On dangerous ground

TEN

They arrived at the castle only a few minutes after seven, Dillon at the wheel of the old estate car that went with Ardmurchan Lodge. He and Ferguson were in dinner jackets and Hannah Bernstein wore a cream trouser suit in silk crepe. The door was opened by Marco wearing his alpaca jacket and striped trousers and he ushered them in, his face expressionless, to where Morgan stood by the fire in the hall, Asta in a green silk dress on the sofa beside Lady Katherine Rose.

"Ah, there you are," Morgan said genially. "Come in. I think you've met Brigadier Ferguson, Lady Katherine?"

"Indeed, yes. He called and took tea with me, he and this charming young gel."

Hannah looked amused and Ferguson took her hand. "Lovely to see you again. I don't think you've met my nephew, Sean Dillon."

"Mr. Dillon."

Dillon took the cool, dry hand, liking her immediately. "A great pleasure."

"Irish?" she said. "I like the Irish, charming rogues, the lot of them, but nice. Do you smoke, young man?"

"My one vice."

"What a liar you are. Give me one, will you."

"Lady Katherine, I'm so sorry." Morgan picked up a silver cigarette box and came forward. "I'd no idea."

She took one and accepted a light from Dillon. "I've been smoking all my life, Mr. Morgan, no point in stopping now."

Marco appeared with a bottle of Crystal in a bucket and six glasses on a tray. He placed it on a side table and said in heavily accented English, "Shall I open the champagne, sir?"

"Not for me," Lady Katherine said. "It doesn't go down well these days. A vodka martini very dry would be just the ticket. That's what got me through the war, that and cigarettes."

"I'll get it," Asta said and went to the drinks cabinet as Marco uncorked the champagne bottle.

"You served in the war then, Lady Katherine?" Ferguson asked her.

"By God I did. All this nonsense about young gels being allowed to fly in the RAF these days." She snorted. "All old hat. I was a pilot from nineteen-forty with the old Air Transport Auxiliary. They used to call us the Attagirls."

Asta brought the martini and sat beside her, fascinated. "But what did you do?"

The old lady sampled the drink. "Excellent, my dear. We ferried warplanes between factories and RAF Stations to free pilots for combat. I flew everything, we all did. Spitfires and Hurricanes and once a Lancaster bomber. The ground crew at the RAF Station I delivered it to couldn't believe it when I took off my flying helmet and they saw my hair."

"But all in all, it must have been extremely dangerous," Hannah said.

"I crash-landed once in a Hurricane, wheels up. Not my fault, engine failure. Another time an old Gloucester Gladiator, they were biplanes, started to fall apart on me in midair so I had to bail out."

"Good God!" Morgan said. "That's amazing."

"Oh, it was hard going," she said. "Out of the women in my unit sixteen were killed, but then we had to win the war, didn't we, Brigadier?"

"We certainly did, Lady Katherine."

She held up her empty glass. "Another one, somebody, and then I'll love you and leave you."

Asta went to get it and Morgan said, "Lady Katherine doesn't feel up to dinner, I'm afraid."

"Only eat enough for a sparrow these days." She accepted the drink Asta brought and looked up at Morgan. "Well, have you found the Bible yet?"

He was momentarily thrown. "The Bible?"

"Oh, come on, Mr. Morgan, I know you've had the servants turning the place upside down. Why is it so important?"

He was in command again now. "A legend, Lady Katherine, of great importance to your family. I just thought it would be nice to find it and give it to you."

"Indeed." She turned to Hannah and there was something in her eyes. "Amazing the interest in the Bible all of a sudden and I can't help. Haven't seen it in years. I still think it was lost in the air crash that injured my brother so badly."

Morgan glanced at Ferguson, who was smiling, and made a determined effort to change the subject. "Tell me, just how old is the castle, Lady Katherine?"

Asta got up and moved to the French windows at the end of the hall and opened them and Dillon went to join her, moving out onto the terrace as she did, the murmur of voices behind them.

The beech trees above the loch were cut out of black cardboard against a sky that was streaked with vivid orange above the mountains. She took his arm and they strolled across the lawn, Dillon lighting a cigarette.

"Do you want one?"

"No, I'll share yours," which she did, handing it back to him after a moment. "It's peaceful here and old, the roots go deep. Everyone needs roots, don't you agree, Dillon?"

"Maybe it's people, not places," he said. "Take you, for instance. Perhaps your roots are Morgan."

"It's a thought, but you, Dillon, what about you? Where are your roots?"

"Maybe nowhere, love, nowhere at all. Oh, there's the odd aunt or uncle and a few cousins here and there in Ulster, but no one who'd dare come near. The price of fame."

"Infamy, more like."

"I know, I'm the original bad guy. That's why Ferguson recruited me."

"You know I like you, Dillon, I feel as if I've known you a long time, but what am I going to do with you?"

"Take your time, girl dear, I'm sure something will occur to you."

Morgan appeared on the terrace and called, "Asta, are you there?"

"Here we are, Carl." They walked back and went up the steps to the terrace. "What is it?"

"Lady Katherine's ready to leave."

"What a pity. I wish she would stay, she's wonderful."

"One of a kind," Morgan said. "But there it is. I'll run her down to the lodge."

"No you won't," Asta told him. "I'll see to it. You've got guests, Carl. We mustn't forget our manners."

"Shall I come with you?" Dillon asked.

"It's only three hundred yards down the drive for heaven's sake," she said. "I'll be back in no time."

They went inside and Lady Katherine said, "There you are. Thought we'd lost you."

She pushed herself up on her stick and Asta put an arm around her. "No chance, I'm taking you home now."

"What a lovely girl." Lady Katherine turned to them all. "Such a delight. Do come and see me any time. Good night all."

Morgan had a hand on her elbow and he and Asta took her out of the front door. A moment later the castle's station wagon engine started up and Morgan returned.

He snapped his fingers at Marco. "More champagne."

Marco replenished the glasses and Ferguson looked around the great hall, the weapons on the wall, the trophies, the armour. "Quite an amazing collection, all this. Fascinating."

"I agree," Hannah said. "If you're into death, that is."

"Aren't you being a little harsh?" Morgan said.

She sipped some of her champagne. "If it was a museum exhibition they'd probably call it 'In Praise of War.' I mean look at those great swords crossed under the shields. Their only purpose was to slice somebody's arm off."

"You're wrong," Dillon said amiably. "The backstroke was intended to remove heads. Those swords are Highland Claymores and the shield was called a Targ. That's where the word target comes from."

"Actually, the particular one you're looking at up there was carried at the Battle of Culloden by the Campbell of the day," Morgan said. "He died fighting for Bonnie Prince Charlie."

"Well I don't consider that much of an ambition."

"Haven't you any sense of history?" Ferguson demanded.

"I can't afford one, I'm Jewish, remember, Brigadier. My people have always had enough on to simply survive in the present."

There was a silence and Dillon said, "Well that's a showstopper if ever I've heard one."

As he spoke the door opened and Asta came in. "That's done. I've left her in the hands of the redoubtable Jeannie. Can we eat now? I'm starving."

"Only waiting for you, my love," Morgan said and he gave her his arm and led the way in. • • • The dining room was quite splendid, the walls lined with oak paneling, the table decorated with the finest crystal and silver, candles in great silver sticks flaring. Marco served the meal aided by two young housemaids in black dresses and white aprons.

"We've kept the meal relatively simple as I wasn't sure what everyone would like," Morgan said.

His idea of simplicity was extraordinary. Beluga caviar and smoked salmon followed by roast pheasant with the usual trimmings, all washed down with vintage Chateau Palmer.

"Absolutely wonderful," Ferguson said as he tucked into his pheasant. "You must have an extraordinary cook here."

"Oh, she's all right for the simple things, but it's Marco who roasted the pheasant."

"A man of many talents." Ferguson glanced up as Marco, face imperturbable, refilled the glasses.

"Yes, you could say that," Morgan agreed.

Marco disappeared shortly afterwards, Dillon noticed that as the two maids cleared the plates. Asta said, "And what delight do you have for the climax?"

"Hard act to follow with a simple pudding," Ferguson observed.

"Nothing simple about this, Brigadier, something Marco specializes in," Morgan told him.

Marco entered the room at that moment with a large silver chafing dish, the maids behind him. He removed the lid and a most delicious smell became apparent.

"Cannolo," Asta said in delight.

"Yes, the most famous sweet in Sicily and so simple," Morgan said. "A tube of flour and egg filled with cream."

Ferguson tried a spoonful and shook his head. "Nothing simple about this. The man's a genius. Where on earth did he learn to do such cooking?"

"His father had a small restaurant in Palermo. As a boy, he was raised to it."

"Amongst other things," Dillon said.

"Yes, my friend," Morgan told him calmly. "I suspect you and Marco would have a great deal in common."

"Now then, Dillon, let's concentrate on the meal," Ferguson said. "There's a good chap."

Which they did, returning to sit round the great fireplace in the hall for the coffee, which was Yemeni mocha, the finest in the world.

Ferguson accepted a cigar. "Well I must tell you this, Morgan, that was the best simple meal I've ever had in my life."

"We aim to please."

"A most pleasant evening," the Brigadier replied.

Dillon felt like laughing out loud at the insanity of it, the pretense of this amazing game they were all playing, the urbanity of the Brigadier's exchanges with a man who only a few hours earlier he had seen dispose of Fergus Munro's body.

"Well now," he said. "If we're going to play patty fingers here I'll use mine on the piano if you don't mind."

"Be my guest," Morgan told him.

Dillon moved to the grand piano and raised the lid. It was very old, a Schiedmayer, but the tone wasn't too bad when he tried a few chords. He lit a cigarette and sat there with it drooping from the corner of his mouth and started to work his way through a few standards.

Hannah came and leaned on the piano, sipping her coffee. "You consistently surprise me, Dillon."

"The secret of my fatal charm. Any requests?"

Asta was watching, a slight frown on her face, and Hannah murmured, "Now that's interesting, I do believe she's jealous. What have you been up to, Dillon?"

"You should be ashamed, you and your bad thoughts," Dillon told her.

Behind them Morgan said, "Asta tells me you had an excellent day with the deer."

"Yes," Ferguson said, "only when we got close enough to a King Stag to see the damned eyes and I lined her up with my gun, she wouldn't pull the trigger. She said she couldn't kill such a magnificent creature."

Hannah turned. "Good for you," she said to Asta.

"Well it was magnificent," Asta said.

"Still a damn silly attitude," Ferguson told her.

"No, I think the Chief Inspector has a point," Morgan told him. "The deer can't fight back. At least in the ring the bull has a chance of sticking his horn in."

There was silence and Dillon said, "Sure and you put your foot in it there, old son."

"Dear me, so I did." Morgan smiled at Hannah. "So sorry, Chief Inspector, I wasn't supposed to know, was I?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Ferguson told him.

"All out in the open, so we all know where we are," Dillon said.

"And on that note we'll say goodnight." Ferguson stood up. "Whatever else, you're an excellent host, Morgan. You must allow me to do the same for you sometime."

"I'll look forward to it."

Marco opened the door and they moved out onto the steps. The sky was dotted with clouds and yet undulated with strange, shimmering lights.

"What's that?" Hannah demanded.

"The aurora borealis," Dillon told her, "the northern lights."

"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," Asta said. "What a night for a drive. Can we, Carl?"

"Asta, be reasonable. It's late."

"Oh, you're no fun, you." She turned to Ferguson. "Can I come with you, Brigadier? You could have that wonderful Ghurka of yours bring me back."

"Of course, my dear, if you'd like that."

"It's settled then." She ran indoors.

Dillon said to Morgan, "Don't worry, I'll bring her back myself."

"Now that I am worried about," Morgan said and Asta reappeared wearing a blue mink coat.

"I'm ready when you are." She kissed Morgan on the cheek. "I won't be long." Then she got in the rear of the estate car with Hannah.

Dillon got behind the wheel, Ferguson joined him in front, and they drove away.

The drive along the side of the loch was pleasantly eerie, the northern lights reflected in the dark water so that they seemed to sparkle with a kind of strange silver fire.

"Wonderful," Asta said, "I'm so glad I came."

Dillon changed down to climb the hill up through the trees as they rounded the eastern end of the loch. The old estate car responded well; they went over the crest and started down. It was very steep with a bend or two below. As their speed increased, Dillon put his foot on the brake pedal. There was no response and the pedal went right down to the floor.

"Damn!" he said.

"What is it?" Ferguson demanded.

"The brakes have failed."

"Good God, man, how? They worked perfectly well on the way here."

"Since when we've been parked outside Loch Dhu Castle," Dillon told him and desperately tried to change down.

They were going very fast indeed now. There was a grinding of gears as he wrestled with the stick and then he did manage to force it into third as they came to the first bend.

"Hang on!" Ferguson called as Dillon worked the wheel and just managed to scrape round.

"For God's sake, stop it, Dillon!" Asta cried.

Not that he had any choice and the estate car hurtled down the straight, another considerable bend waiting for them. Again he worked the wheel hard, trying the old racing driver's technique of driving into the bend and almost made it and then they scraped against a granite wall on the left and bounced away. And it was that which saved them, for Dillon got control again as they went down another slope into a hollow and started up a gentle incline. Gradually the speed slowed, he changed down to bottom gear, and applied the handbrake.

There was silence and Ferguson said, "Now that could have been very nasty indeed."

"Let's take a look," Dillon said.

He found a torch in the dashboard locker and went and raised the estate car's bonnet, Ferguson at his side. A moment later, Hannah and Asta joined them.

Dillon peered into the engine and nodded. "There you are."

"What is it?" Hannah asked.

"See that kind of canister there? It holds brake fluid, only it doesn't any longer. The valve's been ripped off at the top, probably with a screwdriver. No fluid, no brakes. It's a hydraulic system."

"We could have been killed," Hannah said, "all of us, but why?"

"I think Asta knows why," Dillon said.

Asta pulled the collar of her mink around her throat and shivered. "But why would Carl do that?"

"More important, why would he do it to you, my dear?" Ferguson asked her. "After all, he made no attempt to stop you coming with us." And to that she had no reply. He turned to Dillon. "Will it still work?"

"Oh, yes, it's a straight road to the lodge on the other side of this hill and I'll stay in bottom gear."

"Good. Let's get moving then," and Ferguson ushered the two women back into the estate car.

"I think you could probably do with this," Ferguson said to Asta, who was sitting by the fire in the sitting room at the lodge, still hugging her mink around her.

It was brandy he was holding out and she took the large crystal tumbler in both hands, staring into it, then swallowed the brandy down. She sat there, still holding the glass, and Dillon took it from her gently and turned to Ferguson.

"She's a little in shock," he said.

She stood up then, took off her mink, and tossed it over a chair. "Shock be damned. I'm angry, Dillon, bloody angry."

At that moment, Hannah came in from the kitchen with Kim, who started pouring coffee. The Chief Inspector took a cup to Asta. "Just sit down, Asta, and take it easy."

Asta took the cup of coffee and did as she was told. "The rest of you would make some kind of sense, but why me? I don't understand."

"I think you will if you pause and think about it, Asta," Dillon said.

"His connection with Mafia and all that stuff? You mean I know too much? But I always have."

"Yes, but something more important than that has cropped up, you know that."

Hannah Bernstein looked puzzled and Ferguson said, "You signed the Official Secrets Act when you joined me which means anything which takes place during your duties with me is sacrosanct. Am I correct?"

"Of course, sir."

"Dillon?" he said.

"I found Fergus Munro's body earlier today in the shallows by Loch Dhu. Asta was with me. By my observation he'd been given a severe beating. I'd say he'd collapsed in the water afterwards and drowned."

"My God!" Hannah said.

Dillon turned to Asta, who said, "I asked Dillon to let it go."

"Why?" Hannah said.

"Because in a way it was my fault. It was because of me Carl wanted to teach him a lesson."

"I see." Hannah turned to Ferguson. "On the face of it, you've condoned a criminal offense, sir, manslaughter at the very least."

"Absolutely right, Chief Inspector. If you want the sordid details, Dillon and I observed Morgan and the man Marco recover the body in the motor launch Katrina. They then disposed of it wrapped in a length of chain in the middle of the loch."

She said, "You've stood by and let him get away with it?"

"You've got it wrong, girl dear," Dillon said. "Retribution can come later."

"Exactly," Ferguson told her. "More important things to consider." He took her hand, sat on the couch, and pulled her down beside him. "I chose you to assist me in my work because you're one of the most astute brains at Scotland Yard."

"Now it's flattery, Brigadier?"

"Nonsense. Look at your background. Your grandfather is a highly respected Rabbi, your father a brilliant Professor of Medicine. You have a Cambridge M.A. in Psychology. You could have been anything. You chose to be a policewoman on the beat in Brixton and have risen because of your own abilities. I need you and I want you, but this isn't normal police work. This is a rather complicated game, our kind of work. We only have the end in view."

"Because the end justifies the means?"

It was Dillon who leaned down, took her hands, and pulled her up. "God save us, girl, but he's right, sometimes it does. It's called the greater good."

He actually put an arm round her and she leaned against him. Then she straightened and managed a faint smile. "They must have loved you at the National Theatre, Dillon, you'd have ended up with a Knighthood. Instead you chose the IRA." She turned to Ferguson. "No problem, sir, anything I can do?"

He inclined his head toward Asta, and Hannah sat beside her and took her hand. "When you told Morgan you wanted to come with us he didn't say no. Am I right?"

"I suppose so," Asta said.

"Let's be logical. He was after us, hadn't counted on you being involved, but when the chance came, when you said what you did, he didn't say no."

Asta sat there staring at her mutely. She moistened her lips. "Why? He loves me."

"His account with you was full, Asta. Oh, you knew all about the Mafia background and so on, and what you don't realize is that was always a liability. But Fergus." Hannah Bernstein shook her head. "Even if he drowned because of the beating, the charge would be manslaughter that would get Carl Morgan seven years at the Old Bailey, and Mafia lawyers don't enjoy the same kind of success in court in England as they do in America. Seven years, Asta. Seven years for a billionaire polo player used to the good things of life. There was no way he could take that chance. You knew too much."

Asta jumped up and paced across the room and turned. "He's always been so good to me. I can't believe this."

Ferguson turned to Dillon. "Would you say it's time?"

"I think so."

Ferguson said to Hannah, "The Greek file, Chief Inspector." Hannah went to the desk and he carried on. "You take over, Dillon."

Dillon took Asta's hand and brought her back to the sofa by the fire and sat down with her. "What we've got to show you now is bad, Asta, as bad as anything could be. It's to do with Hydra and your mother's accident scuba diving."

She frowned. "I don't understand."

"You will, my dear." Ferguson took the file from Hannah Bernstein and passed it to her. "Read that."

Asta put the file to one side and sat there, her hands clenched. "It doesn't seem possible."

"You've seen the file," Ferguson told her. "The technical details are beyond dispute. Someone interfered with your mother's equipment."

"An accident?" she said desperately.

"No accident." Dillon sat down beside her and took her hand. "I'm an expert diver, Asta. Believe me, what was done to your mother's gear was deliberate. Now you tell me who was responsible. Can you think of anyone who wished your mother harm?" He shook his head. "Only Carl, Asta. We think she knew too much and that's the truth of it."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath and when she opened them again she was remarkably in control. "I can't let him get away with that-not that. What can I do?"

"You could help us," Ferguson said. "Keep us informed of the situation up there at the castle. Most important thing of all, you could let us know the moment he finds the Bible."

She nodded. "Right. I'll do it." She took another deep breath. "Could I have another brandy?"

"Of course, my dear." Ferguson nodded to Dillon, who got up and went to the drinks cabinet. He returned with the brandy and Asta took it from him.

Hannah sat beside her. "Look, Asta, are you sure you can go through with this? I mean, you've got to go back and smile in his face and act as if nothing's changed."

Asta said, "We buried my mother back home in Sweden, flew her body there from Athens, and do you know something? He stood at the side of my mother's grave and he cried." She emptied the brandy glass with a single swallow. "I'll see him pay for that if it's the last thing I do." She placed the brandy glass on the coffee table and got up. "I think I should go back now."

"I'll take you," Dillon said.

She walked toward the door, picking up her mink and pulling it on. She turned. "All right. So far, the search for the Bible isn't getting very far in spite of the fact that Carl has offered a substantial reward for anyone who finds it."

"Thank you for that," Ferguson said.

"As regards future moves, we're supposed to put in an appearance at the Ardmurchan Fair and Games tomorrow. I don't think there's anything else."

Dillon said, "I'll take you now, Asta."

She turned at the door. "I've just remembered, Angus the gardener, he's on Carl's payroll now."

"We'll bear that in mind," Ferguson said.

She went out and Dillon followed her.

On the way back to the castle in the Range Rover she sat beside him, clutching the collar of her mink coat around her neck, saying nothing.

"Are you all right?" he asked as they neared the gates.

"Oh, yes." She nodded. "Don't worry about me, Dillon. I'll play my part."

They drove along the drive and he braked to a halt at the steps. Before they could get out, the front door opened and Morgan appeared.

"I was beginning to get worried," he said as Dillon went round and opened the door for Asta.

"Sorry, Carl," she said as she went up the steps. "But we nearly had a nasty accident."

He was immediately all concern. "What happened?"

"The brakes failed on the estate car," Dillon said. "Some sort of rupture in the canister, so we lost the hydraulic fluid. It's been around a few years, that car."

"Dillon was wonderful," she said. "Drove like Nigel Mansell going down the hill. I really thought we'd had it."

"My God!" He gave her a squeeze. "How can I thank you, Dillon?"

"Self-preservation," Dillon told him. "I always struggle to survive, Mr. Morgan."

Asta said, "I'll go in, Carl. I think I'll go to bed."

She went inside and Morgan turned as Dillon got in the Range Rover. "Thanks again. Will you be at the fair tomorrow?"

"I should imagine so."

"Good, we'll see you then." He went in and closed the door.

"And I'll see you, you bastard," Dillon said as he drove away.