Day of Reckoning

16

LONDON

There was fog at Heathrow airport, and Don Marco's Gulfstream was diverted to Shannon in Ireland. It was several hours before it was once again in the air. It eventually landed in the private aircraft section at Heathrow, where Falcone and Russo waited with the Don's favourite car, a Bentley.

Falcone kissed the Don's hand. 'My condolences, Don Marco. Everything that could be done was done.'

'You don't need to tell me, Aldo. Let's get going, then we speak.'

Russo did the driving. Don Marco said, 'A little brandy, Aldo.'

Falcone opened the small bar in the rear of the Bentley,found the right bottle and a glass. Don Marco sipped a little and nodded. 'Fine, so now tell me — tell me everything.'

Later, in the Oliver Messel suite at the Dorchester, he stood at the open French window, rain drifting across the Mayfair rooftops to his terrace.

'Get me a cigar,' he told Falcone. 'In the crocodile case.'

Falcone nodded to Russo, who quickly opened the case that was on the sideboard. He took out a Romeo and Julietta Havana, clipped the end, and gave it to Falcone, who warmed it with a large match and passed it to the old man. Don Marco lit up.

'Jack was stupid, Jack was greedy and headstrong, but Jack was also my nephew. Half of him was Solazzo, flesh and blood. All men are a mixture of things, Aldo.'

Rain swept across the roofs with considerable force. The curtains billowed and Don Marco nodded.

'Jack could be foolish. He was certainly a thief, whatever you mean by that. But he was also a war hero and served his country.'

'We all know what Signor Fox was,' Aldo said.

'And we all know how he ended, on his face at the hands of these people. This Dillon, Johnson, Brigadier Ferguson.' The Don turned, not even angry. 'There is a matter of honour here. A debt must be paid. Money isn't everything in this world, Aldo.'

'Of course, Don Marco.'

The old man bit on the cigar, took out his wallet, and extracted a card that carried some phone numbers.

'I think the third one is Ferguson's office at the Ministry of Defence. Try it.'

It was two-thirty at the Dark Man and they were all there in the end booth, Harry and Billy, Baxter and Hall against the wall, Dillon and Blake, Ferguson and Hannah.

Hannah's mobile rang and she answered. 'All right, tell me.' She switched off. 'Priority intelligence at Scotland Yard, keeping me informed. It seems there were three killings in Cornwall, all known members of the Mafia.'

'Well, there you are,' Dillon said.

Billy was laughing. 'Surprise, surprise.'

Harry said, 'Here now, you watch it doesn't go to your head.'

'Billy the Kid,' Dillon said. 'In the Battle of Britain, he'd have earned a DFC.'

Dora brought a bottle of Bollinger and glasses on a tray, thumbed off the cork and poured. Billy said, 'That's it, then.'

'Not really, Billy.' Dillon took a glass. 'I mean, why is good old Don Marco Solazzo flying to London? To see his doctor, to get measured for a new suit in Savile Row?' He shook his head. 'Vendetta, Billy. Kill'one of our own, we kill you.'

Harry said, 'You think that?'

'I think that,' Blake said.

'So it isn't over?' Harry said.

'Last act.' Dillon shrugged. 'You'd need Shakespeare to write it.'

'He's not available, he's bleeding dead,' Billy told him.

It was then that Ferguson's mobile rang. He listened, then switched off. 'The Ministry of Defence. Don Marco Solazzo wanting a word. He's at the Dorchester.' He turned to Hannah. 'Would you mind getting him for me, Superintendent?'

Dora brought her the bar phone, and Hannah called the Dorchester and asked for the Don.

'Solazzo here.'

'I have Brigadier Ferguson for you.'

She passed the phone to Ferguson, who switched to audio so they could all listen. 'What a surprise.'

'I doubt that, Brigadier.'

'Condolences on the death of your nephew.'

'And congratulations to Dillon, I suppose?'

'Not at all. Your nephew was disposed of by an East End gangster from a family that isn't in the least intimidated by the Mafia.'

'Don't let us play games, Ferguson. This affair has gone on long enough, and my nephew is dead. I think it's time for us to meet and arrange a compromise.'

'That sounds sensible. When do you suggest?'

The old man was tranquil. 'That's up to you, but I think it should be just the two of us. I don't want Dillon and Johnson there.'

'I'll call back.'

Hannah Bernstein said, 'He's lying, sir.'

'Of course.' He turned to Dillon. 'Well?'

'He said he didn't want me and Johnson there. That means he does. If he knew Billy had killed Jack Fox, he'd want him there. This is a Mafia thing. Honour, family, revenge. He'll kill us all if he can. It's funny. We talk capitalistic values in society, but this kind of thing is the ultimate example of money being of no value.'

'So what are we talking about here?'

It was Blake who answered. 'I'd say a face-to-face meet where he'll have his people, obviously Falcone and Russo, and he'll take it for granted that you'll do the same. Not that he'll think I'm much help, but there's Dillon, and who knows.'

'There's me,' Billy said.

'Yeah, well just hold your tongue. You're getting too much of a taste for this, Billy. This isn't Dodge City,' Harry Salter said.

'It's better than Dodge City,' Billy told him.

'Fine,' Ferguson nodded. 'But what happens now?' 'You arrange a meeting,' Dillon told him.

'But where? Hardly the Piano Bar at the Dorchester.'

Dillon thought about it, then turned to Salter. 'Those boats of yours on the Thames, Harry? Something from Westminster to Chelsea or whatever.'

'The Bluebell?' Salter said. 'That goes from Westminster.' Dillon turned to Ferguson. 'Choose one of the evening

times. Arrange to meet him on board, just the two of you.' Hannah said urgently, 'But he won't go alone.'

'Of course not, he'll have Falcone and Russo with him.'

He smiled at Ferguson. 'He'll certainly expect me and maybe Blake.'

Blake was sweating again, his arm back in a sling. 'Not that I'm any good.'

'Yeah, well, I bleeding am,' Billy said.

'All right.' Ferguson nodded. 'So we meet and what happens?'

'He kills us if he can. It's the last act, you see,' Dillon told him.

Hannah said, 'Look, I think this is getting out of hand, sir. We've already breached all police codes by our behaviour in the Cornish matter.'

Dillon said, 'You're a good copper, and I've worked with you for some years, but we're talking about some of the worst people in the business and I want to finally put them out of business.'

'And I'm talking about the law,' she cried.

'Which people like Solazzo play games with. Lawyers are part of the law. The Solazzos are able to buy the best lawyers. Does that satisfy your fine moral conscience, Hannah, because it does nothing for me. I shall take those bastards out.'

There was a heavy silence. Ferguson said, 'Well, Superintendent?'

There was another pause. Blake said, 'Falcone and Russo killed my wife, and yet we'll never prove that.'

Hannah Bernstein was obviously distressed. 'I know, and it's terrible, but without the law, we've got nothing.' 'Even if they walk free?' Blake said.

'I'm afraid so.'

Dillon said, 'Well, you've got me, and I'm going to play public executioner again.'

Hannah stood up. 'I can't manage this, sir,' she said to Ferguson.

'Then I suggest you take a couple of weeks' leave, Superintendent, and I would remind you that you signed the Official Secrets Act when you joined me.'

'Of course, sir.'

'Off you go then.'

She went out, and Ferguson said, 'Now how do we handle this?'

increased in force as darkness fell and the Bentley arrived at Westminster Pier and Don Marco got out and walked up the gangplank. Falcone and Russo had joined the boat on its earlier trip, dressed in jeans and reefer coats, the kind of thing crew members wore. So did Billy and Harry Salter.

The fog was quite bad and rain fell heavily. The Bluebell nosed out into the river, and Don Marco walked out of the saloon, where there were only two other passengers, old ladies, and on to the stern, where there was a certain cover from the upper deck. He lit his cigar, and Ferguson moved out of the shadows.

'Don Marco, Charles Ferguson.'

'Ah, Brigadier.'

Fog swirled in. There was a seaman coiling a rope at the starboard rail. 'One of yours?' Ferguson asked.

'Oh, come now, Brigadier. All I want to do is bring this whole unfortunate affair to an end. My nephew was stupid, I acknowledge that.'

'He wasn't only stupid, he was murderous,' Ferguson told him. 'Having said that, don't tell me you don't want revenge.'

'What would be the point?'

'You know something?' Ferguson said. 'The older I get, the more obvious to me it is that life's like the movies. Take this situation. It's the gunfight at the OK Corral. Earp and the Clantons. Who's going to shoot whom? I mean, my dear old stick, why would an ageing Mafia Don go to all the trouble of coming here?'

The seaman at the rail, Falcone, stood up, and another, at the port rail, appeared, Russo. On the top deck, Billy and Harry Salter looked over, Billy holding a silenced AK.

Out of the shadows, Dillon appeared, Blake beside him, his right arm in the sling, sweating badly.

Don Marco said, 'You don't look good, Mr Johnson.' 'Oh, I'll get by.' Blake turned to Falcone. 'You butchered my wife.'

'Hey, it was business.' Falcone had a gun in his hand.

'Well, this is personal.' Blake's left hand came out of his sling holding a silenced Walther, and he shot Falcone, knocking him against the rail. Falcone spun round and went over head first into the river.

Russo raised his gun to Ferguson, and Billy, leaning over the rail on the top deck, extended the silenced AK and gave Russo a burst that sent him over the rail after Falcone.

Blake was really very ill, sweat all over his face. He said to Don Marco, 'Why the hell I don't kill you, I'll never know, but we ruined your nephew, killed the bastard and his men. I think I'd rather leave you to chew on that.'

He turned, and he and Ferguson walked away. Dillon lit a cigarette. 'He's one of the good guys, Blake, wants to improve the world. Even Ferguson still tries, but not me. I've found life more disappointing than I'd hoped, so to hell with you.' He slapped Don Marco back-handed across the face, reached for his ankles, and tossed him over into the river. The fog swirled. A cigar butt floated smouldering on the water. It was over.

They were waiting for him in the Daimler on Charing Cross Pier. Ferguson said, 'Taken care of?'

Dillon nodded. 'Whichever gang took out Jack Fox and his men in Cornwall was obviously laying in wait for Don Marco here. Another Mafia execution. Very messy.'

'All in all, then,' Ferguson said, 'a satisfactory night.'

'Except for one thing.' They turned to the figure who sat slumped and ashen in the dark. Blake looked at them, his eyes burning. 'It won't bring her back.'

And to that, there was no answer.