The Judas gate

8

It was six-thirty at Holland Park, evening dark closing in when Dillon and Holley called with the intention of taking Roper down to dinner at the Dorchester. As they were discussing it he got a call from the Gulfstream and put it on speaker.

'We're on our way back,' Ferguson told him. 'We left an hour ago.'

'Farley informed me they'd received a return flight plan. I thought you'd be staying longer. Didn't you like it?'

'No, Roper, it didn't like us, which is why we left as soon as possible, so shut up and listen to what happened.'

As might be expected from an old military hand, the report was brief, but concise and clear, leaving nothing out.

'Holley and Dillon are with me,' Roper said. 'You've really been to war, General.'

'You could say that. We've left seven men dead, one way or another. Have you any comment, Daniel?'

'Colonel Ahmed Atep and Abu Salim weren't there when I last visited. I could believe many things about Dak Khan, but the Al Qaeda connection is something new.'

'It's a good thing Captain Abu Salim was on your side,' Roper told Ferguson.

'He certainly saw Colonel Atep off in spectacular fashion, but that was the Pathan in him. A matter of honour and revenge for his two Sergeants,' Ferguson said.

'So where does this leave us?' Roper asked.

'With further proof that Shamrock exists, and another codename – an important person in London known as the Preacher.'

'Unfortunately if we insert that into the computer and demand an answer, it will give us precisely nothing,' Dillon cut in.

'I wouldn't be too sure about that,' Ferguson answered. 'Not when Roper starts digging. I've every faith in him.'

'Most kind,' Roper said. 'We'll be seeing you in about nine hours or so?'

'That's it. Over and out.'

Roper shook his head. 'What an amazing exploit.' 'Something to celebrate,' Holley told him. 'Are you up for the Dorchester?'

'Try and stop me,' Roper glanced at the clock. 'Let's say about a quarter to eight. I've got a few things to wrap up here.' At Talbot Place, there were still villagers in the Great Hall, many with drink taken, but people were having such a good time that they didn't want to go. Justin leaned against the wall by the study door, watching his mother holding court at the foot of the stairs; so popular, so loved by the people, he told himself with a kind of envy, but then she was Mary Ellen come back to life.

He was waiting for Kelly and getting impatient. It had been almost an hour since the man had gone to his car to get things moving in Belfast, but suddenly there he was, entering through the front door and hurrying over to him.

'I've got news,' he said. 'Let's go in the study.'

They went in, and Justin closed the door and shot the bolt. 'Tell me.'

'I've been in touch with a friend, Brian Carson, who shared a cell with me in the Maze prison. He's a good man and owns a large construction company, but his silent partners are a Provo syndicate. He only has to lift a phone to contact our sympathizers.'

'So?'

'Mickeen was taken straight into intensive care, where a scan diagnosed a fractured skull and possible brain damage. He hasn't recovered consciousness and is scheduled for emergency neurosurgery.'

'Is that it?'

'No, there's more. Apparently he could die at any moment. There's only a five per cent chance of him surviving the surgery.'

'So we just live with it and hope,' Talbot said.

'That's it, Justin, but our source in the hospital is absolutely sound. Whatever happens, we'll be informed as quickly as anybody.'

Talbot laughed harshly. 'Well, let's hope the old bastard obliges us all by dying quickly. We'll have a drink on it.' He started to move to the bar and his mobile sounded.

It was the Preacher, and Talbot nodded to Kelly, a finger to his mouth, and put his mobile on speaker. 'I presume the funeral passed without incident?' the Preacher said.

'Perfectly, but this is Ireland and people expect a wake,' Talbot told him. 'Half the villagers are still here enjoying themselves.'

'I'm glad someone is happy,' the Preacher said.

'What's happened?' Talbot asked.

'Ferguson and Miller were enticed into a trip to the border area by an illegal gun runner named Dak Khan, on the promise of meeting Shamrock.'

'Where an ambush was waiting, I presume? Did something go wrong?'

'My information is sketchy. Apparently Khan and his people were all disposed of.'

'Could we have it in plain language? Khan and his people have ended up dead and Ferguson and Miller were responsible?'

'So it would appear.'

'Well, good for Ferguson: there's life in the old dog yet. He is, after all, a Grenadier. All I can say is your asset needs changing. He's obviously hopeless.'

'He's dead, too,' Hassan Shah said. 'A car bomb.'

'Not Ferguson, that one.' Justin Talbot shook his head. 'Not his style. I'm sure your man had plenty of enemies. Well, at least that means you don't have to get rid of him yourself now.'

'Al Qaeda will punish his killers as they deserve, and the same will happen to Ferguson and his people. I wouldn't be so cavalier, Talbot. The fact that they're persisting in the search for Shamrock means that they are your problem, too.'

'Well, I've had other things on my mind. For the moment, you'll have to manage without me.'

He switched off and Kelly said, 'You're not going to share the Mickeen Oge Flynn problem with him then?'

'Am I, hell. Now, let's have the drink.' He went to the bar and poured whiskey.

Kelly took the glass offered. 'I remember in the old days when I was on the Army Council, Charles Ferguson was top of the list of people you didn't get involved with if you could avoid it.'

'Now you know why.' Justin emptied his glass. 'It's been a long day. Let's see if we can ease everyone out.' He pulled back the bolt and led the way into the Great Hall.

There was silence, and then Jean Talbot moved in through the curtains. Seeking her son earlier and finding the study door bolted, curiosity had sent her round to the terrace. She'd halted at the study's French windows, partially covered by a half-drawn curtain, aware of the murmur of voices. The window was never locked. She'd eased the handle and opened it just enough to hear everything that was being said, and none of it made her happy. And she had not the slightest idea what to do about it. Dillon, Roper and Holley were about to set out to dinner, when Dillon's mobile sounded.

'Switch it off, for Christ's sake,' Roper said.

But it was too late, for Dillon, already answering, heard the unmistakable Ulster tones of a young woman saying, 'Would that be Mr Sean Dillon, of Stable Mews, Mayfair, London?'

He slipped back into the accent of his childhood. 'It is indeed, my love.'

'I'm calling from Belfast, Mr Dillon. I'm Sergeant Eileen Flanagan, Police Service of Northern Ireland.'

'And what can I be doing for you?'

'An old gentleman called Mickeen Oge Flynn has been admitted to Seaton Hospital, and a search in his wallet has discovered a next-of-kin card.'

Dillon was all attention. 'Mickeen is my uncle. I'm his only relative. Has he had a heart attack or something?'

'No, it's nothing like that. I'm not supposed to go into clinical details. If you phone the hospital, they'll be able to answer your questions.'

'For the love of God, girl, can't you tell me more? Is it serious?'

'All right, but don't get me into trouble. He was working under a motor car and it fell on him. He was discovered by his mechanic, one Patrick O'Rourke. The air ambulance service brought him to the Seaton Hospital in Belfast. I understand it doesn't look good, but, really, you'll have to talk to the hospital about that. I have Patrick O'Rourke's mobile phone number, would you like it?'

'Yes, I would.' Dillon went to Roper's desk and found a pen and she dictated the number to him.

'Will you be coming?' she said.

'Definitely. God bless you.'

The others waited expectantly and he told them the worst. He said to Roper, 'If you could get Seaton Hospital online and find me the right person to speak to, I'd appreciate it.'

'I'll get right on to it,' Roper said. 'You do intend to go over there?'

'As fast as I can, so we'll need to check out flights from Heathrow.'

'No, you won't,' Holley said. 'I'll fly you myself.'

'Are you sure?' Dillon said.

'Of course, and I'm coming with you. I was at Queen's University in Belfast more years ago than I care to remember. It will be interesting to go back.'

Dillon said to Roper, 'Make sure we're allowed to land at Belfast City Airport by the docks.'

Holley cut in. 'And book us a suite at the Europa.' He turned to Dillon. 'Let's get going.'

Roper managed to get the flight classified as a Ministry of Defence priority, so everything worked perfectly, including the landing at Belfast. As a result, it was only ten-thirty when they reached the hospital and were directed to the neurological unit. At that time of night, it was fairly quiet, the corridors empty except for the occasional nurse.

The reception area was on the third floor. There were chairs, a vending machine for drinks, magazines, and an ageing woman with grey hair behind the desk. She smiled pleasantly as they approached.

'We don't often get visitors this late, so I suspect you'll be the gentlemen from London for Mr Flynn. We were told you were on your way. Dillon and Holley, isn't it? I've issued you with identity tags. Please put them on. It's regulations.'

'How is my uncle?' Dillon asked.

'I'm not allowed to give out that information. All I can say is that he's had major surgery and that Mr Frank Jordan performed the operation himself. He's a truly wonderful surgeon, so your uncle is in good hands.'

'Can we see him?' Dillon asked, meaning Mickeen.

'The surgeon? Oh, yes, he's come in especially.'

At that moment, the man himself came down the corridor. He seemed about sixty, with a well-used face and a shock of grey hair. He wore the standard white coat, a stethoscope sticking out of one pocket.

Dillon stood and held out his hand. 'Sean Dillon and my friend, Daniel Holley. I'm Mickeen's nephew.'

'Let's sit down and talk.' Jordan turned to the receptionist. 'Tea for three, Molly. Make it using your own kettle behind the desk there. I hate that bloody machine.'

'Certainly, sir,' she said.

'So how bad is it?' Dillon asked as they sat.

'I'm a plain man, Mr Dillon, and I always prefer to tell the truth, or at least as I see it. It's as bad as it could be. His left arm is broken – it was obviously raised as the vehicle collapsed – and there's a flesh wound on the right, but those aren't the problems. It's the head injuries. He has skull fractures of the utmost severity.'

'And brain damage?' Dillon said.

'Yes, lacerations to a certain degree. We've worked on him for four hours, and put in a titanium plate in one area.'

Molly had produced the tea, put the tray on a table beside them and poured. Dillon asked, 'What kind of chance does he have, a man of his age who's drunk a pint of whiskey every day of his life?'

'He could die five minutes from now, but head trauma is a strange business. Patients can hang in there for weeks.' Jordan was drinking his tea.

'Is that normal?' Holley asked.

'There's no such thing as normal in a case like this. I've had many patients over the years who continue to sleep.'

'You mean they don't revive at all?' Dillon asked.

'It's been known to last for months, and when the patient comes to, they've been in dream-time. Usually they've completely lost their memory.'

Dillon nodded. 'Can we see him?'

'Only through the door. Come with me.'

The private room was at the very end of the corridor. There was a square observation window in the door. Mickeen resembled a mummy, with all his bandages. He was festooned with bottles and tubes, electronic machines bleeping away. A man in a white coat sat in the corner reading a book.

'Who's he?' Dillon asked.

'The night nurse. With such a serious matter, Mr Flynn will continue to have one at his side in case of emergencies.'

Holley said, 'There's nothing for you here, Sean. Let's go and book in at the hotel.'

They paused before walking back to reception and Jordan said, 'I understand you're based in London, so seeing him on a regular basis would be difficult. There's not much you could do anyway, though, even if you came in every day.'

Dillon shook hands. 'You're right. But what if I moved him to London?'

Jordan paused. 'I think he'd be all right, but that would require a private air ambulance; it'd cost many thousands of pounds.'

Holley said, 'We've got that kind of money.'

Jordan frowned. 'Just who are you people?'

Dillon produced his MI5 warrant card. 'You look a decent sort of man, so I'm going to take a chance. We work for a special security outfit on behalf of the Prime Minister, and we have a private hospital called Rosedene in Holland Park, small but superbly equipped. It takes care of people damaged in our line of work. It's run by a Professor Charles Bellamy. He's put me together a few times.'

'But I know him,' Jordan said. 'We were colleagues at Guy's Hospital in London for years.'

'Give me your card and I'll have him contact you and make the arrangements. You are sure Mickeen can be moved?'

'Oh, yes, in an air ambulance, but, as I say, it will cost you.' He produced his card and said, 'My private mobile number. I'm used to being wakened at all hours, so your people can call me any time. All I need is the right authorization. Take care, gentlemen.' Jordan walked away.

'A good man, that one,' Dillon said.

'I agree. Now, if you don't mind me bringing up mundane matters, can I remind you we haven't had any dinner?'

'At this time of night, they'll call it supper,' Dillon said, as they arrived back in reception.

Holley thanked the receptionist for the tea. 'Will you be wanting a taxi?' she asked.

'We have one waiting. Come on, Sean,' and they walked down to the lift.

It was quiet again, not a soul about. Molly took a mobile from her handbag and dialled a number and said to the man who answered, 'Is that you, Mr Carson? It's Molly. We've just had two visitors from London to see Flynn, a Sean Dillon and a Daniel Holley.'

'Did they see Jordan?' Brian Carson asked.

'They've just left after a long chat. I heard everything.'

Which she hadn't, of course, for the conversation concerning the possibility of transferring Mickeen to London in the air ambulance had taken place outside his room at the other end of the corridor.

'So what did the doctor have to say?'

'That they'd operated for four hours and there's brain damage. It's the kind of situation where if he died five minutes from now, no one would be surprised. On the other hand, he's not just unconscious, he's in a coma, and he could stay like that for ages. Nobody knows how long, but Mr Jordan said that when such people do awake, they've often lost their memory.'

'Well, dying would be better, but the situation could be worse. My friends will have to accept how things are.'

'They came in a private jet. They must be big operators.'

'That's an understatement. If I told you they were both Provos in their day, would it surprise you? Hell on wheels, those two.'

'Holy Mother of God,' she said.

'You've done well, Molly, it will be noted. Goodnight to you.' Justin Talbot was sitting in a wing-backed chair on a dais in his mother's studio. He wore an open-necked black shirt and black velvet cord trousers, his arms folded, hair tousled. He'd been there an hour while his mother worked on a new portrait. She was standing at her easel, only a few feet away in her paint-stained smock, a palette in one hand, a brush in the other.

'For God's sake, how much longer? It's been an hour already.'

'It's difficult, love,' she said. 'I can't get exactly the expression I want.'

His mobile trembled in his breast pocket. He answered it and Kelly said, 'Are you alone?'

'Just a minute.' Justin got up. 'I've got to answer this.'

'Really, Justin.' She was annoyed.

The studio was above the east end of the stable. There was an exit door that opened on to a metal platform and stairs down to the cobbled yard. He closed the door behind him. Jean went to the sink in the corner and pretended to be cleaning brushes as she pushed the window open enough to hear him. Not that she learned much, except that he was angry.

Kelly, having told him everything Carson had to say, said, 'It could be worse.'

'Come on, Jack,' Justin said. 'The little bugger might decide to wake up at any time.'

'So what do you suggest?'

'Couldn't your people get someone to pull the plug on him? That would take care of the whole damn business.'

'Very risky. Let's just wait and see for the moment.'

'All right, but nothing'd better go wrong, you hear me?' He switched off in exasperation.

Jean was back at her portrait in an instant. 'Bad news, darling?'

'No, just a problem with the farm. Look, can't we call it a day? I'm tired.'

He was angry and mutinous. She laughed. 'That's the expression I'm after: it's absolutely perfect. Just another half-hour, darling.' Dillon called Roper and explained the situation to him.

'I can't believe what I'm hearing,' he said, when Dillon was finished. 'Ferguson will have a fit. He gave you explicit instructions not to go to Ireland at the moment, and that ambulance plane will cost a fortune.'

'It was a bloody emergency,' Dillon said.

Holley boomed in. 'And I've already said I'll pay for the damn thing.'

'So forget Ferguson,' Dillon said. 'Will you kindly take Frank Jordan's mobile number, call and make the arrangements? Next, contact Professor Charles Bellamy at Rosedene. Make everything a matter of extreme urgency, so that by the time Ferguson arrives, it's a done deal.'

'All right, I'll get on to it, but only because I can't wait to see Ferguson's reaction when he finds out. Presumably you're coming back in the morning?'

'We'll see. For the moment, all we're interested in is some supper. Take care, Roper.' The two-bedroom suite at the Europa Hotel had a dining room, and Dillon and Holley ordered room service – a lobster salad apiece, new potatoes, cabbage with bacon – and drank ice-cold non-vintage Krug champagne. It was touching midnight when the waiter reappeared and cleared.

'What time is Ferguson's Gulfstream getting in?' Holley asked.

'I don't know and I don't care,' Dillon said.

'You've got to go back and face the old man's wrath some time,' Holley told him.

'But not just yet.' Dillon yawned. 'We could stay on for a day or so, since we're here. Roper will take care of everything for moving Mickeen. We could rent a car. Go for a drive.'

'To where?'

'My mother died giving birth to me in Collyban. I lived with Mickeen as a child, while my father was away working, then he returned and took me away with him to London when I was twelve.'

'So you haven't seen much of your uncle over the years?'

'Two or three times by night when I was on the run during the Troubles, and I paid him a flying visit the other year on business for Ferguson. The truth is, the old sod's the only close relative I've got left. I was surprised at the sense of loss I felt looking at him in that hospital bed.'

'So where is this leading?'

'Paddy O'Rourke, his mechanic at the garage, found him. I wouldn't mind going to see him. I could let him know how Mickeen is.'

'You're talking nonsense, Sean, that would only depress him. What's really eating at you?'

'Okay, so I hadn't been in touch with Mickeen since God knows when, and I phoned him on a whim because I thought he'd be able to tell me the time and place of the Talbot funeral.'

'And he could. So what's that got to do with anything?'

'I don't know, except that somehow I feel responsible.'

'I don't see how you could be, but if you feel like that, give O'Rourke a call and we'll drive down and see him. How far?'

'Fifty miles, here or there. I'll get in touch with him in the morning. Are you carrying?'

'One of the advantages of diplomatic privilege.' Holley pulled up his right trouser leg and showed the ankle holster with the Colt.25. 'No well-dressed man should be without one.'

'I couldn't agree more.' Dillon put his foot on a chair and showed an identical Colt. 'Silenced, with hollow points.'

'Why settle for less? That will always do the job. But why are you asking?'

'Collyban was always Republican territory, IRA bandit country. I used to be a hero to people there who'd never even seen me, and then Ferguson came along and somehow I doubt they'd still be feeling the same.'

'Once in, never out – that's been the motto of the IRA since its inception, hasn't it? So screw them, we're still Provos, whether they like it or not,' Daniel told him. 'I'm away to bed.' At eight o'clock the following morning, they were working their way through breakfast in the cafe when Roper called Dillon.

'Ferguson got in just after three this morning. He asked me if I had anything special to report.'

'And you said nothing, I presume?'

'Exactly. I just hope I don't regret it. Anyway, your Mr Frank Jordan doesn't let the grass grow under his feet. Mickeen Oge Flynn will be picked up at nine and taken to Belfast City Airport to board the air ambulance for London. Rosedene is waiting for him.'

'Excellent.'

'In fact, Jordan has decided to go along. He said he'd like to keep an eye on Flynn, and, besides, it's costing so much he might as well get something out of it!'

'Roper, you've done wonders,' Dillon said. 'I'm truly grateful – and hopefully, so will be Mickeen.'

'So what are your plans?'

'We've ordered a car and we're driving down to Collyban.'

Roper was concerned. 'What in the hell are you up to, Sean? I'd have thought it very unwise to visit anywhere in that area. And, dammit, you're only fifteen miles from Crossmaglen where Holley's mother was born, so he's as bad as you are. What's this obsession with living dangerously?'

'Oh, Roper, it'll be just a quiet day out in County Down. What could be nicer? You worry too much.' And he switched off.

'We have to put the cat amongst the pigeons,' Holley said.

'No, that happens when Ferguson wakes up and finds out what happened, but we'll deal with that when the explosion takes place.'

He found the piece of paper with O'Rourke's number on it, poured himself a second cup of tea and called him. 'Who's that?' O'Rourke's voice was wary.

'Paddy, me ould son,' Dillon told him cheerfully. 'It's Mickeen's only nephew, Sean Dillon.'

O'Rourke gasped, 'Jesus, Sean, where are you?'

'In Belfast, Paddy. I flew in last night thinking Mickeen was going to die on me. Four hours they operated on him. The brain was damaged, you see, and him in a coma.'

'What do you mean?' O'Rourke asked cautiously.

'He's in a deep sleep, and nobody knows if he'll wake up. Anyway, I'm having him transferred to London in an air ambulance. There's a special hospital where I'll be able to keep an eye on him.'

'And when's that?'

'Nine o'clock.'

'Well, that's fantastic. I found him, you know. I don't know how to thank you.'

'Save it till I see you, Paddy.'

'See me?' O'Rourke said.

'I've got a friend with me called Daniel Holley. We've hired a car and we're driving down. You can show me where it happened, and I can discuss what we're going to do with the garage.'

O'Rourke was flabbergasted. 'But you shouldn't come here to Collyban, Sean. There's plenty who wouldn't like it. No knowing what they might do.'

'Not to worry, Paddy, I can look after myself.'

'Well… if you're sure. What time would you be coming?'

'We should be there by eleven. If you're not at the garage, we'll look for you in the pub.'

'The Green Man?' O'Rourke was horrified. 'Never in there, Sean. It's IRA to the hilt.'

'And didn't I join as a volunteer at nineteen when my father was shot by Brit paratroopers? Do you say I have no right to go in?'

'Not me, Sean, but others would.'

'Well, enough talk. You know when to expect us.' He switched off and said to Holley, 'Did I stir the hornets' nest enough?'

'That's an understatement,' Holley said. 'Let's get moving.' Martin Curry was working behind the bar at the Green Man, washing glasses. There was not a soul in the place when Paddy O'Rourke entered through the side door, which was hardly surprising at nine o'clock.

'Jesus, Paddy, isn't it a bit early, even for you?'

'Will you give me a large one, Martin, for pity's sake, and me having the shock of my life.'

'And what would that be?' Curry asked.

'I've just had Sean Dillon on the mobile. He's been to see Mickeen in the hospital in Belfast. He says he's coming down to see me this morning to discuss what's going to happen to the garage.'

Curry was thunderstruck 'He must be mad.' He poured Paddy a double whiskey. 'Drink that down and tell me exactly what he said.' Jack Kelly was sitting at his desk in the back office of the Kilmartin Arms, doing his accounts, when Curry phoned. He ended by telling Jack, 'I'll have two or three of the boys in. We'll sort the bastard out.'

'Take it easy, Martin. The old days are gone. We have to be careful how we go.'

'Christ, are you going chicken on me after what we've been through together? Sean Dillon is a disgrace to the village where he was born.'

'You're right, Martin. He's a turncoat who's been serving the Brits for years now, taking orders from Charles Ferguson, one of our biggest enemies in the old days – but we've got to go carefully here. I don't want to do anything that would bring in the police. I've got the Talbots to consider. They've only just seen off Colonel Henry, for God's sake.'

'So what do I do if the bastard tries to come in the Green Man?'

'We'll handle it, Martin, and I'll be there to stand with you. Do as I say. Take it as a direct order from your old commander.'

'And the other business he told Paddy about? Having Mickeen flown out to London?'

'Black news that, but there's nothing to be done about it.' Jean Talbot and Justin enjoyed breakfast together, but her pleas for him to sit for her again fell on deaf ears. He intended to go riding and that was that. She retreated to her studio and got to work. The weather outside was dark and oppressive, and there was a hint of rain. It had become incredibly stuffy in the studio overnight and she opened the exit door before starting work on the portrait again.

An hour went by and then she heard a car arrive. She went to a window and saw Jack Kelly getting out of his old Morris. She was about to go out on the platform and speak to him when she saw Justin galloping fast across the meadow, only reining in his mount at the last moment so that it reared up and kicked out before settling. He walked it in to the yard through the archway, and dismounted.

'You're a stupid boy still, but then I've been telling you that for years. You'll kill yourself doing that one of these days, Justin.'

'Is that so? What's got into you this morning? Come into the stable. The boy's gone to the village, so I've got to unsaddle myself. Is there a problem?'

'You could say that. Sean Dillon's coming. Curry told me. He'll be at Collyban at eleven o'clock to discuss Flynn's garage with him.'

Talbot was stunned. 'So I'll actually get the chance to meet him.'

'I'm damned if you will. Now get that horse inside. We need to talk.'

Upstairs, Jean was moving fast, hurrying across the studio, opening another door, because a few wooden steps gave access to a landing overlooking the stalls where Justin was unsaddling.

'Tell me all about it,' he was saying to Kelly. It had started to rain when Kelly was finished, and Justin went to the door, peering out and thinking about it. 'What a mess, Jack, so what's to be done? Do we shoot the bastard?'

'For Christ's sake, will you listen to me, boy? You do nothing, because it's got nothing to do with you. So Dillon works for Ferguson, as does Daniel Holley these days, apparently. They've no idea you're Shamrock. As far as I know, they haven't even heard of the Preacher. Dillon is here to sort out Flynn's garage with O'Rourke. What would Justin Talbot, Chairman of Talbot International, have to do with that?'

'You mean I shouldn't even meet him?'

'Absolutely not, and I want your word on it.'

'If you say so,' Justin said wearily. 'Frankly, it's all getting a bit on top of me. How long can we hope for Mickeen to act the sleeping beauty in London?'

'From what Jordan says, a long, long time. Even if he does wake up, he could well not remember a thing about it.'

'It's not good enough, Jack.' Justin's eyes glittered again, his body crackling with energy. 'I've got to find a solution to all this.' He grinned and slapped Kelly on the back. 'When I do, you'll be the first to know what it is, but I'll leave Dillon and his friend to you.'

Kelly got in his Morris and drove off. The stable boy appeared and took charge of the horse. Justin went up to the studio, but his mother wasn't there. He stood looking at the portrait. She was good, he reflected; too bloody good really, as he had recently told her. She didn't just go for appearance, she got what was inside, too. She got the disturbed wildness in him, which made him feel uncomfortable, and he went back down the iron stairs to the yard.

At that moment, the maroon Shogun emerged from the garage, his mother at the wheel. She waved briefly, but didn't stop. He wondered where she was going – not that it mattered. He had enough on his mind with the whole damn situation. The Preacher, Ferguson, Shamrock. He went through the house to the study to get a drink and think about it. Paddy O'Rourke was not happy. If the garage was closed down, it would be a serious inconvenience for the villagers who would have to drive as far as Kilmartin to find another, so Martin Curry's orders were plain. If Dillon made him a job offer, which he probably would, O'Rourke was to take it, then send him on his way, which meant anywhere he liked to go as long as it wasn't the Green Man.

Paddy sat on a stool just inside the garage, the main door open, smoked a cigarette between his finger and thumb, and waited, watched by two hard young men named Dempsey and Farrel from behind a half-drawn window curtain.

'Where the fug are they?' Farrel said, and the silver BMW came down the hill and halted on the forecourt. Paddy stood up and Dillon got out, followed by Holley who had been driving.

'Which one is Dillon, I wonder?' Farrel said.

'Neither of them looks like much to me,' Dempsey nodded. 'Let's see what happens.' 'It's me, Paddy, Sean.' Dillon smiled and grasped a reluctant hand. 'I was twelve years old when I last saw you, so how could you remember me?'

O'Rourke tried to smile. 'It's grand to see you and looking so well.'

'This is my good friend, Daniel Holley. He might sound English, but his mother was from Crossmaglen and that's not too far from here.'

'And that's a fact,' O'Rourke said, but before he could say anything else, the Shogun came down the hill, swung in and parked beside the BMW.

'Christ Jesus,' Dempsey said. 'It's the lady from Talbot Place. What's she doing here?'

'I'd better get Curry on my mobile,' Farrel said, and did so straightaway.

'What are they doing?' Curry demanded.

'She hasn't got out of her car yet.'

'Just keep watching and I'll call you back.' Curry rang off, then called Jack Kelly, who answered at once. 'I've got a problem,' Curry said, and told him.

'What the hell is she playing at?' Kelly demanded. 'Never mind. I'll be straight over.'

Curry called Farrel. 'Stay with it, but let me know the moment they start moving anywhere.' He switched off his mobile and turned to the seven or eight people in the bar. 'Drink up and move on. I want you out of here in five minutes.' The three men turned to look at Jean and she opened the glove compartment and took out a short-barrelled Smith amp; Wesson.38 revolver, one of a number of weapons Colonel Henry had kept around the house. She slipped it in her trenchcoat pocket and got out of the Shogun.

'Sorry if I'm intruding,' she said. 'Remember me, Paddy, from Kilmartin? Jean Talbot, Colonel Henry's daughter?' He looked slightly dazed and she took his hand. 'I was so sorry to hear about what happened to Mickeen.'

'That's kind of you.' He seemed to come to life. 'This is Sean Dillon, Mickeen's nephew, over from London on hearing the bad news.'

She turned and didn't offer her hand, simply stood there with hands in her pockets, looking him over. 'Sean Dillon.' She frowned slightly, 'A familiar name. I'm sure I've heard it before.'

'And my friend, Daniel Holley.'

She smiled at Holley. 'So how is Mickeen?'

'What can I say?' Dillon shrugged slightly. 'He's had a massive operation which has left him with a titanium plate in the head, and he's comatose. He's been flown to London by air ambulance.'

'So what happens here?'

'The garage, you mean? That's quite simple. I'm offering Paddy a full partnership to keep things going while we see how Mickeen makes out.'

Suddenly, O'Rourke was smiling. 'By God, that's a fine offer, Sean, and I'll take it.' He spat on the palm of his hand, held it out and Dillon shook it.

Jean said, 'May I suggest we adjourn to the Green Man and seal the bargain with a drink?'

Paddy's face fell. 'Well, now, there could be complications about that.'

'What complications? Don't be silly, Paddy.' She took Dillon's arm. 'Shall we go?'

'It's entirely our pleasure, Mrs Talbot.' They walked away, Holley and Paddy following.

Farrel called Curry at once. 'They're on their way to the pub, Mr Curry.'

'Then move your arses and get down here fast. Use the back lane.'

Curry was coldly angry. He reached under the bar and produced a sawn-off shotgun, which he loaded and then replaced under the bar. There was no solution there. The woman was a wild card in this game. She was untouchable.

The door opened and she led the way in, just in front of Dillon, Holley and O'Rourke behind.

'Mr Curry, how nice to see you, it's been a while. You may know Mr Dillon here.'

'He certainly does, we're of an age,' Dillon said. 'We were at the village school together. How goes it, Martin?' His smile was mocking.

Curry was struggling to keep control, but before he could make any kind of reply, the back door crashed open and Dempsey and Farrel entered.

'What's happening?' Farrel demanded.

'We're all having a drink to celebrate Paddy being made partner at the garage,' Jean said. 'Why don't you join us?'

'I'm damned if I'll drink with these shites or you, you Protestant whore,' he said, producing a pistol.

Dillon kicked him under the right kneecap and, as he doubled over, raised his knee into the descending face and sent him back to trip over a chair and bounce off the wall, blood oozing from a broken nose as he slid to the floor, dropping his pistol. Curry reached under the bar, producing the sawn-off shotgun. Holley picked up the glass jug of water on the bar, threw it in his face and yanked the shotgun from him by the barrel. He tossed it into the corner, kicking Dempsey in the face as he leaned down to pick up Farrel's pistol.

Jean Talbot took the Smith amp; Wesson from her pocket and fired a shot into the ceiling. 'Now can everybody calm down?'

The door opened and Jack Kelly stepped in. He surveyed the scene, Dempsey and Farrel crouched on the floor by the wall, Curry drying his face with a bar towel. O'Rourke looked terrified.

Kelly said to Dillon, 'Have you given Paddy the job?'

'I don't know who you are, but, yes, he's now a partner.'

'Excellent. I'm Jack Kelly, estate manager at Talbot Place.'

'Ah, I mind that name from days when you were doing something else,' Dillon said. 'Do you know my friend Daniel Holley?'

'We have mutual friends in Crossmaglen. If you're finished here, Jean, I'll see you home.'

'That's kind of you.' She turned to Dillon and Holley, 'Shall we go?'

'Certainly,' Dillon turned to Curry. 'It's been a sincere sensation, Martin.' He ducked as Curry threw a glass at him.

Outside, Jean was getting into Kelly's Morris. 'He's just running me up to my car. Nice meeting you, gentlemen. It's good to be able to put a face to the name.'

They walked back up the street. 'I feel bad about leaving Paddy in there,' Dillon said.

'He'll be all right,' Holley grinned. 'They've got to get their petrol from somewhere.'

'Yes, he'll survive, but what a bloody place. Thank God my father got me out of it at twelve. Let's get going.' As Holley drove, Dillon called Roper. 'What's the situation with Ferguson?'

'He's not stirring yet, so I'm leaving well enough alone. Have you been having fun?'

Dillon told him what had happened, because Roper had a talent approaching genius for making sense out of everything.

'What do you think?'

'Jean Talbot? Quite a lady. I liked the bit with the gun. She probably went along to the garage because she wanted to meet you – but I suspect she was also stirring things up. The Catholic and Protestant thing is what she was raised on all her life. She knew you'd have trouble at the Green Man.'

'That's true. Maybe she just likes to live dangerously. Anyway, what's the deal on Mickeen at Rosedene?'

'He's arrived and Charles Bellamy has everything in hand. He and Jordan fell into each other's arms and are enjoying lunch together at Rosedene as we speak.'

'So everybody's happy?'

'Until Ferguson surfaces. God help us all then. I've booked your flight plan for three hours from now at Belfast City. Over and out.'

Dillon leaned back. 'Three hours to lift off. Say farewell to beautiful Ulster.'

'If you're worried about Ferguson, I really meant it when I said I'd pay for the air ambulance,' Holley told him.

'After an initial roaring when he hears of it, Ferguson will calm down. The department will pay. It's a matter of honour.'

'Actually, I don't see why they should. Mickeen isn't in the employ of the Secret Intelligence Service. He just had an accident. It's you who've used your position to cause things to happen, helped by my promise to pay. Strictly speaking, I doubt whether Mickeen has any right to be in Rosedene.'

'Damn you and your logic, but I suppose you're right. Okay, I'll just have to pay for it myself.'

'Can you afford it?'

'To be honest, I made a great deal of money back in Nineteen ninety-one, payment for a spectacular, and we won't say what it was. The money's sat in a numbered account in Switzerland ever since. Over eighteen years, I believe it's trebled.'

'You old bastard,' Holley said. 'Is there no end to you?'

'So that's Mickeen taken care of. I'm going to have a nap.' Dillon inclined his seat back and closed his eyes. Jack Kelly, sitting opposite Justin in the study, told him about the scene at the Green Man.

Justin was angry. 'What was my mother up to, creating such mayhem in Collyban?'

'She told me she simply wanted to express her sympathy to Paddy O'Rourke. She's known Flynn for years, always buys petrol from his garage.'

'So she was there just by chance when Dillon and Holley turned up. Really?'

'It seems so. And it was she who insisted they go to the Green Man to celebrate the deal. Unfortunately, Curry's man objected to Dillon, and matters got out of hand.'

'Unfortunate,' Justin shrugged. 'Well, if all that's true, I suppose there's really nothing to worry about. After all, she hasn't the slightest idea who Dillon and Holley are.'

'I can't see how she could,' Kelly said.

'Good. Then let's have a drink on it.'