He made a quick exploration. There were stacks of towels and tablecloths, cartons of wine glasses. There were also two toilets and a washbasin in another room at the rear. He opened the larger equipment bag, took out the clothes it contained, and a towel he had put in; He dried himself thoroughly, took off the swimming trunks, and dressed in the waiter’s clothes he had brought.
He checked his watch,. It was now a quarter to four.
Depending on what tiale the Terrace staff started, he had about four to five hours to kill. There was a sizeable stock cupboard with various kinds of linen inside.
There was no key in the door so he locked’it from the inside, arranged some piles of towels into a rough bed. It was surprising how cheerful he felt.
“Harry will be pleased,” he thought and fell almost instantly asleep. HE CAME AWAKE WITH A START, AWARE OF THE
door handle rattling. He glanced at his watch and saw it was almost nine o’clock. He heard a voice call, “The bloody door’s locked. I’ll go and see if I can find a key.”
Footsteps retreated, the outer door opened and closed. Dillon opened the door in seconds, moved into one of the toilet stalls, and locked it. He waited, and after a while the outer door opened and someone entered. There were two of them, because after the door was opened a man said, “Right, take those tablecloths and get cracking.”
A woman said, “All right, Mr. Smith.”
The door banged and the man started whistling and moving around. After a while he moved into the next toilet stall and sat down and lit a cigarette. Dillon flushed the toilet and went out. The man’s white jacket hung on a peg by the basin, a plastic identity card on the jacket. Dillon unpinned it and fastened it to his own jacket so,that it was half obscured by his lapel.
When he went outside, the Terrace was already a scene of activity, waiters everywhere at work in the bar and making up’tables. Dillon picked up a napkin from a table, draped it over. one arm, and reached for a tray. He went straight out past two security guards and up the steps. FOR AN HOUR HE WENT WALKABOUT, VISITING restaurants, not only in the Commons but the House of Lords, keeping constantly on the move, his tray at the ready. Not once was he challenged. God knows what Ferguson would make of that. As for Carter.
It was just after ten that he made his way back to the Terrace. It was a hive of activity. He went in past the security guards and paused. A gray-haired man in black coat and striped trousers was ordering waiters here and there, telling them what to do. He didn’t even give Dillon a second glance when he spoke to him.
· ‘You–canapes from the rear table.” “Yes, sir,” Dillon said.
He stood against the watl with other waiters, and a few moments later Members of Parliament started to flood in. It was amazing how quickly the Terrace filled up, and the waiters got to work and served refreshments.
Dillon did his bit, taking a tray of canapgs around, and then he caught sight of Ferguson, Hannah Bernstein, and Carter entering.
Dillon turned away but stood close enough to hear Carter say, “Sorry for you, Ferguson, that little bastard’s left you with egg on your face.” “If you say so,” Fergeson said.
A moment later, an lmnouncement sounded over the Tannoy. “Ladies and gentlemen, the Prime Minister and the President of the United States.” They came through the entrance and stood there and the crowd broke into spontaneous applause. Dillon crossed to the table, picked up a canap6 dish with a lid, hovered over it for a moment, then turned. The President and the Prime Minister were moving through the crowd, pausing to speak to people. They reached Simon Carter, Ferguson, and Hannah Bern-stein and stopped.
Dillon heard the President say, “Brigadier Fergu- son. Good to see you again.” He greeted Carter, then Hannah.
Dillon Walked forward. “Excuse me, gentlemen.” He was aware of the look of amazement on Hannah’s face, of Ferguson’s incredulous frown, and on Carter’s face nothing but shock. Dillon lifted the lid of the cana! ‘dish disclosing a five-pound note nestling on top.