The White House Connection

Chapter Fifteen

In the transit, the mood was euphoric. Barry, sitting behind Quinn at the wheel, brought them up to date.

'The woman we're visiting is called Lady Helen Lang, originally American, but don't be fooled by appearances. She's killed several times. There's one wild card. She has a very big black chauffeur called Hedley.'

'Just another nigger,' Dolan said, and patted his ArmaLite. 'I'll take care of him.'

'You've already made a mistake that could cost you your life,' Barry told him. 'As you all know, I'm an old Vietnam hand and so is Hedley Jackson. Marines, Special Forces, medals. This man could be bad news.'

'So he's a bad nigger,' Dolan sniggered.

'Your funeral, old son.' Barry produced a large-scale Ordnance Survey map and passed it back to them in the rear of the Transit. 'You'll find Compton Place there. Right on the edge of the sea. There's a village called Compton, but it's five miles away. One of those no-no places you find in the countryside, with a dying population of about fifty. No problem.'

Mullen, a large, evil-looking specimen with a shaved head, said, 'This is a walkover, Jack, why bring us all along? You could do it yourself

'Because she's invited me. I killed her son three years ago, a Brit officer working undercover. That's why she stiffed Tim Pat

Ryan in London and my friends in New York. Now she wants me. It's a bit like one of those old Westerns on television where the hero says meet me on the street at dawn.'

'She must be puddled,' Mullen said.

'Five dead men, all killed with the same gun. That says she knows her business. She even stiffed two lowlifes on Park Avenue one night who were trying to rape some girl.'

'We'll blow her away,' Quinn said. 'Her and the black.'

'I sure as hell hope we do,' Barry said. 'I don't want her on my case for the rest of my life, and that's where she'll be if she isn't wasted.'

There was a kind of regret in his voice as he said that, a regret he couldn't explain even to himself, and Quinn said, 'An easy one, Jack. We'll be on our way back before you know it.'

'Let's hope so,' Barry said. 'Study that map. Just make sure you know where we're going.'

It was late afternoon, with fog, and rain falling and the Mercedes passed through Compton, followed the winding roads through that ancient countryside. Hedley pulled into the courtyard and switched off. Lady Helen was already out of the car and unlocking the kitchen door. Hedley carried the bags in.

'Now what?'

'I'm going to change, then we'll get ready.'

'Ready for what, Lady Helen?'

'Jack Barry.' She raised a hand. 'Oh, he'll come, Hedley, he won't be able to resist. On the other hand, Charles Ferguson, Mr Dillon, Blake Johnson

'Could arrive first and I hope they do.'

She looked out at the fog. 'Don't be silly, Hedley. If they have to drive from Gatwick in this pea- souper, it will take hours. I'll see you in fifteen minutes.'

In her bedroom, she undressed, took a one-piece jump suit from the wardrobe, and put it on. She found some elastic-sided ankle boots, then opened her purse and took out the Co She unloaded it, screwed the silencer on the end, then inserted the magazine again. She opened a drawer, took out four magazines and put two in each pocket.

She was breathing heavily now, found her pill bottle, shook two into her hand, hesitated, then shook out two more. She went into the bathroom, filled a glass with water and swallowed them down.

'What the hell,' she murmured. 'What does an overdose matter at this stage? It's all the same in the end.'

She went downstairs and found Hedley in the kitchen, making tea. He was wearing a track suit. He handed her a cup. 'Ready for war, Hedley?'

'It's been a long time.'

'I suppose some things you don't forget.' She smiled. 'You've been a good friend.'

'It's easy where you're concerned.' He swallowed his tea. "Hell, I even drink this stuff instead of coffee to please you.' He put the cup down. 'Still, if you're intent on seeing this thing through, I suggest we adjourn to the barn.'

There, she didn't use the Colt, although she had it in a small holster at her waist. Hedley gave her a 9mm Browning pistol with a silencer on the muzzle and slammed in a twenty-round magazine which protruded from the butt.

'I really feel I'm going to war with this,' she said.

'Believe me, you are. Legs apart, both hands.'

She worked her way across the target figures, shredding them. 'Oh, my word. Now what, Hedley?'

He said, 'It's simple. We wait to see who gets here first.'

The Transit pulled in by a pine wood overlooking the estate at Compton Place. The fog swirled, touched by the wind, giving occasional glimpses of the countryside below and there was the house and grounds and the sea beyond, and then the fog descended again.

'Leave the Transit here,' Barry told them. 'Keys under the mat. We'll go on foot.'

'We're with you, Jack,' Quinn said.

'That's good to know. You can take point, as we used to say in Vietnam.'

It started to rain as they went down the hill and approached the outbuildings. Hedley, on top of steps leading to the upper floor of the barn, had an AK47 with a silencer and a night sight. He focused on Quinn and pressed the trigger. By chance, Quinn turned at the precise moment to speak to Barry, and the bullet missed his heart and hit the stock of his ArmaLite. He staggered back.

'Christ, Jesus.'

'Down!' Barry called, and they all obeyed him.

He crawled to Quinn. 'You okay?'

'I think so.'

'I recognized the sound. A silenced AK. I heard enough of those in Vietnam.' He spoke to the others in low tones. 'She's there and she's waiting. Take care. Now fan out and move forward.'

The Lear jet went down and down, passed through fog at one thousand feet, then broke clear, Horseshoe Bay below, surf creaming in, a touch of early evening grey.

Flight Lieutenant Lacey said over the intercom, 'It's not good. Half-tide at the moment. Better to abort.'

Dillon and Blake in parachutes, jump suits, shoulder holsters, AKs suspended across their chests, glanced at Ferguson and Bernstein.

The Brigadier said, 'Your call, gentlemen.'

'What the hell.' Dillon reached for the lever and dropped the Airstair door. 'Who wants to live for ever?' He grinned at Blake. 'Hell, you're an older guy. You can go first.'

'You're so kind,' Blake said, and as Lacey made a pass at eight hundred, dived out headfirst and Dillon went after him.

The sky was turbulent, fog swirling to the horizon, the evening light fading. Dillon, aware of Blake in front of him, went down the Airstair door and allowed himself to fall, turning over in the Lear's slipstream. He pulled the ring of his rip cord, looked up and saw the plane climb steeply.

Below him, Blake landed on the sand just in front of the surf. Dillon, further behind, plunged into six feet of very salty water, surfaced and ploughed forward with difficulty because of the parachute trailing behind. He punched the quick release clip, let the harness slip away and waded to the beach.

Blake came to meet him. 'You okay?'

Dillon nodded. 'Let's do it.'

They went up the beach, paused in the pine trees, then started towards the house. They stood together, looking down, and there was a sudden explosion and smoke drifted up.

'I'd say that was a smoke grenade,' Dillon said. 'Let's go,' and they charged down the hill.

Barry stayed back, some instinct telling him to. Quinn led the others down towards the barn, and Hedley focused on Mullen and shot him through the head. Then he tossed a smoke grenade. The others flung themselves down and sprayed the first floor of the barn with fire. Hedley lay there at the top of the steps, head down, a round creasing his right shoulder.

Lady Helen crouched behind him. 'Are you all right?'

'Slightly damaged. Don't worry.'

Barry said, 'Get on with it, Quinn.'

Quinn stood up. 'Let's get to it,' he urged and they all stood and followed him. Lady Helen, behind Hedley, raised the Browning and fired it repeatedly, blowing Quinn away. They retreated, she reached down for Hedley.

'Come on, inside.'

Dolan and McGee crawled back. Barry said, 'Right, lads, into the barn. They've nowhere to go.'

'Christ, Jack, it's a bad scene,' Dolan said. 'Walk in the door and get your head blown off.'

Barry took out a Beretta. 'Well, you fucking well get in or I'll blow your head off myself. Go on, up those steps.'

Dolan, terrified, started up, and Blake, arriving in the courtyard at the same moment, sprayed him with his AK, sending him headfirst to the cobbles below.

Blake crouched, and Barry moved closer to McGee. 'Don't worry, we'll manage.'

Dillon appeared on the other side of the courtyard and fired his AK. 'You there, Jack?'

Barry called, 'So it's you, Sean. You always arrive too late.'

Blake fired in the general direction of Barry's voice, and there was return fire. He felt a red-hot poker in his left arm and fell back. Dillon fired in reply, three rounds, catching McGee in the face.

There was silence now, only the rain and the fog. Barry crawled forward, eased open the bottom door and passed inside. He saw her, up there on the barn platform, pulling Hedley back to safety, hay drifting down.

'I'm here,' he called.

She turned, dropping Hedley. Barry had his gun hand raised, as she pulled out the Colt without hesitation.

His Beretta jammed. He worked the slider desperately and she took deliberate aim. And then something strange happened. She seemed to struggle for breath, staggered back and fell to her knees. Barry ejected one magazine, rammed another in and took aim, and Dillon burst in through the barn door.

'No!' Dillon cried and fired, and his bullet creased Barry's face, sending him lurching back with a cry.

Barry recovered, and fired back repeatedly, sending Dillon down, then vanished through the back door. There was silence. Dillon stood and went up the stairs.

Hedley lay there, blood on his shoulder, Lady Helen beside him, face grey. Dillon kneeled beside her. 'What is it?'

'My heart, Mr Dillon. I've been on borrowed time for a while. Did we get them?' Dillon hesitated. 'The truth now.'

'From the looks of it, his gang, but not Barry.'

'What a shame.' She closed her eyes.

A moment later, an RAF Land Rover drove into the courtyard with Charles Ferguson and Hannah Bernstein.

Dillon worked his way from one body to another. Quinn, shot several times, was only just alive. Dillon said, 'Jesus, Quinn, I haven't seen you in years.'

'Dillon?'

'All down, your mates finished.'

'And Jack?'

'Oh, the Devil always looks after his own. He's away out of it as usual.'

'Bastard.'

'Where would he be going?'

Quinn managed a ghastly smile. 'It'll cost you a cigarette.'

Dillon got his silver case out. The cigarettes inside were still dry in spite of his ducking. He gave Quinn one and a light from his Zippo.

Quinn said, 'We flew from Doonreigh in a Chieftain with Docherty. Remember him from the old days?'

'Surely.'

'Landed on an old airstrip not far from here. Shankley Down, run by a man called Clarke. Docherty was to wait.' His voice was tired. 'A bastard, Jack, he always thought of number one. Flying back to Ulster and to hell with the rest of us.' He was wandering now. 'Back to Spanish Head. Always his bolt-hole.'

He was going fast. Dillon said, 'Hang on, Quinn, I could still get him. Remember that special thing about me? I can fly anything with wings. This Shankley Down. Was there another plane there?'

Quinn nodded. 'Small plane, but two engines. The kind where you walk over the wing to get in.'

'Cessna 310,' Dillon said.

'Get him, Dillon, fuck the bastard.' The cigarette fell from Quinn's fingers and his head lolled to one side.

Dillon went to Ferguson, who was speaking into his mobile. He switched off. 'I've sent for a disposal unit. I shouldn't think they'll make it in this weather in less than four hours. What about him?'

He nodded to Quinn and Dillon said, 'Dead, all four dead.'

'Anyone I should know?'

'Oh, you'll be delighted. Four to cross off your most-wanted list.'

Hannah Bernstein had got the medical kit from the RAF Land Rover. She had wrapped a field service bandage round Blake's arm. Hedley was holding another to his shoulder as he crouched beside Lady Helen. Dillon dropped to one knee and she smiled.

'So he got away, Mr Dillon, what a pity.'

Dillon took her hand, never so cold, never so calm. 'He only thinks he has. I'll get him for you, my love, I swear it.' He stood up and helped her to her feet. 'Take her inside,' he said to Ferguson.

They stood there, Hedley and Blake, Ferguson and Lady Helen, Hannah with an arm around her. Blake was obviously in considerable pain and Hedley didn't look good.

'Terrible mess, all this, Charles,' Lady Helen said. 'It won't look good in the papers.'

'It won't be in the papers,' Ferguson said. 'My disposal unit will take this trash back to London where they will be processed in a certain crematorium. They'll be several pounds of grey ash each by the morning, and they can dump it in the Thames as far as I'm concerned.'

'And you have the power to do that, Charles.'

He took her from Hannah and put an arm around her. 'I can do anything.'

Dillon said, 'I'll leave you to it. I'll be away. I'll take the Land Rover.'

Ferguson said, 'What is this?'

'Quinn told me they flew into a place called Shankley Down in a Chieftain piloted by an old acquaintance of mine called Docherty. I should imagine Jack's taking off about now, if he hasn't already.'

'But what can you do?'

'The place is run by a man called Clarke and there's a Cessna 310 there. I'm going to chase Jack Barry to the hob of hell. Oh, the 310 is a bit slower than a Chieftain, but I think I can take care of that. You see, I know his ultimate destination.'

And it was Blake who saw it. 'Spanish Head?'

'Got it in one.'

'But it would be crazy for him to go there.'

'He is crazy.'

'But where can you land, Sean?'

'I know the place well from the old days. Great beaches off the Head with the tide out.'

'In weather like this?' Ferguson said. 'You're mad.'

'I always was, Brigadier.'

Hannah Bernstein said, 'In the circumstances, I'd better go with him, sir.'

'Like hell you will,' Dillon told her.

'Let me tell you something, Dillon. To leave here in the Land Rover, you need the keys and I have them. Secondly, you have no authority to proceed without a police presence, which as a Detective Superintendent of Special Branch I will provide, Northern Ireland being part of the United Kingdom.'

'Jesus, but you're a hard woman.'

'I'd have thought you'd have realized that before now,' Ferguson said. 'All I can say is stay in touch.'

When Barry arrived at Shankley Down, Docherty and Clarke were standing inside one of the two hangars, smoking. The Transit braked to a halt and Barry got out, face bleeding where Dillon's bullet had creased him.

'Right, let's be moving,' he said.

'What about the others?' Docherty asked.

'They won't be coming,' Barry said. 'All dead.'

Clarke said, 'Just a minute. What are we into here?'

Barry took out his Beretta and shot him between the eyes, then he leaned over him, searched in his bomber jacket and found the envelope with the two thousand pounds. When he looked up, Docherty's face was haggard.

'Jack?'

'It went wrong. Load of shite. Now let's get moving,' and he pushed Docherty towards the Chieftain.

A moment later, they roared down the runway and took off into the fading light.

It was forty minutes later that Dillon and Hannah arrived in the Land Rover, Dillon driving. They pulled up beside Clarke's body and got out.

'He certainly passed this way,' Dillon told her. 'Call Ferguson on your mobile and tell him you've got another candidate for his disposal unit.'

He went into the second hangar, mounted the wing of the Cessna, climbed over to the left-hand seat and checked the instruments. She joined him a few moments later and followed him in.

'Everything okay?'

'The tanks are full, if that's what you mean. Look, he's on his way and the Chieftain is a lot faster than we are. Docherty's place at Doonreigh is about forty miles from Spanish Head and Quinn thought that's where the bastard will go. I'll catch up with him by making that beach landing below the cliffs I spoke about.'

'Is the tide out or in?'

'We'll check on the way.' He switched on. 'If you're not happy, leave me to it.'

'Go to hell, Dillon.' She closed the cabin door and buckled her seat belt and reached for the spare headphones.

'Just turn that dial to five,' he said. 'That's UK weather, then trawl through it for Ulster.'

He put his own headphones on, started first the port engine, then starboard and taxied out into the rain, moving to the end of the runway. She spoke to him over the mike.

'How long?'

'An hour and a half with a tailwind, two if it's the other way. Why?'

'According to the weather report, the tide is turning on that coast in just over an hour from now. Fog clearing, half moon.'

'Sounds interesting.' He smiled at her, boosted power and roared down the runway.

The Chieftain turned in to land at Doonreigh, darkness falling, and taxied up to the hangars and Nissen hut. Barry had been into Docheity's bar box and had demolished half a bottle of

Paddy whiskey on the way, sitting on his own in the cabin. He hadn't taped his face with anything from the medical box, had simply swabbed it with raw whiskey. When the Chieftain rolled to a halt, he unlocked the Airstair door and went down the steps. The fog had cleared, but it was raining hard.

'Back on the old sod,' he said.

Docherty, getting out behind him, said, 'Ten thousand pounds cash in a supermarket bag you promised, Jack.'

'And me forgetting. Isn't that the terrible thing?' Barry pulled out his Beretta and shot him twice in the heart. A few moments later, he was driving away.

As darkness descended, the sky cleared and there was the light of the moon, as Dillon flew over the Irish sea.

Hannah said, 'Will we make it, Sean?'

'Ah, keep the faith, girl.' There was strange intimacy between them.

He was low now, no more than fifteen hundred and there was the coast, the cliffs of Northern Ireland, black in the moonlight, and Dillon checked the chart book on his knee and turned slightly to port.

'That's it. Dead ahead now.' He descended to six hundred. 'Only one problem. The tide's coming in fast down there.'

He crossed the cliffs, the castle below. 'Is that it?' she asked.

'Spanish Head as ever was.'

He turned out to sea again, banked and dropped his undercarriage. 'Here we go. Try praying. It might help.'

Whitecaps were pounding into the surf and there wasn't much beach left there. Dillon levelled, no more than fifty feet above the water, then dropped her in. The wheels bit into wet sand no more than two feet below the water, the Cessna careered forward, then nosed up to the strip of beach left.

It was very quiet when he switched off and removed the headphones. From that position, the sea looked relatively calm in the moonlight. Dillon smiled. 'Nice view.'

'Don't do that to me again,' Hannah Bernstein said. 'Not ever. Can we get out?'

'It's a thought. Any minute now and you'll get your feet wet, so let's go.'

They crossed the beach and found a path that climbed up between two cliffs. When they reached the top, the castle was quite close.

'What now?' Hannah asked.

'I'd have thought that was obvious,' Dillon said. 'We'll make for the lodge,' and he led the way.

Old John Harker was in the kitchen at the lodge, waiting for the kettle to boil, when there was a sudden draught on his cheek. He turned and found the door open and Dillon there, Hannah at his shoulder.

'Remember me?' Dillon said.

'My God!' Harker said.

'Has his lordship turned up?'

'Ten minutes ago. How did you know?'

'I know everything. Now this is how it is. Get your lantern and take us up through the garden. I'll decide what to do when we reach the castle.'

'Whatever you say.' Harker hesitated. 'Is this the end of him?'

'If I have anything to do with it.'

'Thank God for that.' Harker took an electric lantern from a peg. 'That secret passage from the panel in the library. It comes out in the front hall. Let's get to it then.'

Barry, in the study off the main entrance hall, helped himself to a large whiskey, then went upstairs to the library. He stood, drinking the whiskey and glanced up at the portraits of his ancestors. All Francis, but not himself. He looked at the one in Confederate uniform. He seemed to be smiling in a kind of amusement.

'Bastard,' Barry said. 'Arrogant bastard, but a good soldier.'

He toasted the portrait and behind him the door opened and Dillon and Hannah entered. Dillon was unarmed, but she carried a Walther in her left hand.

'Sean, is the Devil on your side?'

'Only some of the time.'

Barry smiled. 'God knows how you got here.'

'Just like you, only I landed on the beach.'

'And how did you leave things at Compton Place?'

'All dead, your lot, Blake and Hedley Jackson a little damaged, that's all.'

'And Lady Helen?' Dillon shrugged, and Barry said with a strange kind of urgency, 'She's all right, isn't she?'

'Her heart isn't good. She had an attack.'

'Christ, Jesus,' Barry said. 'She had me dead to rights, my gun jammed and she sort of fell down.'

Hannah Bernstein said, 'I am Detective Superintendent Hannah Bernstein of Special Branch of Scotland Yard and I must warn you that. ..'

Barry flung his glass at her, ducked as she fired, and was through the panel and away.

'Let's go,' Dillon said, and ran across to the door and she followed.

They reached the entrance hall and the front door stood open, Harker on the porch, the lantern in his hand.

'He ran past me. Took the path down through the trees towards the cliffs.'

Dillon went off on the run, Hannah following, and Harker went after them.

Barry ran, head down, through the trees, the Beretta in his left hand, not really knowing where he was going any more. The sky was overcast, there was a rumble of thunder on the horizon, and lightning flickered.

Helen Lang. He couldn't get her out of his head and why was that? He came to the track leading down to the Soak Hole. Dillon followed, Hannah behind him and old Harker with the lantern.

The sheet lightning flickered, the water raged below on the beach, the Cessna engulfed. Barry stumbled on and then he was at the Soak Hole, white spray exploding in a hollow roar. He paused at the steps down, turned and levelled the Beretta as Dillon arrived on the run.

Dillon swept Barry's arm to one side and met him breast-to-breast. 'A long time coming, you dog,' Dillon cried, grabbed his right wrist and twisted it up like a steel bar. Barry screamed as the bone cracked and Dillon ran him headfirst down the steps and let go. There was a last desperate cry, then the Soak Hole fountained again.

Old Harker held the lantern high. 'God help us, but what kind of a man are ye?'

'I sometimes wonder myself Dillon turned to Hannah. 'Access Ferguson on your mobile. Tell him to arrange for Lacey and Parry to pick us up in the Lear jet.'

'Of course.' She put a hand on his arm. 'Are you all right, Dillon?'

'Never better.' The Soak Hole fountained again. 'He was a bad bastard, Jack, and the sea's taken him, so there's an end to it,' and he turned and followed Harker up the track.

The following afternoon, he sat with Hannah and Ferguson outside a private room at the London Clinic. Hedley came out, smart in his chauffeur's uniform and wearing a sling.

'How is she?' Ferguson asked.

'Not good. She's asked for Mr Dillon.'

Dillon got up, paused, then went into the room. She was propped up in bed. There was a drip into her left arm, various other wires attached to electronic equipment. A nurse was sitting close by.

Dillon moved to the bed. 'Lady Helen.'

She opened her eyes. 'You got him, I hear? So Charles told me.'

'That's right.'

'So, the end of the Sons of Erin, all of them, even the Connection, and you know what?' She closed her eyes and opened them again. 'It hasn't brought Peter back.'

He took her hand. 'I know.'

She smiled again. ' Mr Dillon, you think you're such a bad man, and you know what? I think you're one of the most moral men I've ever known. Hang on to that thought.'

Her eyes closed, her hand slipped away, and one of the machines made a strange noise. The nurse took over and Dillon walked out.

Ferguson and Hannah stood up. The Brigadier said, 'She's gone?'

'But not forgotten,' Dillon said. 'Never forgotten.' He put a hand on Hedley's shoulder. 'Let's take a walk in the garden. I could do with a cigarette.'