Алистер Маклин - Dead Halt

“That was an important part–”

“Don’t patronize me.” Kerrigan cut angrily across her words. “It’s done, let’s leave it at that. Hugh, give me another drink. To hell with it, give me the bottle. I’ll pour it myself.”

“You’ve already got a bottle. There were two bottles on the table when we arrived. Now there’s only one. I haven’t taken the other bottle and Fiona doesn’t drink. That leaves you.”

“A brilliant deduction, Holmes,” Kerrigan snarled, rising to his feet and hurling the empty glass angrily into the fire. “I didn’t realize I had to ask your permission whenever I wanted a drink.”

Mullen eyed Kerrigan contemptuously. “Look at you. We haven’t even been here an hour and already you’re pissed.”

“And what are you going to do about it?” Kerrigan shot back sarcastically. “You’re always bitching about my drinking but you’ve never tried to stop me, have you? You’re all mouth, Hugh. And that’s all you ever will be. You don’t have the guts to stand up to me, do you? Well, do you?”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Mullen said, getting to his feet.

“That’s enough!” Fiona snapped. “Sit down and stop acting like a couple of adolescent kids.”

Mullen’s eyes flickered toward Fiona. He knew she was right. But he was damned if he was going to be humiliated by Kerrigan. Not in front of her.

“Hugh, sit down!” she commanded, stressing each word in turn.

Mullen exhaled sharply then slowly sat down again, his eyes fixed on Kerrigan’s face.

“Liam, you too.”

“I’ve taken my last order from you,” Kerrigan said to her, his eyes blazing. “The operation’s over and I’ll do as I please from now on.”

“Really?” she replied contemptuously. “I remember the last time you crossed me. You didn’t come out of it very well, did you?”

“You caught me by surprise,” Kerrigan retorted defensively. “I promise you it won’t happen again.”

“You’re right, it won’t,” she replied, then slipped her hand under the cushion behind her and withdrew a Colt .45, one of the pistols included in the consignment which had been delivered to Lynch’s house earlier that evening. She levelled it at Kerrigan. “I don’t want to see your face again until we leave in the morning. Now get out.”

Kerrigan looked from the pistol in her hand to the cold aloofness in her eyes. “You’d kill me too, wouldn’t you?”

Fiona said nothing.

Kerrigan stormed out of the room, slamming the door angrily behind him.

“He’ll be back,” Mullen said, staring at the door.

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps? You humiliated him, Fiona. Nobody does that to Liam, especially not when he’s had a drink.”

“What should I have done? Let him beat the hell out of you?”

“Your faith in me’s really touching,” Mullen replied, stung by her words.

“Come off it, Hugh. You’re no street fighter. He could have taken us both on and still won. He was right about me catching him by surprise at the boarding house. But you can bet he’s learnt from that.”

“This is turning out to be some night,” Mullen said, pouring himself another drink.

“We’ve still got the edge. I’m armed. All the other weapons are still in the helicopter. He couldn’t get to them even if he wanted to. Not in these conditions. No, I don’t think he’ll trouble us again tonight.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“So do I, for his sake,” Fiona replied, picking up her mug and drinking down the remainder of the coffee.

“For his sake?” Mullen repeated.

“If he sets foot in my room tonight I’ll kill him.”

Mullen felt a shiver run down his back. He drank the brandy but checked himself as he was about to refill the glass. He had the feeling he was going to need a clear head for whatever lay ahead that night. He only wished he knew what to expect …

Mullen woke suddenly. The light was still on. The dog-eared paperback he had been reading was lying on the floor by the bed. He didn’t remember falling asleep. He looked at his watch. It was almost two a.m. He’d only been asleep for a couple of hours. He swung his legs off the bed, rubbed his eyes sleepily, then stood up. What had woken him? Had someone banged on the door? He crossed to the door and opened it. The hall was deserted.

Then he heard a noise. It had come from somewhere outside the chalet. Fear gripped him. What if it was the police? But how could they have found them? He switched off the light then moved cautiously to the window. Tweaking back one of the curtains, he peered out into the darkness. The blizzard was over. Everything was still. Then he saw it. A single beam of torchlight coming from beyond the pinetrees in the exact spot where he had left the helicopter. It had to be the police. Was the chalet already surrounded? Suddenly the beam swung around toward the chalet. He pressed himself against the wall, his face only inches away from the window, as he peered tentatively toward the light. A hunched figure was moving slowly toward the chalet, the beam shifting unsteadily with every jarring step. Mullen felt a brief surge of relief. Surely the police would have been on skis for easier mobility: it had to be either Fiona or Kerrigan out there. The silhouette’s build suggested Kerrigan and Mullen felt a renewed sense of alarm. Why would Kerrigan have gone out to the helicopter unless to arm himself? He let the curtain fall back into place and hurried out into the hall. The front door opened and Kerrigan entered, his head still bowed against the biting wind. He was carrying an AK-47 in his gloved hand.

“What the hell’s that for?” Mullen snapped.

Kerrigan went into the lounge without answering him. When Mullen entered the room he found Kerrigan standing in front of the fire. The AK-47 was now propped against the wall. Kerrigan peeled off his leather gloves then crouched down in front of the fire and extended his hands toward the flames. “Dom and Ingrid are dead.”

“What?” Mullen said in disbelief.

“You heard,” Kerrigan snapped.

“You’re still drunk, Liam. Go and sleep it off.”

“I’m not drunk,” Kerrigan replied, looking around at Mullen.

Mullen had to admit that Kerrigan didn’t seem drunk, but he did look agitated. Very agitated.

“I couldn’t sleep so I came through here to watch a bit of telly,” Kerrigan continued. “The news came on. And one of the reports was about Dom and Ingrid. They’re dead, Hugh. Dead.”

“And I suppose the news was conveniently in English. Or perhaps you just happened to have the necessary phrase book handy to translate the report?”

“I didn’t need any damn phrase book!” Kerrigan snarled. “A picture of Dom and Ingrid came up on the screen. It was one of the snaps you took at their wedding reception. Then there was a live report from outside the house. Christ, man, the reporter was standing almost exactly where you parked the car. As he was talking two bodies were brought out on stretchers from the house behind him. And the sheets were pulled up over their faces. In my book, that means you’re dead. And I know who killed them.”

Mullen sat down slowly and ran his fingers through his tangled hair. “Dom and Ingrid dead? God, no.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I said I know who killed them. Fiona.”

“What are you talking about?” Mullen snapped back. “She was with us all the time.”

“Oh no she wasn’t. She stayed behind when we went out to the car. Remember?”

“And how was she supposed to have killed them? All the guns were in the boot of the car. Remember?”

“She killed them. Who else could have done it?”

“You don’t have a shred of evidence–”

“I may not have the evidence, but I know why she did it,” Kerrigan cut in. “Dom told me confidentially that he was going to call the Army Council and tell them he thought she was cracking under the pressure of being in charge of the operation. They would have listened to him. And that would have put paid to her chances of running a cell of her own one day. She obviously found out somehow and that’s why she had to silence him. It’s the only logical explanation. But I’m damned if I’m going to let that bitch talk her way out of this when she gets back home. Because she will. The Army Council think she’s so bloody great, they’d believe anything she tells them. I’m not going to let her get away with it. Not this time.”