had never changed.
He stood on the doorstep and at first she did not recognise him. He gave her a sharp warning look and said, “Mrs. Havelock? I’m terribly sorry to disturb your evening. I’m Colin Fairweather. Here to see your husband if he’s in? There’s some information he needs for his meeting with the Home Secretary first thing in the morning.”
The sly wink that he gave her would have gone completely unnoticed by anyone who may have been watching from afar, but Rachel played her part as the wife of a high ranking civil servant to perfection.
“I’m sure he won’t mind.”
She stood aside to let Dillon in, adding. “Please, come in, Mr. Fairweather.”
Once inside with the front door firmly closed, he dropped the canvas holdall and gave Rachel a hug.
“Oh, Jake. You had me going there for a moment. What a fabulous disguise. It’s really nice to see you. Dunstan,” she called up the stairs. “Come and see who’s here.”
Dillon took off the wig and moustache, placing them on the polished black marble surface of a long slender table standing in the middle of the hall. Havelock appeared at the top of the staircase and on seeing Dillon, came straight down to greet him. The two men shook hands and then disappeared back up the stairs to Havelock’s study as Rachel went off to the kitchen to make some fresh coffee.
They sat opposite each other in club chairs that had seen better days, but were remarkably comfortable. A large Georgian picture window overlooked the walled garden at the rear of the house, giving the room a light airiness and a timeless elegance. Bookcases adorned every wall — filled with hundreds of books, all neatly arranged in alphabetical order. Some were first editions, others had been block purchased at auction simply to make up the numbers on the solid oak shelves that seemed to come out of the floor and reach right up to the high ceiling. Dillon was always impressed by the opulence of the three storey townhouse located in one of the city’s most exclusive residential areas. A reminder of just how wealthy Havelock was. Dillon accepted a single malt whiskey and told him what he had discovered, explaining Vince Sharp’s present enquiries into the Poulter woman.
“Did you manage to find out which committees Latimer has been involved with?” asked Dillon eventually.
“Yes and no. The problem is this, Jake. It’s an extremely long-winded and very tiresome job, and I don’t really know how far back I’m supposed to be looking. After all, I do have a heavy workload of my own. You know I cannot let that slip for one moment. The biggest problem is that I can’t delegate the snooping without some rather awkward questions being asked. The most efficient way would be to ask Latimer directly, but obviously that’s a non-starter.”
“So you haven’t come across anything to do with the movement of gold bullion or even fine arts, then?”
“No. And to be honest, it simply isn’t something that he would ever get involved with.”
Havelock swirled his whisky around in the crystal tumbler.
“You’re surely not connecting Latimer to the gold and all that other stuff that went on down in Dorset, are you?” he asked Dillon.
“That depends, Dunstan, on whether the other addresses hold the same secret as the one in Lyme Regis. In which case, I’d say it would be reasonable to assume that he’s into some pretty serious stuff with some very unsavoury people.”
“I wish you wouldn’t make such assumptions, Jake. After all, he has been a Member of Parliament for many years.”
“Dunstan, my whole life is based on making assumptions. I am telling you that he’s as dodgy as they come. Ask yourself: why was that list in his personal safe?”
“I haven’t the foggiest. Do I have to continually remind you that someone in my position cannot simply go around asking questions about a Minister and start delving into his personal files?”
“Then give me the access codes to the computer files and I’ll have Vince take a look. After all, Government departments lose that sort of information for a pastime.”
“Absolutely out of the question.”
He quickly scribbled a series of numbers and letters onto one of those sticky note things, folded it in half, and then, as if absentmindedly, left it on the top of his desk. He stood up and moved across to the door.
“I’ll just go and see where Rachel is with the coffee.”
He closed the door quietly behind him. Dillon unfolded the piece of paper, took out his mobile phone and using the built-in scanner, copied the information to the phone’s memory. He immediately sent it along with a short text message explaining what it was, to Vince Sharp. Two minutes later Havelock walked back into the room with a tray of freshly made sandwiches and a pot of coffee.
“I don’t know how you do it, Jake. But it’s just dawned on me that I not only seem to break the law, but also the oath of loyalty that I took like everyone else when I joined the service. But I do appreciate that you have taken an enormous risk by coming here tonight. It intrigues me as to what would be so urgent as to make you do that?”
“As the Home Secretary’s personal adviser, Dunstan, you carry a huge amount of knowledge and do a lot of highly confidential jobs best not done in Parliament. And who are you trying to kid here anyway, Dunstan? You even have the highest level of clearance, next to the Home Secretary and the Director General of the security service. This is something a good many MPs would resent.”
“Well, now you’ve lost me. What’s this all got to do with Latimer.”