Jack Higgins - Day of Reckoning

'What about diving equipment?'

'Standard suits and fins as issued to the Special Boat Service. Our local agent in Oban will put six air bottles in the stern rack. That should suffice.'

'Excellent.' Lacey was already in the Gulfstream with Parry; Madoc waited at the bottom of the steps.

Dillon kissed Hannah on the cheek. 'We who are about to die salute you.'

'Don't be stupid. I'll see you tomorrow.'

'I know, and watch Regan. He's a devious little sod.' 'I thought that was you.'

It was such a stupid remark, and instantly regretted, but Dillon smiled. 'Ah, the hard woman you are.'

He pushed Billy up the steps in front of him, Madoc followed and closed the door, and the Gulfstream moved away.

'Why?' Hannah whispered. 'Why do I say things like that?' And yet she knew that, for his past condemned him. All those years as the Provisional IRA's most feared enforcer, all the killing.

She looked up as the Gulfstream lifted. 'Damn you, Dillon,' she said. 'Damn you.'

In his suite at Pine Grove, Roper trawled the computer and came up with results. He checked again, then phoned Ferguson.

'Fox and his two goons are booked into the Dorchester for a week.'

'Anything else?'

'Murphy and Dermot Kelly are booked on an Air France flight from Paris, arriving in Dublin around what the Irish call tea time.'

'Any idea of the onward destination?'

'Come on, Brigadier, it must be Kilbeg. They think he's Robin Hood up there. If you want to check, why don't you call in a favour from that Chief Superintendent Malone at the Garda Special Branch?'

'What an excellent idea,' Ferguson said.

He thought about it, then rang through to Malone in Dublin. 'Charles Ferguson, Daniel.'

Malone groaned. 'What in the hell do you want, Charles?' 'A favour.'

At Dublin Airport, Murphy and Kelly landed at four-thirty, proceeded through customs with light luggage, went out of the concourse and approached an old Ford saloon car. The driver was named John Conolly, the man beside him Joseph Tomelty; both were hard-line Republicans and had been members of Murphy's group for many years, all boyhood friends. They shook hands with Murphy and Kelly.

'Good to see you, Brendan,' Conolly said. 'Did it go well?'

A total fuck-up,' Murphy said. 'Couldn't have been worse. Let's get out of it. Make for home and I'll tell you.'

They all got in and drove away, and Malone, sitting in an unmarked car with a driver, said, 'Jesus. Conolly, Tomelty, plus Brendan and Dermot Kelly. The old Kilbeg Mafia. There's no doubt where they're going, but follow at a discreet distance and let's make sure they're taking the right road north.'

Twenty minutes later and well outside Dublin, he tapped the driver on the arm. 'Turn back. It's got to be Kilbeg.'

A few minutes later, as the car returned to Dublin, he called Ferguson on his mobile and told him what had happened.

'So it's Kilbeg?' Ferguson said.

'I'd say definitely. Are you going to give us trouble here, Charles?'

'Don't be silly, Daniel, we're doing ourselves a favour and you a favour. Leave it alone and I'll keep you informed.'

'One more question. Since you're running this, it means Dillon's involved.'

'Obviously.'

'Then God help Brendan Murphy.'

Ferguson put down his phone and turned to Hannah, who had been listening. 'You heard? Murphy and company are on their way to Kilbeg.'

I'll let Dillon know, sir, in case it affects his plans.'

'It won't make much difference. You know what he's like.

He'll go in tomorrow night anyway, Murphy or no Murphy. Just like a bad war movie.'

'I know, sir. He has a kind of death wish.'

'Why?'

'God knows.'

'You really have it in for him, Superintendent.'

'You couldn't be more wrong, sir. Actually, I like him too much. He reminds me of Liam Devlin, that combination of scholar, actor, poet and absolutely cold-blooded killer.'

'Just like Sir Walter Raleigh,' Ferguson said. 'Very bewildering, life, on occasion.'

Dillon and Billy were delivered by an unmarked RAF car driven by two uniformed RAF sergeants named Smith and Brian.

'Checked it out earlier,' Sergeant Brian said. 'That's the Highlander two hundred yards out.'

'Well, it doesn't look much to me,' Billy told him.

'Don't go by appearances. It's got twin screws, depth sounder, radar, automatic steering. Does twenty-five knots at full stretch.'

'Good. Let's get cracking,' Dillon said.

'Right, sir, we've got a whaleboat to take your gear out.'

Forty minutes later, the gear was stowed, everything shipshape. Brian said, 'You've got the inflatable, with a good outboard motor. We'll get back now.'

'Thanks for a good job,' Dillon told him.

The sergeants departed in the whaleboat, and Dillon's mobile rang. It was Hannah Bernstein, bringing him up to date on the Kilbeg situation.

'Murphy being there, will it give you a problem?'

'Only if I can't shoot the bastard. How's Blake?'

'Still on his back.'

'Good, let's keep it that way. We'll see you tomorrow.'

Oban was enveloped in mist, and a fine rain was driving across the water, pushed by a light wind. Above on the land, low clouds draped across mountain tops, but beyond Kerrera the waters of the Firth of Lorn looked troubled.

'This is Scotland?' Billy said. 'What a bloody awful place. Why would anybody come here for a holiday?'

'Don't tell the tourist board, Billy, they'd lynch you. Now, we've things to do. We can go ashore and eat later.'

He laid out the diving equipment in the stern cabin. 'I don't need to explain this to you, you're an expert, but let's check over the arms.'

They laid the Walthers, the Semtex, the Uzis and stun grenades on the main saloon table. 'Let's give you a quick course on the Uzi, Billy. The Walther is simple enough.'

They spent half an hour going over things, then Dillon took one of the Walthers and led the way up to the wheelhouse. There was a flap to one side of the instrument board. He found a button, pressed, and inside was a fuse board. He cocked the Walther, slipped it inside, and closed the flap.

'Ready for action with ten rounds, Billy. Remember it's there. It's what is called an ace in the hole.'

'You think of everything, don't you?'

'That's why I'm still here. Let's go ashore and eat.'

He switched on the deck lights before they left and they coasted to the front at Oban on the inflatable and tied up. There was a pub close by that offered food. They went in, had a look at the menu, and opted for fish pie.

Dillon ordered a Bushmills, but Billy shook his head. 'Not me. I never liked the booze, Dillon. There must be something wrong with me.'

'Well, most things in life are in the Bible, and what the good book says is: wine is a mocker, strong drink raging.' He smiled. 'Having said that, I'll finish this and have another.'

Later, back on the Highlander, it started to rain harder. They sat on the stern deck under the awning, and Dillon went through everything from Katherine Johnson's death in New York to Al Shariz.

Billy said, 'These Mafia guys are fucks, Dillon, and Murphy's no better.'

'That about sums it up.'

'So we take them out?'

'I hope so.'

The rain drummed on the canvas awning and Dillon poured another whisky.

Billy said, 'Listen, Dillon, I know a little bit about you, the IRA hard man who switched sides. But every time I ask my uncle how it all happened, he clams up. What's the story?'

Maybe it was the rain, and maybe it was the whisky, but instead of giving him a hard look and telling him to mind his business, Dillon felt himself talking, the words coming slowly but steadily.

'I was born in Ulster, my mother died giving birth to me — a heavy load to bear. My father took me to London. He was a good man. A small builder. Got me into St Paul's School.'