Sean Dillon 3-Book Collection 1: Eye of the Storm, Thunder Point, On Dangerous Ground

Gordon Brown did as he was told and she sat there listening patiently. She nodded when he’d finished. ‘We were lucky, Gordon, very lucky. Go and make us a cup of coffee in the kitchen. I’ve got a couple of phone calls to make.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘Afterwards we’ll have a very special time together.’

‘Really?’ His face brightened and he went out.

She picked up the phone and called Makeev at his Paris apartment. It rang for quite a time and she was about to put it down when it was picked up at the other end.

‘Josef, it’s Tania.’

‘I was in the shower,’ he said. ‘I’m dripping all over the carpet.’

‘I’ve only got seconds, Josef. I just wanted to say goodbye. I’m blown. My mole was exposed. They’ll be kicking in the door any minute.’

‘My God!’ he said. ‘And Dillon?’

‘He’s safe. All systems go. What that man has planned will set the world on fire.’

‘But you, Tania?’

‘Don’t worry, I won’t let them take me. Goodbye, Josef.’

She put the phone down, lit a cigarette, then called the hotel and asked for Dillon’s room. He answered at once.

‘It’s Tania,’ she said. ‘We’ve got trouble.’

He was quite calm. ‘How bad?’

‘They rumbled my mole, let him go and the poor idiot came straight here. I smell Special Branch at the end of the street.’

‘I see. What are you going to do?’

‘Don’t worry, I won’t be around to tell them anything. One thing. They’ll know that Gordon gave me the contents of tonight’s report. He was in the telephone booth in the Ministry canteen when Ferguson arrested him.’

‘I see.’

‘Promise me one thing,’ she said.

‘What’s that?’

‘Blow them away, all of them.’ The doorbell rang. She said, ‘I’ve got to go. Luck, Dillon.’

As she put down the phone, Gordon Brown came in with the coffee. ‘Was that the door?’

‘Yes, be an angel, Gordon, and see who it is.’

He opened the door and started downstairs. Tania took a deep breath. Dying wasn’t difficult. The cause she believed in had always been the most important thing in her life. She stubbed out her cigarette, opened a drawer in the desk, took out a Makarov pistol and shot herself through the right temple.

Gordon Brown, halfway down the stairs, turned and bounded up, bursting into the room. At the sight of her lying there beside the desk, the pistol still in her right hand, he let out a terrible cry and fell on his knees.

‘Tania, my darling,’ he moaned.

And then he knew what he must do as he heard something heavy crash against the door below. He prised the Makarov from her hand and as he raised it, his own hand was trembling. He took a deep breath to steady himself and pulled the trigger in the same moment that the front door burst open and Lane and Mackie started upstairs, Ferguson behind them.

There was a small crowd at the end of the street exhibiting the usual public curiosity. Dillon joined in, his collar up, hands in pockets. It started to snow slightly as they opened the rear doors of the ambulance. He watched as the two blanket-covered stretchers were loaded. The ambulance drove away. Ferguson stood on the pavement for a few moments talking to Lane and Mackie. Dillon recognised the Brigadier straight away, had been shown his photo many years previously. Lane and Mackie were obviously policemen.

After a while, Ferguson got in his car and was driven away, Mackie went into the flat and Lane also drove away. The stratagem was obvious. For Mackie to wait just in case someone turned up. One thing was certain. Tania Novikova was dead and so was the boyfriend and Dillon knew that thanks to her sacrifice, he was safe.

He went back to the hotel and phoned Makeev at his flat in Paris. ‘I’ve got bad news, Josef.’

‘Tania?’

‘How did you know?’

‘She phoned. What’s happened?’

‘She was blown or rather her mole was. She killed herself, Josef, rather than get taken. A dedicated lady.’

‘And the mole? The boyfriend?’

‘Did the same. I’ve just seen the bodies carted out to an ambulance. Ferguson was there.’

‘How will this affect you?’

‘In no way. I’m off to Belfast in the morning to cut off the only chance of a lead they might have.’

‘And then?’

‘I’ll amaze you, Josef, and your Arab friend. How does the entire British War Cabinet sound to you?’

‘Dear God, you can’t be serious?’

‘Oh, but I am. I’ll be in touch very soon now.’

He replaced the phone, put on his jacket and went down to the bar, whistling.

Ferguson was sitting in a booth in the lounge bar of the pub opposite Kensington Park Gardens and the Soviet Embassy, waiting for Colonel Yuri Gatov. The Russian, when he appeared, looked agitated, a tall, white-haired man in a camel overcoat. He saw Ferguson and hurried over.

‘Charles, I can’t believe it. Tania Novikova dead. Why?’

‘Yuri, you and I have known each other for better than twenty-five years, often as adversaries, but I’ll take a chance on you now, a chance that you really do want to see change in our time and an end to East–West conflict.’

‘But I do, you know that.’

‘Unfortunately, not everyone in the KGB would agree with you, and Tania Novikova was one.’

‘She was a hardliner, true, but what are you saying, Charles?’

So Ferguson told him, Dillon, the attempt on Mrs Thatcher, Gordon Brown, Brosnan, everything.

Gatov said, ‘This IRA wild card intends to attempt the life of the Prime Minister, that’s what you’re telling me, and Tania was involved?’