Duval laughed. ‘You’re definitely up to something, Giles, and I’ll find out if it’s the last thing I do.’
Tony Doyle, back from military court duty at the Ministry of Defence on Thursday morning, didn’t bother to change out of his uniform. He helped Roper and his wheelchair into the back of the van using the hydraulic lift, and they were turning into the drive of Highfield Court exactly at 10.30, to find Ferguson’s Daimler parked in the drive, the chauffeur at the wheel. The front door opened and Mrs Cohen appeared.
‘Major Roper, how are you?’ she asked, for they had become good friends.
‘All the better for seeing you, Sadie,’ he said as the two men eased the wheelchair into the hall.
‘They’re waiting for you in the study,’ she said, opening the large mahogany door. ‘In you go. They’re on the coffee, but I know you like a decent cup of tea, so I’ll go and get you one.’
Roper felt the usual conscious pleasure on entering the beautiful Victorian library with the crowded bookshelves, the panelled walls and Turkish carpets, the welcoming fire.
Nathan Gideon was a wise man and looked it. He had a grey fringe of beard, white hair topped by a black velvet yarmulke, and he wore an old velvet smoking jacket that Roper had seen many times. He seemed to have stepped in from another age entirely.
He shook Roper’s hand. ‘You look well, Giles.’
‘No, I don’t. As usual, you are far too kind,’ Roper told him. ‘We both know I’ll never look anything like well again.’
‘My dear boy, feeling sorry for ourselves, are we?’
‘Of course.’ Roper produced some of his special painkillers and crunched them.
Sara, who had been sitting opposite Ferguson by the fire, stood up, poured a whiskey, and brought it to him.
‘Wash them down, Giles.’ She kissed him on the head and turned back to her seat.
She was wearing a one-piece flying suit and boots. Roper said, ‘I must say you look terribly dashing in that gear.’
‘That’s nice of you,’ she said. ‘I just passed my practical navigation test doing a take-off while it was still dark. I can’t tell you how wonderful it is as dawn breaks. I’m grateful you arranged for me to learn to fly with the Army Air Corps, General.’
‘I believe in people extending themselves,’ Ferguson told her. ‘Maybe it’s to your advantage, but who knows when it could suit my purposes, too.’ He turned to Roper. ‘Nathan and Sara and I were just discussing Husseini.’
‘So what’s your opinion?’ Roper asked the rabbi.
‘Simon is a fine doctor. His interest in matters nuclear fascinated him because of the medical possibilities, and that was what led him to his pioneering work on medical isotopes. He’s spoken of the awesome powers generated by nuclear energy as the Breath of Allah, which must surely have endeared him to Islamic opinion.’
‘I’m sure it did,’ Ferguson agreed.
‘However, further studies showed how quickly it could be turned into a weapons-grade material, which was exactly what his masters were hoping for, and, as you know, it was impossible for him to argue because they had his family,’ Nathan Gideon said.
‘The fact that they’re allowing him to venture into the outside world only proves how serious the threats must be to his mother and daughter,’ Sara put in.
‘You’re dealing with a regime that doesn’t stop at stoning a woman to death,’ Roper pointed out.
Ferguson said, ‘Have you spoken to Claude Duval?’
‘Yes, I have, he’s on our side and intends to be there himself. But let’s get clear now what we’re expecting to come out of this.’ He turned to Sara. ‘The ball is in your court.’
She sat there, looking intense and troubled. ‘I always remember Simon as a lovely man. I’d just like to hear him tell me out of his own lips what he would like done to solve this situation. I have a horrible feeling that not much can be done and we’ll be at a stalemate, but I’d still like to try.’
‘And so you shall,’ Ferguson told her. ‘And it’s of vital importance that you do, because if he really has made progress beyond the theoretical in his nuclear experiments, it’s essential that we get our hands on his results before Iran does.’
‘But what if he doesn’t agree? What if he’s faced with something so terrible that he’d rather nobody had it at all?’ Sara asked.
Ferguson said calmly, ‘It’d be too late. He could destroy his case notes, all records of his findings, and it would do him little good. A scientist discovers what already exists. Eventually, someone else would follow in Husseini’s footsteps.’
She took a deep breath and said sadly, ‘I suppose you’re right.’
‘I’m afraid I usually am, Captain.’ Ferguson got up. ‘I’m sure you’d agree, Nathan.’
The rabbi, looking rather troubled, nodded. ‘I’m afraid so.’
Ferguson said, ‘Thank you for your input. We’ll get on. We’ve much to do, and in limited time.’ He kissed Sara on the cheek. ‘I can see this is getting to you, but be of good heart. There’s a solution to everything, I’ve always found. We’ll see you at Holland Park early this evening, Dillon and the Salters and we three. Maggie will produce one of her special meals and we’ll discuss the future. It’s been very useful, Rabbi, my sincere thanks.’
Roper was already moving out in his wheelchair, and Ferguson followed him.
It was just after six that evening when the taxi dropped Sara at Holland Park. It always reminded her of a nursing home or something similar, although the razor wire, high walls, and numerous cameras indicated a different agenda. She didn’t have to do anything except wait to be identified. The Judas Gate in the massive front entrance clicked open, she stepped inside, and it closed behind her. She crossed the courtyard to the front door, went in and made her way to the computer room, where she found Roper in his wheelchair in front of the screens. She removed her military trench coat.
‘Where is everybody?’ she asked.
‘The boss is in his office, the Salters haven’t turned up yet, and the music wafting through from the dining room is Dillon on the piano. It pains me to say it, but the wretch is really quite good.’
‘No, he isn’t, he’s damn good,’ Sara called as she went out along the corridor and turned into the dining room.
Dillon, at the piano, was just finishing ‘Blue Moon’ while Maggie Hall was laying a table for dinner.
‘Don’t exaggerate, Sara,’ he said. ‘I play acceptable bar-room piano, that’s all.’
‘Don’t you be stupid,’ Maggie Hall said. ‘You’re better than that and you know it, so why pretend?’
She moved off to the kitchen. Dillon said, ‘There you go, she should be my agent. What would you like?’
‘What
