it didn’t work this time, but he knows the weakness of all revolutionary movements. That they’re ridden with either hotheads or informers. You called him the faceless man, and that’s right because I doubt if you’ll find a photo of him on any file, and frankly it wouldn’t matter if you did.’
‘Why does he do it?’ Anne-Marie asked. ‘Not for any political ends?’
‘Because he likes it,’ Brosnan said. ‘Because he’s hooked. He’s an actor, remember. This is for real and he’s good at it.’
‘I get the impression that you don’t care for him very much,’ Hernu said. ‘In personal terms, I mean.’
‘Well, he tried to kill me and a good friend of mine a long time ago,’ Brosnan told him. ‘Does that answer your question?’
‘It’s certainly reason enough.’ Hernu got up and Savary joined him. ‘We must be going. I want to get all this to Brigadier Ferguson as soon as possible.’
‘Fine,’ Brosnan said.
‘We may count on your help in this thing, I hope, Professor?’
Brosnan glanced at Anne-Marie whose face was set. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I don’t mind talking to you again if that will help, but I don’t want to be personally involved. You know what I was, Colonel. Whatever happens I won’t go back to anything like that. I made someone a promise a long time ago.’
‘I understand perfectly, Professor.’ Hernu turned to Anne-Marie. ‘Mademoiselle, a distinct pleasure.’
‘I’ll see you out,’ she said and led the way.
When she returned Brosnan had the French windows open and was standing looking across the river smoking a cigarette. He put an arm around her. ‘All right?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘Perfect,’ and laid her head against his chest.
At that precise moment Ferguson was sitting by the fire in the Cavendish Square flat when the phone rang. Mary Tanner answered it in the study. After a while she came out. ‘That was Downing Street. The Prime Minister wants to see you.’
‘When?’
‘Now, sir.’
Ferguson got up and removed his reading glasses. ‘Call the car. You come with me and wait.’
She picked up the phone, spoke briefly, then put it down. ‘What do you think it’s about, Brigadier?’
‘I’m not sure. My imminent retirement or your return to more mundane duties. Or this business in France. He’ll have been told all about it by now. Anyway, let’s go and see,’ and he led the way out.
They were checked through the security gates at the end of Downing Street. Mary Tanner stayed in the car while Ferguson was admitted through the most famous door in the world. It was rather quiet compared to the last time he’d been there, a Christmas party given by Mrs Thatcher for the staff in the Pillared Room. Cleaners, typists, office workers. Typical of her, that. The other side of the Iron Lady.
He regretted her departure, that was a fact, and sighed as he followed a young aide up the main staircase lined with replicas of portraits of all those great men of history. Peel, Wellington, Disraeli and many more. They reached the corridor, the young man knocked on the door and opened it.
‘Brigadier Ferguson, Prime Minister.’
The last time Ferguson had been in that study it had been a woman’s room, the feminine touches unmistakably there, but things were different now, a little more austere in a subtle way, he was aware of that. Darkness was falling fast outside and John Major was checking some sort of report, the pen in his hand moving with considerable speed.
‘Sorry about this. It will only take a moment,’ he said.
It was the courtesy that astounded Ferguson, the sheer basic good manners that one didn’t experience too often from heads of state. Major signed the report, put it on one side and sat back, a pleasant, grey-haired man in horn-rimmed glasses, the youngest Prime Minister of the twentieth century. Almost unknown to the general public on his succession to Margaret Thatcher and yet his handling of the crisis in the Gulf had already marked him out as a leader of genuine stature.
‘Please sit down, Brigadier. I’m on a tight schedule, so I’ll get right to the point. The business affecting Mrs Thatcher in France. Obviously very disturbing.’
‘Indeed so, Prime Minister. Thank God it all turned out as it did.’
‘Yes, but that seems to have been a matter of luck more than anything else. I’ve spoken to President Mitterrand and he’s agreed that in all our interests and especially with the present situation in the Gulf there will be a total security clampdown.’
‘What about the press, Prime Minister?’
‘Nothing will reach the press, Brigadier,’ John Major told him. ‘I understand the French failed to catch the individual concerned?’
‘I’m afraid that is so according to my latest information, but Colonel Hernu of Action Service is keeping in close touch.’
‘I’ve spoken to Mrs Thatcher and it was she who alerted me to your presence, Brigadier. As I understand it, the intelligence section known as Group Four was set up in nineteen seventy-two, responsible only to the Prime Minister, its purpose to handle specific cases of terrorism and subversion?’
‘That is correct.’
‘Which means you will have served five prime ministers if we include myself.’
‘Actually, Prime Minister, that’s not quite accurate,’ Ferguson said. ‘We do have a problem at the moment.’
‘Oh, I know all about that. The usual security people have never liked your existence, Brigadier, too much like the Prime Minister’s private army. That’s why they thought a changeover at Number Ten was a good time to get rid of you.’
‘I’m afraid so, Prime Minister.’
‘Well, it wasn’t and it isn’t. I’ve spoken to the Director General of Security Services. It’s taken care of.’
‘I couldn’t be more delighted.’
‘Good. Your first task quite obviously is to run down whoever was behind this French affair. If he’s IRA, then he’s our business, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Good. I’ll let you go and get on with it then. Keep me informed of every significant development on an eyes only basis.’
‘Of course, Prime Minister.’
The door behind opened as if by magic, the aide appeared to usher Ferguson out, the Prime Minister was already working over another sheaf of papers as the door closed and Ferguson was led downstairs.
As the limousine drove away, Mary Tanner reached forward to close the screen. ‘What happened? What was it about?’
‘Oh, the French business.’ Ferguson sounded
