Jack Higgins - Day of Reckoning

'Tell me, Sergeant Major, are you my bodyguard? Because there are some pretty bad people out there looking for me.'

'I'm aware of that, sir.' She opened her jacket and revealed a holstered Colt automatic. 'Twenty-five millimetre, with hollowpoint bullets.'

'Well, that should do it.'

She smiled and went out.

Roper phoned Ferguson, in spite of the hour, and when the Brigadier answered, said, 'What's this Major thing?'

'Well, you're still on the Army list. I thought it would give you a bit more authority to promote you. You're established at Holland Park?'

'Yes, with the redoubtable Sergeant Major Black.'

'Redoubtable is right. Inherited money, you know, so she's fairly independent-minded. Her husband's a major in the Blues and Royals. Refused a commission herself. One of the few women to hold the Military Cross. Shot two Provos in Derry. You're in good hands.'

Roper whistled. 'I'd say so. So, what's my next move?' 'I'll put Dillon on.'

There was a pause, and Dillon said, 'Billy the Kid, is that who you are now?'

'Hey, these guys didn't want to play nice, so I figured, stuff them.'

'I'm with you there.'

'So what do you want me to do? Who's next?'

'Well, we've got two choices: the Jagos and Brendan Murphy. What do you know about the Jagos?'

'Not much. They like to knock off security vans. Really old-time stuff. Sawn-off shotguns, like some British gangster movie. The thing is, finding out about the future plans of such people is difficult,' Roper went on. 'Unless Fox committed his plans to the computer, how would I know?'

'It's all a question of inside information,' Dillon said.

And where do you get that?'

'The Jagos are gangsters, right?'

'And what does that prove?'

'Set a gangster to catch a gangster.'

'What in the hell are you talking about?'

'Harry Salter. He's a legendary name in London criminal circles. Did seven years for bank robbery in the seventies, never been inside since. He has warehouse developments, property, pleasure boats on the Thames. Still owns his first buy, a pub called the Dark Man at Wapping, by the river.'

'You sound as if you like him.'

'Well, he's saved me in the past and I've saved him. He's a dinosaur, but a very wealthy dinosaur. Even the cops have given up on him. Works with his nephew, Billy, and a couple of minders, Baxter and Hall. All the rest are accountants.'

'So, you'll go and see him?'

'That's my plan.'

'Fine. Keep me posted. Meantime, I'll check out Mr Murphy.' Roper smiled. 'I like to keep occupied.'

'See you sometime tomorrow.'

Roper sat there thinking, then the door opened and Helen Black came in with two toasted bacon sandwiches. 'Will these do?'

'Can't wait. Are you tired?'

'Not particularly.'

'Good, then would you like me to show you just how effective a computer can be if you know what you're doing?' 'What's the object of the exercise?'

'To hunt down a particularly obnoxious piece of Provisional IRA crap called Brendan Murphy.'

'Just a minute. I remember him. Derry, ninety-four.' 'And years before that.' Roper tried a sandwich. 'Excellent. Now, follow my instructions and I'll show you what to do.

They all came together at Ferguson's office the following morning. When they were all settled, Ferguson said, 'Bring me up to date, Superintendent.'

'The attackers were a couple of small-time hoods employed at the kitchens at the Colosseum, named Borsalino and Salvatore. They're at Westminster Hospital under supervision. Salvatore has lost his left kneecap and Borsalino has a bullet wound in one thigh.'

'My goodness, Major Roper doesn't play patty fingers, does he?'

'Well, he wouldn't, would he, sir?' she said.

'What's their story?'

'They told the officers in charge of the case that they were attacked by two very large black muggers as they walked through the square. There was a struggle. The rest you know.'

'Nobody's safe from crime today, it seems.' Ferguson turned to Dillon. 'Now what?'

'Blake and I are going to see Harry Salter. I'll put him on to the Jagos, see if he can come up with anything. If there's a big tickle being organized, Salter will get wind of it. He owes me a favour. In fact, he owes Blake a favour. We saved his bacon on a pleasure boat called the Lynda Jones downriver from Wapping, when the Hooker mob were going to waste him.'

'Yes, I recall some such thing,' Ferguson said. 'Good. But meantime, what about Brendan Murphy? That's much more worrying.'

'Roper's been working on it,' Hannah said. 'But he says it'd be a lot easier if he had some more information to go on. Is there any way to find out more?'

'Well, I do have a suggestion,' Dillon said. 'While Blake and I go and see Salter, why don't you phone Liam Devlin in Kilrea?'

'Good God,' Ferguson said. 'Is he still with us?'

'He certainly is. Devlin is ageless. He liked you, Hannah, when you met. Tell him the whole story, the works. Ask him to find out what he can about Brendan Murphy. He's still the living legend of the IRA and the best source of information about anything regarding them.'

Hannah turned to Ferguson. 'Brigadier?'

'It makes sense. I have just one suggestion. Don't phone him, do it face to face. Get yourself to Dublin today.'

'If you say so, sir.'

'Yes, I do. So, people, let's get on with it.'

Hannah went back to her office, with Blake and Dillon. She picked up the phone, spoke to Farley Field, and booked the plane.

Dillon said, 'You watch yourself over there, woman. Peace process or no peace process, it's still the war zone.' 'Don't be patronizing, Dillon.'

'There are people there who'd shoot your eyes out if they could.'

She took a deep breath. 'You're right. I'm sorry.' 'Yes. Well, make sure you're carrying.'

'I will.'

'We'll leave you to it.'

He and Blake left. She took her personal notebook from her purse, found Devlin's phone number in the village of Kilrea outside Dublin. It was answered instantly.

'And who would that be disturbing my morning?' 'Hannah Bernstein.'

'Jesus, girl, and what's all this? I hear you've made Superintendent.'

'Mr Devlin, we have a big problem, and we need your assistance.'

'Where's Dillon?'

'Employed elsewhere, together with Blake Johnson.'

'Is that the FBI man Dillon and I went down to Tullamore with, to save Dermot Riley's hide? A good man. All right, give. When can I expect you?'

'I'm leaving now. I could be with you by twelve noon.'

‘I'll look forward to it.'

He put the phone down, standing there in his kitchen, and smiled.

Dillon drove down Horse Guards Avenue in the green Mini Cooper.

Blake said, 'So Harry's still working the rackets.'

'Oh, sure, it's in his blood. But like I was saying, it's all smuggling — booze, diamonds, that kind of thing — no drugs. He's an old-fashioned family man, in values, anyway.'

'Aren't we all?'

They reached Wapping and pulled up outside the Dark Man. It was a typical London pub; the painted sign showed a sinister individual in a black cloak.

It was early for the drink trade, noon an hour and a half away, but it was open. They went into the main bar, which was very Victorian, the bottles ranged against mirrors, an enormous mahogany bar smelling of polish, the porcelain beer handles waiting for action.

Three men were in the corner booth, drinking tea and reading newspapers: Billy Salter, Harry's nephew, and Joe Baxter and Sam Hall.

'What's this, a thieves' kitchen?' Dillon asked.

Billy looked up, and a delighted smile appeared on his wicked face. 'Dear God, it's you, Dillon, and our American friend, Mr Johnson. We remember you.'

Baxter and Hall laughed, and Billy said, 'Well, we're not in the nick, and I suppose that's one good thing. What brings you here?' He smiled eagerly. 'Could it be trouble?'