“And what’s your game, my old son?” he asked.
“It’s him,” Billy cried. “The fucking bastard.” “Leave off, Billy,” Salter told him.
“After what he’did? Look at my bleeding face.” Billy picked up the Lager bottle in front of him, smashed it on the edge of the table, and hurled himself at Dillon, the broken bottle extended. Dillon swayed to one side, caught the wrist, and hammered Billy’s arm against the bar so that he howled with pain and dropped the bottle. Dillon held him facedown on the bar, Billy’s arm tight as an iron bar.
“God, Mr. Salter, but he never learns, this nephew of yours.’ ‘
“Don’t be a silly boy, Billy,” Salter said. “If he hadn’t nicked the stones down river we’d be booking in at Tower Bridge Division Police Station with the prospect of going down the steps for ten years. All 1 want to know is ‘the reason for all this.” He smiled at Dillon. “You’ve got a name, my old son?” “Dillon–Scan Dillon.” Salter went behind the bar and Dillon released Billy, who stood there massaging his arm, then went and sat down with Baxter and Hall, his face sullen.
Salter said, “You’re no copper, I can smell one of those a mile off.” “God save us,” Dillon aid, “I’ve had enough trouble with those bowsers to last me a lifetime. Let’s put it this way, Mr. Salter. I work for one of those Government organizations that isn’t supposed to exist.” Salter tood there looking at him for a long moment, then said, “What’s your pleasure?” “Bushmills whiskey.if you don’t have Krug champagne.” Salter laughed out loud..I like it, I really do.
Bushmills I can manage right now. Krug I’ll supply · next time.” He took a bottle down from the shelf and poured a generous measure. “So what’s it about?” “Cheers.” Dillon toasted him. “Well, the thing is I wanted to meet the greatest expert on the Thames River, and when I accessed the police computer it turned out to he you. The trouble was that no sooner did I find you than I discovered I was going to lose you. Someone I work with, very big at Special Branch, found out the River Police were going to stiff you.” “Very inconvenient,” Salter said.
“Well, it would have been, so I decided to do something about it.” Dillon smiled. “The rest you kllow?’
Salter poured himself another drink. “You want something from me, that’s it, isn’t it? Some sort of kickback?”
“Your expertise, Mr. Salter, your knowledge of the river.”
“What for?”
“You may have read in the papers that the President of the United States and the Prime Minister are to meet on the Terrace at the House of Commons on
Fiday morning.”
“So what?”
“I think the security stinks and I have to prove it, so sometime after midnight on Friday morning I want you to help.-e float in to the Terrace. I’ll hide out in one of the storerooms behind the Terrace Bar and give them a nice smprise at the appropriate moment.”
Salter stared at him in amazement. “You must be
raving bloody mad. Are you a lunatic or something?” “It’s been suggested before.”
Salter turned to the other three. “Did you hear that? We’ve got a bleeding loony here.” He turned back to Dillon. “But I like you. Not only will I do it, you can call me Harry.”
“Terrific,” Dillon said. “Could I have another Bushmills?” i66
“I can do better, much better.” Salter opened the fridge at the back of the bar, took out a bottle, and turned. “Krug champagne, my old soa. How does that suit you?”
CHAPTER NINE
THE FOLLOWING DAY WAS THURSDAY, AND when Dffion went into Hannah Bemstein’s office on the third floor at the Ministry of Defence it was just before noon.
“My God, Dillon, what tim do you call this? He’s been asking for you.” “The hard night I had, girl dear. In fact, I only came in to ask you to have a delicious light luncheon with me.” “You’re quite mad.” She pressed her intercom.
“He’s here, Brigadier.” “Send him in.” There was a pause, “And you, Chief Inspector.” She led the way, opening the door for Dillon, who advanced to the desk, where Ferguson was working at a pile of papers. He didn’t look up.