Dark Justice

12

The following morning around ten, after breakfast, Kelly and Tod Murphy left in the Ford Transit and Fahy and Regan sat at the kitchen table, disgruntled, ribs aching.

“Now what?” Fahy asked.

“Don’t ask me, Brendan,” Regan replied.

“Maybe we should split up. I’ll go and have a look at Roper’s place, while you check out Dillon’s cottage or the Bernstein woman’s address.”

“I thought Ashimov and Novikova were seeing to her?”

“Come off it. You’re just trying to avoid anything to do with Dillon,” Fahy said.

“That’s a damn lie. Anything could happen. It’s a sound idea to have a look at Bernstein, though.”

“Okay, we’ll use cabs,” Fahy said. “We’ll meet back here in two or three hours. It’s better than sitting round here like a gorilla in its own shit while Dermot and Tod go and have all the fun. I’m telling you, though, I’m not setting a foot out the door without a pistol in my pocket.”

“Well, I’m with you there, so let’s get on with it.”

On the outskirts of Horsham, Kelly and Tod pulled in at a fuel station, filled up and went into the small café and ordered coffee.

Kelly lit a cigarette. “I wonder what those two idiots are getting up to. I don’t trust them an inch. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea bringing them along.”

“Hmm. Let me check,” Tod said, and called Regan. “It’s Tod. Where are you?”

“We’re out and about. I’m checking Dillon’s place and Fahy’s having a look where Roper lives. I thought I might take in Bernstein’s pad, too.”

“Weren’t you listening before? Ashimov and Novikova are on her case, so stay out of there. Familiarize yourself with Dillon’s and Roper’s places, but don’t hang around, and don’t try anything serious until you’re told to.”

“It’s like talking to children,” he said to Kelly after he’d clicked off.

“They’ve lost their edge,” Kelly said. “Money in the pocket, too much booze and sitting around on their fat backsides at Drumore.”

The mobile went and he answered. It was Ashimov. “Where are you?”

“Horsham. Quit worrying. We’ll be there soon.”

He rang off and said to Tod, “To hell with all of them. Let’s you and me get on with it,” and he led the way out.

Tod said as they walked to the Transit, “Why haven’t you told him about Sean, and Danny Malone doing a runner?”

“Why bother the man? He might lose faith, and we can’t have that.” He unlocked the Transit. “Next stop, Huntley.”

Greta Novikova left the Russian Embassy on foot from Kensington Palace Gardens, crossed to the pub on the other side and went in. Ashimov was seated at the bar reading a newspaper.

“Ah, there are you. Would you like a drink?”

“Not at the moment. What’s going on?”

“I’ve spoken to Kelly. They were at Horsham.”

“That’s no more than half an hour to Huntley from there. Things ought to be happening soon.”

“I hope so. But I’ve been around a long time, Greta. If it works, it works. If it doesn’t, something else will come along. Survival is the name of the game.”

“And you always do.”

“Because I take precautions. For example, I have a company Falcon on standby at a flying club called Archbury about half an hour out of London. On standby until I tell it to stand down. Why? It’s insurance. It means that if anything goes wrong, I can get the hell out of here quickly.” He smiled. “I know, nothing will go wrong, you will say. And as a tribute to your faith, I intend to take you to lunch at the Ivy. Come on.”

“But that’s impossible to get into.”

“The magic name of Belov works wonders, even at the Ivy.” He had a hand on her elbow as they went out. “Let’s go over to the embassy and pick up your Opel. I’ll show you Bernstein’s house on the way.”

“That should be interesting. I’ve only seen a photo.”

“A lady of some wealth, I’d say. You’ll be surprised.”

Regan had checked Stable Mews, but there was no sign of Dillon’s Mini car outside the cottage. He didn’t linger, but moved out to the square and hailed a cab. With a grin, he told the driver to take him to the end of Lord North Street, which was where Hannah Bernstein lived. When he got there, he walked a bit down the street toward Millbank and Victoria Tower Gardens and stood looking across.

In a way, he was just being bloody-minded, because he was angry at being put down by Tod as he had been. It was particularly unfortunate, given the circumstances, that Ashimov and Greta came down Lord North Street at that moment.

Ashimov, who was driving, said to her, “Impressed?” as they slowed at Hannah’s house.

“Very,” Greta told him. “I see what you mean.”

They picked up speed, passing Regan on the corner, and she recognized him.

“My God, it’s Regan, one of Kelly’s men.”

Ashimov pulled in at the curb. “Stupid bastard, he’s not supposed to be here.”

He got out of the Opel, Greta joined him and they advanced on Regan. “What in the hell are you doing here?” she demanded.

Regan, of course, recognized them instantly. “I was just having a look at the Bernstein woman’s place.”

“It’s not your affair,” she said. “You and your friend were told to check out Dillon’s and Roper’s places. We’re seeing to Bernstein.”

“All right,” Regan told her. “I was just trying to get the job done. I’ve been to Dillon’s.”

“Just do as you’re told,” Ashimov advised him. “You understand me?”

“Okay, okay.” Regan spread his hands. “No need to make a big case out of it.” He turned, walked away and crossed through traffic to Victoria Tower Gardens, very angry indeed.

Ashimov drove away and was just as angry. “Peasants. Totally unreliable.”

“You’re right, they’re clodhoppers,” Greta said. “But, Yuri, the important thing is what’s happening in Huntley. We can check on Bernstein later.”

“And Dillon. I wonder what he’s up to?”

“Never mind. Just get me to the Ivy. I’m starving.”

At that moment, Dillon was entering the Piano Bar at the Dorchester Hotel, where he was warmly greeted by Guiliano, the manager.

“She’s waiting for you,” Guiliano said and led him to where Hannah Bernstein was sitting.

Hannah was looking terrific in a black Armani trouser suit. Dillon ordered two glasses of champagne, kissed her on the forehead and sat down.

“I’ve had a morning of paperwork,” Dillon said. “It was intensely boring.”

“Me, too. I didn’t see you at the office.”

“I did it at home. Any news?”

“Yes, Ferguson’s phoned me twice. He’s very pleased with the way things are going with Selim. Apparently, he had a real breakthrough and it’s going well this morning.”

“I had a minor development of a personal nature last night,” and he told her what had happened to Billy Salter’s Range Rover and his call on Danny Malone.

“There couldn’t be any significance to it,” she said. “We all know who Malone was. I helped put him away. He wouldn’t do anything stupid enough to send him back to complete his sentence.”

“I suppose even Danny couldn’t be that silly. Anyway, a day of rest. Where do you want to have lunch? Mulligans?”

“No, right here will do for me, plus another glass of champagne.”

“Sounds good to me,” and he waved to Guiliano.

Regan, walking along by the Thames in a fury, rang Fahy. “Where are you?” “Watching Roper. He left his house and went to a pub on the corner of the main road. I checked the bar, and he was reading the paper in a booth by the window and the staff was making a big fuss over him. Ordered Irish stew.”

“Well, he’s got taste at least. I’m pissed off,” and he told Fahy what had happened. “First of all, it’s Tod kicking ass and then the bloody Russians.”

“Oh, to hell with the lot of them. A decent meal and a glass, that’s what you need.”

“That’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard all day. I could murder a pint. Where shall we go?”

And the reconnaissance turned to talk of pubs.

At Huntley, Kelly and Tod arrived to something of a surprise. Two of the trailers on the site behind the garage were occupied, cars parked outside, three children playing ball.

Kelly said, “Jesus Christ, that’s just what we need.”

“No, in fact that is exactly what we need. A couple of families around, kids playing.” Tod shrugged. “A nice, normal environment.” He got out of the Transit. “Come on, Dermot, do your stuff.”

Betty Laker came out of the kiosk. “Fill it up?” she asked.

“No, actually,” Dermot told her. “We’re on our way from Brighton to London, and my nephew called in here – a big lad, in black leather, Suzuki motorcycle. Do you remember him?”

“Oh, I remember him,” she said. Her grandfather came out of the kiosk behind her. She turned. “That young man on the motorcycle you were talking to in the pub. This gentleman is his uncle.”

“Well, he met us in Brighton and told us what a nice place Huntley was. He mentioned the trailer site, so we thought we’d stop off and look around. Can you manage us?” Kelly asked.

“Of course we can,” the old man said. “I’ll handle this, Betty, love. Just follow me, gentlemen.”

They parked by the other cars, the trailer was clean and decent, basically simple and perfectly acceptable. Tod, who was carrying two bags, dropped them on one of the beds.

“Looks fine to me.”

“And what would you gentlemen be up to, then?” Laker asked, taking a cigarette from behind his ear and lighting it.

“Landscape gardening,” Tod told him. “Mostly big estates. Places that have a problem, we get called in all over the country.”

“You’re Irish lads?”

“That’s it,” Kelly said. “Always on the go in our line of work. Never in one place more than a few weeks. It’s hard graft.”

“And it gives you an appetite,” Tod intervened. “There’s a pub around here, I believe.”

“There certainly is, and the food’s good. I’ll show you the way.”

Tod opened one of the bags and there was a clunk as he took out two bottles of Scotch and put them on the side. The old man licked his lips.

“You’re well supplied, I’ll give you that.”

“I don’t like to run out, and that’s a fact.” Kelly smiled. “But let’s go over to the pub now and get something to eat. Maybe you’d join us?”

“Be glad to,” Laker said and led the way out.

The three of them had shepherd’s pie, the Scotch whiskey flowed and the old man loved it.

Tod said, “Funny place this. Dermot’s nephew was telling us about the big house.”

“Huntley Hall? I know all about that.”

“Yes, so he told us.”

“And what he knew was what he’d heard from you,” Kelly said. “He passed it on the way in. Huntley Hall Institution. They’ve certainly got some security there. I mean, some of the big country estates we’ve worked on have got walls like that, but that electronic fence on top is something else again.”

Tod slipped off to the bar and got three more large whiskeys. He brought them back and pushed one over to Laker, who took it with alacrity.

“Ah, it’s special, see. They have to have that kind of security, cameras and so forth, to keep people in. They’re all head cases, that’s the story. It’s not like it was in Lord Faversham’s day. I was telling your nephew, a poacher’s paradise that estate were.”

Tod eased another whiskey over to him. “Not any longer. Not if there’s no way of getting in now. You certainly can’t climb that fence!”

“Oh, I don’t know. There’s ways and there’s ways. You don’t always need to go over a fence.”

“You’ve got a point there,” Tod said. “You could go under, I suppose.”

“Now, I never said that, never did,” Laker said, and accepted another whiskey that was pushed his way.

“No, I don’t believe it,” Kelly said. “There’s no way you could get in a place like that.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be too sure.” Laker was already drunk and a little belligerent.

Tod said, “It doesn’t sound likely to me, I admit. In fact, I’d bet on it.”

The hook was there, and Laker took it. “You put your money where your mouth is and I’ll bloody well show you.”

“All right.” Kelly took out his wallet and produced two fifty-pound notes. “There you go. A hundred quid says you’re making it up.”

Laker’s eyes gleamed and he reached for the money, but Kelly snatched his hand away. “Oh, no, you prove me wrong if you want this.”

“I bloody well will.” Laker reached for the remaining whiskey and swallowed it down. He got up. “Come on, then. I’ll show you whether I’m lying or not,” and he made for the door.

He led the way along the road out of the village, no more than five minutes’ walk, then turned into a track leading through heavy woodland. It was very quiet, only the birds making noise, lifting off and calling to each other.

In spite of the drink taken, Laker was surprisingly steady on his feet. “This is Witch Wood. Don’t ask me why, but so it’s been called that since time long gone. If you could see through the trees, maybe fifty yards to the left is the main road, and the Huntley Hall estate on the other side.”

“So what are we talking about here?” Tod asked as they walked along the track.

“Round about eighteen hundred, Lord Ashley Faversham made a fortune in the sugar trade in Barbados, then came home to refurbish the family estate. But there was a problem. There used to be a river on the far side of the woods and it would overflow. It doesn’t exist now. It was diverted a long time ago to provide water for a canal project. But when it was there, and there was water seepage into the estate, Faversham had a series of tunnels built to run it off.”

“And?”

“And when the river was diverted, they had the tunnels closed off.”

Tod could already see the way this was going. He took out his cigarettes and gave Laker one. “Except one of them was overlooked, wasn’t it?”

Lake almost choked on his cigarette. “How did you know that?”

“Oh, I’ve got that kind of mind,” Tod said. “Just show me where it is.”

They plowed on, and Kelly said, “How long have you known about this?”

“Since I were a lad,” Laker said. “My dad told me. It were a secret in the family, and still is.”

“Good man, yourself,” Tod said. “Now let’s be seeing it.”

A few minutes later, Laker turned left off the track, pushed into a thicket, paused, bent down, fumbled in the grass, found a handle and lifted an iron grille. The hole was quite wide. “I’ll lead the way,” he said, and started down an iron ladder.

Below, it was damp, no more than that, with headroom to five feet. As Tod followed him, Kelly behind, Laker took a flashlight from his pocket. “Follow me.”

He took off, and after a while, rays of light drifted through from above. “Airholes,” he said. “That means we’re under the road and into the gardens.”

A few minutes later, they came to the end and another iron ladder gave way to another iron grille. He mounted first and pushed the grille back, and they followed and found themselves in a copse of dense foliage. The house was clearly visible through the trees.

“You’ve got security lighting mounted on the house over the terrace. There’s a camera on the left and another on the right. More stuff like that on the drive. The real problem is the wall. Even if you got over it, there’s an electronic beam five foot inside. It should take care of anything.”

“Except for a tunnel that they never knew about,” Tod said.

“Exactly.”

They moved forward, paused behind a couple of statues and looked across at the terrace. Just then, the French windows opened and Selim walked out, Ferguson behind him.

Kelly said, “Christ, it’s them.”

At the same moment, it started to rain and Laker said, “Right, let’s get out of here,” and he turned and started back to the access grille to the tunnel.

Kelly grabbed at Tod’s arm as they went after him. “You saw who that was?”

“Of course I did.”

“Christ, Tod, if we’d had a gun between us, it would have been so simple. Not only Selim, but Ferguson as well.”

“And simple is what it will be,” Tod said. “We’ll be back, Kelly, ould son, never you fear,” and they went after the old man.

When they surfaced at the entrance, Laker was in high spirits. “Did I tell you or did I tell you?” he chorused as they went back through Witch Wood. “That’s a hundred quid for me.”

“You’re right, old son,” Kelly told him. “I was wrong and you were right. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it for myself.”

They reached the trailer site, and Tod said, “You owe the man a hundred quid, Dermot, so get it out and we’ll have a drink on it.”

He led the way into their trailer, got one of the bottles of Scotch open and found three glasses. Kelly gave the old man the two fifty-pound notes and Tod handed him the glass of Scotch.

“Bottoms up, me ould son, you deserve it.”

Laker was thoroughly drunk now, and took the whiskey down in a long swallow. “Yes, I bloody well do.”

Tod gave him the bottle. “Go on, you’ve earned it. Get off and have a lie down and we’ll see you later.”

The old man clasped the bottle to his chest, lurched out of the door and staggered off toward the bungalow at the back of the garage.

“Now, there’s a happy man,” Kelly said and closed the door against the driving rain. “So, what do you think?”

“That we go back later in the day,” Tod said. “And we see if we get lucky. Only this time, we’ll be armed.”

Kelly grinned. “You know, I’m actually believing it’s going to work. I’m even believing we could call Smith up and have him back over here tonight.”

“And where would that leave Fahy and Regan?”

“We could give them a call, tell them to walk away from the London end of things, get a plane to Dublin.” Kelly grabbed Tod by his arm. “For God’s sake, Tod, Ashimov wanted Selim and he gets him with Ferguson. To hell with the others, even Dillon. You can’t do much better than that.”

“You’ve got a point, Dermot, but let’s see. We’ve still got to think of Regan and Fahy.”

“Fuck them,” Kelly said. “If they can’t see to themselves, that’s their problem. Now let’s have another drink on it and decide when we’re going back in.”

After a lunch that had contained considerably more than a single glass, Regan and Fahy wandered the streets for a while. Finally, rain coming down, Regan said to Fahy, “What now? Back to China Wharf?”

“To hell with that,” Fahy said. “Let’s try the Roper fella’s place again. I’m tired of just standing around doing nothing. Something might turn up.”

“I’m with you. Do we ring Dermot and Tod first?”

“All we’ll get is a bollocking again.”

“Then let’s just go,” and Regan stepped to the pavement and hailed a cab.

In Regency Square, Roper had been looking at computer screens too long and was opening his mouth for a yawn when his mobile rang.

“It’s Sean. What’s up?”

“I’m tired, stressed, and I’ve been sitting at this damn thing too long. I need a break,” Roper said.

“How about I come round and take you out for a drink or something?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Roper felt better already and reached in his pocket for cigarettes and found the pack was empty. He cursed. He’d been kept alive from his terrible injuries by a cocktail of drugs, and tobacco had become a mainstay. It was the same for a lot of soldiers in his situation, and the need was overpowering. He’d have to go out to the corner shop.

He made for the front door, got it open and found it was raining. He took an umbrella from the hall stand, pressed one of the electronic buttons on his wheelchair to close the door behind him, went down the ramp to the pavement and raised the umbrella. He sailed, in a way, down the pavement, strangely exhilarated, down to the shop on the corner, where Mr. Khan had installed a ramp at one of the doors especially to facilitate Roper’s comings and goings.

A large, bearded Muslim with a genial smile and a Cockney accent, Khan greeted Roper warmly. “What you run out of now, Major?”

“Cigarettes,” Roper said. “The old cancer sticks. I’ll take a carton of the usual.”

“Maybe you should try and give up,” Khan said, as he got the carton and took Roper’s money.

“And live longer, you mean, in my state?” Roper stowed the carton in a side pocket of the wheelchair. “Wouldn’t make much difference.”

Khan tried to keep smiling, because he liked Roper. “Now then, Major, it’s not like you to be gloomy.”

“You’re right. I’ll be Cheerful Charlie from now on.”

He turned his wheelchair, and Khan said, “There was a man in here this morning asking if I knew where you lived.”

“Oh, yes?”

“An Irish geezer, Ulster I’d say, you know what I mean? It’s a different kind of Irish accent, isn’t it?”

And Roper, veteran of the Irish troubles for twenty years, the finest bomb-disposal man in the business, stopped smiling. “It certainly is. What did he want?”

“Didn’t say. Just asked if I knew you. The thing is, I saw him again with another guy a little while ago, and he sounded the same as they walked past.”

“Thanks,” Roper said. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

He moved onto the pavement, put up his umbrella and took a Codex Four from his pocket and called Dillon.

“Where are you?”

“In a cab on my way. Traffic’s lousy.”

“The fact is, I could have a problem. My friendly local shopkeeper, Mr. Khan, you know him, tells me I’ve been inquired about.”

“And by whom would that be?” Dillon asked.

“Couple of men, Northern Irish accents. I’ve got a lot of history there, Sean.”

“Where are you now?”

“On the street, on my way home.”

“Take it easy, just get inside. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Are you carrying?”

“Of course.”

“Good man.”

He switched off, and Roper started along the pavement.

Regan and Fahy, standing in a doorway on the other side of the road, sheltering from the rain, saw him approach.

“The man himself,” Fahy said.

“What do we do?” Regan already had his hand on the butt of a Browning in his raincoat pocket.

“Wait,” Fahy said. “Not out here on the street. Let him get himself together, then we move very fast over the road and help him inside.”

Roper did his usual maneuver, turned to position, opened the door electronically, then started up the ramp. Quickly, Regan and Fahy darted over the road, and Fahy grabbed the end of the wheelchair.

“Let’s help you, Major,” he said and pushed Roper in. Regan followed them and closed the street door behind them.

“Now then, Major, let’s talk,” Fahy said, and pushed Roper into the living room beside his computer banks.

Roper sat there facing them, no fear in him at all. Regan said, “Do we call Dermot and Tod, Brendan?”

“Don’t be stupid, Fergus,” Fahy said. “You’ll be wanting to call Ashimov next. This is our affair.”

“Dermot and Tod? That would be as in Kelly and Murphy,” Roper said. “Which means that you two idiots are Regan and Fahy.”

“And how would you be knowing that?” Regan demanded.

“Because you’re thick and stupid. You think we don’t know all about you? You work for Ashimov, and that means you work for Josef Belov. Where’s Belov now? Drumore Place? Does he know you’re here?”

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” Fahy said. “Too clever for your own good. We’ll have to do something about that,” and he took the Browning from his pocket.