Drink With The Devil

THIRTEEN

IT WAS EIGHT-THIRTY the following morning when Tony Bradley turned his Land Rover into the car park outside the Seahorse Supplies warehouse. The staff didn’t clock on until nine, but he always liked to get there early. There were a number of vehicles parked already to do with other businesses nearby. He walked through them and paused to get out his keys. There was a small Judas gate in the great sliding doors for easy access. He unlocked it and there was a step behind him.

“Good man yourself, Tony.”

Bradley turned and found the three of them behind him, but it was Devlin he recognized immediately. “Dear God, Liam Devlin.”

“And another old friend. Surely you haven’t forgotten Sean Dillon.”

Bradley knew fear then of the kind that made his stomach contract. This had to be heavy, he knew that. “Sean, it’s been a long time.”

He glanced at Hannah nervously. “And who might you be?”

“She’s with us, that’s who she is, so in you go,” Dillon told him and pushed him in through the Judas gate.

Bradley was very frightened now. “I’ve done nothing. What is this?”

“Sit.” Dillon pushed him down on a packing case.

“A question or two, then we’ll let you go,” Devlin said. “You had Jack Barry here.”

He deliberately made it a statement of fact and it worked. “That’s right,” Bradley said eagerly. “Yesterday afternoon.”

“Buying diving equipment?”

“Yes, he was here with an American, a Mr. Sollazo. He was the expert. Hired a load of diving gear. I thought it was something to do with the Organization with it being Jack.”

“I’m afraid not,” Devlin told him. “Jack’s been a bit naughty. Up to no good, you might say. Colum O’Brien and the Army Council would not be best pleased.”

“My God,” Bradley said, “and how was I to know that?”

“Yes, you’re in bad trouble, old son,” Devlin told him. “So you’d better retrieve your position. Colum O’Brien doesn’t know of your part in this so maybe I can help.”

“Anything,” Bradley moaned.

Devlin turned to Dillon. “You’re the diving expert?”

Dillon lit a cigarette and said to Bradley, “Tell me what they took.”

Bradley hurriedly went through the list as he remembered it. “I think that’s all.” He paused, then added quickly, “No, I was forgetting the Master Navigator. I gave them the new model.”

“And a demonstration?” Dillon asked.

“More than that. The American gave me some bearings and I punched it in for them. Those things are like a homing device. They take you straight to the place.”

“Which was where?” Hannah cut in.

“How would I know, it was just bloody numbers.” He was getting upset. “I’ve told you all I know.”

“Except where they were going when they left,” Devlin said.

“Barry lives in Abbey Road, everyone knows that.”

“Only he isn’t there,” Devlin said gently. “Now where else might he be?”

“How would I know?” Bradley said wildly.

Dillon produced his Walther with the Carswell silencer. “I’m wondering whether a bullet in your left kneecap might improve your memory.”

“For God’s sake, Sean.” Bradley was terrified and then he remembered. “Just a minute. The last time I saw Jack Barry was in a pub in Ballyburn. I was driving down from Dundalk and I stopped for a drink and there he was in the corner of the bar.”

“And what happened?”

“We had a crack and he told me he had an old farmhouse just outside the village. He’d intended to walk back, but I gave him a lift. It was an old place, all a bit run down. He said he didn’t use it much since his wife died.” He was desperately searching for more information and found it. “There was a sign on the gate where I dropped him. Victoria Farm. I remember because he made a joke about it being a Brit Royal Family name.”

There was sweat on his face now. Devlin said, “There, that wasn’t too hard, was it?”

“The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?” Dillon said softly. “It better be, Tony boy, or I’ll be back to take care of that left kneecap.”

He turned away and moved to the Judas gate, Hannah at his side. She murmured softly, “You really are a bastard, Dillon.”

“Yes, well, it gets results, girl dear, and that’s what counts.”

Devlin smiled and put an arm around Bradley. “Cheer up, Tony, it may never happen, but if you try and get in touch with Barry or speak of this to anyone, I’m afraid Dillon will be very annoyed indeed, and you know what that means.”

“Not a word, I swear it.”

“Good man yourself,” Devlin said and left him there.

Dillon and Hannah were waiting beside Devlin’s silver Toyota saloon. “The game’s afoot, as Sherlock used to say, so to Ballyburn, and you can drive, Sean. I’m getting old.”

Dillon got behind the wheel and Devlin held the rear door open for Hannah. “You don’t look pleased. You didn’t like it back there.”

“I never do when I see the way he operates.”

“Yes, well, he always was the hard man, our Sean,” and he went round to the other side and joined her.

AT VICTORIA FARM they all had breakfast in the kitchen. When it was finished, Kathleen cleared the table and stacked the plates and strangely enough it was Mori who helped her when her uncle, Barry, and Sollazo went out. She half expected Mori to make a pass at her, was all ready for it. Instead, he filled the sink with hot water and put the dirty dishes in.

“Leave them to soak. Less work that way.”

“And what’s got into you, you big lump?” she demanded.

He laughed. “My father owned a restaurant in Palermo. When I was a kid I worked there all the time in the kitchen. Later I was a waiter for him.”

“Then you took to the gun.”

He shrugged and said calmly, “It paid better.”

When she went into the sitting room the three of them were looking at the map. “That’s it, then,” Barry was saying. “Up to Dundalk, then across the border. No trouble there these days since the peace talks. You can drive straight through.”

“And then Scotstown,” Sollazo said.

“Exactly. We might make it in a couple of hours, two and a half at the most.”

“And who is we?” Kathleen asked.

“Sollazo and me,” Barry told her. “You can stay here in Mori’s tender care.”

“You’ve got your bloody cheek.”

“Yes, well I’m in charge. Mr. Sollazo and I will drive up to Scotstown with the diving gear. Kevin Stringer at the Loyalist thinks he has a suitable boat. We’ll check it out. If it’s okay, Kevin can stow the gear and we’ll return. We’ll probably be back here by five.”

She glared at him, then looked at her uncle. He shrugged. “All for the best, Kathleen.”

“If everything is on course, we’ll all drive up to Scotstown in the morning,” Barry said.

“Oh, do what the hell you like,” she said and stormed out.

THE TOYOTA COASTED down the hill outside Ballyburn. Dillon slowed and there it was, the opened five-barred gate, the sign Victoria Farm, and the farmhouse beyond.

“Pull up in the lay-by,” Devlin said. “I’ve got some glasses in the glove compartment.” He rummaged inside and found a pair of Zeiss binoculars. “Just let me take a look.”

He stood beside the Toyota and focused them on the station wagon in the farmyard, and at that moment the house door opened and they all came out, Barry, Sollazo, Mori, and the Ryans.

“Christ,” Devlin said. “It’s the whole damn bunch of them. Jack Barry for starters. Take a look, Sean.”

Dillon took the binoculars, focused them, and nodded. “Barry, Michael, and sweet Kathleen.”

Hannah had got out of the Toyota and he passed the binoculars to her. She took a look. “The other two are Sollazo and his minder, Giovanni Mori,” she murmured to Devlin. “We had photos of them faxed from Blake Johnson.” She stiffened. “Barry and Sollazo have got into the station wagon. The others are going inside.”

“Out of here quick,” Devlin said to Dillon.

They scrambled in and Dillon drove away quickly and took a side turning. He stopped. “Give them a couple of minutes to see if they come this way. If not, I’ll reverse and try and catch them up.”

It was Hannah a moment later, watching through the rear window, who said, “There they go.”

“And with luck, to where we all want to be,” Devlin said. “So after them, Sean.”

DILLON STAYED WELL back, Devlin acting as lookout, and the amount of traffic on the road gave them plenty of cover. Drogheda was twenty miles, Dundalk another twenty, and they were just under the hour as they passed through the town.

“The border soon,” Devlin told Hannah. “Then we cross over to Warrenpoint if it’s the Down coast as it must be, we’ll go through Rostrevor and down to Kilkeel and take the coast road.”

“Which would bring us to Drumdonald and Scotstown, the area where we landed after the Irish Rose went down,” Dillon observed.

“What was the name of the pub you went to in Scotstown?” Hannah said.

“The Loyalist,” Dillon laughed. “The wrong name entirely. Kevin Stringer, who runs it, worked for Barry for years.” He frowned and turned to Devlin. “What do you think?”

“That it sounds promising. We’ll see. Now I’ll take a little nap and you young ones keep alert.”

AFTER WARRENPOINT, THE traffic thinned out, but there were still vehicles on the road, private cars and the occasional truck, enough to give cover if Dillon stayed well back. It started to rain, sweeping in from the Mourne Mountains.

“Sweeping down to the sea as the song says,” Devlin commented. “A grand sight.”

“It certainly is,” Hannah said.

There were two cars and a large farm truck ahead of them and the station wagon in front. Devlin said, “One thing, if we are going to end up in Scotstown or some such place, we have a problem. Fishing villages only on this coast, a jetty, a harbor, a few boats. Strangers stick out like a sore thumb.”

“We’ll have to go gently,” Dillon said. “Wait and see.”

THE RAIN INCREASED into a solid downpour, and Barry, at the wheel of the station wagon, swore softly. “The curse of this country.”

“You can say that again,” Sollazo said.

“Kilkeel coming up. There’s a grand cafe on the road just before we go through. I don’t know about you, but a cup of tea and a bacon sandwich would go down fine.”

“Suits me,” Sollazo told him.

A few moments later, they came to the very place and Barry turned into the car park. There were several trucks, a few cars, and he parked beside them. There was a filling station and garage with a sign that said Patrick Murphy amp; Son. The cafe was at the other end of the car park. They ran through the rain and went in.

Dillon pulled the Toyota in between two trucks and switched off the engine. Hannah said, “I’ll go and see what’s happening. I need the toilet anyway.”

She got out and hurried away through the rain. “A darling girl,” Devlin said.

“She saved my life once and took a bullet in the doing,” Dillon told him.

“Jesus,” Devlin said. “A nice Jewish girl like that.”

“I remember what Ferguson told me she said once,” Dillon said. “It was after she shot Norah Bell, the bitch had stabbed me in the back twice. She said I’m not a nice Jewish girl at all. I’m a very Old Testament Jewish girl.”

Devlin laughed. “God save us, if I wasn’t seventy-five years of age I’d fall in love with her.”

“Seventy-five?” Dillon said. “It’s the great liar you are.”

Hannah came back and leaned down. “They look settled. I saw Barry give the waitress an order. Look, I’m thinking about what you said, Liam, about us standing out like a sore thumb whenever we get where we’re going. That might apply to you more than me. I mean, if it turns out to be Scotstown, for example, this Kevin Stringer would know you, Sean, even you, Liam.”

“He could recognize me,” Devlin said. “I was well known in these parts, mainly because I was born in the country.” He grimaced. “Sometimes it’s hell being a living legend.”

Hannah said, “Not me. I’m just an English tourist or I could be. That garage has a car hire sign. Pass me my shoulder bag and I’ll go and see what I can get. If our friends leave before I’m ready, just go. I’ll follow the coast road Drumdonald and Scotstown way. I’ll find you.”

Devlin handed her the bag. “On your way, girl.”

THERE WAS A mechanic working on a car in the garage, a small man in a tweed suit and cap sitting in a glass office. He got up and came out.

“Patrick Murphy,” he said. “And what can I do for you, Miss?”

“I’ve been touring with some friends, but they’re going back to Belfast. They dropped me here because someone in Warrenpoint said you hired cars.”

“I do, indeed. How long would it be for?”

“Two or three days. I want to roam the Down coast. Just take time off. Can you help?”

“Well, it’s not the fancy stuff I can manage, but I’ve a Renault saloon over here if you’ve nothing against the French.”

“Nothing at all.”

She followed him across the garage and had a look. “Newly checked and the tank is full,” he told her.

“Wonderful.” She embellished her story a little. “When I come back, I’ll be wanting to return to Belfast.”

“No problem. I run a taxi service. We’ll take you to Warrenpoint. You can catch the train. Now, if you’ll give me your licence, we’ll get on with it. How would you be paying, by the way?”

She opened her purse, took out the licence, and checked her cards. “Would American Express be all right?”

He smiled. “Well, as they say on the television, that will do nicely.”

SHE DROVE OUT of the garage as Barry and Sollazo walked toward the station wagon. She pulled in behind the Toyota and briefly punched the horn. Dillon turned, raised a hand, and gestured her forward. She pulled out between the trucks as the station wagon turned into the road and followed it, and the Toyota came on behind.

SCOTSTOWN WAS DESOLATE in the rain, thirty or forty houses, the jetty, a dozen or so fishing boats in the harbor all enveloped in a damp, clinging mist. There was a wood at the top of the hill overlooking the village. Hannah pulled in at the side of the road looking down and saw the station wagon turn into the car park of the public house. The Toyota stopped behind her and Dillon and Devlin got out.

“A long time since I was here,” Dillon said. “But I was right, though. That’s the Loyalist down there, and if Kevin Stringer’s still there, he’s Jack Barry’s man.”

“Let’s take a look at the harbor.” Devlin raised the binoculars. “Not much, just fishing boats. No, wait a minute. There’s some sort of motor launch anchored out there. Thirty- or forty-footer, painted gray. Looks like serious business to me. Take a look.”

Dillon peered through the binoculars. “You could be right.”

“I’ve got to be.”

Hannah took the binoculars from Dillon and checked for herself. She nodded. “I agree, Liam, but what this needs is a closer look. I’ll go and play the tourist. I could do with a nice cup of tea and a sandwich, anyway. I’ll try the Loyalist.”

“While we starve?” Dillon said.

“That’s just your hard luck, Dillon,” she told him, went to the Renault, got in, and drove away.

IN THE BACK parlour of the Loyalist, Kevin Stringer embraced Barry. “Jack, I can’t tell you how great it is to see you again.”

“And you, Kevin. This is my associate, Mr. Sollazo from New York. You’ve found a boat?”

“Indeed I have. Avenger, a motor launch a friend of mine up the coast bought for the shark fishing only the sharks went away.”

Sollazo laughed out loud. “That I like.”

“How far would you be going?” Stringer asked.

“Rathlin Island,” Barry said. “Does anyone live there these days?”

“Not in years.”

“How far?”

“Only three or four miles.”

“Good, we can take a look.”

“Fine,” Stringer said. “But come and have a drink and something to eat.”

“So you’re doing food these days?” Barry said.

“We all need to make a living, Jack, and times are changing with the peace process. Tourists flooding back, Americans like Mr. Sollazo. I have seven rooms here. In the summer I was full most weeks. But come and eat. Best Irish stew in the country.”

THERE WERE A few regulars in the bar having a drink. Barry and Sollazo sat at the table in the bow window, ate rabbit pie and drank Guinness. On the other side of the bar, Hannah Bernstein did a good nervous act to the barman.

“Could I just have sandwiches?”

Kevin Stringer moved in fast and smiled, at his most expansive. “Anything you’d like.”

“Well, salad would be fine,” she said.

“No problem. Touring, are you?”

“That’s right.”

“And to drink?”

“A vodka and tonic would be nice.”

“Coming up. Just you sit yourself down.”

There were some newspapers on a stand by the door. She took one and sat at a table at the far end of the room from the window. Barry had his back to her so it was Sollazo who noticed. Very nice, he thought. It was a strange quirk, but he’d always liked women who wore glasses.

AN HOUR LATER, Sollazo, Barry, and Stringer went down to the harbor. Stringer led the way to the slipway and a green inflatable with an outboard motor.

“Here we go,” he said.

Sollazo and Barry climbed in, Stringer followed and cast off. He started the outboard and they moved away. Hannah, wandering down from the pub, watched them go.

FROM THE HILL Devlin followed their progress through the binoculars. “I was right,” he said with some satisfaction. “They’re closing on the boat that looked promising.” He nodded. “Now they’re boarding. Have a look.”

Dillon did, watching them board, then swung to the jetty and focused on Hannah Bernstein. “Take care, girl dear, take care,” he said softly.

ON BOARD AVENGER, Barry and Sollazo followed Stringer as he showed them around. “One cabin, two bunks, the saloon with benches that allow for another two bunks, galley, toilet, and that’s it.” They ended up in the wheelhouse.

Sollazo said, “It seems as if it’s seen better days.”

“Top show isn’t everything. It looks shabby, but the hull is steel and by Akerboon. Penta petrol engine, twin screws. Good for twenty-five knots. She’s got a depth sounder, radar, automatic steering. Everything you need.”

Barry turned to Sollazo. “Are you happy?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Barry nodded and said to Stringer, “Fine, Kevin. We’ll unload the station wagon in your garage. You put the stuff on board later. We’ll return to Dublin. We’ll be back before noon tomorrow to put to sea.”

“That’s fine, Jack.”

They went to the rail and Sollazo dropped into the inflatable. Stringer said eagerly, “It’s important, is it, Jack? I mean for the movement? The great days back?”

“I know what you mean, Kevin,” Barry said. “To hell with peace.”

HANNAH PULLED IN beside the Toyota at the top of the hill and got out. “They came back from the boat and went to the pub.”

Dillon had the binoculars raised. “The station wagon’s just leaving. No matter, only one road they can go. We’ll catch them.”

“So, if they’re leaving they’ll be coming back,” Devlin said.

“And I think I should be here to receive them,” Hannah said. “Have you got a bag of any description in your car, Liam?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Devlin opened the boot of the Toyota and produced a large holdall. “Empty, I’m afraid.”

“That doesn’t matter. I’ll book into the Loyalist and play the tourist. They’ll be back.”

“And we with them,” Dillon said.

Devlin put his hands on her shoulders. “Take care. We’d hate to lose you.”

“Don’t worry.” She raised her shoulder bag. “I’m carrying.”

“Hannah, you’re the wonder of the world.” Dillon kissed her on both cheeks and then softly on the mouth.

Her eyes widened. “Damn you, Dillon, that was a first,” and she got into the Renault and drove away.

TEN MINUTES LATER a delighted Kevin Stringer was showing Hannah a bedroom with a view of the harbor. “And how long would you be staying?” he asked.

“Two nights, possibly three. I’m just touring. Down from Belfast.”

“A great city. We don’t have en suite facilities, but the bathroom and the necessary is just next door.”

“Wonderful.”

“I’ll see you later. Dinner at seven if you like,” and he went out.

DILLON CAUGHT UP with the station wagon within fifteen minutes and settled back. “What do you think they’re up to?”

“This was just a preliminary sortie to check the boat. They’ve probably dropped off the diving equipment. It’s back to Ballyburn now. They’ll return, maybe tomorrow, with the others.”

“And up we come again and what then?” Dillon asked.

“That’s up to you and that young woman back there. She has the police authority, Sean. Scotstown is in Ulster and that’s part of the United Kingdom. It’s up to you and Ferguson.” Devlin leaned back. “Maybe a little gunplay, who knows, but not as far as I’m concerned. I’m getting too old, Sean. The trigger finger isn’t what it was. I’d let you down.”

“Cobblers,” Dillon said.

“I’ve done my bit. Good luck and God bless you, but count me out.”

IT WAS ALMOST four o’clock and at Victoria Farm, Kathleen was in the kitchen boiling the kettle. Ryan sat at the table and Mori was in the sitting room.

She glanced at her watch. “They’re due back in an hour. If we’re going to do it, it should be now.”

“If you think it will work,” Ryan said.

“Look, Uncle Michael.” She held up the pill bottle. “Three Dazane pills will bring on your angina symptoms. The effect will really start showing by the time Barry and Sollazo are back. Jack Barry isn’t going to just let you lie there and die, he’s not the kind.”

“You mean you hope he isn’t?”

“Look, even if they did nothing Dr. Sieed told me the symptoms wear off in a couple of days. On the other hand, if Barry listens to me and takes you to a hospital, that’ll be our chance.”

He sat there looking at her and then laughed. “Oh, what the hell, what have we got to lose?” She opened the bottle, put three pills in her palm, got a glass of water, and went back to him.

“There you go then, Uncle Michael.”

RYAN’S SYMPTOMS FIRST became apparent within half an hour. He stayed there at the kitchen table, head in his hands, and then he started to sweat. Fifteen minutes later the trembling started.

Kathleen called, “Mori, get in here.”

The Sicilian appeared on the instant. “What is it?”

“He’s having an angina attack. He’s had them before. Get him into the sitting room on the sofa.”

Mori pulled Ryan up and got an arm round him. They went out of the kitchen together and along the hall to the sitting room. Kathleen followed with a glass of water. Ryan looked terrible, his face gray, and for the first time she felt doubt.

“Uncle Michael, drink this.” She put the water to his lips and at that moment he started to shake terribly. This was more, much more, than she had expected, and at that moment Barry came in the room, Sollazo at his back.

“For God’s sake, what is it?”

“He’s having another angina attack,” she said. “He needs a hospital.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Sollazo turned to Barry. “Hospital is out.”

Barry knelt down and put a hand on Ryan’s forehead. “He’s in a bad way.” He stood up and said to Mori, “Get him in the station wagon.” He turned to Sollazo. “It’s all right. There’s a nursing home just outside Dublin we’ve been using for years. Decent doctors, good facilities. We’ll take him there. Twenty-five minutes.”

STANDING BESIDE THE Toyota observing the farmhouse through the binoculars, Devlin said, “There’s something up. Sollazo and the Mori fella have just brought Ryan out of the house. They’re putting him into the station wagon. They looked as if they were supporting him.”

“Let me look.” Dillon took the binoculars. “They’re all getting in, Barry and Kathleen, too. Let’s get ready to move.”

He slid behind the wheel and Devlin got in on the other side. A few moments later the station wagon turned into the road and Dillon followed.

THERE WAS A telephone box in the village, but it was out of order. Hannah needed to speak to Ferguson, had to take a chance. She returned to the Loyalist and went up to her room. There was the usual system where she punched nine to get an outside line, and she dialed Ferguson’s direct line at the Ministry of Defence.

It was bad luck that Kevin Stringer was sitting at his desk in the office doing accounts and was intrigued by the sound of the rather long series of numbers clicking through. He reached for the main switchboard phone and lifted it gently.

“Brigadier Ferguson, Chief Inspector Bernstein.”

A little later Stringer heard a voice say, “Ferguson here. What’s happening, Chief Inspector?”

“I’m staying at the Loyalist in Scotstown, sir, on the Down coast. We followed them up here, Barry and Sollazo. They have a boat in the harbor and brought a load of diving gear. They’ve gone back to Barry’s place outside Dublin, that’s where the Ryans are. Dillon and Devlin are in hot pursuit.”

“You expect them to return?”

“Probably tomorrow. I’m staying on as an English tourist, lone female variety.”

“Well, for God’s sake watch yourself.”

“Don’t I always?”

She put the phone down. In the office, Stringer sat thinking about it, then he rang Barry’s phone number at Ballyburn. There was no reply. He sat there thinking about it some more and finally opened his desk drawer and took out a Browning automatic.

HANNAH, SITTING AT the dressing table, was aware of a slight noise and turned to find the door open, Stringer standing there, the Browning in his hand.

“Chief Inspector, is it? So what’s your game, lady?”