The Killing Ground

Chapter 11

IT WAS A LITTLE EARLIER THAT A COUNCIL OF WAR AT Holland Park had examined the situation. “The real threat in all this,” Ferguson said, “is Russian. By taking Flynn on board, Volkov has thrown down the gauntlet.”

“So he must have presidential backing,” Roper said. “I’m sure Putin has felt for some time that something should be done about us, General.” He glanced at Harry. “And anyone who’s on our side.”

“But the thing at the moment is Nolan and Kelly and that contract and what to do about it,” Roper pointed out.

“If we were police, you couldn’t touch them,” Ferguson said, “because they haven’t done anything, but I have implicit faith you’ll find a way of dealing with it. I have a meeting in one hour with the Prime Minister. I’ll call in later at Holland Park and I’ll greet our friends from Dublin then.”

“I admit I’ve got things to do at the development,” Harry said. “I mean, we can’t let stupid threats interfere with business.”

“I admire your spirit, Harry,” Ferguson said. “But I think we can leave the activities at the Green Tinker to these three.” He and Harry went out. Dillon said, “Where’s Greta?”

“She was going to call in at Gulf Road, see how the Rashids are coping. Hal Stone has hit the highway for Cambridge this morning to the halls of academia,” said Roper. “My God, the students would flock to his lectures if they knew only half of the things that fella gets up to. Do you think Hussein will come?”

“Only time will tell, but now to the matter at hand. Jimmy Nolan and Patrick Kelly, his cousin. They own the Green Tinker pub in Kilburn.

Both active in the movement and not only in Ulster. Nolan was down as a suspect for that mortar attack on John Major’s cabinet during the Gulf War, but we discovered it was someone else.”

Billy looked at Dillon. “And we know who.”

“Still, he was seven years into a fifteen-year prison term when it was all over, so he was released from prison according to the terms of the peace agreement. Kelly got pretty much the same deal. British citizens, born in London, they inherited the Green Tinker from Nolan’s father. Served their time, clean as a whistle, both of them.”

“Like hell they are,” Billy said. “I think Dillon and I will go and check the beer out.”

“Stay calm, Billy.”

“With a couple of guys who’ve accepted a contract on my uncle?”

“Well, leave your Walther at home.”

“Roper, old son, I’d remind you that as an agent of Her Majesty’s Secret Services, I actually have a license for it. We’ll go in my car, Dillon.”

“I thought so.” Billy had just taken delivery of a scarlet Alfa Romeo Spider and was obviously proud of it.

“Very nice,” Dillon told him. “I’m impressed. Now, as to business, I don’t recall these two from my IRA time, so they’re both a blank page to me, except for what Roper had to say.”

“So what? There’s only one way to handle this.”

“You noticed the prison photos on Roper’s screen were about twenty years old. You wouldn’t even recognize them now.”

“Let’s just see.”

THEY PARKED OUTSIDE the Green Tinker and went in the saloon bar. Three old men sat at a table by the window and played dominoes. An unshaven young man in a black T-shirt with short sleeves and lots of muscle stood behind the bar reading a newspaper. The snug door was open and old Fahy was filling a pipe. He took one look at them and an expression of horror appeared on his face. The barman glanced up. He wore a black patch over his right eye. From the expression on his face, he wasn’t impressed by what he saw.

“Yes?”

“I’ll have half a bottle of still water,” Billy told him.

“And a glass of your strongest for me.” Dillon smiled. “Bushmills, if you have it.”

“And we’d also like to see Nolan and Kelly,” Billy said.

The man put Dillon’s whiskey into a shot glass. He gave it to Dillon, pushed another glass at Billy and picked up a jug of water from behind the bar. “Will this do, sir?”

Billy reached for the glass. “Why not?” The man started to pour, then moved all the way up the sleeve of Billy’s trench coat.

Old Fahy called, “I wouldn’t do that, Michael,” but Billy was already reaching, pulling the man across the bar, punching him heavily in the face several times.

The old man stopped talking. Billy pulled Michael up, jerked the left arm out straight, the edge of his own right hand descending like a chopping axe. He eased him down into a chair.

“I think you’ll find I’ve broken it. Now, Nolan and Kelly? Who’s going to speak up?”

Old Fahy said, “You’d better come in the office. I expect you’ll force your way in anyway.”

They stood and looked at the display on the wall, read what was said about them, examined the photos.

“I think yours is quite good,” Dillon said. “I’m not sure about mine.”

“It’s called the older man look,” Billy said. “You know, been places, done things.”

“Is that it?” Dillon passed his glass to Fahy. “I’ll have the same again.”

“The Bushmills as usual, I know that well.”

He poured a large one. Dillon said, “And how would you know?”

“Because he heard you order one from the prick next door,” Billy said.

The old man shook his head. “I’m from Derry. I saw you three times with Martin McGuiness there. I had my moments with the IRA, but ten years inside finished me off and I came to Kilburn. Remember a pub called the Irish Guard? I was pot man there. Gerry Brady was the publican. Did me a favor and found me a job. I remember the first time you came in and asked for Gerry, only you weren’t calling yourself Sean Dillon.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be.”

“But I knew you. February ’ninety-one it was, the time somebody mounted a mortar attack on the Prime Minister and the War Cabinet at Downing Street.”

Dillon smiled.“We won’t get into that one. Have a Bushmills and tell us what you know about this lot on the wall.”

“And what bleeding Nolan and Kelly are up to,” Billy said.

Fahy poured himself the Bushmills. “Now do I look like an informer?”

“You’d look a damn sight worse if I put you on sticks,” Billy told him.

“For you, then, Mr. Dillon. Jimmy got all this stuff on his computer, photos, pages and so on, from a man called Flynn in Dublin.”

“You listened in?”

“The walls are terribly thin here. They were being offered a contract, that’s the upshot of it. A hundred thousand pounds. That’s why they put everything up on the board.”

“The bastards,” Billy said. “So they intend to do all of us.”

“The Ferguson fella and Harry Salter are the prime targets, that was the phrase used.”

“And how was this to be achieved?” Dillon asked.

“Nolan and his cousin Patrick run this place.”

“We know that,” Billy said. “Do they intend to do it themselves or put a crew together?”

“They’ve got Danny Delaney and a worm called Sol Flanagan: drugs, booze, they’re off their heads most of the time.”

“What’s their game?”

“Armed robbery, shops, particularly Muslim stores of any kind.

Delaney is crackers. He really hates those Pakistanis and he shoots without hesitation.”

“And Flanagan?”

“Cut from the same bolt of cloth.”

“And never been nailed for any of this?” Dillon asked.

“Oh, they’ve been pulled in, appeared in court on occasion, but you can’t get a conviction without witnesses, can you?”

“Who else?” Dillon asked.

“Different breed altogether. Jack Burke and Tim Cohan. London Irish, the kind who slipped off to Ulster to join the Provos when they were kids. They did the lot, including the Maze. They know you, Mr. Dillon, and were distressed to see you in bad company.”

“Who did they particularly dislike?”

“ Ferguson. Burke said he was lifted along with some others when Ferguson was a colonel in Derry. Cohan said that if he passed him on a wet night in the rain, he’d shoot him in the back without hesitation.”

“Never mind all this,” Billy said. “Where are Nolan and Kelly now?”

“They went out about forty minutes ago. They were both armed and they aren’t coming back. Their conversation was all about filling the time until this evening. They were going to drive past Ferguson ’s house, check out your place, Mr. Dillon, then later visit the Dark Man. Something about the movies was mentioned-maybe they intend to kill time there until it’s late enough.”

“So the bastards intend to show up at the pub?” Billy said.

“Well, it is Friday night, so don’t tell me you won’t be busy. He said the word was that most of you on that board had a habit of getting together at the Dark Man of an evening. The idea is they go along, familiarize themselves with the place, the surroundings. They’ve also been ordered to check out Ferguson ’s house, and yours, Mr. Dillon. Obviously, Jimmy and Patrick do the same.”

“And then what?” Billy demanded. “Who gets it first?”

“Jimmy said after they’ve done all that I’ve told you about, they’d speak again. Oh, there is something else. Burke and Cohan-they’re like a lot of the boys are, the great days gone.”

“And they don’t like it?” Dillon said.

“They don’t care for the company they have to keep. They once had pride and now it’s gone.” He tapped out his pipe. “Would there be anything else?”

“You’ve told us a lot,” Dillon said. “And I suspect it’s all true. Why?”

“I’ve always admired you, Mr. Dillon. A great man and great for the Cause, but I haven’t done it for you, my reasons are purely selfish. Your friend here looks like the kind of fella who’d have beaten it out of me one way or another, and I’m getting too old for that.”

“Yes, you are, you old bastard.” Billy turned to Dillon. “Stick him in the back of the Alfa and take him to Holland Park. Put him behind lock and key until this is over.”

“Good on you, Billy.” Dillon patted Fahy on the shoulder. “Does it suit you? A comfortable safe house?”

“Well, I certainly won’t be safe here.” He led the way through the snug, pausing to take his coat from behind the bar. “I’ll just check on Michael.”

He led the way into the saloon bar, which was empty. He called, but there was no reply. “Maybe he’s gone to get his arm fixed.”

“Not your problem,” Billy said. “It’s the safe house for you. You’ll love it. Better than a hotel.”

DILLON REPORTED IN TO ROPER. “Are Harry and Ferguson still occupied elsewhere?”

“They haven’t contacted me yet. What have you discovered? Should we be worried?”

“See what you think,” and Dillon gave him a brief account of what had happened.

When he had finished, Roper said, “I’ll put them all through my computer, pull out photos and general information. Anything I can find. It could be fun.”

“So you’re in favor of letting these six guys do some nosing around tonight and we don’t do anything about it.”

“I didn’t say that. From what your informant has told you, they are not supposed to do anything except size the situation up. What we’ve got to decide is what we do if things get out of hand. I’ll try and contact the General and Harry. After all, they are the main targets. I’d remind you the flight from Dublin is due in an hour. What do we do about that?”

“We’ll call in at Holland Park, drop Fahy off and take one of the People Travellers to Farley.”

“Greta got back an hour ago. She’s having a drink with me now. I think she’d like to greet her compatriots. It must be some Russian thing.”

THERE HAD BEEN HEADWINDS, which had slowed them down, but the King Air had performed well, and Levin, Mary and Chomsky, having discovered a bottle of champagne in an icebox, had consumed it between them.

“So what do you fancy putting your hand to, Mary?” Chomsky asked her.

“I’m beyond caring. Mind you, I have a degree in business studies and computer technology.”

“Well, in the world of today, you’ll never starve,” Chomsky told her, and turned to Levin. “Don’t you agree?”

Levin nodded. “All you need are the right connections and you’ve certainly got those. You not only saved my life but that of Harry Salter, and considering how much of the Thames waterfront he’s developed, I think he’ll find you something.”

“As long as you don’t mind being employed by one of the most prominent gangsters in London,” Chomsky said.

“This is nonsense,” Levin told him. “A girl with her background would fit particularly well in Harry’s world.”

But now they were dropping through clouds, and there was London below, and they drifted across and then they were descending, and there was Farley Field and down they went to a perfect landing.

They rolled along the runway toward the terminal building, Magee following instructions. He switched off the engines and Murphy came and opened the door, and Magee followed. He said to Levin, “I was right about this place. Three RAF planes and two helicopters. You really are somebodies.”

“But you’ll never know who,” Chomsky said cheerfully, and followed Mary out.

The People Traveller stood beside the terminal building, Greta, Dillon, Billy beside it. Greta ran forward and flung her arms around Levin first and then Chomsky.

“You wonderful bastards,” she said and there were tears in her eyes. “I never knew it would be so good to see you.”

“And if it wasn’t for this girl, I wouldn’t even be here. Meet Mary O’Toole,” Levin told her. Billy moved in quickly. “I’m Billy Salter, Harry Salter’s nephew. I think you’ll find he’ll show you his gratitude big-time.”

Dillon took her hand. “Sean Dillon.”

Her eyes widened. “Mother Mary, that I should see the day. I’ve heard of you since I was a young girl.”

“Well, you’ve seen me now so let’s get in and we’ll be away.”

Billy was at the wheel and as they drove off, Levin said, “What’s happening?”

So Dillon told him.

WHEN THEY REACHED Holland Park they found Harry and Ferguson had arrived. Mary was introduced and Harry said, “You’re coming back with me, love, to my pub, the Dark Man. Our Ruby can look after you for a while until you decide what you want to do. Lots of opportunities in my personal empire. We’ve just got a few things to sort out here.” He turned to those assembled in the computer room. “Let’s see it again, Roper.”

Roper paraded Flynn’s crew across the big screen. The photos had been obtained from police files, those of Burke and Cohan being several years old. They had a certain rugged dignity that came with men who had believed they were fighting for a cause.

Delaney and Flanagan were a different proposition, cocky, smirking and, in most photos, obviously on something, drugs, alcohol or probably both.

“Give us your lecture, Major,” Ferguson told Roper.

“Delaney and Flanagan, shoot at will. On store robberies, they’ve gotten away with it through intimidation of witnesses.”

“And Cohan and Burke?”

“IRA foot soldiers for years, total professionals, and that means damned good at killing. Any psychological profile would tell you they don’t like robbing convenience stores for a living, but when you’re pushing fifty, men like that don’t have much choice.”

“It’s a point of view,” Ferguson said. “But I have little sympathy for them. You play that kind of game, you take the consequences when all is lost. Having said that, I intend to get out my nylon and titanium waistcoat, which fit quite snugly under my shirt when I last wore it. Guaranteed to stop a forty-five-magnum round at point-blank range. I recommend those who have one to wear it until we have this matter sorted.”

“I agree,” Harry said. “It’s up to you, Dillon and Billy, of course. You can pull in Baxter and Hall as foot soldiers.”

“And as Captain Levin and Sergeant Chomsky have already been involved in the circumstances leading to all this, I’m sure they would be willing to assist.”

“No problem, General.”

“I’d like you and Chomsky to stay here for a few days for a thorough debriefing with Major Roper. After that, Harry’s suggested you move down to the warehouse development of his at Hangman’s Wharf, which you’ll remember from your visit last year.”

“I remember it well.” Levin smiled. “Quite convenient for the Dark Man.”

“Well, you would. I wouldn’t recommend you going for a swim in the Thames with your clothes on again. Wrong time of year.”

He went out briskly. Harry followed with Mary and Billy, who said, “I’ll hand her over to Ruby at the pub and join up with you later.”

“Fine,” Dillon said, left Levin and Chomsky to Sergeant Doyle and went back to Roper, who had Greta with him. Dillon helped himself to ascotch.

“You’ve got a problem,” Greta said. “I can tell.”

“What would it be?” Roper inquired.

“Bert Fahy, the old man I brought in. He gave me a good story and I’m prepared to accept that it was true, but only as far as it went. It was a bit too pat. I didn’t quite buy what he said Nolan and Kelly would be doing.”

“Really? Well, we can’t have that.” He called up Sergeant Henderson. “Bring our new guest in, Mr. Fahy.”

He was produced within five minutes, and the pleasant surprise the comfort of his quarters had given him disappeared rapidly when he found himself in a pool of light looking up to them.

“Fahy, you lied to me,” Dillon said. “The idea that Nolan and Kelly would go to the cinema before visiting us tonight is unbelievable.”

Roper broke in, “Which means you were concealing something else they intend to do.”

“God help me, sir, would I lie to Mr. Dillon?”

“All right, I won’t waste time. I will issue a warrant for your detention under the Anti-Terrorism Act, at Wormwood Scrubs Prison.”

Fahy almost had a bowel movement at the thought of incarceration in that dread institution. “No, sir, have pity on an old man, my memory plays tricks on me.”

“Try again.”

“Well, Major, there’s the bar called Grady’s close to the Pool of London.”

WHEN HE WAS FINISHED, Henderson took him back to his quarters. Dillon said,“This could be a real break. I’m going to go and have a look. Are you busy?” he asked Greta.

“Not until tonight. Molly Rashid’s on a night shift and she asked me to keep Sara company. The girl’s having difficulty relating to her father.”

“Maybe it’s the other way round. We’ll go in your Mini Cooper. I’ll see you in the car park and you later,” he shouted to Roper.

He went straight to his room, found his favorite Walther and went out to Greta, already at the wheel of the Mini Cooper.

“I remember all this when I was a kid with my father growing up in London,” he said as they made their way downriver. “The Pool of London, the docks, ships, crammed in everywhere, hundreds of enormous cranes. I don’t know if it was the biggest port in the world, but it should have been.”

“But you were Irish,” she said. “Why were you here at all?”

“My mother died, my father ran out of work in Ulster.” He shrugged. “The Irish always had a big connection with London. Michael Collins was a civil servant in the post office here before he decided to change the course of Irish history.”

“It seems all changed now,” she observed.

“That’s development for you. A lot of the warehouses are apartment blocks like that one of Harry’s on Hangman’s Wharf, but there are still some streets and buildings that haven’t been touched.”

She had entered Canal Street into the satellite navigator in the Cooper, and they soon arrived there. There was a section of the docks in decay, a canal flowing down quite fast into the river, an ironwork footbridge leading across it and decaying working-class terrace houses, mostly boarded up and awaiting demolition, and the pub on the corner with a sign that said Grady’s Bar. The door was half open and an old lady with very white hair and an apron over a long black dress was polishing a brass knocker. Over the door was the usual board with the license details of the publican. It said Margaret Grady. She was perhaps seventy-five, her voice faded as if she wasn’t really here, the merest hint of an Irish accent.

“Can I help you? I don’t open till six o’clock. We’re a free house.”

“Of course,” Dillon said. “We weren’t looking for a drink.”

Greta joined in. “We were searching for Canal Street, but we’ve obviously found the wrong one.”

“Oh, there must be a lot in the telephone directory.”

“An interesting place,” Dillon said.

“In the old days it was quite thriving, with the ships and so on, but when they went, the life went out of everything. They’ve pulled down all the properties up there. We’re like an oasis. Another six months and that’s it. We were a lodging house for years.”

“I’m very sorry,” Greta said. “Do you get any customers?”

“Now and then, but there are days when there’s nobody. Still, the Council have promised me a place in an old folks’ home.”

There really wasn’t much to say. “We won’t hold you up anymore.” Dillon smiled, and he and Greta went back across the bridge, down to the car and drove away.

“Back to Holland Park, quick as you like.”

“So you’re going to trace them, are you?” she asked.

“No, Greta, if things work out, I hope to dispose of them. A few old IRA hands who’ve met a bad end, and Scotland Yard will close the files with quiet satisfaction.”

“But Volkov will get the message.”

“And the Broker, which means al-Qaeda and Army of God. Greta, we’ve gone beyond negotiation. In the world of tomorrow that’s emerged in the last few years, we fight fire with fire or go under. You may think that strange coming from a man who was once an IRA enforcer, but that’s the way it is.”

“I don’t think it’s strange-I think it’s ironic, that’s all.”

“Excellent, so keep driving and I’ll fill Roper in.”

BY THE TIME they got back to Holland Park, it was just after five o’clock. Roper had called in Billy, Levin and Chomsky. Greta said to Roper, “I’ve got this thing with the Rashids. I’ll call in later.”

Dillon said, “Number one, I don’t want you on board, Chomsky. You did your bit in Dublin and proved your worth. You go down to the Dark Man. They may need an extra gun.”

“You’re the boss.” Chomsky shrugged.

Dillon said to Roper, “You’ve thoroughly briefed them on this?”

“Absolutely.”

Dillon faced Levin and Billy. “There are four good men, with years of experience with the IRA, the revolutionary movement that invented revolutionary movements. The object is to kill all four. To the authorities, the explanation will be some sort of IRA feud, old scores being settled and who gives a damn. I’ve just been to the bar on Canal Street. You go up by the canal, cross a Victorian iron bridge and the pub is almost the only building standing in a demolition area. They’ve no idea we’re on to them and it will be dark when we get there.”

“And bleeding raining again,” Billy said. “Are you tooled up, Igor?”

“Thanks to Sergeant Henderson.” He took a silenced Walther from his pocket. “Just like you, Dillon.”

“Okay, my car. Let’s do it,” Billy said and led the way out.

WHEN MAGGIE GRADY unlocked and opened the door at six, it was dark, but she’d switched the light on overhead and Kelly and Nolan stood there smiling at her.

“Mother Mary, is it yourself, Patrick?”

“And no other.” He kissed her on the cheek. “I’ve brought a pal- Jimmy Nolan. We thought we’d have a drink with you. I’ve a couple of boys working with me at the moment. They’ll be along presently.”

The little bar was neat and tidy, a coal fire in the grate, old Victorian iron tables and chairs scattered round the room. Bottles stood ranged against a mirror behind the bar.

She got over her shock soon enough, even excelled herself by joining them in an Irish whiskey, just the one. In the middle of a story from Kelly, the outer door opened and Burke and Cohan entered.

“We’ve found you at last, praise be to God, and a grand sight it is with the fire and all.” The drink flowed and even old Maggie was tempted to another.

Burke said, “So this is the good woman who looked after you when you were on the run?”

“A queen among women,” Kelly told him. “A lodging house as well as a pub it was then. Sailors ashore from ships in the Pool. You’ve never seen anything like it. Every nationality on God’s earth. Indians, blacks, lascars, and if you dressed the right way you got swallowed up by them.”

He looked at his watch. “Damn me, it’s seven already. We’ll have to get moving.” He gave her a hug and a peck on the cheek.“God bless you, my darling. Here’s one man who’ll never forget you.”

They were laughing as they went out and she closed the door, tired and sad, and, making a sudden decision, she shot the bolt, crossed the bar, turned the light out and went upstairs very slowly, for she was old and past things now, that was the truth of it.

Outside, there was not just darkness in the decaying street, for a single lamp hung from a bracket on the far side of the canal. The group started down to the bridge and rain was falling, glistening in the yellow light.

Dillon and Billy came up the steps side by side, each with a Walther in his hand. “Who the hell are you?” Kelly cried.

Dillon’s hand swung up, he shot Kelly between the eyes, the sound of his silenced weapon only a dull thud, knocking him back against Nolan, who was struggling to get his gun out, and pushed Kelly’s corpse violently away from him, so that it went over the rail into the swirling waters of the canal and was instantly swept away.

Nolan almost got his gun out, but Billy was faster, shooting him in the left shoulder, turning him round and then shattering his spine with a second. Nolan fell across the bridge rail and hung there.

Burke went straight down on one knee, avoiding a return shot from Billy, and shot him in the chest. Behind him, Cohan turned to run back to the pub and Igor Levin stood up from behind a pile of bricks and shot him in the head. Burke, with nowhere else to go, vaulted over the rail into the canal, went under, came to the surface and was instantly gripped by the current, but Levin, running fast, fired several times, driving him under the water.

When he turned to rejoin the others, Billy and Dillon were carrying Cohan between them to throw him in the canal. The current swept him away into darkness.

“All the way down to the Pool and the Thames, and maybe even the open sea,” Dillon said.

Billy had opened his raincoat and was feeling inside his shirt.

“Are you all right, Billy?” Levin asked.

“Well, you heard what Ferguson said. Titanium and nylon waistcoat; if you’ve got one, wear it.”

He produced a damaged round that had stuck in the waistcoat. Levin said, “I’m wearing one, too. General Volkov gave it to me as a present for saving him from an assassin.”

“Let’s move it,” Dillon said. “ Mission accomplished. Now back to Holland Park.”

AT THE SAFE HOUSE there was Roper, Ferguson, Levin, helping himself to a whiskey from the Major’s private stock, and Dillon.

“All four?” Ferguson shook his head. “Remarkable. Reminds me of Ulster in the old days.”

Roper said, “It was exactly like Ulster in the old days. You did the job like you said you would, Sean.”

Ferguson turned to Levin. “What can I say about you? Sterling service indeed. You’ve served us well.”

“I’ll see the right kind of whisper gets through to Flynn and Volkov, just so they get the point,” Roper said. “The Thames is a tidal river and bodies don’t turn up with great regularity if you look at the statistics.”

“What happens now to Delaney and Flanagan?” Levin asked.

“Well, I must admit I’d prefer closure,” Ferguson said. “We’ll have to see. They should be rising to the surface at the Dark Man soon, unless they decide not to arrive at all. Billy and Harry, Baxter and Hall and our new friend Sergeant Chomsky should be perfectly capable of dealing with them.”

“I’d say so,” Dillon agreed.

“So let’s go and watch them do it.”

“Why not?” Levin said.

“Well, if you lot are going, I’m going,” Roper announced. “Doyle can fetch the People Traveller. I’ll be ten minutes.”

“Excellent. I’ll travel with you. I never have accompanied you in that contraption. You have your own automatic lift, I’ve observed.”

“We’ll follow in my Mini,” Dillon said. “You can lead the way.”

He and Levin hurried out through heavy rain and got in the Mini. As they waited, Dillon called Billy. “What’s happening?”

“The joint, as they say, is jumping. Lots of punters, no aggravation, and so far we haven’t seen a sign of the two ratbags we’re looking for.”

“Okay. We’ll see you soon. Roper, Ferguson, Levin and I. I’d say we’ll be about twenty minutes.”

“Maybe the bastards have run out on us,” Billy said, but the story was completely different.

DELANEY AND FLANAGAN had spent two hours in an establishment called Festival, where the music rocked and regular visits to the toilet were solely for the purpose of drug taking. By six o’clock, they were out of their heads on cocaine, and the amount of vodka they’d taken with it was lethal. They both had reached that state where they viewed the world with a false belief that it was theirs and that anything was possible.

The car they were in was a Mercedes stolen earlier that day before their visit to the Green Tinker, and Flanagan was driving it with total indifference to everyone else on the road. He scraped three cars, one after another, and narrowly missed a police officer, who raised a hand and then had to jump for his life. Delaney roared with laughter, pulled out his silenced pistol and fired into several shop windows as they passed, then vanished into a warren of back streets leading down to the Thames.

“This is Wapping, man, I know it is,” Delaney said. “The Dark Man, Cable Wharf. Hah, you punched it in right, man.” He pointed at the satellite navigator. “We’re there.”

The Dark Man was ablaze with lights, there was music on the night air, cars parked all along the wharf, a few boats tied up and at the end, Harry Salter’s pride and joy, the Linda Jones, down there.

They swerved into the car park at the side of the wharf just past the pub. “So this is it,” Flanagan said. “So what do we do?” The rain increased suddenly.

“Shoot the place up, man.” Delaney took a half bottle of vodka from the glove compartment and opened it. “Here’s to us.”

He swallowed, then passed it to Flanagan to take a pull, and at that moment, the People Traveller arrived. It stopped and the back opened and Ferguson walked round just as Roper was delivered in his wheelchair. At the same moment, the Mini arrived with Dillon and Levin, and paused a little distance away.

“Christ,” Delaney said. “The guy standing beside the wheelchair. It’s Ferguson.” He pushed open the passenger door, stepped out and fired his silenced pistol wildly at the People Traveller, but Ferguson turned to speak to Roper, leaning. Delaney’s rounds simply hit the vehicle and Ferguson and Roper went down together in a tangle.

Levin jumped out of the Mini and fired at the Mercedes, but it was a difficult shot with Delaney on the far side of the vehicle hurling himself back inside. Dillon put his foot down and rammed the other car’s rear, and Flanagan, in a blind panic, accelerated along the wharf past the Linda Jones and went straight off the end into the Thames. They watched the back end as it tilted and went down to the bottom. They waited, but nobody appeared.

“That’s it,” Dillon said. “It’s forty feet deep around here. Put your gun away. Let’s see about Ferguson and Roper.”

Back at the Dark Man, Harry, Billy and Chomsky were there, with Doyle righting the wheelchair and helping Ferguson up and Roper into the chair.

“We’re fine,” Ferguson told them. “Whoever it was missed us. What’s happened to them?”

“Bottom of the Thames.”

“I’m so sorry,” Ferguson said sarcastically.

“Chomsky was on the door,” Harry said. “He was aware of the shooting, but with silenced pistols, you couldn’t hear a thing in the saloon bar, just the noise of the cars colliding. That’s brought a few out.”

Behind them, some of the punters, glasses in hand, were watching. Ruby came out anxiously, Mary with her, and at the same moment not one police car but three pulled in and a young police sergeant came forward. “Oh, it’s you, Mr. Salter. We’ve been chasing a Mercedes over half of Wapping with gunmen shooting at shop windows on the way by.”

“Disgusting, don’t know what the world’s coming to,” Harry said. “Collided with my friends’ vehicle and straight down the wharf.”

“And into the Thames,” Dillon said. “We saw it go down and no one came up.”

“Christ,” the sergeant said.

“We’ll leave you to it and get the Major here inside,” Harry said piously. “I mean with his war record, it’s disgusting that he should be subject to this kind of treatment in his own city.”

INSIDE, BAXTER AND HALL had cleared a couple of booths. Ruby served champagne, Mary helped her. “All in all, I say more than satisfactory,” Ferguson said.

“I should bleeding think so.” Harry chuckled. “Talk about clearing the decks.”

“Volkov can chew on that.” Roper nodded, as the police sergeant came in.

“What can I do for you, Sergeant?” Harry said.

“Just to let you know. A recovery detail’s been booked for tomorrow and a series of reports indicate the people in the Mercedes were a couple of hoods with very bad reputations. They’d stolen the car, spent a few hours at the Festival getting coked up on the way here, and as I told you, shooting half of Wapping up on the way. I don’t know what they intended. Names of Delaney and Flanagan.”

“Never heard of them in my life, Sergeant. A lot of rats around these days.”

The sergeant departed and they all relaxed. “That’s it then, all sorted,” Billy said.

“Except for the question of Hussein Rashid,” Ferguson pointed out.

There was a pause while they thought about it. “Maybe he won’t come. What do you think, Roper?” Dillon asked.

“You know what I think. Now if you don’t mind, I could do with a return to Holland Park. I’m bruised all over.”

THE FOLLOWING DAY, of course, was the day everything came together, the day that the trace element Roper had inserted in his computers came up trumps and that a Citation X chartered by Rashid Shipping departed under a flight plan taking it to Khufra in Algeria. But where to from there?