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Bernstein embraced him, Ferguson shook hands; only Dillon stood back, very calm. He inclined his head and walked out.
They stood on the step, the rain driving in, and Dillon lit a cigarette. 'I've heard what the President had to say, now I want it from you. You've saved my life on a number of occasions and I've saved yours. There are no secrets between us, Blake.'
'No, Sean, no secrets.'
'So let's collect the Brigadier and Hannah and go and sit in the limousine and we can all hear the worst.'
Blake told them everything, including all that Katherine had relayed to them on the videotape. Afterwards, they all sat silent for a moment. 'From my point of view, the arms- dealing with the IRA, the Brendan Murphy business, that's the worst,' said Ferguson, shaking his head. 'And the Beirut connection, working for Saddam. We've got to do something about that.' He turned to Hannah. 'What are your thoughts, Superintendent?'
'That Fox has problems. He's skimmed money from the Com mission, he's fiddling from the London casino, the Colosseum. Beirut and Ireland are desperate attempts to make cash.'
'And those hits with the Jago brothers are even more desperate,' Dillon said.
'Do you know them?' Ferguson asked.
'No, but I'm sure Harry Salter does.'
'Salter?'
Hannah said, 'You know him, sir. A London gangster and smuggler. Owns a pub at Wapping called the Dark Man.' 'Ah, I remember now,' Ferguson said.
'He's into warehouse developments by the Thames, also running booze and cigarettes from Europe.'
'But no drugs and no prostitution,' Dillon reminded her. 'Yes, an old-fashioned gangster. How very nice. He only shoots his rivals when absolutely necessary.'
Dillon shrugged. 'Well, they shouldn't have become gang sters then. I'm sure he'll help us with the Jago brothers and with Fox, though. He has a good team – his nephew, Billy Salter, Joe Baxter, Sam Hall.'
'Dillon, these people are real villains,' Hannah said.
'Compared to Jack Fox, they're sweetness and light.' And then Dillon smiled. 'Except that if you push them hard, they'll be Fox's worst nightmare.'
There was a pause. Ferguson said, 'Yes, well, we'll see. We'll talk about it more on the way back to London.'
Dillon said, 'Not me, Brigadier. I haven't had a vacation in two years. I think it's about time I took one.'
Ferguson said, 'Sean, you're not getting into one of your moods, are you?'
'Now, do I look that kind of fella, Brigadier?' He kissed Hannah on the cheek. 'Off you go. I'll see you in London. I'll drive back with Blake.'
She frowned. 'Now, look, Sean...'
'Just do it,' he said, turned and walked toward Blake Johnson's limousine.
Driving back to Manhattan, Dillon dosed the sliding window partition.
'I take it we're going to take Jack Fox to the cleaners.'
'You say we.'
'Don't mess with me, Blake. If you're in, I'm in, for more reasons than we need to state.'
'Nobody should die like she did, Sean. Can you imagine? A dark, rainy night on the waterfront? Forced into taking that massive overdose?' He shook his head. 'I'll see Fox in hell, and don't talk to me about the law and all that kind of crap. I'm going to take him down in whatever way I have to, so my advice to you is to stay out of it.'
Dillon pulled open the panel and said to the driver, 'Pull over for five minutes and pass the umbrella.'
The man did as he was told, and Dillon got out and opened the huge golfing umbrella as Blake joined him. They stood by the wall and looked out at the East River. Dillon lit a cigarette.
'Listen, Blake, you're one of life's good guys, and Jack Fox is one of life's bad guys.'
'And you, Sean, what are you?'
Dillon turned, his eyes blank, face wiped of all emotion. 'Oh, I'm his worst nightmare, Blake. I was engaged in what I saw as war for twenty-five years with the Brits and the IRA. Fox and his fucking Mafia think they're big stuff. Well, let me tell you something. They wouldn't last five minutes in Belfast.'
'So what are you saying?'
'We take this animal out,