Jack Higgins - Day of Reckoning

'That would be me and my friends.' Dillon sloshed forward in a foot of water, Blake at his side. 'Sean Dillon, and this is Blake Johnson. I'm sure you've got a mobile. Call Jack Fox and give him the bad news.'

The Jagos grabbed the bars of the grille and shook them. 'Fuck you!'

Dillon smiled. 'No, I'm afraid it's you who are fucked, gentlemen. Now, if you'll excuse me, the water's getting a bit high.'

Dillon and Blake turned and waded away, the water already two feet deep and rising. They exited on to the beach, which was already flooded. Harry Salter and the other were at the steps, waiting.

Dillon took out his Codex Four mobile phone and called Scotland Yard, using the Special Branch number.

The officer who replied said, 'Special Branch. How can I help you?'

'The Jago brothers and a hand-picked team are trapped in the White Diamond Company building at St Richard's Dock. They can't get out the way they got in underground, because the tide's rising. If you get to the front entrance fast, you'll catch them with twelve million in diamonds.'

'Who is this?'

'Don't be silly, get moving.'

In the tunnel, the Jagos and the others shook desperately at the grille together, but Joe Baxter had done too good a job, and then the water rose and started to bore in very fast.

'Christ,' Harold said. 'It's that St Richard's Force thing. Let's get out of here.'

They turned and scrambled along the tunnel, the water foaming around them, got through the hole, and scrambled upstairs to the foyer and the security office.

'Listen,' Harold said, 'if that Howler works, then the front door's open.'

'That's right,' Connie told him.

'Okay, let's get the hell out of here.'

He led the way to the door, and there was a squeal of brakes as half a dozen police cars arrived outside.

Harold stood there, bitter and angry, and said to Connie, 'Close the door with your sodding Howler,' which Connie did. 'Let them wait.'

The police bunched together outside the glass doors, and Tony Jago, gave them two fingers. Harold called through on the mobile to Fox at his suite at the Dorchester.

Fox said, 'Harold, how did it go?'

'Wonderful. I'm standing here at the White Diamond Company holding a bag worth twelve million and there must be at least twenty cops outside trying to get in at

US.

'What happened, for God's sake?'

Harold told him.

'Dillon?' Fox said. 'Are you sure?'

'And the American, Johnson. I think they've been on your case more than you know, Jack. The trouble is it's put them on my case.'

'I'll get you the best barrister in London.'

'Thanks very much. That's a great comfort, Fox. Sod you and your barrister!'

He switched off the mobile. Tony said, 'What the hell do we do, Harold?'

'Travel hopefully, Tony.' Harold turned to Connie Briggs. 'Go on, use that gadget and open the door.' Connie did, and the police rushed in and surged all over them.

Fox said, 'That bastard Dillon. He and Johnson, they've ruined the operation!'

'Signore?' Falcone said.

'God, I see it all now. It wasn't them just with the Colosseum, but Al Shariz and Kilbeg, too. And now this!' 'But how, Signore? How would they know?'

'The Johnson woman, everything flows from that. Somehow she found out and told them. God knows how.' 'So what do we do now, Signore?'

Fox turned to him with a hard light in his eyes. 'We exact revenge,' Fox said. 'That's what I want, revenge.' 'And how do we do that?'

'I'll tell you later. Right now, I want you and Russo to get down to the Colosseum and pick up Rossi and Cameci. Go on, do it now.' He was angry. 'And make it fast.'

'Signore.'

Falcone left, picked up Russo from his room, and filled him in as they went down in the elevator to get the car.

Russo said, 'He's too angry, and being too angry isn't good.'

'You don't have to tell me,' Falcone said.

In the car on the way to the Colosseum, he phoned Don Marco in New York and brought him up to date.

'Ah God, Aldo, can't he see? They're looking for him to come after them. He should just cut his losses, get out of there.'

'He won't do that, Don Marco. He's an angry man.' 'And insane to go after them. But then, Jack was always headstrong.'

Falcone hesitated, then said the unthinkable. 'Do you wish me to take care of him, Don Marco?'

'No, Aldo. No matter what he's done, he's my nephew, flesh of my flesh. I'm coming over there. I'll leave New York within the hour. You stay in dose touch.'

'Of course.'

'Aldo. I need your total loyalty in this.'

'You have it as always, Don Marco.'

Besides the Gulfstream, the family operated a Golden Eagle twin-engine aircraft out of Bardsey Aero Club outside London. It was useful for local flights, the kind where you had to put down on short runways, so it was particularly good for Hellsmouth. Fox called the pilot now, an ageing, ex-RAF pilot named Swan, and got him at home.

'Mr Fox, what can I do for you?'

'I need a flight in a couple of hours to Hellsmouth. Can you manage that?'

'If you say so, Mr Fox. It might be a rough landing. It's pretty dark.'

'I don't care if you put us down on its belly, just so you get us there.'

As you say, sir.'

When Dillon arrived at Stable Mews, Fox, Russo, Falcone, Rossi and Cameci were waiting in a large black van.

Dillon got out with Blake and gave him the key to the house. 'There you go. I'll be back later. I'll go and see what Ferguson wants.'

He got back into the taxi and it moved away. Blake walked slowly towards the door, and the van drove up and braked. Rossi and Cameci were out and had him in seconds. Blake tried to struggle but had little strength. Fox leaned across Russo, who was at the wheel.

'It's my turn now, Johnson. Get him in the back. You know what to do, Falcone.'

They dragged Blake in and Falcone produced a hypodermic. 'Now this will really make you feel good,' he said and jabbed it into the right arm.

Blake continued to struggle, but then everything slipped away and he was still.

Bardsey operated a twenty-four-hour service that handled the ever-increasing volume of private planes and executive jets that Heathrow didn't welcome any more. For internal flights, there was no particular security. Swan was waiting for them.

Fox said, 'We'll take off right away. I don't want to hang around. I'm a little worried about my friend here. He's had too much to drink.'

'Will there be a return, Mr Fox?' Swan asked.

'Not tonight. You wait at the airstrip for further instructions.'

Swan, only too well aware of the kind of people he was dealing with, said, 'As you say, sir,' went and logged flight details.

Rossi and Cameci took Blake up the steps, Russo followed, and Fox turned to Falcone. 'Phone the caretaker, old Carter. Tell him I want the fireplaces lit, but I don't want him in the house. He can go home.'

As you say, Signore.'

Fox boarded the Eagle, and Falcone got on his mobile and made the call. When he finished, Falcone followed and Swan pulled up the steps and dosed the Airstair door. As he went up to the cockpit, Fox reached out to Falcone.

'Give me the phone.'

He took out a card, a digest of information Maud Jackson had given him, found Ferguson's number in Cavendish Square and dialled it.

'Charles Ferguson.'

'Jack Fox. Is Dillon there?'

'Why, Mr Fox. And how are you this evening?' 'Shove it, Ferguson. Give me Dillon.'

Ferguson handed the phone to Dillon, and he and Hannah stood up.

'Why, Jack, so sorry to hear your bad news.'

'Yeah, well, it's nothing compared to the news I have for you, Dillon. I've just grabbed Blake Johnson, and I'm taking him to hell, but not, alas, back. I saw you clear off in the cab, Dillon, and I got him before he opened the door. If you use your brains, you might come up with where I'm taking him, and that would please me no end.'