Jack Higgins - Day of Reckoning

He offered it and Carter took it, hand shaking, and signed the document. 'My turn will come, Ferguson.'

'I don't think so.' Ferguson blew on the ink. 'Now go away.'

Carter suddenly looked helpless, got up, and stumbled out. Blake said, 'Why is it I don't feel sorry for him?'

'Because he isn't worth it,' Ferguson said. 'So, gentlemen, Wandsworth Prison next stop.'

Ferguson, Dillon and Blake waited in the interview room at Wandsworth until the door was opened, and the kind of prison officer who looked as if he'd been a sergeant in a Guards regiment pushed Regan in.

Dillon said, 'Good man yourself, Sean.' He turned to the others. Always gave us a problem, the two of us being Sean.'

Regan said, 'Jesus, is that you, Dillon?'

'As ever was. Come to take you away from your cell and the stench of the lavatory buckets. This is Brigadier Charles Ferguson, your new boss. The other fella is a Yank, and FBI, so watch it.'

'What in the hell is going on?'

Ferguson turned to the prison officer. 'Give us a moment.' 'Certainly, sir.'

The man went out, and Dillon said, 'Brendan Murphy. We know you've been part of his outfit.'

Regan was thrown, but tried to brazen it out. 'I haven't seen Brendan in years.'

'So Carter didn't manage to wheedle anything out of you?'

'I've said I don't know what you're talking about.' 'Don't waste my time,' Ferguson told him. 'You shot a military policeman in Derry two years ago and fled to the States. Since then, you've worked for Murphy in Europe.'

'It's a lie.'

Dillon said, 'Don't be stupid. You shot a peeler. All right, he didn't die, but at the Old Bailey you'll pull ten years for attempted murder. Imagine Wandsworth or maybe Parkhurst, year after year. You'd be afraid to take a shower.'

'No.' Regan was shaken. 'Mr Carter said if I cooperated I wouldn't do time.'

'Yes, well, unfortunately, I'm in charge now,' Ferguson told him. 'Now make your mind up. A comfortable safe house where you'll fill us in on Brendan Murphy's doings, or a very unpleasant future.'

Regan, in despair, said, 'Brendan would cut me to pieces. He's a sadist.'

'Which is why we'll have to take good care of you.'

He nodded to Dillon, who knocked on the door, which opened and the prison officer appeared. Ferguson took his warrant out.

'Take this prisoner to his cell, allow him to collect his belongings, then present this document to the Governor, authorizing his release into my custody.'

'Certainly, Brigadier.'

Regan was pushed out, and Ferguson turned to Dillon and Blake. 'So, we take him to Holland Park, where you, Dillon, will squeeze out the last drop of juice.'

'My pleasure, Brigadier,' Dillon said.

They delivered Regan to Holland Park and drove in through the electronic gates. The security guards wore neat navy blue blazers and flannel slacks.

'Nursing home? What is this?' Regan asked.

'It's a fortress,' Ferguson told him. 'And the gentlemen in blazers are all military police. There's no way out of here, as you'll find for yourself.' He turned to Dillon. 'Let Helen settle him in and feed him. You and Blake stay. I'll be back.'

His Daimler drove away. They took Regan up the steps between them, his wrists still manacled. The door opened and a very large man appeared.

'Mr Dillon, sir.'

'Another one for you, Sergeant Miller, one Sean Regan. He shot a Royal Military Policeman in Derry two years ago.'

'That would be Fred Dalton.' Miller's face was like stone. 'He survived, but had to take a medical discharge. Oh, I'll take good care of you, Mr Regan.'

He reached for Regan's left shoulder with a hand the size of a meat plate, and Helen Black came down the hall stairs. 'Is this the prisoner, Sergeant Miller?'

Miller got his feet together. 'Yes, ma'am.'

'Good. Room ten, unpack him, then we'll have sandwiches and tea in the parlour.'

'As you say, ma'am.'

Regan turned. 'What is this? Who's she?'

'Sergeant Major Black, and don't be a male chauvinist, Regan,' Dillon said. 'She shot two Provos in Derry and holds the Military Cross.'

'Fuck you, Dillon.'

'That's bad language in front of a lady. We can't have that, can we, sergeant?' he asked Miller.

'We certainly can't, sir.' Miller squeezed Regan's left arm very hard. 'Up we go, there's a good gentleman.'

Blake said, 'Now what?'

'Oh, they have a canteen, a kitchen. We won't starve.' Dillon smiled. 'We'll sort Regan out later.'

Upstairs, Regan was astounded. He had a decent bedroom, a bathroom, a view of the garden, even if it was through barred windows. He even had a fresh shirt, blazer and slacks, like the guards'. Miller took him downstairs to a small sitting room, a gas fire flickering in the hearth. There was soup, ham sandwiches and a glass of dry white wine. Miller stood by the wall, enigmatic. Regan, slightly euphoric at the difference from Wandsworth, said, 'Could I have another glass of wine?'

'Of course, sir.'

Miller poured the glass of Chablis, and behind the mirror Ferguson, Dillon, Hannah — who had just arrived — and Helen Black watched.

Ferguson said, 'You all know the story by now. This is a bad business, so we make sure he talks. I'd like you to go in, Sergeant Major, and you, Dillon. Facts, that's what I need.'

'Certainly, sir.' Helen Black nodded to Sean. 'Good guy, bad guy, suit you, Sean?'

'Nothing better. Takes me back to my days at the National Theatre.'

'Yes, you have told us that one before. Let's do it.' She led the way out. 'But follow my lead.'

'Shall I leave, ma'am?' Miller asked, as they stepped into the room.

'No, I might need you, Sergeant.' Her voice was different and very hard. 'This is a Provisional IRA gunman. He crippled Fred Dalton. Do you think Fred was his first?'

'I doubt it, ma'am,' Miller said coldly.

'Right, but I'd like you to manacle him, Sergeant. Once a killer, always a killer.'

'Certainly, ma'am.'

'Now, look here,' Regan protested.

'Just hold out your wrists and be a good boy.'

Regan was sweating and very, very worried. He'd had three weeks in Wandsworth, with the lavatory bucket, — the twice-a-week showers, the unwelcome attentions of certain wild-eyed prisoners, and others: basic English criminals who didn't like the IRA. The contrast of his treatment at the safe house spoke for itself. In a way, he'd thought he was going to be all right, but now he had this woman who looked like his elder sister, acting like the Gestapo.

She unbuttoned her jacket, revealing the holstered Colt. 'Now then, let's get started.'

Roper had joined the group on the other side of the mirror. 'She's really very good.'

'Outstanding,' Blake agreed.

'And still won't take a commission,' Ferguson said. 'You can't buy her, sir,' Hannah put in.

'I know,' Ferguson sighed. 'Very depressing.'

And then, Helen Black started to work.

The change was astonishing. This pleasant, decent Englishwoman seemed to take on a new persona.

'I've been fighting people like you for years. The bomb and the bullet, women and kids — you couldn't care less. I shot dead two of your bastards in Derry. They were parking a van with fifty pounds of Semtex on board outside a nurses' hostel. Well, we couldn't have that, could we? I took a bullet in the left thigh, got the bastard who did it, then sat up and got his friend in the back as he ran away.'

Regan was terrified. 'For Christ's sake, what kind of woman are you?'

She grabbed his jaw and shook his head painfully from side to side. 'The Apache Indians used to give their prisoners to their women to go to work on. I'm that kind of woman.'

'Excellent,' Ferguson said. 'She should be at the National Theatre herself.'

'You crippled a comrade of mine. Fred Dalton.' She took out her Colt and touched him between the eyes. 'These are hollowpoints, you scum. I pull this trigger and your brains are on the wall.'