The Midnight Bell (Sean Dillon, Band 22) - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Jack Higgins lives on Jersey in the Channel Islands. The author of dozens of bestsellers, most famously The Eagle Has Landed, he served three years with the Royal Horse Guards in Eastern Europe during the Cold War, and subsequently was a circus roustabout, a factory worker, a truck driver, and a laborer before entering college at age 27. He holds degrees in sociology, social psychology, and economics, and a doctorate in media. A fellow of the Royal Society of Arts, he is an expert scuba diver and marksman.

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***This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected copy proof***

Copyright © 2016 Jack Higgins

ONE

An east wind with driving rain and sleet pushed across the airport as the Gulfstream

landed.  It was immediately approached by a security limousine from the White House, which

Blake Johnson, alighting from the plane, was surprised to see was being driven by his long-time secretary, Alice Quarmby.  He opened the passenger door, tossed his valise inside, and joined

her.

            “What are you doing here?”

            “Protecting your back, you idiot,” she told him as she drove away.  “You were supposed to bring Jake Cazalet back with you from London, and here you are, alone. I’m a nervous old broad when it comes to my boss, so I’d like to know why.”

            “Sorry, Alice, it’s for the ears of the President only.”

            “Well, it better be good.  With his second term coming up, he needs to show who’s in charge and here’s former President Jake Cazalet — a fine President in his day, mind you —dining with the Prime Minister and giving interviews to the media as if he’s the official mouthpiece for American foreign policy. You know the White House isn’t pleased about that.”

            “I know — but enough about that.  Anything else come up?”

            “Apparently, the President has made a new friend.”

            “Really? Who?”          

            “A Colonel Samuel Hunter. I did some research — don’t ask me where. He has a  decent black ops record in the Army, nothing spectacular, and since them, he’s spent five years with the CIA, where he runs a Special Projects Department. He gets around a lot.”

            “So what’s the ‘special project’ she’s come up with that appeals to the Oval Office?”

            “The President has become interested in the private army business since you were last here.”

            “Mercenaries?” Blake was amazed.  “What on earth for?”

            “The new name for them is private military companies, so you might as well get used to it..  It seems they’ve been having some success in Mali, and South African companies have been busy recruiting.”

            “With plenty of casualties, no doubt?”

            “No doubt. And some units have apparently done very well supporting the Nigerian Army in its struggle with Al Qaeda.”

            “Aided by the military supplies we pump in there?”

            “Not in Nigeria, I think. My research suggests the CIA wouldn’t touch this one with a bargepole if left to their own

devices.”

            “Like that, is it?” he said.

            “That’s what they say, but who knows?”

            “Exactly,” he said.  “You’re an old cynic, Alice, but somehow you always get it right.”    

            “Blame it on the White House, Blake.  I’ve been there longer than anyone else. It breeds cynicism”

*

They were moving along Constitution Avenue towards the White House, where they found demonstrators in spite of the hour and the heavy rain.

            “Try the East Entrance,” Blake suggested. Alice did, and a Secret Service man on duty saw to the Mercedes, then escorted them to the President’s secretary, who delivered them to the Oval Office and withdrew.

            The heavy rain outside, the inclement weather, had darkened the room, and yet the President kept it in shadow, glancing up from papers now and smiling hugely.

            “There you are at last. And you, Alice, it was way beyond the call of duty for you to pick this rascal up at such an hour.”

            “I guess it’s gotten to be a habit, Mr. President, after all these years.”

            “You’re the wonder of the world. Now, if you would, go and get yourself a coffee while Blake and I talk.”

            Alice withdraw and the President called, “Join us, Colonel Hunter.  I’d like you to meet Blake Johnson.”

            Hunter emerged from the Chief of Staff’s office, a man much as Blake had expected,

around sixty, with a moustache, tanned face, an expensive suit of blue flannel.

            He held out his hand briefly.  “Your fame precedes you, Mr. Johnson.”

            “Colonel,” Blake said formally.

            Hunter’s smile was false and dismissive as he turned to a more important quarry. “As I was saying earlier, Mr. President, we must present out opponents with the unexpected and seize the day.  It’s been one of the greatest precepts of warfare since Roman times.”

            The President turned to Blake.  “Would you agree?”                                                 

            “My experience of warfare was being up to my armpits in some swamp in the Mekong Delta in Vietnam, so I guess I never had time to find out.” Blake said.

            Hunter was annoyed and let it show.  “We all have to move with the times,” he said to Blake.  “Modern thinking, that’s what we need. For instance, I’m surprised that a man in your position has an elderly woman as his secretary. How computer-savvy can...