Day of Reckoning

14

The following day, Fox was having a light lunch in the Piano Bar at the Dorchester, tagliatelle alla panna, noodles in a cream and ham sauce, just the way he liked it. The waiter poured him a glass of Krug, and Falcone came down the stairs.

'I've been to the Colosseum, Signore. Mori has laid off most of the staff. He's kept on Rossi and Cameci.'

'I know. That damn Ferguson. Any word from Ford?' 'No, Signore.'

'Today's the day, Aldo. Make or break time.'

More than you know, Falcone thought.

Manchester Charlie Ford had expected Amber for lunch, and when he failed to turn up he tried Amber's mobile. When it rang at Holland Park, Helen Black nodded, Miller stood behind and Amber answered.

'Hey, where are you?' Charlie demanded.

'Sorry, Charlie,' Amber mumbled. 'I've got a terrible toothache. I've only just managed to find a dentist who could give me an appointment.'

'You poor sod. Okay, I'll see you this evening.'

'I don't know, Charlie. This thing could knock me out of commission.'

There was a brief silence. 'Well, I suppose we can manage if we have to. Me, Tony and Harold. But be here if you can, okay, Amber?'

'I'll do my best, Charlie.'

'Well, you do that, darling. Stay well.'

Amber switched off the phone and looked at Helen Black. 'Was that okay?'

'You should be on stage, Amber.'

For some strange reason, he perked up. 'You really think so?'

Absolutely. Much better than prison. Maybe you shouldn't go back to Barbados. Maybe you should get an education grant and try the London Theatre School.'

There was a final meeting at Fox's suite at the Dorchester: the Jagos, Ford, Briggs and French. Falcone and Russo stood by, and Fox nodded to Russo, who got a bottle of champagne from the basket and thumbed off the cork. He filled glasses all around.

Fox raised his and toasted the others. 'To the big one. They'll all have to sit up and take notice.' He turned to Ford. 'Everything okay?'

'Amber isn't up to snuff. He's got some sort of tooth infection. He rang me up from the dentist.'

'We don't need the black,' Tony Jago said. 'We can manage. Enough of us as it is.'

'You know best.' Fox nodded.

Tony said, 'So you're sure you're not joining us?'

'Don't be silly. That tunnel would be rather crowded.'

'But you don't mind joining us to share out the loot.'

Falcone, leaning against the wall, straightened, but Harold took charge. 'You shut your mouth,' he said to his brother, 'or I'll give you a slapping.' He turned to Fox. 'Look, I'm sorry. He's young.'

'Well, we all were once,' Jack told him and smiled. 'Come on, another glass of bubbly, and then, as I believe the Irish say, "God bless the good work."'

It was six o'clock that evening when Hannah answered her doorbell and found Dillon on the step.

'Ferguson expects us at his place to wait out what's happening. I've got the Daimler.'

'I'll get my coat.'

She was out in a few minutes, he opened the rear door for her, and she climbed in behind the driver. Dillon leaned in through the open window and tapped the driver on the shoulder.

'Take the Superintendent to Brigadier Ferguson.' He smiled at Hannah. 'I'll see you later. I've got things to do.'

Hannah opened her mouth in surprise, but the Daimler moved away before she could reply.

Outside the Jagos' house in Wapping, a large white truck bearing the sign ELITE CONSTRUCTION drew up.

Ford was at the wheel wearing overalls, Briggs beside him, French in the back. The door to the house opened, and Harold and Tony Jago emerged, came down the steps and also got in the back.

'The moment of truth, boys,' Harold said. 'Let's get to it.'

At the same time, the night security guard at the White Diamond Company, having finished his sandwiches and coffee, sat back to read the Evening Standard. He kept blinking his eyes, yawned a couple of times, put the newspaper down, and checked the multiple television security screens. Everything looked normal. Suddenly, he leaned over the desk, put his head on his arms, and was asleep.

In the tunnel, Ford and French, each wielding a sledgehammer, attacked the wall at the right point. The old Victorian brickwork crumbled and fell backwards in large sections into the basement.

'Perfect,' Ford said. 'In we go, gents.'

They all scrambled through. 'Now what?' Harold Jago asked.

'The tide started to come in downriver fifteen minutes ago. We're good for forty minutes. After that, the tunnel entrance will be covered.'

'Then let's bleeding get on with it,' Harold said.

Connie Briggs took an object from one of the carrying bags that resembled a television remote control. 'The Howler,' he said, and pressed a button.

'Is that it?' Tony Jago asked.

'Well, if it isn't, all hell will break loose when we go upstairs. If it works, the security system is fucked and all the doors will be open. Let's go and see.'

Dillon, the Salters, Joe Baxter and Sam Hall got out of a Transit. Baxter and Hall were carrying large canvas holdalls. Blake got out after them.

Harry Salter said, 'Look, old son, can't you stay in the Transit? You're not up to it.'

'No, it's important to me. Fox had my wife killed, Harry. I want to be there when he finally gets his. What happens now, if we succeed, will finish him.'

Strange, it was Billy who said, 'He's entitled. Let him be.'

'Well, you've changed, you young sod.'

'Damn right, Harry,' Dillon said. 'He's killed two men, and on the side of right. No going back on that.'

Salter said, 'Okay, let's get going.'

He led the way down the steps and started along the shingle to the tunnel entrance. When they got there, he turned to Billy.

'You checked with Handy. How long have we got?' 'Thirty minutes, and don't forget, when that tide floods

in, it's what Handy means by St Richard's Force.' 'Right, let's get to it.'

As the Jagos and the others reached the entrance hall, they paused, observing the security guard sprawled across the desk, the security screens blank.

'There you go. Downstairs to the vault,' Connie Briggs said.

Manchester Charlie Ford laughed. 'I told you he was a genius,' and he led the way down a broad marble stairway to the vaults below.

The others, in the tunnel, had reached the grille door. Harry Salter said, 'Right, let's get on with it.'

Billy said, 'We could clobber them on the way out, Harry. I mean, twelve million.'

'Like I said, it's too much, Billy. They'd bring out the big battalions. Now, we go with my suggestion. I've never liked the Jagos, with their drugs, whores and pornography. Filth.'

He turned to Joe Baxter. 'So get your gear out and let's hope the British prison system taught you a trade.'

Joe Baxter took out an oxy-acetylene welding torch from his holdall. From the other bag, Sam Hall produced an oxygen cylinder.

Baxter flared the torch and started to work.

The great vault doors opened, and the Jagos and their friends were into an Aladdin's cave. They opened their canvas holdalls, pulled out bags and poured in a stream of diamonds.

'Jesus,' Harold said. 'I've never known the like.'

There was an atmosphere of hysteria, everyone laughing, and finally, they were finished.

'Okay, let's be on our way,' Harold ordered and led the way back upstairs.

They moved down to the basement to the exit hole they'd smashed, moved through one by one.

Tony said, 'Christ there's water in the tunnel.'

'Well, there would be,' Harold said. 'The tide's coming in. We've got time. Let's get moving.'

It was already a foot deep when they reached the gate, Manchester Charlie Ford in the lead. He tried to open it. 'What the hell is going on? It won't budge.'

Val French pushed him out of the way and checked it. 'Christ! Someone's welded it together.'

'That would be me and my friends.' Dillon sloshed forward in a foot of water, Blake at his side. 'Sean Dillon, and this is Blake Johnson. I'm sure you've got a mobile. Call Jack Fox and give him the bad news.'

The Jagos grabbed the bars of the grille and shook them. 'Fuck you!'

Dillon smiled. 'No, I'm afraid it's you who are fucked, gentlemen. Now, if you'll excuse me, the water's getting a bit high.'

Dillon and Blake turned and waded away, the water already two feet deep and rising. They exited on to the beach, which was already flooded. Harry Salter and the other were at the steps, waiting.

Dillon took out his Codex Four mobile phone and called Scotland Yard, using the Special Branch number.

The officer who replied said, 'Special Branch. How can I help you?'

'The Jago brothers and a hand-picked team are trapped in the White Diamond Company building at St Richard's Dock. They can't get out the way they got in underground, because the tide's rising. If you get to the front entrance fast, you'll catch them with twelve million in diamonds.'

'Who is this?'

'Don't be silly, get moving.'

In the tunnel, the Jagos and the others shook desperately at the grille together, but Joe Baxter had done too good a job, and then the water rose and started to bore in very fast.

'Christ,' Harold said. 'It's that St Richard's Force thing. Let's get out of here.'

They turned and scrambled along the tunnel, the water foaming around them, got through the hole, and scrambled upstairs to the foyer and the security office.

'Listen,' Harold said, 'if that Howler works, then the front door's open.'

'That's right,' Connie told him.

'Okay, let's get the hell out of here.'

He led the way to the door, and there was a squeal of brakes as half a dozen police cars arrived outside.

Harold stood there, bitter and angry, and said to Connie, 'Close the door with your sodding Howler,' which Connie did. 'Let them wait.'

The police bunched together outside the glass doors, and Tony Jago, gave them two fingers. Harold called through on the mobile to Fox at his suite at the Dorchester.

Fox said, 'Harold, how did it go?'

'Wonderful. I'm standing here at the White Diamond Company holding a bag worth twelve million and there must be at least twenty cops outside trying to get in at

US.

'What happened, for God's sake?'

Harold told him.

'Dillon?' Fox said. 'Are you sure?'

'And the American, Johnson. I think they've been on your case more than you know, Jack. The trouble is it's put them on my case.'

'I'll get you the best barrister in London.'

'Thanks very much. That's a great comfort, Fox. Sod you and your barrister!'

He switched off the mobile. Tony said, 'What the hell do we do, Harold?'

'Travel hopefully, Tony.' Harold turned to Connie Briggs. 'Go on, use that gadget and open the door.' Connie did, and the police rushed in and surged all over them.

Fox said, 'That bastard Dillon. He and Johnson, they've ruined the operation!'

'Signore?' Falcone said.

'God, I see it all now. It wasn't them just with the Colosseum, but Al Shariz and Kilbeg, too. And now this!' 'But how, Signore? How would they know?'

'The Johnson woman, everything flows from that. Somehow she found out and told them. God knows how.' 'So what do we do now, Signore?'

Fox turned to him with a hard light in his eyes. 'We exact revenge,' Fox said. 'That's what I want, revenge.' 'And how do we do that?'

'I'll tell you later. Right now, I want you and Russo to get down to the Colosseum and pick up Rossi and Cameci. Go on, do it now.' He was angry. 'And make it fast.'

'Signore.'

Falcone left, picked up Russo from his room, and filled him in as they went down in the elevator to get the car.

Russo said, 'He's too angry, and being too angry isn't good.'

'You don't have to tell me,' Falcone said.

In the car on the way to the Colosseum, he phoned Don Marco in New York and brought him up to date.

'Ah God, Aldo, can't he see? They're looking for him to come after them. He should just cut his losses, get out of there.'

'He won't do that, Don Marco. He's an angry man.' 'And insane to go after them. But then, Jack was always headstrong.'

Falcone hesitated, then said the unthinkable. 'Do you wish me to take care of him, Don Marco?'

'No, Aldo. No matter what he's done, he's my nephew, flesh of my flesh. I'm coming over there. I'll leave New York within the hour. You stay in dose touch.'

'Of course.'

'Aldo. I need your total loyalty in this.'

'You have it as always, Don Marco.'

Besides the Gulfstream, the family operated a Golden Eagle twin-engine aircraft out of Bardsey Aero Club outside London. It was useful for local flights, the kind where you had to put down on short runways, so it was particularly good for Hellsmouth. Fox called the pilot now, an ageing, ex-RAF pilot named Swan, and got him at home.

'Mr Fox, what can I do for you?'

'I need a flight in a couple of hours to Hellsmouth. Can you manage that?'

'If you say so, Mr Fox. It might be a rough landing. It's pretty dark.'

'I don't care if you put us down on its belly, just so you get us there.'

As you say, sir.'

When Dillon arrived at Stable Mews, Fox, Russo, Falcone, Rossi and Cameci were waiting in a large black van.

Dillon got out with Blake and gave him the key to the house. 'There you go. I'll be back later. I'll go and see what Ferguson wants.'

He got back into the taxi and it moved away. Blake walked slowly towards the door, and the van drove up and braked. Rossi and Cameci were out and had him in seconds. Blake tried to struggle but had little strength. Fox leaned across Russo, who was at the wheel.

'It's my turn now, Johnson. Get him in the back. You know what to do, Falcone.'

They dragged Blake in and Falcone produced a hypodermic. 'Now this will really make you feel good,' he said and jabbed it into the right arm.

Blake continued to struggle, but then everything slipped away and he was still.

Bardsey operated a twenty-four-hour service that handled the ever-increasing volume of private planes and executive jets that Heathrow didn't welcome any more. For internal flights, there was no particular security. Swan was waiting for them.

Fox said, 'We'll take off right away. I don't want to hang around. I'm a little worried about my friend here. He's had too much to drink.'

'Will there be a return, Mr Fox?' Swan asked.

'Not tonight. You wait at the airstrip for further instructions.'

Swan, only too well aware of the kind of people he was dealing with, said, 'As you say, sir,' went and logged flight details.

Rossi and Cameci took Blake up the steps, Russo followed, and Fox turned to Falcone. 'Phone the caretaker, old Carter. Tell him I want the fireplaces lit, but I don't want him in the house. He can go home.'

As you say, Signore.'

Fox boarded the Eagle, and Falcone got on his mobile and made the call. When he finished, Falcone followed and Swan pulled up the steps and dosed the Airstair door. As he went up to the cockpit, Fox reached out to Falcone.

'Give me the phone.'

He took out a card, a digest of information Maud Jackson had given him, found Ferguson's number in Cavendish Square and dialled it.

'Charles Ferguson.'

'Jack Fox. Is Dillon there?'

'Why, Mr Fox. And how are you this evening?' 'Shove it, Ferguson. Give me Dillon.'

Ferguson handed the phone to Dillon, and he and Hannah stood up.

'Why, Jack, so sorry to hear your bad news.'

'Yeah, well, it's nothing compared to the news I have for you, Dillon. I've just grabbed Blake Johnson, and I'm taking him to hell, but not, alas, back. I saw you clear off in the cab, Dillon, and I got him before he opened the door. If you use your brains, you might come up with where I'm taking him, and that would please me no end.'

He switched off before Dillon could reply, and Dillon turned to Hannah and Ferguson. 'He's got Blake. He said he's taking him to hell but not back.' He frowned. 'Hellsmouth, his place in Cornwall, it's got to be. Let me use the phone.'

Hannah said, 'Dillon, no, it's a trap. He made it easy for you to guess, and now he'll kill you, too.'

'That may be, Hannah. But I can't leave Blake there alone.'

He dialled the Holland Park safe house and got Helen Black. 'Bad news. The bastards have kidnapped Blake Johnson. Put the Major on.'

Roper said, 'Here I am, Sean. What's the deal?' Dillon told him.

Roper said, 'Give me a couple of minutes at my computer.'

'Good man.'

Roper was back very quickly. 'Yes, besides the Gulfstream, the Solazzo family have a Golden Eagle. You know that plane?'

'I've flown one many times,' Dillon said. 'It's excellent for short runways.'

'Well, that's what they have at the Hellsmouth estate. There's an old RAF feeder station from the Second World War. The nearest decent airfield is RAF, St Just, twenty miles away. It's an air-sea rescue set-up, helicopters, long runway.'

'Thanks, old son.'

'You're going in hard, I take it.'

'You could say that.'

'I wish I could be with you. I'll stay on the computer, in case you need me. Just a minute.' There was a pause, and Roper spoke again. 'The Golden Eagle took off twenty minutes ago. The slot booked says Cornwall, Hellsmouth, six passengers.'

'And one of those is Blake. Thanks, Roper.'

Dillon said, 'Hellsmouth, they've gone down in a Golden Eagle from Bardsey. Six passengers.' He punched another number on the phone.

'Sean, what are you doing?' Hannah said.

'Well, I'm not phoning the Cornish police. They're a fine body of men, but not for a job like this. I'm calling Farley Field.'

'What for?' she demanded.

'Because he's going after them,' Ferguson said. 'I know my Sean.'

'He said to hell but not back,' Dillon said. 'Well, I'll follow him to hell.'

A voice on the receiver said, 'Farley Field.'

'Dillon. Get me Squadron Leader Lacey, if he's there.' 'Actually, I just saw him in the mess. Hang on.' Lacey was there quickly. 'Is that you, Dillon?'

'We're going into action, and I mean now.'

'What's the score?'

'Hellsmouth, near Lizard Point in Cornwall. It's a small airstrip, so I need a parachute landing.'

'I know that area. RAF St Just is not too far away.' 'Exactly, so you drop me, then land at St Just.'

'Jesus, Dillon, you're at it again, saving the world.'

'No, saving Blake Johnson's life. Speak to the quartermaster. Brownings, AK47s, parachutes for two. I'd say six hundred feet.'

'You're mad, Sean, but let me get on with it.'

Dillon put the phone down and Hannah Bernstein said, 'Gear for two parachutists. What the hell are you talking about?'

'Well, not the SAS. There isn't time. I've someone in mind, and I'll go and see him now. If you want to see me again, it will be at Farley Field.'

'You're just going to execute all those people, aren't you, Dillon?' she said angrily.

Dillon turned to Ferguson. 'She's a lovely woman, Brigadier, but I've had it up to here with her morality. I'm more interested in saving a good man's life,' and he turned and walked out.

Hannah turned and said, 'He's mad, sir.'

'No, Superintendent. He's Dillon.'

Harry Salter, Billy, Joe and Sam Hall were in the end booth at the Dark Man enjoying large Scotches when Dillon came in.

'Sean, my old son,' Harry Salter said. 'Did we do it or did we do it?'

'Fox has kidnapped Blake,' Dillon said. 'Flown off to this estate he has in Cornwall with four of his heavies.'

There was silence. Salter said, 'What are you going to do?'

'I can't leave it, they might chop him. I'm flying down in an hour from Farley Field. I'll drop over the estate by parachute. Try and catch them with their pants down. It's got to be a drop, the landing field there is too short for a Gulfstream. The nearest RAF base is twenty miles away.'

Billy said, 'Fox and four makes five, Dillon, and you're going in alone?'

'No, Billy, I'm going in with you.'

'You must be bleeding mad,' Harry Salter said.

Dillon ignored him. 'Billy, you've heard of Arnhem in the Second World War, all those paratroopers going in? There was one major, an army surgeon, who'd never done a jump in his life, but they needed a doctor. He survived just fine and so will you. Billy, trust me. You jump out, pull the cord at six hundred feet, you hit the ground in twenty-five seconds, and that's all there is to it.'

Salter said, 'You're crazy.'

But Billy was smiling all over his face. 'I've said it before, Dillon, you're just like me. You don't give a stuff. Just show me the way.'

'Well, if he goes, I'm bleeding going,' Salter said. 'Even if I'm only on the sidelines.'

'Right,' Dillon said. 'Then let's do it.'