Solo (Aka the Cretan Lover) (v5) by Jack Higgins Page A

Charles Ferguson was a large, kindly-looking man whose crumpled suit seemed a size too big. The only military aspect to his appearance was the Guards tie. The untidy grey hair, the double chin, the half-moon spectacles with which he was reading the Financial Times by the fire when Morgan and Baker were ushered in, all conspired to give him the look of some minor professor.
    'Asa, my dear boy, how nice to see you.'
    The voice was slightly plummy, a little over-done, rather like the ageing actor in a second-rate touring company who wants to make sure they can hear him at the back of the house.
    He nodded to the man servant, an ex-Gurkha naik, who waited patiently by the door. 'All right, Kim. Tea for three.'
    The Gurkha retired and Morgan looked around the room. The Adam fireplace was real and so was the fire which burned there. The rest was Georgian also. Everything matched to perfection, even the heavy curtains.
    'Nice, isn't it?' Ferguson said. 'My second girl, Ellie, she did it for me. In interior decorating now.'
    Morgan moved to the window and looked into the square. 'You always did do rather well for yourself.'
    'Oh dear, are you going to be tiresome, Asa? That is a pity. Very well, let's get it over with. You wanted to see me?'
    Morgan glanced across at Baker who was seated in a leather armchair on the other side of the room, filling his pipe. 'According to Harry, it was the other way round.'
    'Was it?' Ferguson said cheerfully.
    The Gurkha came in with a tray which he placed by the fire and retired. Ferguson picked up the teapot
    'For Christ's sake,' Morgan exploded violently.
    'All right, Asa. You are by now aware that the man who shot Maxwell Cohen is the same one who knocked down your daughter in the Paddington tunnel. Am I correct?'
    'Yes.'
    'And you'd very naturally like to get your hands on him. And so would we. So would the intelligence organizations of most of the major nations. You see, the one thing we do know for certain about the gentleman involved is that he's performed the same sort of exercise with monotonous and rather spectacular success, all over the world, for something like three years now.'
    'And what's being done about it?'
    'You can safely leave that to us. I've been in touch with the Ministry of Defence. They inform me that in these special circumstances, you're to be granted a month's leave.' Ferguson was serious now. 'I'd bury your dead and then go as far away as possible for a while if I were you, Asa.'
    'Would you indeed?' The Welsh accent was much more noticeable now as it always was in times of stress. Morgan turned to Baker, 'And you, Harry? Is that what you'd do?'
    Baker looked troubled. Ferguson said, 'They're considering promoting you on the autumn list, or had you heard a whisper already? Brigadier, Asa, at your present age, means you should make major-general at least before you retire. Something to be proud of.'
    'Who for?'
    'Don't spoil it, Asa. You've come a long way.'
    'For a little Welsh pit boy who walked into the recruiting office with the arse out of his trousers, isn't that what you mean?'
    Morgan went out, slamming the door violently. Baker said, 'You were a bit rough on him, sir.'
    'Which was exactly what I intended, Chief Superintendent. He'll be back when he's reached boiling point.' Ferguson reached for the teapot again. 'Now, how would you like it?'
    The interior of the church of St Martin at Steeple Durham was sparse and beautiful in its simplicity. Norman pillars rising to a roof that was richly carved with figures, both human and animal. Perhaps because at the period it was built it had been used as a place of refuge, there were no windows at ground level. The only light was from round, clerestory windows high up under the roof, so that the church itself was a place of shadows.
    Harry Baker and Stewart arrived just after two and found Francis Wood waiting in the porch in his vestments.
    'Chief Superintendent - Inspector. It's good of you both to come.'
    'No news, I'm