Алистер Маклин - Dead Halt

“Carver,” she replied. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Is the senator due to arrive on time?” the policeman asked.

“As far as I know. The helicopter should already be on its way from Belfast by now. ETA is about ten minutes.”

“You might as well have come with them, miss. I’m just surprised you didn’t check with Inspector Eastman before you came here. It would have saved you a wasted journey.”

“Hardly wasted,” she replied then chopped him hard on the side of the neck. She grabbed him as he fell and lowered him silently to the floor. Then, after locking the front door, she took a small metal case from her pocket and opened it. Inside was a hypodermic needle and a vial of sodium pentothal. She drew half of the sodium pentothal into the syringe and injected it into the unconscious man. He’d be out for the next few hours.

She pocketed the case again and made for the belfry.

Paul Reilly took the pack of cigarettes from his tunic pocket and lit the last one. He crumpled the empty packet in his hand and was about to toss it over the side of the catwalk when he remembered where he was. He wasn’t particularly religious but some things were still sacrosanct. He stuffed it into his pocket then took a long drag on the cigarette.

The small belfry was dominated by a heavy bell which hung from the center of the hammer-beam roof. Each of the four walls in the tower contained a narrow, elongated window. None was glazed. He stood by the window which overlooked the cemetery, a Heckler & Koch machine-pistol slung over his shoulder. He’d been there since early morning. Well, not much longer to wait now …

He looked around when he heard the spiral staircase creaking behind him. He called out his colleague’s name. No reply. He unslung the Heckler & Koch machine-pistol and moved cautiously along the catwalk to the top of the staircase. It was impossible to see past the first few stairs from where he was standing. He gripped the railing and peered down, hoping to get a better look. It was no better. All he could see was the sheer, hundred-foot drop to the tiled floor below. He shuddered then stepped away from the railing. The creaking had stopped. It was probably the wind. Or his imagination. Pull yourself together, he chided himself, and moved back to the window.

“Morning.”

He swung around, the machine-pistol at the ready.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought you would have heard me coming up the stairs. I made enough noise to wake the dead.”

“Who are you?” Reilly demanded.

“Sabrina Carver. I’m part of the senator’s security team. I do have ID on me. It’s here under my jacket.”

Reilly kept the Heckler & Koch trained on her. “Show me.”

She removed the disc and held it out toward him. He moved forward for a closer look. The Heckler & Koch was finally lowered.

“I’m glad we cleared that up,” she said with a smile.

“I’m just doing my job, Miss Carver. What are you doing up here?”

“I’m checking on the security arrangements before the senator arrives. Your colleague downstairs assures me you’ve both got the situation under control in here.”

“Sure we do,” Reilly replied confidently. “Especially from up here. You can see for miles in all directions. Come, I’ll show you.”

As he turned away from her she chopped him hard on the back of the neck. He crumpled to the catwalk. She removed the hypodermic needle from the metal case and injected the remaining sodium pentothal into his arm.

Then, taking a switchblade from her pocket, she crouched down and eased the blade between two floorboards. One of them was loose and she was able to prize it open. Underneath was an L96 sniper rifle wrapped inside a protective layer of plastic sheeting. She removed the plastic sheet then snapped the ten-round magazine into place and moved to the window. Reilly had been right. She could see for miles in all directions. But she was only interested in the cemetery. She looked at her watch. The helicopter was due to land in the next few minutes.

She peeled off the honey-blonde wig she had been wearing, then put on Reilly’s tunic and peaked cap. If anyone did see her from the ground they would assume it was him.

Fiona Gallagher smiled to herself. All she had to do now was wait …

“I’ve left an envelope in the safe in our room back at the hotel. If anything should happen to me in Dugaill today, it’s imperative that you give it to Whitlock as soon as possible. Promise me you’ll do that, Melissa. You must promise me.”

Melissa Scoby had promised her husband that she would comply with his wishes. And that had been an end to it. He had refused to discuss it any further. He had then spent the rest of the flight from London to Belfast staring absently out of the window, lost in a world of his own. He had hardly spoken to her. He had hardly spoken to anyone. She had even tried to touch his hand to reassure him that she was there if he needed her but he had quickly pulled his hand away. It had been cold. And trembling. It wasn’t the Jack Scoby she knew. It was almost as if he had resigned himself to the fact that he wouldn’t leave Dugaill alive …

“That’s the church down there.”

“Sorry?” she said, startled by the voice behind her. “The church is down there,” Whitlock repeated, pointing it out through the side window.

She nodded then cast a sidelong glance at her husband. He was staring ahead of him, his hands clenched tightly in his lap. If he had noticed her, he didn’t show it.

The helicopter slowly descended toward the clearing at the edge of the cemetery. Graham and Sabrina were the first out of their seats as the wheels touched down on the ground. A group of armed policemen had already formed a cordon around the helicopter by the time Graham had opened the cabin door. He pushed the steps out from the cabin and they were anchored firmly on the ground by one of the policemen. Sabrina was the first to disembark and ran, doubled-over, to where Eastman was standing clear of the rotors.

“Has everything gone according to plan?” Eastman asked her.

“So far,” she replied then jabbed her thumb in the direction of the helicopter. “A word of warning. Scoby seems a bit preoccupied today.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Not that I know of,” she replied, then looked around as Graham hurried over to them. “I was just telling Keith that Scoby’s got out of the wrong side of bed this morning.”

“Judging by those bags under his eyes, I doubt he even got into bed last night.” Graham turned to Eastman. “How’s the security operation going?”

“A gnat couldn’t get within a hundred yards of this place without the proper security clearance.”

“I hope you’re right,” Graham replied softly.

“The senator’s agreed to the revised schedule,” Sabrina told Eastman. “He’ll lay a wreath at his grandparents’ grave then head straight over to the Town Hall for lunch with the mayor.”

“So the priest won’t be saying a few words at the grave?” Eastman asked.

“No,” she replied.

“Does he know that?”

“We thought we’d let you tell him.” Graham gestured behind him. “Come on, Scoby’s about to disembark.”

They crossed to the helicopter and stood on either side of the steps as first Melissa Scoby, then her husband, alighted from the cabin. Whitlock brought up the rear. The Scobys were introduced to the elderly parish priest who was hovering at the foot of the steps.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the priest said, shaking Scoby’s hand. “I’m only sorry your visit to our country has had to be conducted under such a tight security blanket. Tell me, senator, is this your first visit to Ireland?”