Jack Higgins - The Judas gate

'Well, Mickeen's only got the one. Big for the Provos in his day, Sean.'

'And big for the Brits now,' Curry said. 'What were they talking about?' He poured another drink. 'On the house.' The chapel at Castlerea Crematorium was supposed to be open to any member of the public who wished to enter, but not that afternoon, not with a visible Provisional IRA presence arranged by Kelly, several large and intimidating men in dark suits making it plain to the public that they weren't welcome.

There was a pleasant memorial park surrounding the chapel and other buildings and, here and there, individuals were visiting their loved ones or delivering flowers. Mickeen pretended to be such a person and was at least able to observe the hearse waiting by the chapel door. The Voltern appeared with the party from Talbot Place and everyone got out and waited.

Jack Kelly produced a mobile and answered it for a minute or so, glancing round, then put it in his pocket, moved to the men guarding the door and spoke to one of them. The man turned and was obviously searching the memorial park and Mickeen moved away. One look had been enough to tell him who they were and, for the first time, it occurred to him that he might have been foolish to come.

The service in the chapel, with the well-meaning vicar and the piped music, could not have been over too soon for Justin, who felt a certain release as they went out to find it raining.

Jean and Hannah were talking to the vicar and Kelly pulled Justin over. 'Sean Dillon, the one who works for Ferguson, was born in Collyban. He left for London at twelve, but his uncle, Mickeen Oge Flynn, owns the garage there.'

'So get on with it, Jack. Is there some problem?'

'His garage mechanic says he overheard Mickeen having a telephone conversation from London with Dillon. From what he heard, they were discussing the funeral and the fact that you wanted to keep it private. Mickeen said he knew it was today and that he'd attend.'

'And did he?'

'As you can see, there are a few people in the memorial park.'

The two women had got into the car and sat waiting. Talbot said in a low, dangerous voice, 'Can't you give me a straight answer? Did he come?'

'Yes, one of the men thinks he saw him.'

Talbot produced a silver hip flask, opened it and swallowed vodka. As he closed it, he said, 'Charles Ferguson is a major problem in my life, and Sean Dillon seems to be his top enforcer, so when he phones a relative who lives only seven miles from my own home and the said relative turns up as he has done, I get highly suspicious. Tell my mother and Hannah to carry on. Say we'll see them soon.'

'Then what?' Kelly asked.

'Get one of the men to give you his car and we'll take a quick trip to Collyban, just you and me.' At the garage, Mickeen found O'Rourke brushing the floor. 'I'll finish Father Grady's car in the morning,' he said. 'How were the service and the cremation?'

'It was like a Provisional IRA convention, with Jack Kelly and a few of his men from Kilmartin discouraging the public from going in the chapel. It didn't seem healthy to stay around, so I came away. Get off with you now and I'll see you later for a drink.'

'I'll do that,' Paddy said and went out.

It was after five, and Mickeen stood there thinking about what had happened. The presence of so many old IRA hands had given him a shock. People like that were still a power to be reckoned with. Paddy had left the priest's car on the jack so, with nothing better to do, he switched on the inspection lamp, eased his old bones down, his back on the trolley, and rolled underneath the car.

He was aware of footsteps approaching and stopped his inspection. 'Can I help you?'

He had turned his head and seen two pairs of shoes and started to roll on the trolley but, as his head appeared from underneath the car, he stopped as a foot stamped beside it.

'Stop right where you are,' Justin Talbot told him. Mickeen stared up at him, suddenly afraid. 'Do you know who I am?'

'Yes, Mr Talbot.'

'And you know me well enough,' Jack Kelly said, and Mickeen nodded.

'Why did you try to come to my grandfather's funeral?' Talbot demanded.

'Sure, and I thought it would be open to anyone.'

'And how did you know that it was happening when it was?'

'Everyone in Collyban knew, Mr Talbot. They were all talking about it in the Green Man. Somebody you thought you could trust must have blabbed.'

And because he knew very well that was the logical explanation, Talbot become even more incensed. 'And what about your nephew, Sean Dillon? I know you've spoken to him earlier. What was that all about?'

'Nothing at all, Mr Talbot.' Mickeen was desperate. 'He's family. He just called me from London to say hello.'

'You're lying,' Talbot shouted. 'There's more to it than that. Tell me, damn you.'

He kicked at Mickeen's face, catching the edge of the trolley, sending him swinging further under the car. He almost fell over himself, grabbed at the raised handle of the hydraulic jack, releasing it, and the car subsided. Mickeen cried out in agony and then there was only silence.

Kelly shoved Talbot out of the way, reached for the handle and quickly raised the car. He crouched, picked up the inspection lamp and leaned in. Mickeen's face was covered in blood, there was torn flesh on the forehead and he detected bone. It was a dreadful sight and he moved back.

'You've done for him.'

'Are you certain?' Talbot said.

'See for yourself. Would you think anyone could survive injuries like that?'

'I've seen men wounded in battle survive some terrible things, and not just when I'm Shamrock. It would be simple to make sure if I had a pistol.' Talbot was strangely calm now. 'Do you have one?'

'No, I don't.'

'I assumed you always carried.'

'Not any more,' Kelly said. 'Only on certain occasions, and today wasn't supposed to be one.' He checked Mickeen again. 'No, I say he's dead.'

He lowered the car again and Talbot said, 'Why are you doing that?'

'So that when they find him, they'll think it was an accident. Now let's get out of here.'

They ran through the rain to the BMW and got in. As Kelly drove away, Talbot said calmly, 'Well, that's taken care of that. Dillon won't be pleased about his uncle, but the stupid old bastard had it coming.' He turned to look at Kelly, that strange cold smile on his face. 'Don't you agree?'

And Jack Kelly, not happy at all, managed a nod. 'Yes, I suppose you're right.'

'Good, then let's get back to the house as soon as possible. They'll be wondering what's happened to us.' It was Paddy O'Rourke, walking down to the pub, who noticed that there were no lights on in either the house or the garage and went to investigate. What he found when he raised the car again horrified him. Like Kelly, he assumed the worst, but called the county air ambulance service, which served remote country areas.

For some reason, he didn't want to leave his old friend, so didn't go seeking help, just sat there holding Mickeen's cold and apparently lifeless hand. After twenty minutes, he heard the sound of the approaching helicopter. He had switched on all the garage lights and went out and waved frantically, and a Chinook helicopter settled on the forecourt, bringing out all the customers in the Green Man, headed by Martin Curry.

The paramedics wasted no time, examining Mickeen, then pulling a kind of turban over his head, strapping him to a special stretcher and taking him inside the Chinook. As O'Rourke watched, they worked on the old man until he was festooned with tubes and bottles.

One of the paramedics shouted, 'You're the one who found him? Give me your name and phone number. The police will want to speak to you. It's a good thing you found him when you did.'