got business to discuss.’
He ran forward, then slowed, his right hand sliding into a pocket of his tracksuit.
‘And what would that be?’ Miller asked.
‘Wallet, cards, mobile phone. In any order you please.’ He was up close now, his right hand still in his pocket.
Miller took two quick steps so that the two of them were good and close, then held the silenced Colt almost touching the man’s left knee and fired. The man cried out, lurching back as Miller pushed him towards a park bench at the side of the path.
‘Oh, Jesus,’ the man cried, and Miller reached in the tracksuit pocket and found a silenced pistol, which he tossed into the bushes.
‘Wallet, cards, mobile phone, wasn’t that what you said?’
The man had grasped his knee with both hands, blood pumping through. ‘What have you done to me? They didn’t say it would be like this.’
‘I’ve crippled you, you bastard,’ Miller said. ‘Hollow-point cartridges. Now speak up or I’ll give it to you in the other knee as well. Who’s they?’
‘I don’t know. I’m a freelance. People contact me, I provide a service.’
‘You mean you’re a professional hitman?’
‘That’s it. I got a call. I don’t know who it was. There was a package, I don’t know who from. A photo of you staying at the Plaza, with instructions and two thousand dollars in hundreds.’
‘And you don’t know who the client was? That’s hard to believe. Why would they trust you?’
‘You mean trust me with the money? That’s the way it works. Take the money and run, and I’d be the target next time. Now for the love of God, man, help me.’
‘Where’s the money?’
‘In the bank.’
‘Well, there you go,’ Miller said. ‘I’ll keep your wallet and cards and leave you your mobile. Call an ambulance and say you’ve been mugged. No point in trying to involve me. For what you tried to pull, you’d get twenty years in Rikers, or maybe you’ve already done time there? Maybe you’re a three-time loser.’
‘Just fuck off,’ the man said.
‘Yes, I thought you’d say that.’ Miller turned and walked rapidly away, leaving him to make his call.
In the two-bedroom suite they were sharing at the Plaza, Dillon was standing at his bathroom mirror adjusting a tie as black as his shirt. His jacket, like his trousers, was black corduroy and he reached for it and pulled it on.
‘Will I do?’ he asked as Miller walked in the door.
‘In that outfit, Putin is going to think the undertaker’s come for him.’
‘Away with you. You hardly ever see ould Vladimir wearing anything but a black suit. It’s his personal statement.’
‘The hard man, you mean? Never mind that now. We need to talk.’
‘What about?’
Miller put his right foot on the edge of the bath, eased up the leg of his trousers and removed the ankle-holster.
‘What the hell is that for?’ Dillon said. ‘I’d like to remind you it’s the United Nations we’re going to. You wouldn’t have got inside the door wearing that.’
‘True, but I never intended to try. On the other hand, a walk in Central Park is quite another matter, it seems, so it’s a good thing I was carrying.’
As always with Dillon, it was as if a shadow passed across his face that in the briefest of moments changed his entire personality.
‘Tell me.’
Miller did, brief and succinct, because of the soldier in him, and when he was finished, he took out the wallet he’d taken from his assailant and offered it.
‘A folded computer photo of me, no credit cards, a Social Security card, plus a driver’s licence in the name of Frank Barry, with an address in Brooklyn. I doubt any of it is genuine, but there you are. I need a shower and a fresh shirt and we’re short on time.’
He cleared off to his own bedroom, and Dillon took the items from the wallet and unfolded the computer photo. It showed Miller walking on a relatively crowded pavement, one half of a truck in view and behind it, the side of a London cab. Now where had that come from? A long way from Central Park.
Dillon went to the sideboard and poured himself a whisky, thinking of Frank Barry, the hitman. Poor bastard, he hadn’t known what he was up against. Miller was hardly your usual politician. He’d served in the British Army during some of the worst years of the Irish Troubles, for some of that time an apparent desk man in the Intelligence Corps. But Dillon knew the truth. Miller had long ago decided that summary justice was the only way to fight terrorism. Since the death of his wife, the victim of a terrorist attack aimed at Miller himself, he had grown even more ruthless.
Dillon folded the computer photo and tried to slide it back into the wallet. It refused to go because there was something there. He fiddled about and managed to pull out a card that was rather ornate, gold round the edges, with a sentiment inscribed in curling type. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us now and at the hour of our death, we who are ourselves alone.
Miller came in, ready to go. ‘What have you got there?’
‘Something you missed in the wallet.’ The card was creased and obviously old, and Dillon held it to his nose. ‘Candles, incense and the holy water.’
‘What in hell do you mean?’ Miller held out his hand and examined the card. ‘So Barry is a Catholic, so what?’
‘Such cards are very rare. They go back in history to Michael Collins, the Easter Rising. The card begs the Virgin to pray for we who are ourselves alone. The Irish for “ourselves alone” is Sinn Fein.’
Miller stared at the card, frowning. ‘And you think that’s significant?’
‘Maybe not, but Barry is an Irish name, and you told me that after you shot him, he said, “They didn’t say it would be like this.”’
‘That’s true, but he claimed he didn’t know who’d hired him, even when I threatened to put one through his other knee.’
Dillon shrugged. ‘Maybe he lied in spite of the pain.’ He took the card from Miller’s fingers and replaced it in the wallet.
Miller said, ‘Are you saying there could be a smell of IRA here?’
Dillon smiled. ‘I suppose anything is possible in the worst of all possible worlds. You were right not to kill him, though. He’ll stick like glue to the story of being the victim of a mugging. He wouldn’t want the police to think anything else.’
‘And the IRA connection?’
‘If there was one, it’s done them no good at all.’ He put the wallet in his inside
