On dangerous ground

FOURTEEN

At that precise moment Dillon broke through to the surface and floated there, looking up at them all. He raised his mask.

"Asta, what is this?"

"It means we've been had, I'm afraid," Ferguson said.

Dillon looked straight up at her. "You're on his side in spite of what he did to your mother?"

Morgan's face turned dark with anger. "I'll take pleasure in making you pay for that filthy lie. Asta told me all about it. I loved my wife, Dillon, more than anything in this life. She gave me the daughter I'd never had and you think I could have killed her?"

There was silence, only the sound of the rain hissing into the loch. Dillon said, "I'd say you're well suited to each other."

Morgan put an arm around her. "She did her work well telling you about my plan to fly to Arisaig, omitting the fact that we didn't actually intend to get on the plane. I knew one of you would be waiting, probably that man of yours, Ferguson, so we just stayed in the hangar until he'd gone. I saw him running off through the trees through my field glasses. Then all that was needed was Asta to pilot the boat while Marco and I stayed below and the poor old Brigadier fell for it, Dillon. Strange how I always get my way, isn't it?"

"Yes," Ferguson said, "I must say you have excellent connections. Probably with the Devil."

"But of course," Morgan raised his voice. "Are you there, Munro?"

"On our way in," Munro called and the rowboat appeared, Rory at the oars.

"What about the woman?"

"Locked her in the cellar."

They bumped against the hull of the motor cruiser and climbed on board.

Morgan looked down at Dillon. "So here we are at the final end of things. Did you find the plane?"

Dillon just floated there, staring up at him, and Morgan said, "Don't fuck with me, Dillon, if you do I'll blow the Brigadier's head off and that would be a pity because I've got plans for him."

"Really?" Ferguson said.

"Yes, you're going to love this. I'll take you back to Palermo with me and then we'll sell you to one of the more extreme Arab fundamentalist groups in Iran. You should fetch a rather high price. They'd love to get their hands on a British Intelligence officer as senior as you, and you know what those people are like, Ferguson, they'll take the skin off you inch by inch. Before they've finished you'll be singing like a bird."

"What a vivid imagination you have," Ferguson said.

Morgan nodded to Marco, who fired a burst from the Uzi into the water close to Dillon. "Now don't mess with me, Dillon, or I swear the next burst takes your boss apart."

"All right, I get the picture." Dillon put in his mouthpiece, pulled down his mask, and let himself sink.

He didn't bother with the anchor line, simply jackknifed halfway down and continued headfirst, reaching the bottom to the left of the Lysander above a forest of waving fronds. When he turned on his lamp, the first thing he saw was Fergus Munro on his back, a length of chain wrapped around his body. His face was swollen and bloated, the eyes staring, but he was completely recognizable. Dillon hovered, looking down at him, then pulled out his knife and cut the rope that held the chain. The body bounced from the bottom and he got a grip on Fergus's jacket and towed the corpse back to the downlines.

He left it on the sandy bottom, untied the flimsier case and went and clipped it beside the metal case on the other line. Then he went back to the body, towed it across to the second downline and tied it on, winding the rope round the waist and fastening it with the snap link. Then he pulled on the line that secured the cases and started up.

Kim and Ferguson were still hauling the line in when Dillon surfaced. He floated beside the cases, untied the leather one, and passed it up to Kim. It was already falling apart and broke in the Ghurka's hands, spilling a mass of rotting clothes onto the deck.

"That's no bloody good," Morgan said, leaning over the rail and looking down into the whaler. "The other one, Dillon, the other."

Dillon pushed the metal suitcase against the hull and Ferguson and Kim reached over to get it. Dillon murmured, "If you get a chance to jump, I can give you air under the surface, but only one of you. In a minute I'll be going down again and I want you to haul in the other line, Kim, it's vital."

"Thanks for the offer," Ferguson whispered. "But I've never even liked swimming. What you suggest is a quite appalling prospect. Kim might feel differently."

"Hurry it up!" Morgan called.

They got the suitcase over and into the bottom of the whaler. The metal was blackened and streaked with green seaweed.

"Get it open," Morgan ordered.

Ferguson tried the clasps on the locks, but they were rigid. "Damn thing's corroded, won't budge."

"Well try harder."

Dillon pulled the knife from his leg sheath and handed it up to Kim, who forced it behind the two clasps in turn and ripped them off, then he worked the point of the knife under the edge of the lid and prised. Quite suddenly, the lid lifted. There were clothes inside, mildewed but in surprisingly good condition. There was a uniform tunic on top, still recognizable with Major's crowns on the epaulettes.

"Come on, damn you!" Morgan was intensely excited as he leaned over the rail. "Empty it out!"

Kim turned the case over, spilling its contents into the bottom of the whaler, and found it at once, a booksize package wrapped in yellow oilskin.

"Open it, man, open it!" Morgan ordered.

It was Ferguson who unwrapped the oilskin, layer by layer, until he held in his hand the Bible, its silver blackened by the years.

"It would seem to be what we've all been looking for," he said.

"Go on, get it open, see if it's still there."

Ferguson took the knife from Kim and ran its point along the inside of the front cover. The secret compartment flicked open, the folded document inside, immediately apparent. Ferguson unfolded it, read it, then he looked up, face calm.

"Yes, this would appear to be the fourth copy of the Chungking Covenant."

"Give it to me," and Morgan reached down. Ferguson hesitated and Marco raised the Uzi threateningly. "You can die now," Morgan said. "It's your choice."

"Very well." Ferguson passed up the document.

"Now get up here yourself," Morgan told him and turned. "As for you, Dillon…"

But Dillon had gone, dropping under the surface. Marco fired a futile burst into the water and Kim ducked and kept hauling on the line and suddenly Fergus Munro's body surfaced, a totally macabre sight.

"God help me, it's Fergus!" Hector Munro called, leaning over the rail. Rory joined him, staring down into the water. "What happened to him, Da?"

"Ask your friend Morgan. He and his henchman here beat him to death," Ferguson said.

"You bastards!" Hector Munro cried and he and Rory turned, their shotguns coming up too late as Marco raked both of them with a long burst from the Uzi, driving them over the rail into the water.

"Get out of it, Kim!" Ferguson cried and the Ghurka dived headfirst from the whaler into the dark water, pulling himself down with powerful strokes as Marco sprayed the water behind him.

There is a technique known as buddy breathing to any experienced diver by which, if there is no alternate source of air available, it is possible to share your air supply with a companion by passing the regulator back and forth between you.

Dillon, at twelve feet, reached up and caught Kim by the foot, pulled him close, took out his mouthpiece and passed it across. The hardy little warrior, a veteran of thirty years of campaigning, understood at once, took in a supply of air, then passed it back.

Dillon started to kick with his fins, making for the shore, pulling Kim along beside him and sharing the air supply as they went. After a while, he raised his thumb and started up, surfacing into a cocoon of mist, no sign of the boats at all. A moment later, Kim came up beside him, coughing.

Dillon said, "What happened after I dived?"

"When the body surfaced, the Munros went crazy. Marco shot both of them with the Uzi."

"And the Brigadier?"

"Cried to me to jump, Sahib."

Dillon could hear the motor cruiser moving away at high speed, but not across the loch in the direction of the castle.

"Where in the hell are they going?" he said.

"There is that old concrete jetty the RAF used just below the airstrip, Sahib," Kim told him. "Perhaps they're making for that."

"And a quick departure," Dillon said and at that moment there was a thunder of engines overhead as Morgan's Citation made its approaches.

Dillon said, "Right, we can't be far from the jetty, so let's get moving," and he made for the shore.

They landed ten minutes later. Dillon stripped off his equipment and ran toward the house, still wearing his diving suit, Kim jogging at his heels. The Irishman flung open the front door, ran into the study and opened the top drawer in the desk. There was a Browning in there. As he checked it, Kim came in.

"Sahib?"

"I'm going up to the airstrip. You get the Memsahib from the cellar and tell her what's happened."

He ran outside and cut across the back lawn. No point in taking the Range Rover, he'd be quicker on foot and the rubber and nylon diving socks he wore protected his feet. He ran into the wood, weaving in and out amongst the trees, aware that the engines of the Citation hadn't stopped. As he emerged from the wood, he could see it taxiing to the end of the runway and turning into the wind. At the same moment, Morgan and Asta, Marco holding the Uzi against Ferguson's back, came round the corner of the main hangar and started toward the Citation. Dillon stopped running and watched helplessly as they boarded. A moment later the Citation roared along the runway and lifted into the sky. • • • When Dillon arrived back at Ardmurchan Lodge and went in the door Hannah rushed to meet him. "What happened? I heard the plane taking off."

"Exactly. Morgan had it all worked out. He didn't even go back to the castle. Not a minute wasted. I arrived in time to see them boarding, he and Asta, Marco and the Brigadier. They took off straight away."

"I've been onto headquarters. I've asked them to check the flight plan they filed."

"Good. Get straight onto them again and order Lacey to get up here in the Lear like it was yesterday."

"I've ordered that too, Dillon," she said.

"Nothing like Scotland Yard training. I'm going to change."

When he returned he was wearing black jeans, a white polo neck sweater, and his old black flying jacket. Hannah was in the sitting room at Ferguson's desk, the telephone at her ear. Kim came in with a jug of coffee and two cups.

She put the phone down. "They were routed to Oslo."

"That makes sense. He wanted to be out of our air space fast. Then what?"

"Refueling, then onwards to Palermo."

"Well, that's what he said his intended destination was. He's taking the Covenant to Luca."

"And the Brigadier?"

"Didn't Kim tell you? He's going to sell him to some Arab fanatics or other in Iran."

"Can't we stop him in Oslo?"

Dillon looked at his watch. "The rate that thing goes he'll be just about landing. Can you imagine how long it would take to go through Foreign Office channels to the Norwegian Government? No chance, Hannah, he's long gone."

"Then that leaves the Italian Government, Palermo."

Dillon lit a cigarette. "The best joke I've heard in a long time. This is Don Giovanni Luca we're talking about, the most powerful man in Sicily. He has judges killed to order."

She was upset now and it showed, her face very pale. "We can't let them get away with it, Dillon, Morgan and that conniving little bitch."

"Yes, she was good, wasn't she?" He smiled bleakly. "She certainly fooled me."

"Oh, to hell with your damned male ego, it's the Brigadier I'm thinking of."

"And so am I, girl dear. You get back to headquarters and tell them you want to contact Major Paolo Gagini of the Italian Secret Intelligence Service in Palermo. He should be more than interested. After all, he's the one who brought the story of the Covenant to Ferguson in the first place. He's also the expert on Luca, according to the file you showed me. Let's see what he can come up with."

"Right, good thinking." She picked up the phone and got to work, and Dillon walked out to the terrace, lit a cigarette, and looked out into the rain, wondering about it.

He was aware of Hannah's voice on the phone, but was somewhere else, thinking of Ferguson and what would happen to him in Iran and that was too awful to contemplate. Strange, but it was only now in a situation like this that he realized he actually had a certain affection for the Brigadier. He also thought about Morgan with a kind of cold, killing rage, and as for Asta…

Hannah came to the open French windows. "I've got Gagini on the phone from Palermo. I've filled him in on the situation and he wants to speak to you."

Dillon went in and picked up the phone. "Gagini, I've heard good things about you," he said in Italian. "What can we do in this thing?"

"I've heard of you too, Dillon. Look, you know what the situation is like here. Mafia everywhere. If I get a court order, which would be difficult, it would take time."

"What about Immigration and Customs at the airport?"

"Half of them have Mafia connections, just like the police. Any move I make at an official level Luca will know about within fifteen minutes."

"There must be something you can do."

"Leave it with me. I'll phone back in an hour."

Dillon put the phone down and turned to Hannah. "He's calling back in an hour. He's going to see what he can do."

"This is nonsense," she said. "All they have to do is meet the damn plane with a police squad."

"Have you ever been to Sicily?"

"No."

"I have. It's another world. The minute Gagini makes an official request for the police to meet that plane, someone will reach for a phone to inform Luca."

"Even from police headquarters?"

"Especially from police headquarters, the Mafia's fingers reach everywhere. Scotland Yard it's not, Hannah. If Luca thought there was a problem he'd contact Morgan and tell him to go elsewhere, perhaps even tell him to fly direct to Teheran and that's the last thing we want."

"So what do we do?"

"We wait for Gagini to phone back," he said, turned, and went outside again.

And when Gagini did phone just under an hour later he sounded excited. "My sources tell me the Citation isn't booked to land at Palermo."

"They must have a flight plan even in Sicily," Dillon said.

"Of course, my friend, just listen. Carl Morgan has an old farmhouse inland from Palermo at a place called Valdini. He doesn't use it much. There's just a caretaker and his wife in residence. It's an old family property."

"So?" Dillon glanced at Hannah, who was listening on the extension.

"The thing is, Morgan had an airstrip laid out there the other year, probably to be used for drug deliveries. It's grass, but open meadow about a mile long, so it's perfectly adequate for the Citation to land."

"Are you saying that's what he intends to do?"

"That's what the flight plan says."

"But what about Customs and Immigration?" Hannah broke in.

"All taken care of by Luca, Chief Inspector."

Dillon said, "Can we get in?"

"I doubt it. That's real Mafia country. You couldn't pass through a village without being noted, every shepherd boy on a hill with his flock is like a sentry. Troop movements, as with the police, are an impossibility."

"I see," Dillon said.

There was a sudden roar as the Lear from Gatwick passed overhead to make its landing.

"What do you want me to do, my friend?"

"Let me think about it. Our plane has just arrived. I'll let you know. The only certain thing is that we'll be coming to Palermo."

He replaced the phone as did Hannah. "It doesn't sound too good, does it?" she said.

"We'll see. Now let's get out of here."

Lacey came along from the cockpit and crouched down. "An hour to Gatwick. We'll refuel and get straight off to Palermo."

"Good," Dillon said. "Speed is of the essence on this one, Flight Lieutenant."

Kim lay back in one of the rear seats, eyes closed. Hannah glanced back at the little Ghurka. "What about him?"

"We'll drop him at Gatwick. Nothing for him to do where I'm going."

"And where would that be?"

"Valdini obviously."

"But Gagini has just told us that would be impossible."

"Nothing's impossible in this life, Hannah, there's always a way." He reached for the bar box, found a half bottle of Scotch, poured himself a shot into a plastic cup, and sat there brooding. • • • About twenty minutes before they reached Gatwick, Lacey patched a call through which Dillon took. It was Gagini.

"An interesting development. I've got one of my undercover men working at the local garage near Luca's place. His driver came in to fill up the tank. Told the owner they were taking a run out to Valdini."

"That makes sense," Dillon said. "Everything coming together."

"So, my friend, have you had any thoughts on how to handle this?"

"Yes, what about flying in?"

"But they would be alerted the moment you tried to land."

"I'm thinking of something different. A story Ferguson told me once. He had a fella called Egan working for him and he needed to get down fast in a similar sort of situation. That was in Sicily too, about ten years ago."

"Of course, I remember the case, he parachuted in."

"That's right."

"But he was an expert at that kind of thing. He jumped at eight hundred feet, my friend."

"Well he would, wouldn't he, but I can do that. I've jumped before. I know my stuff, believe me. Can you lay on a plane, parachute, weapons, and so on?"

"That shouldn't be a problem."

"We'll see you at the airport then," Dillon said and put the phone down.

"What was all that about?" Hannah demanded, but at that moment the seat belt signs went on and they started to descend toward Gatwick.

"I'll tell you later," Dillon told her. "Now be a good girl and fasten your belt."

The stopover at Gatwick took only an hour. Hannah took Kim across to the small office the Special Flying Unit used and arranged a taxi.

"I would rather come with you, Memsahib."

"No, Kim, you go back to Cavendish Square and make things nice for the Brigadier."

"He will come back, Memsahib, you swear it?"

She took a deep breath and, against every conviction, lied to him. "He'll be back, Kim, I promise you."

He smiled. "Blessings on you, Memsahib," and he crossed to his taxi.

She found Dillon in the waiting room feeding coins into a sandwich machine. "Plastic food, but what can you do? Would you like something? Personally, I'm starving."

"I suppose so. Anything there is."

"Well, you won't want the ham so we'll make it tomato and boiled egg. There's tea and coffee on board. Come on."

As they walked out to the Lear, the fuel truck was just moving away. Lacey stood waiting, the co-pilot already on board.

"Ready when you are," the Flight Lieutenant said.

"We'll get moving then," Dillon told him and went up the steps behind Hannah.

They settled in their seats and a few minutes later the Lear started to taxi. • • • Dillon waited until they leveled off at thirty thousand feet, then made tea in the plastic cups. He sat there eating the sandwiches without saying anything.

Finally Hannah said, "You were going to tell me what you were going to do?"

"There was a fella called Egan worked for Ferguson a few years back, ex-SAS. He had a similar problem about getting somewhere fast and that was in Sicily too."

"How did he solve it?"

"Parachuted in from eight hundred feet from a small aircraft. At that height, you hit the ground in thirty seconds."

There was genuine horror on her face. "You must be mad."

"Not at all. As far as they're concerned it will be just a plane passing overhead, a bit low perhaps, but they won't be expecting what I have in mind, and it will be dark by then."

"And Major Gagini has agreed to this?"

"Oh, yes, he's arranging a suitable plane, equipment, weapons, everything. All I have to do is jump out of the plane. You can follow on and land in the Lear, say thirty minutes later."

He drank some of his tea and she sat there staring at him and then a curious expression appeared on her face. "When you were talking to Gagini I heard you say you'd jumped before. I wondered what you were talking about. It makes sense now."

"Well it would, wouldn't it."

"Except that for some strange reason I think you were lying to him. I don't think you've ever made a parachute jump in your life, Dillon."

He gave her his best smile and lit a cigarette. "True, but there's always a first time for everything, and you be a good girl now and don't speak a word about this to Gagini. I wouldn't want him changing his mind."

"It's madness, Dillon. Anything might happen. You could break your bloody neck, for one thing."

"Would you listen to the language, and you the decent girl?" He shook his head. "Can you think of an alternative? You have all the facts."

She sat there quiet for a moment, then sighed. "When you come right down to it, no."

"It's simple, my love, forget the Chungking Covenant and just think of Ferguson. Never tell him this, but I actually like the old sod, and I won't stand by and see him go to hell if I can prevent it." He leaned across and put a hand on hers and smiled, that special smile, nothing but warmth there and immense charm. "Now then, could you do with another cup of tea?"

They came in over the sea, Palermo on the port side, evening falling fast and already lights twinkled in the city. There were a few cumulus clouds in a sky that was otherwise clear and a half moon. They landed at Punta Raisi a few minutes later and Lacey, obeying orders from the tower, taxied to a remote area at the far end of the airport, where a number of private planes were parked.

The truck which had shown them the way drove off and Lacey killed the engines. There was a small man in a cloth cap and old flying jacket standing in front of the hangar and as Dillon and Hannah went down the steps, he came forward.

"Chief Inspector Bernstein? Paolo Gagini." He held out his hand. "Mr. Dillon, it's a real pleasure. Come this way. We believe Morgan landed at Valdini two hours ago, by the way. His Citation put down here a little while ago. It's over there being refueled, but it isn't going anywhere tonight. I saw the pilots leave the airport."

Dillon turned as Lacey and the co-pilot came down the ladder. "You'd better come too."

They went into the hangar and Gagini led them to a large, glass-walled office. "Here you are, my friend. Everything I could think of." There was a parachute, a Celeste silenced machine pistol, a Beretta pistol in a shoulder holster, a Walther and a bulletproof vest in dark blue, and a pair of infrared night glasses.

"Everything but the kitchen sink," Lacey said. "Are you going to war, Mr. Dillon?"

"You could say that."

"There's a camouflaged suit for you over here," Gagini told him, "and some Army jump boots. I hope to God they're the right size."

"Fine, I'll go and get changed," Dillon said. "If you'll point me to the men's room." He turned to Hannah. "You fill in the Flight Lieutenant and his friend while I'm gone," and he followed Gagini out.

And at that same moment at Valdini Luca's Mercedes sedan turned in through the gates in the wall and went up the gravel drive to park at the bottom of the steps leading up to the front door. As the driver helped Luca out, the front door opened and Morgan appeared and hurried down the steps.

"Don Giovanni."

They embraced. The old man said, "So you got it, Carlo, against all the odds? I'm proud of you. I can't wait to see it."

"Come, let's go in, Uncle," Morgan said and turned to the driver. "You stay here. I'll have them bring you something from the kitchen."

He helped Luca up the steps and into the house. Asta came out of the living room and put her arms around Luca at once and he kissed both her cheeks.

"Carl did it, Don Giovanni, isn't he clever?"

"Don't listen to her," Morgan said. "She played more than her part this time, believe me."

"Good, you must tell me about it."

He led the way into the living room where Ferguson sat by the log fire, Marco standing behind him, Uzi in hand.

"So, this is the redoubtable Brigadier Ferguson," Luca said, leaning on his stick. "A great pleasure."

"For you perhaps, but not for me," Ferguson told him.

"Yes, that's understandable." Luca eased himself down into a large chair opposite Ferguson and held out his hand. "Where is it, Carlo?"

Morgan took the document from his inside pocket, unfolded it, and passed it over. "The Chungking Covenant, Uncle."

Luca read it slowly, then looked up and laughed. "Incredible, isn't it?" He looked at Ferguson. "Think of the mischief I'll be able to make with this, Brigadier."

"Actually, I'd rather not," Ferguson told him.

"Come, Brigadier." Luca folded the Covenant and put it in his inside pocket. "Don't be a spoilsport. You've lost and we've won. I know you face an uncertain future, but surely we can be civilized about it." He smiled up at Morgan. "A nice dinner and a bottle of wine, Carlo. I'm sure we can make the Brigadier a happier man."

Dillon returned in the camouflage uniform and jump boots, picked up the bulletproof vest, and pulled it on. He checked the Walther and slipped it under the waistband at the back under the tunic, then tried the Celeste. Gagini had some large blow-up photos on the table which he was showing to the two RAF pilots and Hannah.

"What's this?" Dillon asked.

"Pictures of the farmhouse at Valdini taken from the air. I got them from drug squad files."

"Would you anticipate any problems landing there?" Dillon asked Lacey.

"Not really. That strip across the meadow is one hell of a length and that half-moon will help."

"Good." Dillon turned to Gagini. "What about a plane?"

"Navajo Chieftain waiting outside ready to go."

"And a good pilot who knows what he's doing?"

"The best." Gagini spread his arms wide. "Me, Dillon, didn't I tell you I was in the Air Force before I transferred to Intelligence work?"

"Well that's convenient. How long to get there?"

"With the Navajo's speed no more than fifteen minutes."

Dillon nodded. "Right. I need half an hour on the ground."

"Understood," Gagini nodded. "I'll come straight back here and join the others in the Lear. By the time we're landing at Valdini it should be just about right. I'll go and get the engines fired up."

Dillon said to Lacey, "I'll leave you that Beretta in the shoulder holster, just in case." He picked up the parachute. "Now show me how to put this on."

Lacey looked shocked. "You mean you don't know?"

"Don't let's argue about it, Flight Lieutenant, just show me."

Lacey helped him buckle the straps, pulling them tight. "Are you really sure about this?"

"Just show me what to pull," Dillon said.

"The ring there and don't mess about, not at eight hundred feet. The Navajo has an Airstair door. Just go down it, fall off, and pull on that ring straight away."

"If you say so." Dillon picked up the Celeste machine pistol and slung it across his chest and hung the night glasses around his neck. He turned to Hannah. "Well, are you going to kiss me goodbye?"

"Get out of here, Dillon," she said.

"Yes, ma'am."

He gave her a mock salute, turned, and went out and across the tarmac to the Navajo where Gagini sat in the cockpit, propellers turning. Dillon went up the steps and turned. Hannah had a last glimpse of him pulling up the Airstair door and then the Navajo moved away.