Dark Justice

LONDON IRELAND
14

At Rosedene, Dillon paced nervously up and down in reception, smoking cigarette after cigarette. Rabbi Julian Bernstein sat by the window.

“Sean, sit down. It isn’t helping and it isn’t good for you.”

“If anything goes wrong with her” – Dillon had that Devil’s face on him – “I swear I’ll…”

“You’ll do nothing. We wait, we see. ‘Vengeance is mine’ achieves nothing.”

“What do I do, turn the other cheek? Well, I’m feeling very Old Testament right now.”

His mobile sounded. It was Roper. “How is she?”

“I’m waiting to hear. What have you got?”

“I’ve tracked down another Belov plane which lifted off half an hour ago from Archbury. Ashimov and Novikova are aboard.”

“Dammit,” Dillon told him. “That really rubs it in. That she’s gone with him, I mean.”

“There’s something else you won’t like. The Opel car. It’s a Russian Embassy vehicle logged out to a Novikova.”

“Well, there you are,” Dillon said. “Make my day. What’s the intended destination of the plane?”

“Ballykelly. Belov International’s got a big development there, which includes an airstrip. Belov dropped in yesterday, which means he’s already at Drumore Castle.”

“Surprise, surprise,” Dillon said.

“Safely in the Republic of Ireland, where they can’t be touched.”

“Not if I can help it.”

“Well, you’ll have to hurry, Sean. Air Traffic Control in Dublin reports a slot booked out at ten o’clock tomorrow morning for Belov’s Falcon to Moscow.”

At that moment, the door opened and Ferguson came in, supported by Miller and Dalton. His face was gray, eyes sunken. They helped him to a chair.

He looked at Dalton. “Be a good chap. Find us some whiskey. They’ll have some in the back for medicinal purposes.”

Dalton went away, and Dillon said, “You look terrible.”

“Yes, well, being shot does have that effect. But never mind me. How is the Superintendent?”

“Bellamy’s with her now. They did a scan.”

Ferguson turned to Rabbi Bernstein. “This life of Hannah’s, Rabbi, you must hate it, all of it.”

The old man smiled gently. “It’s the life she chose, General. It’s what she wanted. And you do look awful. My son is at a medical conference in Paris, but I’ve phoned him and he’s coming back at once. No,” he said, as Ferguson started to protest, “I insist. He’d never forgive himself otherwise. And I wouldn’t forgive myself, either.”

At Doone, the Navajo had landed. Smith taxied up to the hangar and switched off. He got the Airstair door open and Kelly and Tod followed him out. Kelly clapped him on the shoulder.

“You did a good job, I’m proud of you. Tod will take care of you.”

“I don’t want anything. Just leave me alone. Never again.” Smith closed the Airstair door.

Kelly said, “You never say that to me. I call, you jump.”

“Go on, then, put a bullet in my head now.” Smith shook his head. “As far as I’m concerned, the IRA can go to hell. You’re stuck in the past anyway.”

Kelly grabbed at him, but Tod pulled him back. “Just let it go. We’ll go down to the Royal George and have a drink with the boys.”

At Ballykelly as the Falcon touched down, it was quiet in the cabin. Ashimov had drunk steadily, and barely exchanged a word with Greta. They rolled to a halt. Kelso switched off and Brown left the cockpit and opened the door. As they stepped down, a Land Rover approached. “Well, here we go,” Ashimov said. “To an uncertain future.” He hesitated. “You’re with me in this, Greta?”

“Of course I am,” and yet, in her heart, she didn’t know what that meant.

“Then let’s get on with it. Beard the ogre in his den.”

They went down the steps, and to Ashimov’s astonishment, Josef Belov got out from behind the wheel of the Land Rover.

“So there you are. I’ve been waiting.”

Professor Henry Bellamy came in, stripping off his gloves, and paused in front of Ferguson.

“For God’s sake, Charles, at your age you can’t afford this kind of thing.”

Dalton held out a file. “Captain Wilson sent this, sir.”

“Never mind me,” Ferguson said. “What about Hannah?”

“She has a broken collarbone and right arm, and a depressed fracture of the skull.” He turned to Bernstein. “I’m sorry, Rabbi, but I’m transferring her to the neurological unit at the Cromwell. I’ve called in George Dawson, he’s the best in the business.”

“How bad is it?” Bernstein asked. “What are her chances?”

“Oh, excellent. Dawson is world-class. But I should point out one thing.”

“And what’s that?”

Bellamy glanced at Ferguson. “The other year when that Party of God hit man tried to kill her, she suffered damage to the stomach, a bullet to the left lung and a chipped spine. It was a miracle she survived.”

“Thanks to a great surgeon,” Dillon said.

“Which means nothing, Sean. She’ll survive this, too, don’t worry, but her future will be more problematic. This may well be the end of her career.”

“But it means everything to her,” Dillon said.

“I know. Maybe she could have a desk job. I don’t know – but there are limits to the endurance of the human body.”

“Of course, “Bernstein said.

“An ambulance is picking her up at any moment, which will take her to Dawson at the Cromwell. You, of course, may go with her, Rabbi.”

“Thank you.”

Bellamy opened Wilson’s file, had a quick look and shook his head. “Straight in, Charles, this is far worse than I’d expected.” He turned to Dalton and Miller. “Take him through.”

They got Ferguson up between them. He glanced at Dillon. “Don’t do anything stupid, Sean.”

“Now, would I do anything like that?” Yet the eyes burned in his face and there was that look of the Devil about him again.

Ferguson said, “You’re going to go after him.”

“You can depend on it.”

“And nothing I say to dissuade you would work?”

“Not this time.”

Ferguson said, “Then all our departmental resources are available to you. Just be careful, Sean.” He smiled wearily, and Dalton and Miller took him out between them, Bellamy following.

The Rabbi said, “I’ve seen that look on your face before. Maybe she wouldn’t want it.”

“Ashimov did it deliberately. I witnessed it myself. He pays in full.”

“God help you, Sean.”

An ambulance driver looked in. “Rabbi Bernstein?”

“That’s me.” The old man glanced at Dillon, sighed and went out.

It was quiet in reception, and Dillon took a deep breath and lit a cigarette, then he phoned Roper.

“How is she?”

Dillon explained and added, “Ferguson’s in a poor way himself. Bellamy’s just taken him into the operating room. Before that, though, the old boy gave me the use of all our departmental resources.”

“Does this mean what I think it does?”

“Absolutely. Will you stay on the line, make sure there aren’t any changes in departure plans at Ballykelly?”

“Sean, you’re crazy. You’ll never get away with it. It’s as if you’ve got a death wish.”

“I’ll ring Lacey and arrange a drop. The beach at Drumore will do nicely, but you check the weather and confirm it with him. Speak to the Quartermaster for me and arrange some weaponry.”

“I’ll get on it. But you can’t do this on your own, not even the great Sean Dillon.”

“Oh, I won’t.” Dillon went out, got in the Mini and phoned Farley Field. “It’s Dillon. I need Squadron Leader Lacey.”

He droned on through traffic one-handed and Lacey came on. “Sean?”

“Nothing has ever been more important, so don’t argue. Ferguson’s been shot, he’s in a hospital operating room at the moment, and he’s charged me with full authority. I’ll be with you in perhaps an hour. You’re going to fly in over Drumore in County Louth and do a beach drop.”

“I’m not sure about the weather, Sean.”

“We’ve done it before in worse. This one is important. We take it right to the edge.”

“As you say, Sean.”

He switched off, and Dillon carried on. One more place to call.

When he entered the Dark Man, Harry Salter, Billy, Joe Baxter and Sam Hall were in the end booth having a drink, except for Billy and his usual orange juice.

Harry said, “So here you are. You’re hardly keeping us up-to-date.”

“Just shut up and listen,” Dillon said.

When he was finished, Harry said, “These Russians, what bastards.”

“Never mind that,” Billy interrupted. “What’s the real word on Hannah?”

“Bellamy says he’s sure she’ll make it, but she’ll never be the same again.”

“And Ferguson?” Harry demanded.

“I told you. He took a slug from an AK. He won’t die from it, but at his age…” Dillon shrugged.

“And Selim out of it.” Billy shook his head. “That’s a waste. He could have said a lot.”

“He came round in the end. Coughed up plenty.”

There was a silence. Harry turned to Dora. “A little Bushmills, here, love. I think we’re going to need it.” He turned back to Dillon. “So Belov’s at this Drumore Place, and Ashimov and the girl have joined them, plus the two IRA gangsters?”

“That’s it.”

“And you can’t touch them because they’re in the Irish Republic.”

“Yes, Harry.”

“And they’ve got a plane to Moscow booked out in the morning? I’d say you’re fucked, Dillon.”

And Billy, his face as always colder than ice, said, “No, he isn’t. You’re going in, aren’t you? Who else will be there?”

“Discount Regan and Fahy. I’d say there’s Kelly and Tod. Probably Danny McGuire and Patrick O’Neill. There could be a few more. Then again, times have changed. They could even have cleared off for a while. Kelly has a boat, the Kathleen, which looks like rubbish but is hot stuff. He might think a cruise was indicated.”

“But the Russians for sure?”

“Belov, Ashimov and the woman. That’s all I know for certain.”

Billy said, “So you’re going on by air?”

“A beach landing, Billy.”

“You’re mad, Dillon,” Harry said.

“Harry, I just don’t like what they’ve done. Ashimov’s a butcher, and Belov thinks he rules the world. What they’ve done to Ferguson and Hannah and that poor silly sod Selim has to be paid for.”

There was silence, and Dora brought the drinks. Dillon took his straight down. “Harry, I’m tired. I’ve been at war with the world for years and it’s a darker world than when I started. I’ll be honest, though. I came for help from the boy wonder here and I was wrong. He’s done enough. In Hazar last year, he got a bullet in the neck, eighteen stitches in his face and his pelvis fractured. I was stupid to think he should be jumping out of a Citation at six hundred feet over Drumore Bay. As for me, though, I don’t have a choice. I can’t face those bastards walking away from this. It’s not an option.” Dillon got up.

Billy said, “How many times have we done something like this, Sean?”

“I don’t know. It blurs. Three?”

“Well, then, this will make it four.” He got up. “Let’s get moving.”

“Billy,” his uncle said.

“Oh, shut up. Let’s go, Sean.”

In the Great Hall at Drumore Place, Ashimov, Greta and Belov sat beside the log fire burning brightly on the hearth. Belov said, “So Selim is out of the equation, although I wonder just how much he said to Ferguson before he met his end.”

“That concerns me, too.”

“Having said that, except for the wounding of Ferguson, the rest of the enterprise was a failure. When I put it together with what happened in Iraq, it’s hardly been a success, Yuri. And Fahy and Regan! This Dillon has been a thorn in our side since the start. We underestimated him badly.” He turned to Greta. “Wouldn’t you agree, Major?”

She glanced at Ashimov, but couldn’t avoid Belov’s penetrating stare. “I went into his past thoroughly. There was no doubt he had a remarkable record.”

“And you made your opinion known?”

Again, she glanced at Ashimov. “Yes, I did, particularly to Kelly and his people.” As if trying to make up for the damage she was causing, she added, “Kelly and Murphy should have been well aware of what they were taking on. They were close associates of Dillon once. It’s not like they didn’t see him firsthand.”

At that moment, Hamilton, an old man from the village who acted as a kind of butler, came in.

“Excuse me, sir, Dermot Kelly and Tod Murphy are here.”

“Are they, now? Show them in.”

They sat there waiting, and the two of them entered.

“Back from the wars, I see,” Belov said.

Kelly, roused by drink, was aggressive. “We did a grand job for you. We killed Selim and clipped Ferguson.”

“And left one of your own men dead and the other one giving every scrap of information Ferguson wanted in complete detail. Not your best day’s work, Kelly.”

Kelly was speechless with fury. It was Tod who said smoothly, “These things happen. The fact is we did get Selim, as Dermot says, and we wounded Ferguson. We did our job. Do you need anything else?”

“Yes, we’re leaving in the morning for Moscow. I want you and what’s left of your men to stand on watch tonight. As to your future – we’ll discuss it another time.”

Kelly started. “Now, look here.”

Tod caught his arm. “That’s grand, sir, thank you for being so understanding.”

He took Kelly with him out to the hall. “Shut up, Dermot. Our day will come, isn’t that what we said in the Provos in the old days?”

“I could kill the bastard.”

“Not now. We go down to the Royal George, have a drink with McGuire and O’Neill and then we’ll come back and do what Belov wants. It’s to our advantage, Dermot, and that’s all that matters.”

In the hall, Belov said, “So, Moscow tomorrow.”

“And then what?” Ashimov asked.

“We see if there are any repercussions and we consider our options.” He looked hard at them both. “Mine and yours.”

At Farley Field, Lacey was waiting as they drove up. The first thing he said was, “We’re using the Lear-jet, Sean, no RAF rondels. We’re flying into a friendly country, remember? Don’t want to give the wrong impression.”

“Fine. What about weather?”

“We’ll be all right. There’s intermittent sea fog in the area, but it’ll be low tide, so there’s plenty of beach.”

“Good enough.”

“What about the return?” Lacey asked.

“I’m glad you think there’ll be one. Since we don’t want any trouble with the Republic, you land at Belfast Airport. Park in the usual high-security patch and make arrangements to receive us.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. It could be a hard one. On the other hand, the border is open these days. Billy and I should have no difficulty in getting to Belfast one way or another.”

“I hope that’s a given.”

“When have I ever let you down?”

“All right, let’s get moving.”

In the operations room, the Quartermaster, an ex-Guards sergeant major, waited. There were a couple of AK rifles, stocks folded, on the table, two Brownings and a jump bag.

“The extras Major Roper suggested are in the bag, sir. Your equipment is in the next room.”

“Good, we’ll get on with it.”

When he and Billy reappeared, they wore jumpsuits, boots and single parachutes, the Brownings in shoulder holsters, the AK rifles slung across their chests. Dillon carried the jump bag. The others were gathered at the chart table.

“There it is,” Lacey said. “Plenty of sand with the tide low.”

“I know it well,” Dillon told him.

“There might even be more moon than we’d like, but that chance of sea mist could help you. Mr. Salter tells me he’s coming along for the ride. Is that all right?”

“No, it isn’t,” said Billy. “Sorry, Harry. I’ve got enough on my mind.”

Harry looked resigned and hugged him. “You young bastard. You look like you’re in a Vietnam War movie.”

“You’ve said that before,” Billy told him.

“Go on, get out of it.” As Billy went up the steps, Harry nodded to Dillon. “As for you…”

“I know. Bring him back, or else.”

He followed Billy into the Lear. Parry closed the Airstair door. They settled down, unclipping the parachutes and putting the rifles to one side. The Lear started to roll down the runway.

“So here we go again,” Billy said. “Are we supposed to be some kind of heroes or something?”

“No, Billy,” Dillon said. “We’re handing out rough justice, the kind of thing other people can’t face up to. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Maybe you have a point.”

“Oh, I do, Billy.” Dillon took half a bottle of Bushmills from a pocket, unscrewed the cap and drank. “To you and me, Billy, the only truly sane men in a world gone mad.”