Midnight Runner Part 3

"Nose around, use your contacts, see what you can find out. Maybe we're wrong. Maybe she's changed. Who knows?"

"I do," Blake said. "She hasn't, and she won't."

"Fine. I bow to your superior judgment."

"I'll go as soon as I come back from Kosovo," Quinn said. "Quinn Industries has a townhouse in London. I'll stay there. If I remember right, in fact, it's close to the Rashid place."

"Good." The President smiled. "Now, for the more immediate future, let's discuss plans for dinner. I'm going out tonight, to the Lafayette. You should join us."

"I'd be delighted."

"Especially because-Blake always being a hundred and fifty percent right on intelligence matters-I understand that none other than the Countess of Loch Dhu and her cousin, Rupert Dauncey, are booked for dinner there as well."

"What?"

"You know me, Daniel, I always did like to put the cat in amongst the pigeons. Time to stir things up." He turned to Clancy. "You've got things in hand, presumably?"

"Absolutely, Mr. President."

"Fine. We'll meet at eight-thirty. Be kind enough to see that Senator Quinn is returned to the hotel."

"At your orders, Mr. President," Clancy told him.

"And, Clancy, if Dauncey is around, don't take any s.h.i.t. He may be a Marine Major, but as I recall, you were one of the youngest Sergeant Majors in the Corps."

"What is this?" Quinn demanded. "Parris Island? You expect him to kick a.s.s?"

Jake Cazalet laughed. "Would you, Clancy?"

"h.e.l.l, no, Mr. President. I'd more likely put the Major on a seven-mile run with a seventy-five-pound pack on his back."

"I love it," Quinn said. "All right, I'll see you there." He went out, Clancy following.

"You'll speak to Ferguson?" Cazalet said to Johnson.

"First thing in the morning."

General Charles Ferguson's office was on the third floor of the Ministry of Defence overlooking Horse Guards Avenue. He was at his desk the next day, the red security phone in one hand, a large, untidy man with gray hair, a fawn suit, and Guards tie. He put the phone down and pressed his intercom. A woman answered.

"General?"

"Is Dillon there?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'll see both of you now."

Detective Superintendent Hannah Bernstein entered, a woman in her early thirties, young for her rank, with close-cropped red hair and horn-rimmed spectacles. Her black trouser suit was elegant and looked more expensive than most people could afford on police pay.

The small, fair-haired man with her wore an old black flying jacket. There was a force to him, obvious the moment he entered the room. He lit a cigarette with an old Zippo lighter.

"Feel free, Dillon," General Ferguson said.

"Oh, I will, General, knowing the decent stick that you are."

"Shut up, Sean," Hannah Bernstein told him. "You wanted us, sir?"

"Yes. I've had interesting news from Blake Johnson concerning the Countess of Loch Dhu."

Dillon said, "What's Kate been up to now?"

"It's more a matter of what she might be up to. There are computer printouts on the way. Hannah, would you see if they've arrived?"

She went out. Dillon poured a Bushmills and turned. "She's back, is that it, General?"

"She promised to get the lot of us, didn't she, Sean? As payment for her brothers?"

"She can try and I love her dearly." Dillon drained his gla.s.s and poured another. He raised it in salute. "G.o.d bless you, Kate, but not after what you tried to do to Hannah Bernstein. Try anything like that again and I'll shoot you myself."

Hannah came in with fax sheets and printouts.

Ferguson said, "I'll tell you first what Blake's told me, then you two read what's in here."

A little while later, they were up to date.

"So she's got herself a man," Hannah said.

Dillon looked at the printout photo of Rupert Dauncey.

"More or less, anyway." He grinned.

Ferguson said, "I'll tell you what disturbs me. The information Daniel Quinn's people got about those donations: the Act of Cla.s.s Warfare education program, the Children's Trust in Beirut."

"Well, she is half-Arab, and the Bedu leader in Hazar," Dillon told him. "You expect her to give to Arab causes. But I agree. There's more here than meets the eye."

Ferguson nodded. "So what do we do?"

"To find out what she's up to?" Dillon turned to Hannah. "Roper?"

She smiled and said to Ferguson, "Major Roper, sir?"

"The very man," Ferguson said.

4.

DANIEL QUINN WAS WAITING BY THE ENTRANCE OF THE Hay-Adams when the limousines arrived. Clancy Smith was first out, followed by three other Secret Service men from two escort vehicles. Clancy pa.s.sed Quinn and nodded as he went in. Blake got out and waited for the President, who went up the steps and shook Quinn's hand.

"Daniel."

It was all for the cameras, of course. There were, as usual, two or three photographers who'd heard the President would be there. Lights flashed, photos were taken, Cazalet shaking Quinn's hand. Clancy appeared in the entrance. The other Secret Service men flanked the President and Blake as they went in.

Blake, Cazalet, and Quinn were placed by the restaurant manager at a round table in a corner, excellent from a security point of view. All around them, enthralled diners produced a muted buzz of conversation. Clancy organized his men, who stood against the wall. Clancy himself hovered, always the dark presence.

"Drinks, gentlemen?" Cazalet said. "What about a good French wine?" He turned to the waiter. "Let's try a Sancerre."

The waiter, his evening made, nodded eagerly. "Of course, Mr. President."

"I'll tell you, I can use a drink." Cazalet turned to Quinn. "I've been trying to deal with this whole energy thing we've been having. With the prices skyrocketing, oil demand climbing, those d.a.m.n rolling blackouts-it's like I'm just waiting for some disaster to strike. And people are starting to notice. Did you see that poll last week? 'Why doesn't the government do something about it?' Well, I'm trying, d.a.m.n it. Some people are starting to smell blood in the water-you know who I mean. If I can't figure out a way to alleviate this mess, the midterms next year are going to be a disaster, and then I can forget about trying to get through any of my programs. I might as well resign for any good I could do."

Quinn started to say something, but Cazalet just waved him off. "Oh, never mind me. I'm just venting. That's not what this dinner is about." He smiled. "We're here for a little entertainment. It's like waiting for the start of a Broadway play." He glanced toward the door. "And I believe the curtain is about to go up."

The Countess of Loch Dhu was at the door. The diamonds at her neck and throat were dazzling, the black silk trouser suit a kind of art form. Beside her, Rupert Dauncey wore an elegant Brioni blazer and slacks, with a white shirt and dark tie. The blond hair was perfectly combed.

The restaurant manager was on to them in a moment and began to lead them through the tables. As they grew closer, the President said, "Speak to her, Blake, you're the one who knows her."

Blake stood up as she approached and said, "Kate. Well, this is serendipity."

She paused, smiled, then reached to kiss his cheek. "Why, Blake, how nice." She turned. "Have you met my cousin, Rupert Dauncey? No, I don't believe you have. You have a lot in common, you know."

"Oh, his reputation precedes him," said Blake.

Rupert Dauncey smiled. "As does yours, Mr. Johnson. And Senator Quinn's here."

"Thank you," said Quinn. "Nice to see you again, Countess."

She nodded. "Likewise."

"Mr. President," said Blake, "may I present Lady Kate Rashid, the Countess of Loch Dhu."

Cazalet stood and took her hand. "We've never met, Countess. Will you and Mr. Dauncey join us for a drink? A gla.s.s of champagne, perhaps?"

"How could I refuse?"

Blake waved to the waiter and spoke to him. Rupert pulled a chair out, seated her, and turned to Clancy Smith.

"The last time I saw you, Sergeant Major, we were in very deep s.h.i.t inside Iraqi lines."

"We surely were, Major. I missed you in Bosnia."

"A good place to miss anybody." Dauncey smiled and moved to stand beside him. "But we're holding things up."

The waiter poured gla.s.ses of Dom Perignon. Cazalet raised his gla.s.s. "To you, Lady Kate. Rashid Investments is doing extremely well at the moment, I'm told. I'm particularly impressed with your Hazar results."

"Oil, Mr. President. Everyone needs oil." She smiled. "As you know yourself."

"Yes, but the Hazar operations have had remarkable results. I wonder why."

"You know why. Because I control the Rashid Bedu in both Hazar and the Empty Quarter. Without me, you and the Russians are nothing. They're the cruelest deserts in the world, you know." She turned to Blake and smiled. "But Blake knows that. He was there when my brother George was killed."

"Yes, I was," Blake said. "I was also there the night before, when Cornet Bronsby was killed." He turned and told the President what he already knew. "Bronsby was with the Hazar Scouts. They don't have a real army down there, just a regiment. The Rashid Bedu did a very thorough job on him with their knives." He turned to Kate with a smile, but there was no humor in it. "But then at dawn, Sean Dillon took his revenge. It was four of you, as I recall, wasn't it? At five hundred meters? A h.e.l.l of a marksman, Sean."

"A h.e.l.l of a b.a.s.t.a.r.d," Kate Rashid said.

"Because one of them was your brother George? He should have thought of that before he started murdering people."

The air hung thick and cold around the table. Then the Countess smiled. "Well, murder is something you'd know a lot about, wouldn't you, Mr. Johnson? Not to mention the price one must pay for it. Sometimes a very high price." She leaned close to him. "Please share that knowledge with your friends, won't you?"

"Don't do it, Kate." Blake held her wrist. "Whatever it is you're planning, don't do it."

"Blake, I can do anything I want," she said. "Rupert?"

He pulled her chair back. She stood. "Mr. President, an honor." She turned and nodded to Dauncey, who said, "Gentlemen," and followed.

There was silence for a while after she'd gone. Finally, Quinn said, "What the h.e.l.l was all that about?"

"Just read the files, Daniel," Cazalet said. "And get to London as soon as you can." He gazed after her. "Something tells me we may have less time than we've thought."

Kate Rashid and her cousin sat at another corner of the restaurant. "Cigarette, Rupert."

He gave her a Marlboro and flicked a bra.s.s lighter made from an AK round.

"There you go, sweetie."

She reached for the lighter. "Where did you get this, Rupert? I never asked you."

"Oh, it's a Gulf War souvenir. I was ambushed, in a pretty bad situation, and I picked up an Iraqi AK a.s.sault rifle. It saved my bacon until help arrived, funnily enough, in the person of Sergeant Major Clancy Smith over there. Afterwards, when I checked, there was one round left in the magazine."

"That was close."

"It surely was. I pocketed it and had it made into a lighter by a jeweler in Bond Street." He took it from her. "You know the phrase, Kate? Memento mori? Memento mori?"

"Of course, Rupert, my darling. Reminder of death."

"Exactly." He tossed the lighter up and grabbed it again. "I should be dead, Kate, three or four times over. I'm not. Why?" He smiled. "I don't know, but this reminds me."

"Do you still go to Ma.s.s, darling, to Confession?"

"No. But G.o.d knows and understands everything, isn't that what they say, Kate? And he has an infinite capacity for forgiveness." He smiled again. "If anyone needs that, I do. But then you know that. You probably know everything about me. I should think that it took you all of half an hour after I introduced myself at that reception in London before you had your security people on my case."

"Twenty minutes, darling. You were too good to be true. A blessing from Allah, really. I'd lost my mother and my three brothers and then there you were, a Dauncey I never even knew existed-and thank G.o.d for it."

Rupert Dauncey felt emotion welling inside of him. He reached for her hand. "You know I'd kill for you, Kate."

"I know, darling. You may well have to."