Jack Higgins - Day of Reckoning

'I wonder why I don't know about this.' Hannah frowned.

'Well, according to my information, the Secret Intelligence Service picked him up at Heathrow on one of their special warrants and spirited him away. I'd have thought you'd have known that. Don't your departments share information?'

'Only some of the time.'

Devlin turned to Hannah. 'What do you think?'

'If Regan's been working for Murphy, he might well know something. Frankly, it's our best lead.'

'I can't see that there's anything else I can do,' Devlin said. 'Michael here will spill the beans to the chief of staff, and if I do get any crumbs from the table, I'll let you know.'

They got up and walked to the door. Outside, Leary shook Hannah's hand. 'Superintendent, it was a sincere pleasure, but don't let's make a habit of it,' and he walked away.

Devlin smiled. 'A decent enough stick. Anyway, back to the airport in that grand limousine of yours. I'll drop you off and the driver can take me back home.'

Leary sat in the parlour of the chief of staff's suburban home, and the great man listened while his wife served tea and scones.

'Did I do right?' Leary asked.

'Of course you did. Murphy's a poisonous animal. I've no time for him and neither has the Army Council.'

'So what do we do?'

'I'll have our people check out things in Louth, although I don't expect much from that.'

'So?'

The chief of staff smiled. 'If Ferguson's on this case with Sean Dillon. .' He smiled. 'Well, for once we're on the same side. Sean can do our dirty work for us.'

At the airport, Hannah's limousine drove into the hangar where Lacey and Parry waited. The Gulfstream was outside in the rain. As Hannah and Devlin got out, the Garda police car returned and Malone emerged.

'Liam, you old sod,' he said.

'And stuff you, too,' Devlin said genially, and they shook hands.

Malone said, 'Anything come up?'

Hannah looked uncertain, and Devlin said, 'Go on, he's on your side.'

She told him about the meeting with Leary.

Malone said, 'So anything Murphy's involved with certainly isn't official with the IRA.'

'What about this thing with Sean Regan?' she asked. 'Not a word, and I'd have known.,'

'So somebody's playing silly buggers,' Devlin said. Hannah nodded. 'I'll have to sort that out when I get back.' She held out a hand. 'Liam, you're a treasure.'

'Hell, you can do better than that, girl.' He kissed her. 'Take care, and tell Sean to watch his back.'

'That's something he's good at. Goodbye, Superintendent.'

Lacey and Parry were already inside, and Flight Sergeant Madoc gave her a hand up the steps. The door closed, the engines turned over, the Gulfstream moved away.

'A hell of a woman,' Malone said.

'You can say that again.' Devlin smiled. 'Now you can dismiss your car, join me in my luxurious limousine that the good Superintendent has loaned me, and we'll return to the Irish Hussar, where you can buy me a very large Bushmills.'

'Me, in that hotbed of Republican gunmen?'

'I seem to recall that your younger brother, Fergus, was one.'

'We don't talk about that.'

'As I said, the Irish Hussar.' Devlin smiled. 'It will do my reputation no end of good being seen in the company of the police. A great comfort to me.'

The Gulfstream climbed steadily out over the Irish Sea, and Hannah called Ferguson on her Codex Four.

'Ah, there you are. How did it go?'

She brought him up to date, Regan included. 'So there you are, sir. We should have been told. There is supposed to be interdepartmental cooperation.'

'Not with the Secret Intelligence Service, as long as Simon Carter is Deputy Director. Leave it with me.'

He sat there at his desk, thinking about it, then picked up the phone and spoke to Dillon, who was in the outer office with Blake.

'Get in here. I've had the Superintendent on the line and we could have a problem.'

Dillon and Blake listened as Ferguson related Hannah Bernstein's adventures. When he was finished, Blake said, 'This is surely unacceptable, one major intelligence department hugging secrets to itself that could be of possible crucial importance to others.'

'Yes, well, Carter's always been good at doing his own thing, and to hell with anyone else.'

'Seems to me it's time to remind Carter,' Ferguson said, 'that the particular circumstances of my position as head of the Prime Minister's personal security service give me extraordinary powers. Including over him.'

'That I'd love to see,' Dillon told him.

Ferguson smiled, picked up his phone, and dialled a number.

'Ah, that you, Carter? Look, something's come up and I need to see you. I want your input on something before I speak to the Prime Minister… Yes? Good. I'll see you at the Grenadier in St James's in thirty minutes.'

'Nothing like being decisive,' Blake said.

'Well, as you Yanks say, you ain't seen nothing yet. Order the car, Dillon, I'll find a warrant or two, and we'll be on our way.'

The Grenadier was a pleasant traditional London pub, with old-fashioned dark oak booths. Carter was already there in a corner, sipping a glass of sherry. A small, pale-faced man with white hair, he reacted angrily at the sight of Dillon.

'Really, Ferguson, I've told you before. I object to this murderous swine's presence.'

'Well, take it up with the Prime Minister. He employs him.'

'God save your honour,' Dillon said cheerfully. 'It's a blessing, the grand man like yourself allows me in the same room.'

'Oh, go to hell.'

Ferguson said, 'You'll remember Blake Johnson.'

'Yes, the American.' Carter offered a reluctant hand and turned to Ferguson. 'So what is this?'

'An IRA renegade named Brendan Murphy's up to no good, and I need to know what it is.'

'Nonsense, that's old hat, Ferguson. Murphy isn't a problem any longer, not since the peace process overwhelmed the land.'

'It's the great liar you are,' Dillon told him, and turned to Blake. 'This is the Deputy Director of the Security Services, a faceless man who never worked in the field himself.'

'Damn you, you Irish swine.' Carter was furious.

'Now, that's a racist remark,' Dillon said. 'I could take you to the tribunal.'

'Exactly,' Ferguson agreed. 'And as my sainted mother was Irish, then as a half-Irishman I take it very personally.'

'I'd say you've just insulted his mother's memory,' Blake put in.

'Could we get on with it?' Dillon asked. 'You lifted a man named Sean Regan at Heathrow three weeks ago, when his plane to Dublin was diverted because of fog. Why?'

'Don't be stupid, Dillon. He shot a military policeman in Londonderry a couple of years ago and fled. The policeman nearly died.'

'So you're going to stand Regan up on trial at the Old Bailey?' Ferguson asked.

'We might.'

'But you won't, because of the peace process. We're letting them out of prison now, not banging them up.'

Carter was strangely confused. 'Come on, Ferguson, we're in the hands of our political masters.'

'Not as far as I'm concerned. We're in the hands of the law. The truth is, you're holding Regan to squeeze anything you can out of him in case it may be of future use.'

'So what?'

'Not any more. Where are you holding him?' 'Wandsworth.' Carter answered as a reflex.

'Not any longer.' Ferguson produced a paper from his inside pocket. 'That's a warrant from me as head of the PM's security squad, authorizing me to, as quaint legal language has it, take possession of one Sean Regan.'

Carter was outraged. 'Now, look here, Ferguson.'

'No, you look here. The difference is that I did serve in the field. I was an eighteen-year-old second lieutenant in the Hook in Korea in fifty-two, and I've seen more villains here than you've had breakfasts. So don't argue. Just countersign the order. Here's my pen.'