The President’s Daughter

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“After what you lot have done, I’d dare anything, so start walking, straight up to the cemetery. We’re going to have words.” He pushed the Walther hard into Berger’s belly. “Go on, move!”

There was a porch just inside the railings of the cemetery, a bench inside it. One of the lamps was close by, so there was a certain amount of light. Dillon pushed Berger down.

“Right, Judas Maccabeus is a right-wing Jewish terrorist. His followers are called Maccabees and you are one of them. He’s kidnapped the daughter of the President of the United States. He’s now also kidnapped Chief Inspector Hannah Bernstein.”

“This is nonsense.”

Blake said, “Come now, let’s be reasonable. We know you’re the George Brown who visited Dermot Riley in Wandsworth. We’ve got you on the video surveillance tape from the prison and we’ve also got Riley.”

“Rubbish, you can’t have,” Berger said, giving himself away.

“Absolutely. Picked him up in Ireland this morning and brought him back to London. He’s at the Ministry of Defense now. He’ll swear to the fact that you promoted a plan to get him out of prison to set up one Sean Dillon in Sicily, and Dillon will also confirm that.”

“But that’s impossible,” Berger said, falling into the trap.

“Why, because he’s dead, murdered in Washington?” Dillon’s smile was terrible as he removed his glasses for a moment. “No, he isn’t, because I’m right here.”

Paul Berger cried out in terror.

“Everything so slick,” Dillon said, “right down to the very convenient death of that prison officer, Jackson. Was that you, Berger? I mean, he might have identified you. Who knows?” Dillon lit a cigarette. “But even the great Judas gets it wrong. He’s going down, Berger, and you’ll go down with him, so talk.”

“I can’t. He’ll have me killed.”

Dillon went into the act beloved of policemen the world over, good guy and bad guy. He turned to Blake, shaking with rage. “Did you hear that? Well, I’ll tell you what. I’m going to kill this bastard myself. I mean, we’re in the right place to do it.” He gestured at the monuments and headstones looming out of the night. “Plenty of room to bury him in there.” He turned on Berger and rammed the Walther under his chin. “I’ll do it now—right now.”

Blake pulled him away. “You didn’t say there would be killing.” He sat beside Berger. “For God’s sake, tell him.”

Berger was shaking. “What do you want to know?”

“How does Judas communicate?”

“I have a special mobile, that’s how he gave me the job of getting Riley out of Wandsworth. He talks personally.”

“Have you ever met him?”

“No, I was recruited by another Maccabee.”

Blake took over now. “So where does Judas operate from?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come off it, son, I can’t believe that,” Dillon said.

Berger was close to breaking and it was obvious he was telling the truth. “I honestly don’t know. I don’t.”

There was a pause. Blake put a hand on his shoulder. “What about Chief Inspector Bernstein?”

“She was picked up outside her grandfather’s house in an ambulance by two Maccabees from Judas’s personal staff.”

“Names?” Dillon demanded.

“Aaron and Moshe.”

Dillon turned to Blake. “They’re the lads who knocked me off in Salinas.”

“Were you there?” Blake asked.

Berger nodded. “We took her down to a place on the other side of Flaxby in Sussex. There was one of those old overgrown bomber bases from the Second World War. They had a Citation jet waiting and flew off with her. My job was to dump the ambulance in Dorking.”

“And you don’t know where they’re flying to?” Blake asked.

“No idea, I swear it.”

It was obvious to both of them that he was telling the truth, and it was a sudden thought of Dillon’s that gave them what they needed.

“You said you were recruited by a Maccabee. Why was that?”

“I was at a conference on the future of the State of Israel. It was held at the University of Paris. I took part in a seminar, spoke out. I’ve always held strong views.”

“And?”

“I was approached by a lawyer. He said he’d admired my speech and asked me out to dinner.”

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