Read A Devil Is Waiting for Free Online Page B

the British Army, now reduced to life in a wheelchair.
     
    It would be after eleven at night in London, but experience had taught her that if he was sleeping, it would be in his wheelchair anyway, in front of his computer bank, which was where she found him when she called him on Skype.
     
    “Giles, I’m at the Plaza and just in from Arizona. My report on Reaper drones will curl your hair.”
     
    “I look forward to reading it, Sara. You’re looking fit.” They’d already become good friends. “Are you likely to enjoy tonight’s little soirée?”
     
    “There will be nothing little about it. No word from the general yet?”
     
    “I’ve spoken to him. He and Harry Miller have met with the President and should arrive at Kennedy around eight, if the weather holds. I was going to call you anyway. Your boss, Colonel Hector Grant—boss until midnight anyway—would appreciate you being there before eight.”
     
    “Happy to oblige him. I haven’t seen Dillon and Holley. They’re apparently out at the moment.”
     
    “Yes, they’re seeing to something for Ferguson.”
     
    “In New York? Is that legal?”
     
    “You wouldn’t want to know.”
     
    She shook her head. “This whole business is the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me. That General Charles Ferguson could take over my military career by Prime Minister’s warrant, which I never even knew existed, and make me a member of his private hit squad, which I’d always heard rumors about but never believed in.”
     
    “Well, it does.”
     
    “And I find myself in your hands, face-to-face on screen with a man who sits in a wheelchair, hair down to his shoulders, smokes cigarettes, constantly drinks whiskey, and seems to eat only bacon sandwiches at all hours, day and night.”
     
    “I can’t deny any of it.”
     
    Tony Doyle, a black London Cockney and sergeant in the military police, appeared beside Roper with a mug of tea. He handed it to him and smiled at Sara. “Good to see you, ma’am.”
     
    “Tony, just go away.” He laughed and went out.
     
    “It’s like a movie, Giles. I only see what
you
want me to. I have to take
your
word for everything.”
     
    “My dearest girl, all that I’ve told you about Holland Parkis true, and you’ve got photos of everyone who works here, the details of their lives, their doings.”
     
    “So Dillon trying to blow up John Major and his cabinet in London all those years ago, that’s true?”
     
    “And he got well paid for it.”
     
    “And Daniel Holley really was IRA and now he’s a millionaire and some sort of a diplomat for the Algerian foreign minister?”
     
    “Absolutely. He’s not just a pretty face in a Brioni suit, our Daniel.”
     
    “I didn’t say he was.” She shrugged. “Obviously, he’s killed a few people.”
     
    “A lot of people, Sara, don’t kid yourself. And he’s too old for you. By the way, I went to hear your grandfather give a sermon.”
     
    “You what?”
     
    “I looked him up online. Rabbi Nathan Gideon, Emeritus Professor at London University, and famous for his sermons, so I went to hear one. I saw him at a synagogue in West Hampstead. Tony took me in the van. People were most kind, loaned me a yarmulke for my head and provided one for Tony, also. He thoroughly enjoyed the sermon. Human rights and what to do about its failures. I introduced myself and told him I worked for the Ministry of Defence and that we were going to be colleagues. He asked us back for tea. Whether this broke the Sabbath ruling, I’m not sure, but he did also provide some rather delicious biscuits.”
     
    “And this was at the Highfield Court house in Mayfair?”
     
    “That’s right. Tony was fascinated. Your grandfather gave him a book on Judaism, and he talks of nothing else.”
     
    “Are you completely mad?”
     
    “I sometimes think I am, but one thing is certain—Nathan Gideon is a wonderful man, and I’d be privileged to have his