Jack Higgins - Day of Reckoning

They walked back through the storage areas. Mortars stacked neatly, the kind of missiles and heavy machine guns that could shoot down a helicopter, AK47and Armalites still greased and brand new from the factory. Cases of Semtex.

Murphy lit a cigarette and said to Kelly, 'Look at it, Dermot. Just waiting to be used, and those old women in London talk peace.'

'You're right, Brendan.'

'Our day will come. I'll just check the office.'

It was at the end of the tunnel, small, functional, with filing cabinets, a computer system and a desk. He said to Brosnan and O'Neill, 'Wait outside.'

Kelly closed the door. Murphy knelt behind the desk and lifted a section of carpet. Underneath, set into the concrete floor, was an old-fashioned safe with a simple keyhole. He felt under the desk, found a key on a magnetic block, and opened the flap.

Inside were packets of currency, sterling and dollars, all wrapped in transparent plastic bags. He handled a few.

'You think this is cash, Dermot? It's not, it's power. With money you can do anything, and there's almost three million here.'

'What about Fox, Brendan? You know what I mean? What you owe him?'

'Hey, stuff Fox. Look what happened at Al Shariz. It was a total fuck-up, and all because of Fox. It must have been. I mean, how were the Israelis on to us? I know it wasn't me.'

'So you aren't going to pay him what you owe him?'

Am I, hell.' Murphy locked the safe and put the carpet back.

'What if he makes trouble, Brendan?'

Murphy laughed. 'Make trouble for me, the Mafia? Dermot, this is Ireland, the one place in the world where they're powerless. We're the ones with power, Dermot, you and me, so let's get on with it and go and crack a bottle and have a decent supper at the Patriot.'

They all sat round the saloon in the Highlander, a large-scale map laid across the table.

'Kilbeg village,' Dillon said. 'The abbey is quarter of a mile to the east. The bunker is underneath.' He tapped the map. 'There, where the site of a ruined farmhouse is indicated, is, according to Sean here, the exit to the bunker.' He looked at Regan, who sat on one of the bench seats, wrists manacled. 'Isn't that so, Sean?'

'To hell with you,' Regan said.

'So how do you intend to play this?' Helen Black asked.

'Well, according to Regan, there are only two caretakers in the bunker. I intend to act very quickly, very economically. Blow the exit door, go in, dispose of them, and leave a hundred-pound block of Semtex to take the place out. They're storing Semtex there as well as arms. It'll be like Bonfire Night.'

'Which, if I'm not mistaken, celebrates Guy Fawkes failing to blow up Parliament,' Hannah Bernstein said.

'Well, I won't fail.'

'What about me?' Billy asked.

'You can watch my back,' Dillon said. 'Guard the exit door after I go in.'

'Oh, great. So I'm standing around like a ponce.'

'Don't be a silly boy, Billy. I'll need you watching out for me.'

'So how do you intend to do it?' Helen asked.

'Right, there's the pier that used to serve the old granite quarry. Yachtsmen call in here occasionally and usually anchor in the bay, according to Roper's information. What we'll do is this. We'll take the boat in to the pier, you in charge, Sergeant Major. Billy and I will wear diving suits. We'll offload diving equipment onto the pier, in case we have to come back the hard way. You will take Highlander a hundred yards out into the bay, and anchor.'

'Fine,' Helen said.

'Billy and I will have transceivers, and so will you, so we'll be in touch. The farmhouse is what, a quarter of a mile away? This will be the ultimate in-and-out job. With luck, it'll be so clean that I'll call and bring you into the pier to pick us up.' He smiled and turned to Billy. 'No need to get your feet wet.'

'Well, that's nice. It's bleeding cold out there.'

Dillon turned to Sean Regan, sitting there, sullen, on the bench, manacled hands on his knees.

'Now we come to your part, son. Is there anything you haven't told me?'

'I've told you everything I know.'

'I hope so, for your sake, because if you haven't you're dead in the water. And that's not just a figure of speech.' He turned to the others. 'Right, people, that's the way it is, so let's get it done.'

It was nine o'clock and pitch dark when they drifted in, the engines a muted throbbing. Dillon left it to Helen Black. She steered one-handed, holding a pair of Nightstalkers to her eyes, and hardly touched the pier. In a second, Dillon was over with a line and ran it round a bollard.

'Right, Billy, pass the gear up.'

Billy wrestled with air bottles and other things and Dillon stacked them on the pier.

'All right, son, let's have you.'

Billy joined him. 'First time in Ireland, and what a bloody place.'

'The hob of hell, Billy.' Dillon called to Helen Black. 'On your way.'

The Highlander moved out and Dillon checked his transceiver. 'Hey, you still love me, Superintendent?'

'Don't be silly,' she replied, and then added. 'For God's sake, Dillon. .'

'I know, take care. Well, here we go to save the British way of life. An Irish gunman and a well-known London gangster. Why is it that people like us have to do it?'

He switched off, checked his Uzi, and slung it across his chest. Billy did the same. Dillon checked his Walther, and, again, Billy did the same. Having heard Dillon talking on the transceiver, he said, 'Do you know the answer? Why is it people like us have to do it?'

'Billy, a great English writer once said — it's ironic that when it comes down to it — that it's men of a rough persuasion who have to do all the hard things that the general population are incapable of doing, and then the general population disowns them. It's called being a soldier.'

'But I'm not a bleeding soldier.'

'You're a gangster, Billy. It's the same thing, so shut up and follow me.'

On board the Highlander, Hannah obeyed Helen Black's orders and dropped the anchor. Below, Sean Regan sat on the bench, manacled, and thought about things. He was a practical man, and had survived for many years in the Irish struggle by being so.

However, try as he could, Dillon's reputation wouldn't go away and it was that of the ultimate hard man. The Brits used him on situations they didn't want to go to court. If he was on your case, you were dead.

With the best will in the world, Regan couldn't imagine a fate other than being tossed over the side into the Irish Sea, a convenient corpse, and there was no way he could risk that. A desperate plan came to him, and before he could hesitate, he acted. He knocked a tray bearing a teapot and cups off the table and fell on his knees.

A moment later, Hannah appeared. 'What is it?'

'My gut's killing me. I think it must be those seasickness pills.'

She crouched and checked him out. 'That bad?'

'I need the necessary. For God's sake, I might mess myself.'

She pulled him up and took him out to the lavatory. He held out his hands. 'Come on, you can't move in there. I couldn't get my trousers down with these things on.'

She hesitated, then took out her key, uncuffed him, and pushed him inside. She stood against the wall and waited.

Regan sat down, breathed deeply, then stood up, shoved the door open hard, catching Hannah and knocking her against the wall. He went up the companionway fast, ran out on deck, past Helen Black as she emerged from the wheelhouse, and vaulted over the rail. The cold March Irish Sea took his breath away, but he struck out for the shore with all his strength and vanished into the dark.

Hannah appeared on deck. 'Goddammit, he conned me. I was such a fool.'

'Happens to us all.' Helen Black tried her transceiver. 'Dillon, are you there?'