probably,’ Ferguson said and turned to Lang. ‘Have you got a car or would you like a lift?’
‘No thanks, I feel like the exercise. I’ll walk.’
Lang went out through the security gates and walked along Whitehall. He stopped at the first phone box and made a call. After a while the phone was picked up at the other end.
‘Belov.’
‘Oh, good, Yuri. Glad I caught you at home. Rupert here. Something’s come up. I’ll be straight round.’
He put the phone down and hailed the first cab that came along.
Twenty minutes later he was ringing the bell of the small cottage in a mews off the Bayswater Road. The door was opened within moments and Belov stood there, dressed in a navy-blue pullover and slacks. A small, dark-haired man with a humorous mouth, he was in his late fifties. He motioned Lang inside.
‘Good to see you, Rupert.’
He led the way into a small sitting room, where a gas fire was burning cheerfully in the hearth.
‘This is nice,’ Lang said, ‘on a night like this.’
‘A Scotch would make it even better, yes?’
‘I should say so.’
Lang watched him get the drinks. Belov was Senior Cultural Attaché at the Russian Embassy just up the road, a job which masked his true vocation as Colonel in Charge of the London Station of the GRU, Russian Military Intelligence, the KGB’s great rivals. He handed Lang a glass.
‘Cheers, Rupert.’
‘How are you? Still having trouble with the KGB?’
‘They keep changing their name these days.’ Belov smiled. ‘Anyway, what was so important?’
‘I’ve just had one of my regular meetings with the Prime Minister, Simon Carter and Brigadier Charles Ferguson. Tell me, does the name Sean Dillon mean anything to you?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Belov said. ‘Quite a character. He was very big in the IRA, then moved on to the international scene. I’ve the best of reasons for thinking he was behind the attack on Downing Street in ninety-one, then Brigadier Charles Ferguson got his hands on him.’ Belov smiled again. ‘You British really are devious bastards, Rupert. What’s it all about?’
So Lang told him, and when he was finished, Belov said, ‘I know all about Daniel Quinn. Believe me, my friend, if the Anglo-Irish Agreement and the Downing Street Declaration really do bring Sinn Fein and the IRA to the peace table, you are going to have serious problems with the Protestant factions.’
‘Well, that seems to be the general opinion and that’s why Dillon hopes to meet Quinn and eliminate him tomorrow night.’
‘Only one problem,’ Belov said. ‘My man at our Embassy in Dublin told me yesterday that Quinn is in Dublin en route for Beirut under the alias of Brown. An associate of his named Francis Callaghan went to Beirut last week.’
‘Do you know why?’
‘There is a KGB involvement, but I believe it’s a rather nefarious one. Some connection with gangsters from Moscow. What you call the Russian Mafia. I understand an Arab faction, the Party of God, are also involved. They make Hezbollah look like a primary school outing.’
‘But what could it be? Arms?’
‘Plenty of ways of getting arms these days. Something big, that’s all I know.’
‘All right,’ Lang said. ‘Let’s look at this thing. This man Daley has arranged a meeting for Dillon tomorrow to meet Quinn, only we know Quinn won’t be there. What does that tell you?’
‘That Dillon’s cover is blown. They intend to kill him, my friend.’
‘Is that what you think will happen?’
‘Dillon’s reputation goes before him. He’s the original survivor. In fact I would imagine he knows what he’s doing.’
‘Which means you think he’ll survive this meeting?’
‘Possibly, but more than that. Dillon is extremely astute. What he wants is Quinn. Now, if he expects skulduggery he will also expect not only to survive it but to come out of it knowing Quinn’s whereabouts.’
‘Beirut?’
‘Which is where Charles Ferguson will send him.’ Belov got up, reached for the bottle of Scotch and replenished the glasses. ‘And that would suit me. We of the GRU and the KGB don’t hit it off too well these days. They have a disturbing tendency to associate with the wrong people, the Moscow Mafia for example, which doesn’t sit well with me. I’d like to know what they’re up to with Quinn in Beirut; I’d like to know very much.’
‘Which means it would suit you to have Dillon on their case.’
‘Unquestionably.’
‘Then you’d better pray he survives this meeting tomorrow night.’
‘Exactly.’ Belov nodded. ‘A great inconvenience if he didn’t, but I get the impression you have thoughts on this?’
Lang countered, ‘You have your associates in Belfast who could provide back-up when necessary, equipment and so on?’
‘Of course. Why do you ask?’
‘Tom Curry is in Belfast at the moment, doing his monthly two or three days as a visiting professor at Queen’s University. By coincidence, Grace Browning has been there doing her one-woman show at the Lyric Theatre.’
‘How convenient.’
‘Isn’t it. Dillon could have an invisible support system, a phantom minder watching his back.’
‘My dear Rupert, what a splendid idea.’
‘Only one thing. If he’s to be followed from the hotel, they need to know what he looks like.’
‘No problem. I have his file at the Embassy. I can fax Tom Curry at his office at Queen’s tonight. He only needs to know it’s on its way.’
‘And I’ll take care of that.’ Rupert Lang raised his glass. ‘Cheers, old sport.’
Half an hour later Tom Curry, at his office at Queen’s University and working his way through a mass of papers, cursed as his phone went.
‘Curry here,’ he said angrily.
‘Rupert. Are you alone?’
‘Well, I would be, old lad, considering it’s ten o’clock at night. I’ve been hacking my way through exam papers, but what brings you on? I’ll be with you on Sunday evening.’
‘I
